[ 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?
( it doesn't occur to marc that he's being awkward. (although he'd disagree, vehemently, that this is the result of his comment — this is the result of lottie misinterpreting it, and there's a difference.) it doesn't occur to marc that this is one of the few times when she's encountered marc being marc without the cloak of anything else to hide himself in: introspective, avoidant, and — as andrea had put it — angsty. and it certainly doesn't occur to him that he ought to clarify anything.
(it would probably help, he doesn't think, to explain that she'd managed to hit a nerve, even — no, especially because she didn't mean to.)
she agrees that it's late (has no other choice — objectively speaking, it is late, it's the sort of late where marc, if he wasn't busy doing this and he was awake, would be thinking about getting a(nother) coffee regardless. late enough that he'd think about how fucking stupid he is for leading this lifestyle, how his routine probably isn't that great for his health. he knows lottie's still awake at this hour sometimes — he's had messages from her — but not often enough for him to think it's a regular occurrence for her.
what it's not is late enough for marc to know he'll go straight to bed when lottie leaves.
he doesn't stay under the desk for long, reappears to catch her agreement, her fingers massaging her temples as she attempts to fathom how they weren't from where they were to here. he leans against the desk, palms flat against the surface. haltingly, she thanks him for explaining, tacks on an explanation of her own that she doesn't quite finish and leaves him to infer the rest. he doesn't really know, but he knows how people are with him and thinks it's probably none too dissimilar: sometimes, he's treated like a person, normal and regular. other times, he's treated like all he is, is the sum of his worst mistakes, someone to be tolerated and humoured.
(it's frustrating and is it any wonder he prefers to work alone? no, but he also can't blame anyone for the wariness, as much as he hates it.)
she switches topics abruptly, telling him to let her know if he does something, and marc doesn't ask what she means. lets his features pinch together tightly as he tries to work it out (fails), and decides to just accept the remark and come back to it later because she asks, unsure, if she should go, not that she should go. )
I'll call you a car, ( he offers. he doesn't know how she got here, actually, and the thought occurs to him suddenly, distractingly. it's not that he's kicking her out (eh), it's that he doesn't know why she'd want to stay, why the hesitancy. they've cleared the air (mostly), marc's made it a little bit weird (again), but it's fine. )
[ Marc doesn't.. Hm? Give her an answer to anything? Other than letting her know that, yes, she should probably go, and it puts a weird taste in her mouth. One that makes her feel awkward and realize, yeah, she's probably overstayed her welcome. Maybe Marc just doesn't want to hang out after such an emotionally taxing time and she's.. God, she doesn't know. She looks up to the ceiling in a stupor, trying very hard to rationalize all this because this isn't like the first time she's had this realization, that she's over late and someone calls her an Uber. But it's just.. Weird. ]
Oh, thanks..
[ (Lottie did take an Uber, one that was equal parts nonchalant and curious as to why she was being dropped off in front of nowhere. Not even a restaurant, not even a houseβ just the side of a shady street that Moon Knight protects (the fact isn't on the forefront of everyone's mind, but it is still there when they are in the thick of his corners).) ]
Lemme know how much it is and I'll venmo you?
[ She says, in lieu of anything else. Because, what can she say? She's not sure if there's any merit to actually staying, to actually finishing the conversation she is so very much dying to just.. Dig into, even slightly? Now, having accepted his offer, she knows that she never will, Marc's willingness to humor her outside of this moment dwindling by the second as she walks over to dump her own cup of coffee into his trash can. ]
( where lottie was (and is) completely oblivious to the thoughts swirling around marc's head, he's completely oblivious to hers. if she expressed a desire to stay, he'd — not exactly rethink his offer to send her home, but he'd at least attempt to consider why. he doesn't think there's any more conversation to be had (not uncommon), and she's — crucially — not andrea sterman, with a reason for him to open up; and she's not greer, with years of friendship (and a little bit more) to call on to be able to say 'marc, we are talking about this'.
she looks up at the ceiling and he follows her gaze, briefly, and there's nothing there. then she looks back to him and offers to venmo him the money and the look he gives her says as much as the— )
No. ( firm, dismissive, intended with absolutely no room for argument (but it's lottie, so what he intends and what he gets are not always the same things). ) It's the least I could do.
[ ..Huh. She eases her way back up to look at him, the tiniest bit surprised at the way he hits her with that 'no' (firm, dismissive, putting his foot down and trying to put an end to that discussion). For once, she doesn't really fight him on it β she's still feeling strange about how the conversation took an abrupt, weird, mopey, turn, and she figures if this is what will make him feel better.. Why not? Lottie puts her hands in her pockets, about to thank him again before stopping herself. ]
..Okay.
[ A beat. ]
Wanna walk me up when it gets here?
abrupt, weird, and mopey: the name of marc's autobiography
( frankly, it won't make marc feel better, not really, but when marc's caught in a mood, there's not a lot that'll shift it. typically, marc mopes, decides he's frustrated (not mopey), and then works the frustration out in questionable ways. (in other circumstances, he mopes and proceeds to act so thoroughly guilty, so thoroughly ashamed — without ever saying the words — that he seems to be offering no other option than to be forgiven for whatever act of personal ineptitude.)
lottie doesn't argue the point (thankfully), meaning her question earns a nod whilst he reaches for his phone. pauses. (how many ubers has 'marc spector' got in his life? not many, and the last journey he had made— —mm.
he misses having a private car and a driver.)
that is: lottie's rating is definitely higher than his. he looks at her, expression deliberately impassive. )
—I'll give you my card details.
( maybe if he says it decisively enough, she won't question it. )
his best selling book to date (his only book To Date)
[ He reaches for his phone and.. Doesn't put it back.
But pointedly does not unlock it, does not use it, and does not look for any type of app that suspiciously looks like Uber? No, he in fact says he'll give her his card details and this is where the niceties end and her questioning begins. She scrunches her face slightly, crossing her arms in his direction. Not exactly unlocking her own phone quite yet, because she needs to know something first β ]
God.. Are you banned from Uber, Marc?
[ Typically.. People who offer to pay just get the car using their own phone! They also, usually, don't have her put their card details under a payment method on her own account (that she will accidentally use, one of these days)!! ]
( there's a subtle shift in marc's expression, a brief widening of his eyes that sits dