[ The words 'dishonorable discharge', frankly, mean little to Lottie. She hears it but doesn't quite grasp the meaning behind it, or the possible reasons why that'd happen. So it goes in one ear, out the other, a fact for her to ponder over months from now when she's reminded of it eventually. For now, she lets him talk, effectively gets what she wants when he tells her there wasn't a grand welcome waiting for him and that he left as soon as he could.
This time, it isn't hard for her to recall the context she needs for that β she remembers very clearly him talking about his family with her, right after he had made fun of her for subtly ("subtly") quoting Barney. Mostly because it's not often she talks about her family, Lottie refusing to even have let her closest circle know she even had siblings until she couldn't anymore (when Rosie bummed at her place for a few months during her almost-maybe divorce).
She figured that it's the same case for him, being cagey about details because it's easier to just ignore it. Because that's normal, right? So she listens, takes an appreciative sip of her coffee as she thinks, yeah, he did miss out on a lot. Lots of shows, lots of artists β 2003 was the year before she started high school, another year she was mousey, plain, wallflower Lottie Person. Quiet, soft, but terribly bitter. Maybe more than she is now, probably. She wonders how Marc was, at the time, if he was just a mini-Marc (sans the moon) or if he was entirely different.
And, god, she could think over that for what feels like hours, but she is very much still having a conversation. Very much is looking at Marc and thinking about how much he must've missed throughout his complicated life, thinking about her life in comparison. Sure, she could maybe pull up a list of everything iconic and amazing that's happened since then to, she doesn't know, make him feel included? But she doesn't. She stays off her phone and, tries to be nonchalant.
You know, casual. ]
I mean.. I started my blog in 2008.
[ Extremely casual. She brings her drink to her lips and raises her brows, trying not to toot her own horn because yes, she is totally implying her blog is a cultural touch point. And she is hoping he'll see it as a fun, silly, thing β a self aware jab at herself so Marc can.. She doesn't know? Take the out if he wants it? Laugh? ]
( marc doesn't tend to signify the passing of time by years — his life has tended towards stretches of time punctuated by stark events shaking up whatever status quo he's ended up in: marines, boxing, mercenary work, bushman, death, khonshu. moon knight. there are whole periods of his life he's unable to look back on and say 'that happened in this year', obliviousness to events outside of his own personal bubble co-existing alongside a penchant for not strictly caring unless it aligns with his interests.
(it doesn't help, of course, where his perception and understanding of, well, anything veers wildly from 'absolutely in keeping with reality' through to 'no, marc, that's just how you're perceiving it, the cops aren't actually jackals.')
she's quiet after he tells her he was dishonorably discharged and he doesn't know what that means to her (if it means anything at all). she's looking at him and he's not quite sure if she's trying to mentally map what he'd said out or whether she's just working out how to reply, so he takes a sip of his coffee and moves, finally, away from the desk.
(back to the window, and he leans forward, tilting his head. he still can't see the moon — too much glare from too many other lights, too much cloud cover, and they're on the ground floor — great for accessibility, less so for moon-watching. sometimes, he really misses spending time at his home in long island; the rest of the time, he remembers how empty it is, how large the space, and how suffocating the two make it feel.)
crucially, he can only see the reflection of lottie, dull and unclear, and he can't quite make out the shifts in her expression. she says she started her blog in 2008 and marc can't tell how she means it from her face, has to rely on how she says it: light and casual, and she raises her coffee cup as if to signify the poignancy (air quotes) of the event.
2008. he'd still been with bushman then, and jean-paul, though they were beginning to have questions, beginning to wonder about raul's brutality. jean-paul had always approached it — their work — with a matter-of-factness marc had never possessed, raul had never possessed. they'd all been in it for the money, but bushman had done it to feel power, to exert control and cause fear; marc had done it because it quietened something in him, because it had seemed to fill a hole he'd to-that-point found no other way of filling.
jean-paul had never wanted to work with bushman (bad news, he'd said, the worst of the worst), and marc had ignored him (think of the payday! he'd said, and jean-paul had gone along with it). marc has questioned, more than once, why it'd taken him so long to feel concerned by what raul did, and why jean-paul had stuck by the both of them for as long as he had, given who raul was.
(he knows the answer to that second question in a loose, vague way, though he still doesn't really understand why.)
lottie had been starting a blog — still at school, he realises, uncomfortably — whilst marc had been anywhere he could be that wasn't home, slowly discovering a conscience he'd desperately tried to ignore whilst still doing almost anything that was asked of him. the frown that pulls at his feature — his thoughtful frown, as opposed to his unhappy frown — precipitates a glance over his shoulder. he can see the edges of her shape in his periphery, but nothing more solid than that. )
Nice, ( softly, light amusement evident as his features relax. ) I missed that, too. Not much in the way of internet in the jungle. ( not that marc didn't spend time in civilisation, but the circles he'd run in hadn't placed 'casual computer use' anywhere near their list of 'fun and interesting ways to spend free time'. he's not sure he'd have really been confident in saying what a blog was back in 2008, even. )
[ Marc doesn't realize it, she thinks, that she can see his reflection from the window (not perfectly, because she doesn't have her glasses and he's still a tad blurry, even with how close he is to the window, with how sharp his reflection is as a result). Probably doesn't clue in that he's giving her more than his back, because he's too busy β what? Sightseeing? Lottie wonders why he does this. Maybe he's uncomfortable, is looking up at the moon like the way she looks into the lens of a camera, or a particularly nice photo of herself. Or maybe he's using it as a distraction, a way to physically give him some space from the topic at hand.
And in a way, she understands, so she lets him. Pretends like standing up to gaze at the window in the middle of a conversation is completely normal, a totally regular thing to do rather than face her properly. She angles herself towards said window, stares at his back β clad in black, not white. Stares at the way his hair curls and sticks out awkwardly from being stuffed inside a mask for the majority of the night. Her eyes are outlining the curve of his shoulder, remembering it's where his cape sat and trying to recall how it looked β how it might look, now, with the distance β when she sees his reflection shift. Lottie doesn't catch the detail of it (if she did, she'd feel pride at recognizing his different frowns), but she can at least guess she must've said something right for him to sound like that. For him to look like that.
..Not that she can really see much of it, with that barebones glance. She's assuming his expression is good, if he's letting her know this much: he was in the jungle in 2008.
Her brows furrow.
Huh.
He was in the jungle in 2008. And Lottie was, what, barely meeting Sunny and painting her nails at home because she was too intimidated to go to the nail salon? Being a baby blogger with big aspirations of being iconic and relatable? What the fuck?
The thing is for Lottie, she does define everything by years, by details. Because as a blogger, if nothing goes on in her life, she loses money. Relevancy, can't generate content and can't prove to companies how profitable she is. As a result, Lottie knows exactly when something happens, when she met someone, deep down knows exactly what outfit she wore too. She knows the exact year she saw her sister's face while perusing Netflix, and how angry she was seeing her gain all the fame she worked for (for years) in a matter of seconds (2015). Remembers the exact year she met Esther for the first time (2012). When she started her friendship with Misty (2011). The time she interviewed with NYLON JAPAN (2014). Her ten year blogiversary (2018). When Sunny broke up with her (2016), when she met Caroline (2016). ]
Yeah, [ She agrees, tone just as soft, after a beat. And because it is kinda funny (the lack of internet is totally why he didn't follow her in the jungle, obviously), she lets out a laugh. Something light, ] I mean, the signal probably sucked.
[ Sometimes she forgets just how different their lives have been, and it's easy for her to do it, because Lottie is so impossibly self obsessed that people outside of her field of view genuinely don't exist. Sure, Marc has made a definitive spot for himself in her world, but she only sees him as the Marc in front of her. Moon Knight, the guy in the suit and the guy in the cowl, Marc Spectorβ always with a little stubble on him and a bruise blossoming somewhere. Sometimes she sees it, sometimes she doesn't, and it always depends on his state of dress. Usually, when she pictures him, it's sans his mask and gloves. Teetering between Moon Knight and plain old Marc. She associates him with odd hours, coffee, being weird and curt. A little funny.
She never thinks of his history, just his day and how it relates to hers.
Now, she can add 'the jungle' to that. And it's odd, the information. Interesting? Odd. Lottie can't quite place it, but what she feels isn't bad, per se. In a way this is nice, him opening up to her. In another way, she's not sure what to do with the information. Arguably, he is saying so little, but he is implying so much. ]
I still have some old stuff up on my Instagram. [ AKA, he can still see it. Technically make up for that missed 'event'. There's a reason why she has some of the nicer photos of herself still up, after all. People love nostalgia (she loves nostalgia). ] And the stuff I deleted, got reposted. That's the thing about the internetβ nothing ever really goes away.
( marc is not a still man, he never has been. where his father had always sought out books and academia, marc had been the opposite: his solace had been in movement. it's different now, looking out and searching for the moon — he'd always drifted towards it after sudan, finding himself seeking it out at nights when it was just him and marlene (no moon knight); steven had done it, too, when the lines between them had blurred and neither one was quite sure what they thought of khonshu, whether they believed divinity had brought them back or if it'd been luck. he'd wanted to hear khonshu's voice then, wanted guidance, wanted to understand what he was doing in a way that was clearer than the odd, strange satisfaction he felt as moon knight.
khonshu never had spoken then, there'd never been any whispers in his ear, from the corners of rooms. marc had felt lost and none of that had changed when khonshu had made himself known — no, marc had somehow managed to lose himself even more, and the only times he'd sought the moon's shape out then had been between sleep and wakefulness, when frequent (night after night after night—) nightmares stirred him. ("I'd forgotten this part", marlene had said once, after one of their many reunions and waking to find marc stood silently at their bedroom window).
he doesn't ask anything these days — not for guidance, not for help — but for as challenging, as strained, as difficult as his relationship with khonshu is, the cool, silver glow of moonlight is comforting. he doesn't expect lottie to understand — and frankly, it's either this or fidgeting, a propensity for moving from furniture to floor and back again, swapping positions as if he'll find answers or whatever words he's looking for in movement rather than stillness.
(he only does it when his mind's stuck on something.)
he and lottie are talking like there isn't a chasm between their life experiences, like marc wasn't in the process of amassing more funds than he'd ever be able to spend in the shape of blood money in 2008, like lottie wasn't in the process of being a not quite regular teenager, but certainly one with more direction that marc had ever possessed before sudan. more ambition, more drive that didn't take the form of bruised knuckles and blood and guns. talking as if of course the only reason that marc hadn't known of her blog — weirdness of a man in his mid-to-late twenties following a much younger woman's fashion and (presumably) lifestyle blog aside — was lack of internet connection.
she mentions she has some old stuff up on instagram and marc knows what that is (steven has an account — marc thinks he's on most social media sites of a certain type — he'd said something about linkedin once, about marc's lack of interest in anything remotely practical not pertaining to moon knight meaning that all of his (steven's) hardworked for connections were going to absolute waste—.). marc's memories are locked tightly in boxes — physical ones — and stored in cupboards he refuses to look in until he's overwhelmed with the crushing awareness of who he is (was, has been, can't escape). they're in police reports, military reports, and newspaper cuttings. confidential files that, like lottie's deleted instagram posts will also never go away.
he's relieved to an extent that he's not sure he'd ever be able to describe to know that at least his past was never documented like that, but he doesn't quite know what to say. it's not that he feels like he has to be careful with what he says to lottie about his past, about what he's done and what he does, but that he's aware — acutely — that like reese, like soldier, she didn't know him then. that the marc spector that marc talks about in the third person, the one he barely bothers to disguise his loathing of, is one that isn't always easy to reconcile with who he tries to be here and now. it's a disconnect that feels overwrought until he slips up and backslides and it's — oh, right, of course. marc spector: unpredictable, unreliable, crazy, whoever expected anything else.
half to lottie, half to her reflection, he almost tells her that they don't just have the internet to thank for things never going away — it'd always seemed to marc that whatever a person wanted to bury, it always found a way of making itself known again. that it's not often that secrets or private shame gets carried to the grave.
but he doesn't. he makes a noise, a generic hum of consideration that doesn't really say one way or the other if he'd want to see lottie's instagram from a decade or more ago (weird thought). )
Everything sucked, ( he says instead. not just the signal, but the heat, the food (half the time), the company (almost all of the time — which is an exaggeration he won't admit to, because he'd found a way to tolerate bushman then, and as raul had grown worse, marc had started to grow better, the in-betweens papered over with mediocre jobs, days and nights spent in shitty towns with shitty booze). ) —Especially the bugs. You'd hate it.
[ She didn't know him then, arguably only knows some things about him now β and sometimes Lottie doesn't really understand the extent of what she's learned (because the rabbit hole of Marc Spector and his extremely complicated life runs deep). Can only picture vague, palatable, things that she comes up with, herself, because she's hesitant to ask for a clearer vision on what the hell he means by some things. It gives her plenty of leeway, though, like now, when he mentions the bugs.
Normal bugs she despises. Any type of insect or creepy crawly, anything that can get into her skin or under her clothes she can't handle. It pleases her in a way for her to know that he's caught onto her well enough to figure that out himself. But now she has to put two and two together. The first two being: the jungle, and the second being: the bugs. And, god, she thinks Marc must've really hated being at home to voluntarily choose that over modern day comforts. Where did he even sleep, then? The ground? Ew.
(Maybe that's where his penchant for hardly sleeping and staying up absurdly late came from? Lottie tries to connect dots, bits and pieces of him that she knows to give a reason for something she's already accepted as just being a fun and quirky Marc thing (like her codependence on her fans for validation, or her caffeine addiction! It's fun and quirky!).) ]
Oh, yeah, god, of course I'd hate it. I barely even like the weather in New York!
[ Which is to say: as a person who is allergic to everything, and whose ability to go outside is entirely based on the season.. She hates any kind of weather. Hated it in Los Angeles, hates it virtually anywhere she goes, even if the place is nice. She hates any shift, any change, because it always affects her somehow. Dry air? Massive humidity? Nosebleeds. Windy? Pollen in the air? Sneezing, headaches, inability to stop crying and being gross, her skin gets red. Fur? Animals? A day without her hand sanitizer? Allergy attack. ]
And I really don't like the bugs here. [ She scoffs to herself, ] Knowing my ass I'd probably get bit and die from some rando disease nobody has heard of.
( marc has some inkling of how little lottie really wants to know about who he was (is, maybe) — marlene had been the same way, although marlene had less of an excuse for it. marlene had met him first, had encountered marc spector, comma, mercenary, and still opted to spend time with him after her father had been killed. she'd met him, got to know him, got to know steven and decided, quite intently, that marc wasn't the man she wanted to know after all, steven was. had decided — before marc had been honest with her, when marc had presented himself and steven and jake as aspects of the same man, identities he could shrug in and out of much the same way he did clothes — that marc was to be left in the past, buried in sand.
steven had never elaborated on anything more than what marc had ever elaborated on: marc was a bad man, had a terrible personality, reckless and violent; steven was his opposite, capable of appreciating the finer things in life, and neither of them had wanted to clarify that it wasn't as simple as all that.
and truthfully, marc isn't much better now. yes, he's a lot more at ease — in a very general sense — with who he and steven and jake are, but it's not something he ever discusses unless he has to. lottie doesn't ask questions, not really — she asks questions about marc now, asks things of marc, but it's all kept pointedly separate, as if there are barriers she's thoroughly uninterested in crossing and for the most part, it works. lottie allows marc to pretend like his life isn't absurd and weird, and as if none of it's entirely of his own making.
she latches on to the mention of bugs like there's nothing bizarre about any of their conversation, like they're discussing a trip to the middle of nowhere a couple of states away instead of marc participating in unspeakable atrocities countries and oceans away.
for his part, he doesn't really know what lottie's deal is exactly — he's noticed she's particular about the weather, particular about when she goes outside, about where she goes. (he's been tempted, on occasion, to simply put it down to 'weird superstitions, possibly completely fictitious'.) he's noticed, too, that she's particular about her food — but who isn't these days? and has never quiet decided if it's dietary requirements or just some kind of diet she follows.
and because she's never really delved too deep into his story, he's repaid her in kind and never made a point of asking much more than she's been willing to share of her own accord.
she says she barely likes the weather in new york and marc's lips twitch as if he wants to say something. he gets partway through thinking about asking if there's much she actually likes and thinks the better of it, letting her continue. compared to chicago, there's more sun in new york, is generally less cold and of everywhere that's marc been and spent time, is probably the closest he can think of in terms of being pleasant year round — meaning her scoff earns a sharp exhale of breath that's not quite a scoff of his own, but does nothing to imply he disagrees with lottie's assertion. )
No-one would get you close enough to the jungle for that to happen.
[ There's a measured sip of her latte as she considers the idea of it. Not that she ever would go somewhere that rural β Lottie would sooner die than have to even sacrifice any of her comforts for that, for anything, really. And honestly, she only bothers humoring it because the image is kind of ridiculous. No-one would get her close enough, no-one would even let her entertain the idea because she'd just be awful and terrible and bratty. Crying all the time, complaining, wanting to leave immediately.
Which is, to be fair, how a lot of her trips turn out even in more metropolitan places. Places like New York, places that come down to: how many buildings can we fit in one block. How many bougie bars and pop ups can we squeeze in one street with no public parking?
And she has to stop the concept right there, because then she's circling back to the reason why the jungle was even mentioned. Is reminded of things she's pointedly avoiding asking since she can't relate, can't offer any sort of insightful commentary to Marc's life. In some way doesn't care, either, because that's just how Lottie is with comfort and being 'kind' and 'compassionate' β it's difficult if she can't find a reason to find something.. Normal? Genuine? To say? Sure, she can curate responses online to sound congenial, but she can't do it, real time, in person. She thinks if she did (be fake) Marc would know, anyhow β they may not know everything about each other, but they've been orbiting in each other's spaces enough to know their quirks.
(Besides, now that she knows they're okay and moving past their most recent spat β AKA, not contacting each other for a few days, arguably something that can be normal and fine for anyone if not for the way they had left things β there's little reason for her to care. Why ruin a good thing? Something something don't fix what isn't broken?) ]
They'd have to drag me kicking and screaming.
[ Obviously, her tone implies. Which, really, she doesn't even need to do β they both know how picky she is. She slides out of her chair, stretches her limbs out as she wanders over to linger beside him. Mostly because she knows if she leans back on his chair to stand he might be upset, and she doesn't want that. So she decides to gently ease her weight onto the wall right beside the window, angles herself so she'll face him. ]
( back still turned to the room at large, he misses the way that she stretches, misses the way she internally reaches the conclusion he'd tell her off if she leant in his chair. he doesn't miss the quiet sound of her footsteps and he tilts his head just enough to show acknowledgement, watching (sort of but not really) her approach out of the corner of his eyes until she's there, beside him, leaning against the wall and telling him she prefers paris. )
Ugh. ( it's said without him really thinking about it, just an instinctive utterance of thought and feeling: he hates paris. yes, there are nice restaurants and the pastries are good, but the same can be said for almost anywhere in france. the only — only — thing he thinks paris has going for it is the pervasive lack of interest parisians have in anyone else at all. parisians, frenchie had explained, hate everyone and marc, actually, had been fine with that.
curiously, then, he asks— ) Have you ever been to Paris? ( he thinks it could go either way — yes and she'd avoided the scummier, scuzzier parts of the city, pointedly ignore the pervading stench of piss down streets (both side streets and otherwise) and, bizarrely, at almost every metro station except charles de gaulle.
or the answer's no and she'd just like to go, imagines it be a magical place of whatever it is that people actually want to go to paris for. )
It's a dump, ( he adds, a little quieter and partially to himself. a civilised dump, he supposes, a shithole in ways that was entirely different to the pits and dregs of morality and humanity he'd ended up during most of his travels, but not one he was inclined to like regardless.
[ Now thatβ that, gets her to laugh. His instinctual repulsion at the mention of Paris. Sure, Lottie stayed in a pretty nice part of the city, but that doesn't mean she wasn't privy to just about everything else. The grodier streets, the rats, the smell that even worked through her allergy ridden nostrils (which, yes, meant she shouldn't smell anything.. And yetβ). ]
A couple times.
[ She says, after a moment, subtly thrilled that she actually has something in common with Marc that isn't the coffee places they go to whenever it's late, or the odd hours they keep. So, he's been to Paris. And he absolutely fucking hates it, which arguably is funny enough all considering what he puts himself through on the daily. Paris is his breaking point, somehow. It's a dump, he insists. ]
Fashion week is kind of a big thing for us influencers. [ She explains, in case he was wondering if she was ever visiting for work or for play. And it is always for work, always to network and put herself out there. She shrugs a single shoulder. ] I'm still not that plugged into New York's.
[ She says just as quiet as he did, an admission of the real reason why she even moved to New York. There's no "fashion weeks" in Los Angeles, only movie premieres and photo ops. The real opportunities are in locations like this, like New York, or Paris, or London, Milan, even. There's hardly any time to sight see, when she's too busy preparing looks, pieces, practicing what angles she looks best at in the hotel room mirror. ]
(fashion week. even as his eyes widen in acceptance of her answer, his expression says that fashion weeks and associated events are that far from being anywhere near marc's mental map of 'things he should (and does) care about' that he would've never reached the conclusion by himself. his understanding of what lottie does is very generic and mired in vagueness. not even steven cares about fashion week in any shape or form, and he's the only one of the three that'd come even remotely close to understanding its importance.
his gaze stays settled on lottie for several moments. he notes that whilst she said that compared to ending up in a jungle, she'd prefer paris (obviously), she didn't actually say if she liked the city or if she just liked what it provided her with. marc imagines it's the latter, can't quite marry the thought of the lottie he knows enjoying the paris he's familiar with — and they're similar in the way that though neither have said it, marc doesn't travel for pleasure, either. he's done enough of it for unpleasant reasons throughout his life, been to enough places and met the worst sorts of people that he knows he wouldn't know what to do on vacation.
marlene had tried — routinely, pointedly — sometimes telling marc (steven) her plans, sometimes surprising him. on each and every occasion, marc (not steven) would bury his moon knight clothing and easily carryable equipment at the bottom of a bag or a suitcase, and he'd find — inevitably — a way to keep himself busy, whilst steven and marlene and even frenchie would try to posit that, actually, relaxing isn't such a bad thing.
he doesn't have anything to say about fashion week, no placations to offer about lottie not being as involved in new york's fashion — bubble? as she'd like to be. )
Israel's nice, ( he offers instead. it's a sharp pivot from what he'd been talking about before, the closest he's got to pleasant memories. his father had friends there and though marc had never been good at keeping in touch, he'd visited on the infrequent occasions he ended up in the country. ) Nice weather, good food. (it has its difficulties, he doesn't say, because everywhere has its problems. it's not a reflection of its people. ) I don't know much about the fashion scene, though.
[ Leaning up against the wall like this allows Lottie a great vantage point to actually see his expression, this time, instead of from the murky reflection of a window. She said 'fashion week' and Marc does that thing with his face that tells her he didn't even consider that. That events like that are typically so far out of his idea of existence, awareness, that he didn't even think it to be a reason why she'd even go to Paris. She sips at her drink and wonders what he had thought, instead. Wonders about how much he actually knows what her career (as strange and still technically new to the world, it is) actually entails. Which β fair. It's not like Lottie knows what a lot of his job entails, either, other than the obvious. And she hasn't explained anything to him, the word 'influencer' so ingrained in everyone's vocabulary she just assumes he must know, because everyone else does.
But Marc isn't like everyone else. In fact, he's so unlike everyone else that it's refreshing, makes her feel a little less weird about how truly feral she can get sometimes in the privacy of her own home.
Oh, but her thoughts cut short. Ease away into their silence because Marc is staring at her. For an absurdly long time. She wonders if he's even aware of what he's doing, for how long he's doing it, with the way Lottie starts to squirm and shift under his gaze. Feels her cheeks run pink because whatβ is something in her teeth? On her face? What is he thinking? Should she say something? Explain it a little more? Does Marc.. Is he wanting to know what she does?? Her lips part, more of an exhale, really, ]
Uhβ
[ Israel's nice, he says, abruptly out of nowhere (it feels abrupt to her because she's been hyperfocusing on herself, just how he's been focusing on staring and thinking at her). But she'll take itβ closes her lips as he continues and she finally sees where he's going. What Marc offers, arguably, isn't a lot, but it's still nice to hear from him. To know that there's one place somewhere in his memory that he happens to enjoy, not for any reason like crime fighting but for good food and nice weather. She's never been to Israel β has only been where work has taken her and where her family has forced her to go (Japan, to visit her mom's side of the family, and Sweden, to visit her father's).
There's a soft, curious, quirk to her lips when he's finished. And even though she knows what he means, she still asks him: ] Fashion scene in Israel? Or fashion scene in general?
( marc looks away from lottie when she asks him what he meant. she knows what he meant and he knows she knows. ) I've been told Tel Aviv's cool. ( is his response, then, deliberately bypassing both of her questions.
he's been, once or twice, but more often to jerusalem. he shoots her a sidelong glance, watchful and appraising as he weighs up what he knows about lottie (odd facts and inferences based on time spent together where they don't really talk about anything, a companionable kind of non-communication that marc doesn't hate) versus what he knows about tel aviv: architecture lottie wouldn't necessarily care for but for the photograph opportunities. markets she'd enjoy for much the same reason and would be strangely careful about eating anything from (marc's never quite been sure what her deal is — he's noticed she avoid gluten, noticed she always opts for a non-dairy milk, and he's never quite been sure if it's because alternative diets are cool these days or if it's because she genuinely suffers from a host of intolerances).
his lips quirk and he hides the barest hint of a smile behind his coffee cup as he adds, ) It's where the kids hang out. (is it?
marc is not always as ignorant as he plays at. he knows, vaguely, what an influencer is and does, but he's never cared to discover the minutiae, never felt particularly inclined to discover what about it specifically is employable and what it means in a broad, day-to-day sense. lottie spends a lot of time on her phone (fine, people do that generally anyway, people that aren't marc), she spends a lot of time on her laptop (also fine, that's how a lot of people do jobs generally), but the details of marketing oneself and one's life is a tedious and horrifying concept to marc given his deep-rooted desire to be personally invisible.
(moon knight's different).
he has never cared for fashion, not as a kid, not as a teenager, and certainly not as an adult. lottie's shared her appreciation for his suit — it is nice, even if most people get fixated on the 'but it's white!' aspect — but nothing else. steven cares the most, is fussy and particular in a way that neither marc nor jake can relate to, though jake is particular about his own sense of style in his own, jake-like way.
marc dresses for dull practicality. ) So at a guess, with my limited knowledge, that's probably where you want to go to get your fashion fix.
[ There is a big part of her that wants to bite out that she is not a kid, because she personally always (always, always!) feels like one. It doesn't matter how many birthdays pass (she is nearing 30, Christ), how many events have warped her personally, she will always feel like everything but an adult. That she's messing up somehow and she isn't as responsible as she should be, as functional. But she knows Marc is just being cheeky, so she forces back the instinctual frustration that might coat her face, her tone. It's another reminder at their difference in age, years (many of them), that he's in the same age bracket as her sisters. And god, she knows he's being cheeky but some weird part of her brain thinks: of course he thinks she's a kidβ she spends all of her time online like one (it's different, her time online is an investment in her brand, her name, and so what if she farts around looking at people's stories incessantly?!).
So she tries to think of it differently, that he's aging himself instead of aging her, and it only manages to lessen the weird swirl of feelings settling in her chest. Arguably, is that even better? Reminding herself Marc is older than her and a dad (she will, truly, never get over this β Marc screams bachelor having an always-crisis and not a dad!)? She lets her gaze sweep over him, wonders if this is what she gets for asking when she already knew what he meant, if this is some weird sort of karma being inflicted on her.
Really, she knows Marc wouldn't purposely inflict her with this, if he knew how deep her insecurities ran. How unsure of herself she really felt, how deep the roots go into her brain. She tries to run off this, lets herself fiddle with the straw in her drink when he announces that's where she'd get her 'fashion fix'. He is thinking about her, ultimately, and she should be satisfied with that, and yetβ. ]
Tel Aviv.. [ She repeats, after a second of dedicated thought (read: giving a slow nod and humming), sounding out the name on her tongue. Marc is mentioning it, so that means it must be worthwhile. Also, Marc mentioned it, so she has to go at some point. ] ..Okay. I'll have Esther pencil that in for me.
[ Her phone is out of reach, having been placed on his desk before she came to lean beside him, so she'll make a note to text her about it. Secretly, she hopes she'll actually remember, because she wants to let it be known to Marc that she pays attention to what he says. That she remembers, is putting an active effort into what they have, because isn't that what friendship is? She tilts her head until the crown of it rests softly against the wall. Her tone is curious, bordering on even, when she asks. ]
( it hits marc infrequently that he and lottie share a similar impulsiveness. marc has rarely, if ever, made considered, thoughtful decisions. he's wholly emotional — for as much as he's deeply, deeply prefer not to be — driven almost entirely by his heart than his brain, and as soon as lottie says she'll have esther pencil tel aviv in, he realises it's not dissimilar to what he's always tended to do.
marlene would comment, unhappily, on how much time was being spent on moon knight and not enough time on their relationship, and so marc — or steven, or jake — would impulsively book a holiday, not quite anywhere they last remembered marlene mentioning, but somewhere that'd seem like marc (or steven, or jake—) was listening to marlene, reflecting on what she'd said, giving her (them) a vacation together, but then it'd inevitably be somewhere with a link to marc's past (always marc's, because marc is the only one of them with a past worth escaping) and marlene would — well, she'd be unhappy, of course.
he's done it with greer, too — arguments and fraught conversations resulting in considered but frankly spur of the moment gifts in lieu of a good apology (marc has never been good at those). with frenchie, it'd been impulsive invitations, a resolute ignoring of issues as to say 'look, water under the bridge, look, let's do this, just like the old days'.
lottie says she'll pencil tel aviv in and he's — startled. surprised, though not unpleasantly. it's world's apart from the start of their conversation, the difficulty in clarity, in being open and honest with each other. it's a strange sensation to realise it's a maybe decision made off the back of marc's frankly poor knowledge of what's fun and exciting to do in israel, and though it's not unpleasant, it's not a situation marc has found him in often with friends — marc hasn't many, for one, and for two, he's often the one making decisions and leaving little room for opinion.
generally, it makes its way back to him in the form of 'god, you make this really difficult, marc'. )
I haven't been abroad in a while, ( he admits carefully, a not-quite answer to her question. that's the second surprise, the implied invitation, and he thinks of all the times he'd travelled with marlene. he doesn't think he needs to tell lottie that he's not the most involved person to travel with.
(that is, he doesn't think he needs to mention it, but he probably should.)
he doesn't think he's travelled since — since marlene before left for france. he wonders if anna's still living in jerusalem, if any of his father's friends are still there. it's not a long journey from tel aviv — an hour and a half, maybe. he'd have to ask badr to look after the mission. ) —I don't know how much of a valuable addition I'd be to your Instagram.
[ It is a comment said entirely to prove that she had been listening, that she cares about his interests and hearing about his experiences, even if she's liable to forget about it when this is all said and done. It's why she had even asked him if he'd come β half because she expected this type of not-answer, and half because she knows it'd never happen (probably).
But truthfully, she's never considered Marc to travel for fun β he's too busy doing his Moon Knight stuff here, has sunken his roots into the soil so deep she doesn't think he'd ever leave if given the chance. Plus, it'd be hard finding a replacement if he wanted to take time for himself, probably.. Not a lot of people willing to moonlight (hah) as Moon Knight (hah) for a week or so while Marc gets his tan on.
She doesn't even get as far as imagining just what type of person he'd even be on a trip (she'd start with what white themed ensemble he'd shove himself into first before fantasizing about anything related to group activities) before he continues. And it's minute β tiny, so little it's a real blink and you miss it β the way her lips tug down. She knows he doesn't mean anything by it, whether he'd be valuable to her Instagram, her brand, or not, but it makes her stomach twist oddly.
It's something everyone assumes of her, of most influencers, and they're not wrong. Lottie, genuinely, only goes somewhere if she can curate content from it. She never goes out for fun, only goes out into the world with the intent of finding the spot with the best lighting. Because who doesn't love a selfie as a story update, you know? But she doesn't do much of that whenever they're together β she thought he'd understand that? It'd also be the same? Is that what he thinks of her? Idly, she bites at her lip, glances off to the side as her expression settles on: self-conscious.
It's only vaguely defensive, the way her words sound out of her lips. ]
..I don't post everything to Instagram.
[ She wouldn't post him if he doesn't want her to, she means. ]
( finding someone to look after his area of manhattan would be the easiest part, really — when one of them ("them", superheroes, vigilantes, whatever) was out of action for any reason, personal feelings stopped mattering. everyone else would step up and help out, and be ready to have that conversation of 'so what the fuck happened?' if necessary, though certainly not always.
marc's unpopularity aside, his poor reputation and past reliance on questionable methods to get the job done is ultimately inconsequential. he knows he's fucked up, he knows it's going to take a while to pull back whatever goodwill he might have fostered over the years (here and there, back and forth between other bad decisions), but he knows too, that if anyone had any problems with what he was doing now, he'd have heard about it.
he'd have another visitor at his door and it wouldn't be a friendly face like greer. it'd be t'challa, or captain america, or goddamn tony stark (again), and marc's tired of those visits. bored of the repetitive conversations. the black panther had given him an olive branch that he's only sort of accepted in the form of tigra, but the lack of anything else says that what marc's doing now is acceptable to the rest of them.
clea owes him a favour (well, not really, but they're friends). wong doesn't quite owe him a favour, but wong's a good guy (although marc's aware he should probably stop pissing off the various sorcerer supremes of the world). daredevil (and there's a guy who's had a few problems of his own). spider-man (ditto). castle's busy having a personal crisis of his own and despite how many times they've teamed up over the years, marc doesn't think he has it in him to ever go to him for help. (khonshu and his "oh, that one works for another god and his god must be very pleased", like marc hasn't done enough for him over the years, the fucking dick.) but he thinks he could probably even scare 8-ball enough to keep an eye out for him.
so no, finding someone else to keep an eye on his territory wouldn't be the issue. the issue would absolutely be marc giving up control of it all for long enough. that is: possible, but challenging.
he doesn't catch the shift in lottie's expression, but he does catch the glance to the side, does notice the difference in the way she answers him now to mere moments before and he doesn't know what he's said. instagram? her—problem is his comment about instagram? )
I didn't—. ( abrupt pause; reconsideration. if she elaborated a little more on what she meant, precisely, marc would explain that he didn't mean it like that. he'd meant that their values are different. he meant he's not fun and doesn't do fun things, isn't someone many people have historically made fun memories with. that, objectively, there must have been something that'd kept marlene around for as long as she was but now, marc's not really sure what it was. ) That's not what I meant.
[ He pauses, and she just waits for him to say something.. What? She doesn't know. The only thing she knows for a fact is that she isn't going to say anything, doesn't particularly want to. Elaborating on how she feels means letting him know she has feelings, and deeply values his own opinion of her. And Lottie, having done that throughout the night (be hurt, and let him know she does feel), doesn't want to give him more. Is willing to let him know she is listening enough to consider a trip to a place he recommends, a place she thinks he is familiar with, but not enough to outwardly say she is hurt by what she thinks he is implying.
He says that's not what he meant, after a beat, and the good thing is she doesn't immediately hop into what is instinctual for her when she's feeling insecure: bitter denial. She's quiet, but it's not because she doesn't believe him. It's because she still wants to try and communicate without letting slip too much of her thoughts, because she's not sure how her words will sound coming out of her lips. ]
Okay..
[ So if he doesn't think she's a crazy clout goblin, then.. ]
So what did you mean?
[ She asks, tone curious and vaguely guarded, like she's preparing herself for an answer she might not like. ]
( she asks what he meant and he makes a short, low noise of impatient frustration because actually, he's not very good at putting it into words. they're there — the I'm not funs and the you see, what normally happens is I get distracted and I forget about plans; or the I'm not very good at letting things go—. but verbalising them, vocalising them is not something that's ever made marc particularly comfortable — no, half the time, it's as if the words are there but that they get lost somewhere mid-journey between brain and mouth and what comes out instead is what he thinks ought to be said instead of what should be said.
marc's constantly caught between caring too much about what people think of him and deciding what does it matter to ever give a thought to his opinion on someone else mattering. that'd been the problem with jeff: marc had never had an ounce of time for the boy, left him stranded in brooklyn, and was more or less the reason he became a villain.
(and then marc had killed him. fortunately, lottie is not jeff.)
true to form, though, he doesn't think (again) of how lottie interprets his actions and his comments. he inhales, makes a small gesture with his hand that doesn't mean anything (is instead simply something to do), and says— )
I meant— ( and immediately pauses. how does he say what he meant? his comment was a commentary on her instagramming, it was a commentary on himself—! ) I'm not very present.
( that's it, right? that's about the shape of it. )
[ In the weirdest way, the way he verbalizes his frustration through that single clipped sound manages to ease her. Sure, she's still really confused, but she's considerably less anxious than she was before. It's nice to know that she isn't the only one positively struggling to get words out (one of her biggest character flaws is Lottie's inability to say what she really wants to say, after all). She swirls the contents of her coffee drink as she waits, begins to wonder if he's going to say anything before he abruptly bursts out (with a strained 'I meantβ') .. Then, cuts himself off. Tries again with that sentence.
(Somewhere in the back of her mind she thinks, damn, it feels nice to be on the other side of things β isn't she usually the one fumbling and just completely failing to make one sentence?)
Her brows slowly lift, waits a few measured moments to see if he'll even elaborate. He won't, Lottie knows this of Marc and yet she still waits just to see if he'll make an exception for her (he doesn't), so she scratches at her scalpβ ruffles some of her hair in the process. ]
Uh.. On trips?
[ She asks this, but it's not exactly a question, because she doesn't wait for him to confirm as she's already continuing. ]
Well, I mean.. Yeah, I kinda figured that. Marc, we can barely watch a TV show together. [ She means, both their attention spans aren't exactly stellar. ]
( for most of their interactions to date, lottie's dealt with a marc that's felt relatively in control of their conversations β with the exception, of course, of the Incident at lottie's that one time. on the occasion that he's not been sure, it's most often been via text (a surprising benefit to communicating with lottie, it turns out), so it's never been noticed.
now marc's on the back foot, having been pushed into (sort of almost not quite but close enough for him) admitting something honest about how he feels and his self-awareness, instead of pushing it onto someone else.
she doesn't respond immediately and marc almost allows himself tonthink that's the end of it, that she'll take the remark as is and they won't touch on it again. instead, and to his disappointment, she half-questions what he means and the 'no' sits on the tip of his tongue, against the back of his teeth before she plows ahead and says it for him.
it's oddly deflating, in a way β to realise he's that painfully transparent. he'd promised so many people time and time again that he'd stop being moon knight, that he'd make more effort, that he'd be β not him, he supposes, that it sits strangely and uncomfortably to not have that expected of him. to have the 'yeah, no, you suck at that' that's readily admitted and β accepted?
(yeah, no, he's not sure that he likes it, in truth.) )
That's normally the sort of thing I have to apologise for, ( uttered with a wry quirk of his lips. (or: ignores the odd feeling. )
[ It isn't that he's that transparent, she thinks, it's more that she's just been around him and has overthought about his interactions with her to the heavens (Esther can back her up on this, having been privy to a lot of their drama and her questions of, 'Was he just being weird or am I being weird?') that she just.. Has come to the conclusion herself. And while Lottie does have personal issues with people who simply don't respect her or her time, Marc teeters that weird line that her friends do. That she does, even (because she isn't perfect, either). Where she's satisfied with what they've established even if she'd like a little more consistency β but she's learned, growing up, that's kind of everybody.
Misty is a huge flake, Meg makes everything about herself, and Lottie is insane. Marc is sometimes all three, or sometimes only one. And Esther is probably the only normal one in her entire social circle.
(Caroline sits in the weird outlier, in an uncomfortable unattainable circle she's tried so hard to break into. Maybe, never willβ) ]
That's so stupid.
[ He quirks his lips and Lottie doesn't see it as an attempt by Marc to steer his own feelings, his emotions, in a way that doesn't let her in on his own thoughts. In fact, she just sees it and it manages to irk her. And maybe, if they had met under different circumstances, as people instead of Lottie "Faking Everything About Myself Online" Person and Marc "Moon Knight" Spector, she'd understand what he's getting at. But she doesn't β to her, this is part of the package deal of being friends with him. ]
—What? ( it takes him a moment to understand exactly what she's getting at. he thinks it's supposed to be a compliment of sorts — or at least, not an insult — that his emotional ineptitude and inability to be present consistently and in any real capacity is just part and parcel of knowing him, but he's been involved in enough capital-c conversations to be more than aware that: no. it's not something most people are willing to overlook. that people, eventually, expect more.
(a decade, tops, if there's investment in hoping he'll change; fifteen, maybe, if your name's jean-paul duchamp.)
for better or worse, marc has at least reached the point in his life when he can look at how he's acted and is prone to acting and acknowledge that, no, other people are right: he can and does act very fucking shittily at times. he hadn't reached that conclusion by himself, it had been the result of a lot of unpleasantries, a lot of arguments and a lot of marc alternately isolating himself and then demanding to be involved in marlene's life, or frenchie's life because that's what he wanted now, and being told — resolutely and with precisely no room for misunderstandings — to fuck off until he'd grown up.
then it'd been 'just don't even bother'.
he thinks he ought to appreciate what she's trying to say, but he doesn't. he doesn't enjoy being known as unreliable, or difficult and uncommunicative. he exhales a huff of breath, a forceful sigh that's almost entirely made up of frustrated agreement. where lottie's irked on marc's behalf at the implied expectations of a man that has never been able to consistently meet the barest minimum of an equal partnership, marc is simply irked at himself.
(nothing new.) )
Yeah.
( whatever friendship he and lottie have here and now isn't any different, he thinks — the last few days have been more than enough evidence of that. they'd fallen out, marc hadn't communicated or made an effort, they'd reconciled but he wouldn't be surprised that if it came to it, if this happened over and over and over again, that lottie would grow tired of it, tired of being the one to reach out to make amends; tired of the fact that if she doesn't do that, it's less than fifty-fifty on whether or not marc will make the effort — and if he does, how much of the issue he's managed to cotton onto.
he's better than he was, but given where the bar started, it's not a massive achievement. )
What is it they teach at school? Actions have consequences?( at least, that's the vague sentiment marc heard a lot. )Do unto others? (that one was all his dad. ) It's not stupid to want better. ( even if, god, he hates the turn this conversation has taken. )
[ It definitely isn't an insult, but it isn't quite a compliment, either. To Lottie, she is just stating a fact that this is simply Marc. It's part of how she's known him and it hasn't exactly caused problems for her, for them (save for, well, these past few days of pure silence, pure irritation at his willingness to let things (tense, difficult, silent) be as they are). She thinks it's just something that, at some point, you need to accept. Quirky character flaws. So when he huffs out a breath of air that is more β she can't even begin to figure out how to describe it, but there's a weight to it, the way he expels it. He makes her think like she's missing out on something, that she's not cluing into whatever it is he's feeling.
And then there's the big question β does he want her to clue into it? Is this something he wants to explain to her? Wants her asking? She tilts her head towards him, raising a single brow as if to ask him if he's okay, or if there's something he wants to share with the class.
He answers that look with a very unimpressive: yeah.
And then he hits her with, what, things she's learned in grade school? Things that, she hates to admit, she thinks about a lot of the time? Because even if she's used to how dysfunctional and catty her friend group is, it doesn't mean that she's particularly satisfied with it. It simply means she's learned to become complacent, to not expect much. Annoyingly, Marc is making her think about the day she met Caroline, how she was so enthusiastic at the prospect of meeting a cool new friend who actually listens to her so she can dump her old ones. She thinks of how she's, for the most part, cut off contact with Sunny β save for when she's bored and she knows he'll answer her texts (usually at three am, usually when she's run out of people to bug) β because he was so impossibly hot and cold post their break up that she couldn't find it in herself to entertain it anymore. 'It's not stupid to want better.'
(She considers how things went on her second date with Caroline, remembers the almost mocking, mean, way she said, "So.. Did you really set your hair on fire?? Ahahaha! You're supposed to let it go out before you drink, you know?"
"H-hey!" She remembers the way she blurted out, "I was distracted! You were walking away, andβ I was just trying to figure you out! I never know where I stand with you..."
There's not even a beat of consideration to what Lottie really wants her to say, is goading her to admit. She just lets her lips curl in that knowing (ominous?) way she's always come to associate with Caroline β
"Maybe that's... Exactly the way I want it to be.")
It's not stupid to want better, but that doesn't mean it always works out like that. It doesn't make you feel less stupid if 'better' doesn't pan out. She clicks her tongue, not even sure what to say in response to him because while she agrees, she has no idea where to take this conversation. What direction it should go.. Because they're fine now, right? Is he telling her she should want better from him? Or that she should agree with everyone else? Because if this were her, she would've agreed and left it at that, but she can tell something is bothering him. She's just not sure whatβ ]
I mean.. Should I want better?? [ There's a vague, awkward, wave of her hand. ] With.. I don't knowβ us?
( marc is not enjoying this conversation. in the past, this would be the part where he'd leave, cut his losses and pretend that he's got something far more important and far more interesting to deal with. the problem is that one, they're at the mission so the only other place he could go is outside (and he's still shoe-less); two, even if he did, he's not convinced that lottie wouldn't still be here when he came back; and three, he knows it wouldn't actually help anything.
he swigs the remains of his coffee — it's terrible. the colder it gets, the worse it tastes — when she asks him if she should want better (yes), clarifies that she means specifically with her and him (the answer's still 'yes'). there's a pause in which marc lets the silence answer for him, lets it imply the questions he doesn't throw at her — the why are they even having this conversation? couldn't she have just taken his instagram remark at face value, with the spirit in which it was meant, instead of opening the door to — this?
(marc plays this game with almost everyone: speaks vaguely about his thoughts and feelings and experiences and then, when pushed, almost completely refuses to elaborate any further. refuses to add depth, or explain why. his friends, the people he's closest to get the brunt of it, because they're the people he can be most honest with.) )
Yes. ( frankly. bluntly. (if she's going to ask.) a light outside the window catches his attention and he looks towards it — a brake light, stop-start, stop-start as some kids run recklessly across the road. marc watches, pressing the coffee cup in his hand together, letting it fold in on itself and the lid pop off before picking it off delicately. he turns away from the window (and lottie) and makes his way back to the desk, ducking down for just long enough to throw his cup and the lid in a bin.
(—but then, that's the problem, isn't it? he's always relied on the people around him to push him to be better and has never quite been able to settle on whether he wants to be pushed or whether he just wants to keep on doing the same things he's always done.) )
—Forget it, it's late. We're just talking in circles. I didn't mean anything with the Instagram comment.
[ Marc feels like he's in so deep in his thoughts he's operating purely on his own spectrum, maybe not even realizing Lottie is privy to every action he takes. Sees the way he just, demolishes his cup of coffee and doesn't say anything. Just moodily looks out his window like he's on HBO's hottest TV show, is the shows most illustrious broody bachelor. Gives her one word answers that leave her more confused (flustered?) as he crushes (pressures?) that coffee cup until the lid is the only sound that's being made between the two of them.
In the time he takes to throw away his cup (hide?), Lottie pushes herself off the wall, sips her own drink in a stupor because what the hell. Why is he so dramatic? So.. Confusing? The signals are so mixed that her own wires are getting crossed trying to understand it. ]
Uh, yeah. You're right.. It's late.
[ She's not agreeing with him because she has no idea what else to say.
βOkay, well, shit, she actually is, but it's true. It is late. Usually she'd be asleep by now, but the impending issue of their friendship had kept her awake so long it prompted her into doing this very bad idea, the worst #meetcute of the century. Now she's the one who feels like she's walking on eggshells, because, uh, no, they're not talking in circles. Lottie talks circles, squares, and triangles, and this isn't circles. It's Marc avoiding the topic he suggested (walked them into?) and she'sβ exhausted enough to find herself agreeing with him (for real, this time). He says he didn't mean anything by it and.. That's that.
In the end, she rubs at her temples, nodding softly. Wondering if he's going to make himself present one way or the other or if he might just hide under his desk forever. Just stick his ass up as he says, 'ciao loser, goodbye!' ]
Thanks, for, uh, clarifying? It's just β you know how people are with influencers. [ No, he doesn't. She knows he doesn't. ] Sometimes it's fine, and other times it's like..
[ A slippery slope? Sometimes people think you're using them? Sometimes they're right? That you're less a person just because you exist on the internet? ]
I guess let me know if you do, or something. [ Want to go. On the trip? The trip that might not happen but.. She scrunches her face in thoughtβ indecision. ] I should probably go?
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This time, it isn't hard for her to recall the context she needs for that β she remembers very clearly him talking about his family with her, right after he had made fun of her for subtly ("subtly") quoting Barney. Mostly because it's not often she talks about her family, Lottie refusing to even have let her closest circle know she even had siblings until she couldn't anymore (when Rosie bummed at her place for a few months during her almost-maybe divorce).
She figured that it's the same case for him, being cagey about details because it's easier to just ignore it. Because that's normal, right? So she listens, takes an appreciative sip of her coffee as she thinks, yeah, he did miss out on a lot. Lots of shows, lots of artists β 2003 was the year before she started high school, another year she was mousey, plain, wallflower Lottie Person. Quiet, soft, but terribly bitter. Maybe more than she is now, probably. She wonders how Marc was, at the time, if he was just a mini-Marc (sans the moon) or if he was entirely different.
And, god, she could think over that for what feels like hours, but she is very much still having a conversation. Very much is looking at Marc and thinking about how much he must've missed throughout his complicated life, thinking about her life in comparison. Sure, she could maybe pull up a list of everything iconic and amazing that's happened since then to, she doesn't know, make him feel included? But she doesn't. She stays off her phone and, tries to be nonchalant.
You know, casual. ]
I mean.. I started my blog in 2008.
[ Extremely casual. She brings her drink to her lips and raises her brows, trying not to toot her own horn because yes, she is totally implying her blog is a cultural touch point. And she is hoping he'll see it as a fun, silly, thing β a self aware jab at herself so Marc can.. She doesn't know? Take the out if he wants it? Laugh? ]
We can start there.
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(it doesn't help, of course, where his perception and understanding of, well, anything veers wildly from 'absolutely in keeping with reality' through to 'no, marc, that's just how you're perceiving it, the cops aren't actually jackals.')
she's quiet after he tells her he was dishonorably discharged and he doesn't know what that means to her (if it means anything at all). she's looking at him and he's not quite sure if she's trying to mentally map what he'd said out or whether she's just working out how to reply, so he takes a sip of his coffee and moves, finally, away from the desk.
(back to the window, and he leans forward, tilting his head. he still can't see the moon — too much glare from too many other lights, too much cloud cover, and they're on the ground floor — great for accessibility, less so for moon-watching. sometimes, he really misses spending time at his home in long island; the rest of the time, he remembers how empty it is, how large the space, and how suffocating the two make it feel.)
crucially, he can only see the reflection of lottie, dull and unclear, and he can't quite make out the shifts in her expression. she says she started her blog in 2008 and marc can't tell how she means it from her face, has to rely on how she says it: light and casual, and she raises her coffee cup as if to signify the poignancy (air quotes) of the event.
2008. he'd still been with bushman then, and jean-paul, though they were beginning to have questions, beginning to wonder about raul's brutality. jean-paul had always approached it — their work — with a matter-of-factness marc had never possessed, raul had never possessed. they'd all been in it for the money, but bushman had done it to feel power, to exert control and cause fear; marc had done it because it quietened something in him, because it had seemed to fill a hole he'd to-that-point found no other way of filling.
jean-paul had never wanted to work with bushman (bad news, he'd said, the worst of the worst), and marc had ignored him (think of the payday! he'd said, and jean-paul had gone along with it). marc has questioned, more than once, why it'd taken him so long to feel concerned by what raul did, and why jean-paul had stuck by the both of them for as long as he had, given who raul was.
(he knows the answer to that second question in a loose, vague way, though he still doesn't really understand why.)
lottie had been starting a blog — still at school, he realises, uncomfortably — whilst marc had been anywhere he could be that wasn't home, slowly discovering a conscience he'd desperately tried to ignore whilst still doing almost anything that was asked of him. the frown that pulls at his feature — his thoughtful frown, as opposed to his unhappy frown — precipitates a glance over his shoulder. he can see the edges of her shape in his periphery, but nothing more solid than that. )
Nice, ( softly, light amusement evident as his features relax. ) I missed that, too. Not much in the way of internet in the jungle. ( not that marc didn't spend time in civilisation, but the circles he'd run in hadn't placed 'casual computer use' anywhere near their list of 'fun and interesting ways to spend free time'. he's not sure he'd have really been confident in saying what a blog was back in 2008, even. )
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And in a way, she understands, so she lets him. Pretends like standing up to gaze at the window in the middle of a conversation is completely normal, a totally regular thing to do rather than face her properly. She angles herself towards said window, stares at his back β clad in black, not white. Stares at the way his hair curls and sticks out awkwardly from being stuffed inside a mask for the majority of the night. Her eyes are outlining the curve of his shoulder, remembering it's where his cape sat and trying to recall how it looked β how it might look, now, with the distance β when she sees his reflection shift. Lottie doesn't catch the detail of it (if she did, she'd feel pride at recognizing his different frowns), but she can at least guess she must've said something right for him to sound like that. For him to look like that.
..Not that she can really see much of it, with that barebones glance. She's assuming his expression is good, if he's letting her know this much: he was in the jungle in 2008.
Her brows furrow.
Huh.
He was in the jungle in 2008. And Lottie was, what, barely meeting Sunny and painting her nails at home because she was too intimidated to go to the nail salon? Being a baby blogger with big aspirations of being iconic and relatable? What the fuck?
The thing is for Lottie, she does define everything by years, by details. Because as a blogger, if nothing goes on in her life, she loses money. Relevancy, can't generate content and can't prove to companies how profitable she is. As a result, Lottie knows exactly when something happens, when she met someone, deep down knows exactly what outfit she wore too. She knows the exact year she saw her sister's face while perusing Netflix, and how angry she was seeing her gain all the fame she worked for (for years) in a matter of seconds (2015). Remembers the exact year she met Esther for the first time (2012). When she started her friendship with Misty (2011). The time she interviewed with NYLON JAPAN (2014). Her ten year blogiversary (2018). When Sunny broke up with her (2016), when she met Caroline (2016). ]
Yeah, [ She agrees, tone just as soft, after a beat. And because it is kinda funny (the lack of internet is totally why he didn't follow her in the jungle, obviously), she lets out a laugh. Something light, ] I mean, the signal probably sucked.
[ Sometimes she forgets just how different their lives have been, and it's easy for her to do it, because Lottie is so impossibly self obsessed that people outside of her field of view genuinely don't exist. Sure, Marc has made a definitive spot for himself in her world, but she only sees him as the Marc in front of her. Moon Knight, the guy in the suit and the guy in the cowl, Marc Spectorβ always with a little stubble on him and a bruise blossoming somewhere. Sometimes she sees it, sometimes she doesn't, and it always depends on his state of dress. Usually, when she pictures him, it's sans his mask and gloves. Teetering between Moon Knight and plain old Marc. She associates him with odd hours, coffee, being weird and curt. A little funny.
She never thinks of his history, just his day and how it relates to hers.
Now, she can add 'the jungle' to that. And it's odd, the information. Interesting? Odd. Lottie can't quite place it, but what she feels isn't bad, per se. In a way this is nice, him opening up to her. In another way, she's not sure what to do with the information. Arguably, he is saying so little, but he is implying so much. ]
I still have some old stuff up on my Instagram. [ AKA, he can still see it. Technically make up for that missed 'event'. There's a reason why she has some of the nicer photos of herself still up, after all. People love nostalgia (she loves nostalgia). ] And the stuff I deleted, got reposted. That's the thing about the internetβ nothing ever really goes away.
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khonshu never had spoken then, there'd never been any whispers in his ear, from the corners of rooms. marc had felt lost and none of that had changed when khonshu had made himself known — no, marc had somehow managed to lose himself even more, and the only times he'd sought the moon's shape out then had been between sleep and wakefulness, when frequent (night after night after night—) nightmares stirred him. ("I'd forgotten this part", marlene had said once, after one of their many reunions and waking to find marc stood silently at their bedroom window).
he doesn't ask anything these days — not for guidance, not for help — but for as challenging, as strained, as difficult as his relationship with khonshu is, the cool, silver glow of moonlight is comforting. he doesn't expect lottie to understand — and frankly, it's either this or fidgeting, a propensity for moving from furniture to floor and back again, swapping positions as if he'll find answers or whatever words he's looking for in movement rather than stillness.
(he only does it when his mind's stuck on something.)
he and lottie are talking like there isn't a chasm between their life experiences, like marc wasn't in the process of amassing more funds than he'd ever be able to spend in the shape of blood money in 2008, like lottie wasn't in the process of being a not quite regular teenager, but certainly one with more direction that marc had ever possessed before sudan. more ambition, more drive that didn't take the form of bruised knuckles and blood and guns. talking as if of course the only reason that marc hadn't known of her blog — weirdness of a man in his mid-to-late twenties following a much younger woman's fashion and (presumably) lifestyle blog aside — was lack of internet connection.
she mentions she has some old stuff up on instagram and marc knows what that is (steven has an account — marc thinks he's on most social media sites of a certain type — he'd said something about linkedin once, about marc's lack of interest in anything remotely practical not pertaining to moon knight meaning that all of his (steven's) hardworked for connections were going to absolute waste—.). marc's memories are locked tightly in boxes — physical ones — and stored in cupboards he refuses to look in until he's overwhelmed with the crushing awareness of who he is (was, has been, can't escape). they're in police reports, military reports, and newspaper cuttings. confidential files that, like lottie's deleted instagram posts will also never go away.
he's relieved to an extent that he's not sure he'd ever be able to describe to know that at least his past was never documented like that, but he doesn't quite know what to say. it's not that he feels like he has to be careful with what he says to lottie about his past, about what he's done and what he does, but that he's aware — acutely — that like reese, like soldier, she didn't know him then. that the marc spector that marc talks about in the third person, the one he barely bothers to disguise his loathing of, is one that isn't always easy to reconcile with who he tries to be here and now. it's a disconnect that feels overwrought until he slips up and backslides and it's — oh, right, of course. marc spector: unpredictable, unreliable, crazy, whoever expected anything else.
half to lottie, half to her reflection, he almost tells her that they don't just have the internet to thank for things never going away — it'd always seemed to marc that whatever a person wanted to bury, it always found a way of making itself known again. that it's not often that secrets or private shame gets carried to the grave.
but he doesn't. he makes a noise, a generic hum of consideration that doesn't really say one way or the other if he'd want to see lottie's instagram from a decade or more ago (weird thought). )
Everything sucked, ( he says instead. not just the signal, but the heat, the food (half the time), the company (almost all of the time — which is an exaggeration he won't admit to, because he'd found a way to tolerate bushman then, and as raul had grown worse, marc had started to grow better, the in-betweens papered over with mediocre jobs, days and nights spent in shitty towns with shitty booze). ) —Especially the bugs. You'd hate it.
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Normal bugs she despises. Any type of insect or creepy crawly, anything that can get into her skin or under her clothes she can't handle. It pleases her in a way for her to know that he's caught onto her well enough to figure that out himself. But now she has to put two and two together. The first two being: the jungle, and the second being: the bugs. And, god, she thinks Marc must've really hated being at home to voluntarily choose that over modern day comforts. Where did he even sleep, then? The ground? Ew.
(Maybe that's where his penchant for hardly sleeping and staying up absurdly late came from? Lottie tries to connect dots, bits and pieces of him that she knows to give a reason for something she's already accepted as just being a fun and quirky Marc thing (like her codependence on her fans for validation, or her caffeine addiction! It's fun and quirky!).) ]
Oh, yeah, god, of course I'd hate it. I barely even like the weather in New York!
[ Which is to say: as a person who is allergic to everything, and whose ability to go outside is entirely based on the season.. She hates any kind of weather. Hated it in Los Angeles, hates it virtually anywhere she goes, even if the place is nice. She hates any shift, any change, because it always affects her somehow. Dry air? Massive humidity? Nosebleeds. Windy? Pollen in the air? Sneezing, headaches, inability to stop crying and being gross, her skin gets red. Fur? Animals? A day without her hand sanitizer? Allergy attack. ]
And I really don't like the bugs here. [ She scoffs to herself, ] Knowing my ass I'd probably get bit and die from some rando disease nobody has heard of.
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steven had never elaborated on anything more than what marc had ever elaborated on: marc was a bad man, had a terrible personality, reckless and violent; steven was his opposite, capable of appreciating the finer things in life, and neither of them had wanted to clarify that it wasn't as simple as all that.
and truthfully, marc isn't much better now. yes, he's a lot more at ease — in a very general sense — with who he and steven and jake are, but it's not something he ever discusses unless he has to. lottie doesn't ask questions, not really — she asks questions about marc now, asks things of marc, but it's all kept pointedly separate, as if there are barriers she's thoroughly uninterested in crossing and for the most part, it works. lottie allows marc to pretend like his life isn't absurd and weird, and as if none of it's entirely of his own making.
she latches on to the mention of bugs like there's nothing bizarre about any of their conversation, like they're discussing a trip to the middle of nowhere a couple of states away instead of marc participating in unspeakable atrocities countries and oceans away.
for his part, he doesn't really know what lottie's deal is exactly — he's noticed she's particular about the weather, particular about when she goes outside, about where she goes. (he's been tempted, on occasion, to simply put it down to 'weird superstitions, possibly completely fictitious'.) he's noticed, too, that she's particular about her food — but who isn't these days? and has never quiet decided if it's dietary requirements or just some kind of diet she follows.
and because she's never really delved too deep into his story, he's repaid her in kind and never made a point of asking much more than she's been willing to share of her own accord.
she says she barely likes the weather in new york and marc's lips twitch as if he wants to say something. he gets partway through thinking about asking if there's much she actually likes and thinks the better of it, letting her continue. compared to chicago, there's more sun in new york, is generally less cold and of everywhere that's marc been and spent time, is probably the closest he can think of in terms of being pleasant year round — meaning her scoff earns a sharp exhale of breath that's not quite a scoff of his own, but does nothing to imply he disagrees with lottie's assertion. )
No-one would get you close enough to the jungle for that to happen.
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Which is, to be fair, how a lot of her trips turn out even in more metropolitan places. Places like New York, places that come down to: how many buildings can we fit in one block. How many bougie bars and pop ups can we squeeze in one street with no public parking?
And she has to stop the concept right there, because then she's circling back to the reason why the jungle was even mentioned. Is reminded of things she's pointedly avoiding asking since she can't relate, can't offer any sort of insightful commentary to Marc's life. In some way doesn't care, either, because that's just how Lottie is with comfort and being 'kind' and 'compassionate' β it's difficult if she can't find a reason to find something.. Normal? Genuine? To say? Sure, she can curate responses online to sound congenial, but she can't do it, real time, in person. She thinks if she did (be fake) Marc would know, anyhow β they may not know everything about each other, but they've been orbiting in each other's spaces enough to know their quirks.
(Besides, now that she knows they're okay and moving past their most recent spat β AKA, not contacting each other for a few days, arguably something that can be normal and fine for anyone if not for the way they had left things β there's little reason for her to care. Why ruin a good thing? Something something don't fix what isn't broken?) ]
They'd have to drag me kicking and screaming.
[ Obviously, her tone implies. Which, really, she doesn't even need to do β they both know how picky she is. She slides out of her chair, stretches her limbs out as she wanders over to linger beside him. Mostly because she knows if she leans back on his chair to stand he might be upset, and she doesn't want that. So she decides to gently ease her weight onto the wall right beside the window, angles herself so she'll face him. ]
I'm more of a trip to Paris kind of girl, anyway.
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Ugh. ( it's said without him really thinking about it, just an instinctive utterance of thought and feeling: he hates paris. yes, there are nice restaurants and the pastries are good, but the same can be said for almost anywhere in france. the only — only — thing he thinks paris has going for it is the pervasive lack of interest parisians have in anyone else at all. parisians, frenchie had explained, hate everyone and marc, actually, had been fine with that.
curiously, then, he asks— ) Have you ever been to Paris? ( he thinks it could go either way — yes and she'd avoided the scummier, scuzzier parts of the city, pointedly ignore the pervading stench of piss down streets (both side streets and otherwise) and, bizarrely, at almost every metro station except charles de gaulle.
or the answer's no and she'd just like to go, imagines it be a magical place of whatever it is that people actually want to go to paris for. )
It's a dump, ( he adds, a little quieter and partially to himself. a civilised dump, he supposes, a shithole in ways that was entirely different to the pits and dregs of morality and humanity he'd ended up during most of his travels, but not one he was inclined to like regardless.
(nice galleries, though.) )
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A couple times.
[ She says, after a moment, subtly thrilled that she actually has something in common with Marc that isn't the coffee places they go to whenever it's late, or the odd hours they keep. So, he's been to Paris. And he absolutely fucking hates it, which arguably is funny enough all considering what he puts himself through on the daily. Paris is his breaking point, somehow. It's a dump, he insists. ]
Fashion week is kind of a big thing for us influencers. [ She explains, in case he was wondering if she was ever visiting for work or for play. And it is always for work, always to network and put herself out there. She shrugs a single shoulder. ] I'm still not that plugged into New York's.
[ She says just as quiet as he did, an admission of the real reason why she even moved to New York. There's no "fashion weeks" in Los Angeles, only movie premieres and photo ops. The real opportunities are in locations like this, like New York, or Paris, or London, Milan, even. There's hardly any time to sight see, when she's too busy preparing looks, pieces, practicing what angles she looks best at in the hotel room mirror. ]
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his gaze stays settled on lottie for several moments. he notes that whilst she said that compared to ending up in a jungle, she'd prefer paris (obviously), she didn't actually say if she liked the city or if she just liked what it provided her with. marc imagines it's the latter, can't quite marry the thought of the lottie he knows enjoying the paris he's familiar with — and they're similar in the way that though neither have said it, marc doesn't travel for pleasure, either. he's done enough of it for unpleasant reasons throughout his life, been to enough places and met the worst sorts of people that he knows he wouldn't know what to do on vacation.
marlene had tried — routinely, pointedly — sometimes telling marc (steven) her plans, sometimes surprising him. on each and every occasion, marc (not steven) would bury his moon knight clothing and easily carryable equipment at the bottom of a bag or a suitcase, and he'd find — inevitably — a way to keep himself busy, whilst steven and marlene and even frenchie would try to posit that, actually, relaxing isn't such a bad thing.
he doesn't have anything to say about fashion week, no placations to offer about lottie not being as involved in new york's fashion — bubble? as she'd like to be. )
Israel's nice, ( he offers instead. it's a sharp pivot from what he'd been talking about before, the closest he's got to pleasant memories. his father had friends there and though marc had never been good at keeping in touch, he'd visited on the infrequent occasions he ended up in the country. ) Nice weather, good food. ( it has its difficulties, he doesn't say, because everywhere has its problems. it's not a reflection of its people. ) I don't know much about the fashion scene, though.
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But Marc isn't like everyone else. In fact, he's so unlike everyone else that it's refreshing, makes her feel a little less weird about how truly feral she can get sometimes in the privacy of her own home.
Oh, but her thoughts cut short. Ease away into their silence because Marc is staring at her. For an absurdly long time. She wonders if he's even aware of what he's doing, for how long he's doing it, with the way Lottie starts to squirm and shift under his gaze. Feels her cheeks run pink because whatβ is something in her teeth? On her face? What is he thinking? Should she say something? Explain it a little more? Does Marc.. Is he wanting to know what she does?? Her lips part, more of an exhale, really, ]
Uhβ
[ Israel's nice, he says, abruptly out of nowhere (it feels abrupt to her because she's been hyperfocusing on herself, just how he's been focusing on staring and thinking at her). But she'll take itβ closes her lips as he continues and she finally sees where he's going. What Marc offers, arguably, isn't a lot, but it's still nice to hear from him. To know that there's one place somewhere in his memory that he happens to enjoy, not for any reason like crime fighting but for good food and nice weather. She's never been to Israel β has only been where work has taken her and where her family has forced her to go (Japan, to visit her mom's side of the family, and Sweden, to visit her father's).
There's a soft, curious, quirk to her lips when he's finished. And even though she knows what he means, she still asks him: ] Fashion scene in Israel? Or fashion scene in general?
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he's been, once or twice, but more often to jerusalem. he shoots her a sidelong glance, watchful and appraising as he weighs up what he knows about lottie (odd facts and inferences based on time spent together where they don't really talk about anything, a companionable kind of non-communication that marc doesn't hate) versus what he knows about tel aviv: architecture lottie wouldn't necessarily care for but for the photograph opportunities. markets she'd enjoy for much the same reason and would be strangely careful about eating anything from (marc's never quite been sure what her deal is — he's noticed she avoid gluten, noticed she always opts for a non-dairy milk, and he's never quite been sure if it's because alternative diets are cool these days or if it's because she genuinely suffers from a host of intolerances).
his lips quirk and he hides the barest hint of a smile behind his coffee cup as he adds, ) It's where the kids hang out. ( is it?
marc is not always as ignorant as he plays at. he knows, vaguely, what an influencer is and does, but he's never cared to discover the minutiae, never felt particularly inclined to discover what about it specifically is employable and what it means in a broad, day-to-day sense. lottie spends a lot of time on her phone (fine, people do that generally anyway, people that aren't marc), she spends a lot of time on her laptop (also fine, that's how a lot of people do jobs generally), but the details of marketing oneself and one's life is a tedious and horrifying concept to marc given his deep-rooted desire to be personally invisible.
(moon knight's different).
he has never cared for fashion, not as a kid, not as a teenager, and certainly not as an adult. lottie's shared her appreciation for his suit — it is nice, even if most people get fixated on the 'but it's white!' aspect — but nothing else. steven cares the most, is fussy and particular in a way that neither marc nor jake can relate to, though jake is particular about his own sense of style in his own, jake-like way.
marc dresses for dull practicality. ) So at a guess, with my limited knowledge, that's probably where you want to go to get your fashion fix.
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So she tries to think of it differently, that he's aging himself instead of aging her, and it only manages to lessen the weird swirl of feelings settling in her chest. Arguably, is that even better? Reminding herself Marc is older than her and a dad (she will, truly, never get over this β Marc screams bachelor having an always-crisis and not a dad!)? She lets her gaze sweep over him, wonders if this is what she gets for asking when she already knew what he meant, if this is some weird sort of karma being inflicted on her.
Really, she knows Marc wouldn't purposely inflict her with this, if he knew how deep her insecurities ran. How unsure of herself she really felt, how deep the roots go into her brain. She tries to run off this, lets herself fiddle with the straw in her drink when he announces that's where she'd get her 'fashion fix'. He is thinking about her, ultimately, and she should be satisfied with that, and yetβ. ]
Tel Aviv.. [ She repeats, after a second of dedicated thought (read: giving a slow nod and humming), sounding out the name on her tongue. Marc is mentioning it, so that means it must be worthwhile. Also, Marc mentioned it, so she has to go at some point. ] ..Okay. I'll have Esther pencil that in for me.
[ Her phone is out of reach, having been placed on his desk before she came to lean beside him, so she'll make a note to text her about it. Secretly, she hopes she'll actually remember, because she wants to let it be known to Marc that she pays attention to what he says. That she remembers, is putting an active effort into what they have, because isn't that what friendship is? She tilts her head until the crown of it rests softly against the wall. Her tone is curious, bordering on even, when she asks. ]
Would you wanna go?
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marlene would comment, unhappily, on how much time was being spent on moon knight and not enough time on their relationship, and so marc — or steven, or jake — would impulsively book a holiday, not quite anywhere they last remembered marlene mentioning, but somewhere that'd seem like marc (or steven, or jake—) was listening to marlene, reflecting on what she'd said, giving her (them) a vacation together, but then it'd inevitably be somewhere with a link to marc's past (always marc's, because marc is the only one of them with a past worth escaping) and marlene would — well, she'd be unhappy, of course.
he's done it with greer, too — arguments and fraught conversations resulting in considered but frankly spur of the moment gifts in lieu of a good apology (marc has never been good at those). with frenchie, it'd been impulsive invitations, a resolute ignoring of issues as to say 'look, water under the bridge, look, let's do this, just like the old days'.
lottie says she'll pencil tel aviv in and he's — startled. surprised, though not unpleasantly. it's world's apart from the start of their conversation, the difficulty in clarity, in being open and honest with each other. it's a strange sensation to realise it's a maybe decision made off the back of marc's frankly poor knowledge of what's fun and exciting to do in israel, and though it's not unpleasant, it's not a situation marc has found him in often with friends — marc hasn't many, for one, and for two, he's often the one making decisions and leaving little room for opinion.
generally, it makes its way back to him in the form of 'god, you make this really difficult, marc'. )
I haven't been abroad in a while, ( he admits carefully, a not-quite answer to her question. that's the second surprise, the implied invitation, and he thinks of all the times he'd travelled with marlene. he doesn't think he needs to tell lottie that he's not the most involved person to travel with.
(that is, he doesn't think he needs to mention it, but he probably should.)
he doesn't think he's travelled since — since marlene before left for france. he wonders if anna's still living in jerusalem, if any of his father's friends are still there. it's not a long journey from tel aviv — an hour and a half, maybe. he'd have to ask badr to look after the mission. ) —I don't know how much of a valuable addition I'd be to your Instagram.
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But truthfully, she's never considered Marc to travel for fun β he's too busy doing his Moon Knight stuff here, has sunken his roots into the soil so deep she doesn't think he'd ever leave if given the chance. Plus, it'd be hard finding a replacement if he wanted to take time for himself, probably.. Not a lot of people willing to moonlight (hah) as Moon Knight (hah) for a week or so while Marc gets his tan on.
She doesn't even get as far as imagining just what type of person he'd even be on a trip (she'd start with what white themed ensemble he'd shove himself into first before fantasizing about anything related to group activities) before he continues. And it's minute β tiny, so little it's a real blink and you miss it β the way her lips tug down. She knows he doesn't mean anything by it, whether he'd be valuable to her Instagram, her brand, or not, but it makes her stomach twist oddly.
It's something everyone assumes of her, of most influencers, and they're not wrong. Lottie, genuinely, only goes somewhere if she can curate content from it. She never goes out for fun, only goes out into the world with the intent of finding the spot with the best lighting. Because who doesn't love a selfie as a story update, you know? But she doesn't do much of that whenever they're together β she thought he'd understand that? It'd also be the same? Is that what he thinks of her? Idly, she bites at her lip, glances off to the side as her expression settles on: self-conscious.
It's only vaguely defensive, the way her words sound out of her lips. ]
..I don't post everything to Instagram.
[ She wouldn't post him if he doesn't want her to, she means. ]
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marc's unpopularity aside, his poor reputation and past reliance on questionable methods to get the job done is ultimately inconsequential. he knows he's fucked up, he knows it's going to take a while to pull back whatever goodwill he might have fostered over the years (here and there, back and forth between other bad decisions), but he knows too, that if anyone had any problems with what he was doing now, he'd have heard about it.
he'd have another visitor at his door and it wouldn't be a friendly face like greer. it'd be t'challa, or captain america, or goddamn tony stark (again), and marc's tired of those visits. bored of the repetitive conversations. the black panther had given him an olive branch that he's only sort of accepted in the form of tigra, but the lack of anything else says that what marc's doing now is acceptable to the rest of them.
clea owes him a favour (well, not really, but they're friends). wong doesn't quite owe him a favour, but wong's a good guy (although marc's aware he should probably stop pissing off the various sorcerer supremes of the world). daredevil (and there's a guy who's had a few problems of his own). spider-man (ditto). castle's busy having a personal crisis of his own and despite how many times they've teamed up over the years, marc doesn't think he has it in him to ever go to him for help. (khonshu and his "oh, that one works for another god and his god must be very pleased", like marc hasn't done enough for him over the years, the fucking dick.) but he thinks he could probably even scare 8-ball enough to keep an eye out for him.
so no, finding someone else to keep an eye on his territory wouldn't be the issue. the issue would absolutely be marc giving up control of it all for long enough.
that is: possible, but challenging.
he doesn't catch the shift in lottie's expression, but he does catch the glance to the side, does notice the difference in the way she answers him now to mere moments before and he doesn't know what he's said. instagram? her—problem is his comment about instagram? )
I didn't—. ( abrupt pause; reconsideration. if she elaborated a little more on what she meant, precisely, marc would explain that he didn't mean it like that. he'd meant that their values are different. he meant he's not fun and doesn't do fun things, isn't someone many people have historically made fun memories with. that, objectively, there must have been something that'd kept marlene around for as long as she was but now, marc's not really sure what it was. ) That's not what I meant.
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He says that's not what he meant, after a beat, and the good thing is she doesn't immediately hop into what is instinctual for her when she's feeling insecure: bitter denial. She's quiet, but it's not because she doesn't believe him. It's because she still wants to try and communicate without letting slip too much of her thoughts, because she's not sure how her words will sound coming out of her lips. ]
Okay..
[ So if he doesn't think she's a crazy clout goblin, then.. ]
So what did you mean?
[ She asks, tone curious and vaguely guarded, like she's preparing herself for an answer she might not like. ]
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marc's constantly caught between caring too much about what people think of him and deciding what does it matter to ever give a thought to his opinion on someone else mattering. that'd been the problem with jeff: marc had never had an ounce of time for the boy, left him stranded in brooklyn, and was more or less the reason he became a villain.
(and then marc had killed him. fortunately, lottie is not jeff.)
true to form, though, he doesn't think (again) of how lottie interprets his actions and his comments. he inhales, makes a small gesture with his hand that doesn't mean anything (is instead simply something to do), and says— )
I meant— ( and immediately pauses. how does he say what he meant? his comment was a commentary on her instagramming, it was a commentary on himself—! ) I'm not very present.
( that's it, right? that's about the shape of it. )
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(Somewhere in the back of her mind she thinks, damn, it feels nice to be on the other side of things β isn't she usually the one fumbling and just completely failing to make one sentence?)
Her brows slowly lift, waits a few measured moments to see if he'll even elaborate. He won't, Lottie knows this of Marc and yet she still waits just to see if he'll make an exception for her (he doesn't), so she scratches at her scalpβ ruffles some of her hair in the process. ]
Uh.. On trips?
[ She asks this, but it's not exactly a question, because she doesn't wait for him to confirm as she's already continuing. ]
Well, I mean.. Yeah, I kinda figured that. Marc, we can barely watch a TV show together. [ She means, both their attention spans aren't exactly stellar. ]
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now marc's on the back foot, having been pushed into (sort of almost not quite but close enough for him) admitting something honest about how he feels and his self-awareness, instead of pushing it onto someone else.
she doesn't respond immediately and marc almost allows himself tonthink that's the end of it, that she'll take the remark as is and they won't touch on it again. instead, and to his disappointment, she half-questions what he means and the 'no' sits on the tip of his tongue, against the back of his teeth before she plows ahead and says it for him.
it's oddly deflating, in a way β to realise he's that painfully transparent. he'd promised so many people time and time again that he'd stop being moon knight, that he'd make more effort, that he'd be β not him, he supposes, that it sits strangely and uncomfortably to not have that expected of him. to have the 'yeah, no, you suck at that' that's readily admitted and β accepted?
(yeah, no, he's not sure that he likes it, in truth.) )
That's normally the sort of thing I have to apologise for, ( uttered with a wry quirk of his lips. (or: ignores the odd feeling. )
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Misty is a huge flake, Meg makes everything about herself, and Lottie is insane. Marc is sometimes all three, or sometimes only one. And Esther is probably the only normal one in her entire social circle.
(Caroline sits in the weird outlier, in an uncomfortable unattainable circle she's tried so hard to break into. Maybe, never willβ) ]
That's so stupid.
[ He quirks his lips and Lottie doesn't see it as an attempt by Marc to steer his own feelings, his emotions, in a way that doesn't let her in on his own thoughts. In fact, she just sees it and it manages to irk her. And maybe, if they had met under different circumstances, as people instead of Lottie "Faking Everything About Myself Online" Person and Marc "Moon Knight" Spector, she'd understand what he's getting at. But she doesn't β to her, this is part of the package deal of being friends with him. ]
That's just a you thing.
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(a decade, tops, if there's investment in hoping he'll change; fifteen, maybe, if your name's jean-paul duchamp.)
for better or worse, marc has at least reached the point in his life when he can look at how he's acted and is prone to acting and acknowledge that, no, other people are right: he can and does act very fucking shittily at times. he hadn't reached that conclusion by himself, it had been the result of a lot of unpleasantries, a lot of arguments and a lot of marc alternately isolating himself and then demanding to be involved in marlene's life, or frenchie's life because that's what he wanted now, and being told — resolutely and with precisely no room for misunderstandings — to fuck off until he'd grown up.
then it'd been 'just don't even bother'.
he thinks he ought to appreciate what she's trying to say, but he doesn't. he doesn't enjoy being known as unreliable, or difficult and uncommunicative. he exhales a huff of breath, a forceful sigh that's almost entirely made up of frustrated agreement. where lottie's irked on marc's behalf at the implied expectations of a man that has never been able to consistently meet the barest minimum of an equal partnership, marc is simply irked at himself.
(nothing new.) )
Yeah.
( whatever friendship he and lottie have here and now isn't any different, he thinks — the last few days have been more than enough evidence of that. they'd fallen out, marc hadn't communicated or made an effort, they'd reconciled but he wouldn't be surprised that if it came to it, if this happened over and over and over again, that lottie would grow tired of it, tired of being the one to reach out to make amends; tired of the fact that if she doesn't do that, it's less than fifty-fifty on whether or not marc will make the effort — and if he does, how much of the issue he's managed to cotton onto.
he's better than he was, but given where the bar started, it's not a massive achievement. )
What is it they teach at school? Actions have consequences? ( at least, that's the vague sentiment marc heard a lot. ) Do unto others? ( that one was all his dad. ) It's not stupid to want better. ( even if, god, he hates the turn this conversation has taken. )
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And then there's the big question β does he want her to clue into it? Is this something he wants to explain to her? Wants her asking? She tilts her head towards him, raising a single brow as if to ask him if he's okay, or if there's something he wants to share with the class.
He answers that look with a very unimpressive: yeah.
And then he hits her with, what, things she's learned in grade school? Things that, she hates to admit, she thinks about a lot of the time? Because even if she's used to how dysfunctional and catty her friend group is, it doesn't mean that she's particularly satisfied with it. It simply means she's learned to become complacent, to not expect much. Annoyingly, Marc is making her think about the day she met Caroline, how she was so enthusiastic at the prospect of meeting a cool new friend who actually listens to her so she can dump her old ones. She thinks of how she's, for the most part, cut off contact with Sunny β save for when she's bored and she knows he'll answer her texts (usually at three am, usually when she's run out of people to bug) β because he was so impossibly hot and cold post their break up that she couldn't find it in herself to entertain it anymore. 'It's not stupid to want better.'
(She considers how things went on her second date with Caroline, remembers the almost mocking, mean, way she said, "So.. Did you really set your hair on fire?? Ahahaha! You're supposed to let it go out before you drink, you know?"
"H-hey!" She remembers the way she blurted out, "I was distracted! You were walking away, andβ I was just trying to figure you out! I never know where I stand with you..."
There's not even a beat of consideration to what Lottie really wants her to say, is goading her to admit. She just lets her lips curl in that knowing (ominous?) way she's always come to associate with Caroline β
"Maybe that's... Exactly the way I want it to be.")
It's not stupid to want better, but that doesn't mean it always works out like that. It doesn't make you feel less stupid if 'better' doesn't pan out. She clicks her tongue, not even sure what to say in response to him because while she agrees, she has no idea where to take this conversation. What direction it should go.. Because they're fine now, right? Is he telling her she should want better from him? Or that she should agree with everyone else? Because if this were her, she would've agreed and left it at that, but she can tell something is bothering him. She's just not sure whatβ ]
I mean.. Should I want better?? [ There's a vague, awkward, wave of her hand. ] With.. I don't knowβ us?
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he swigs the remains of his coffee — it's terrible. the colder it gets, the worse it tastes — when she asks him if she should want better (yes), clarifies that she means specifically with her and him (the answer's still 'yes'). there's a pause in which marc lets the silence answer for him, lets it imply the questions he doesn't throw at her — the why are they even having this conversation? couldn't she have just taken his instagram remark at face value, with the spirit in which it was meant, instead of opening the door to — this?
(marc plays this game with almost everyone: speaks vaguely about his thoughts and feelings and experiences and then, when pushed, almost completely refuses to elaborate any further. refuses to add depth, or explain why. his friends, the people he's closest to get the brunt of it, because they're the people he can be most honest with.) )
Yes. ( frankly. bluntly. (if she's going to ask.) a light outside the window catches his attention and he looks towards it — a brake light, stop-start, stop-start as some kids run recklessly across the road. marc watches, pressing the coffee cup in his hand together, letting it fold in on itself and the lid pop off before picking it off delicately. he turns away from the window (and lottie) and makes his way back to the desk, ducking down for just long enough to throw his cup and the lid in a bin.
(—but then, that's the problem, isn't it? he's always relied on the people around him to push him to be better and has never quite been able to settle on whether he wants to be pushed or whether he just wants to keep on doing the same things he's always done.) )
—Forget it, it's late. We're just talking in circles. I didn't mean anything with the Instagram comment.
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In the time he takes to throw away his cup (hide?), Lottie pushes herself off the wall, sips her own drink in a stupor because what the hell. Why is he so dramatic? So.. Confusing? The signals are so mixed that her own wires are getting crossed trying to understand it. ]
Uh, yeah. You're right.. It's late.
[ She's not agreeing with him because she has no idea what else to say.
βOkay, well, shit, she actually is, but it's true. It is late. Usually she'd be asleep by now, but the impending issue of their friendship had kept her awake so long it prompted her into doing this very bad idea, the worst #meetcute of the century. Now she's the one who feels like she's walking on eggshells, because, uh, no, they're not talking in circles. Lottie talks circles, squares, and triangles, and this isn't circles. It's Marc avoiding the topic he suggested (walked them into?) and she'sβ exhausted enough to find herself agreeing with him (for real, this time). He says he didn't mean anything by it and.. That's that.
In the end, she rubs at her temples, nodding softly. Wondering if he's going to make himself present one way or the other or if he might just hide under his desk forever. Just stick his ass up as he says, 'ciao loser, goodbye!' ]
Thanks, for, uh, clarifying? It's just β you know how people are with influencers. [ No, he doesn't. She knows he doesn't. ] Sometimes it's fine, and other times it's like..
[ A slippery slope? Sometimes people think you're using them? Sometimes they're right? That you're less a person just because you exist on the internet? ]
I guess let me know if you do, or something. [ Want to go. On the trip? The trip that might not happen but.. She scrunches her face in thoughtβ indecision. ] I should probably go?
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abrupt, weird, and mopey: the name of marc's autobiography
his best selling book to date (his only book To Date)
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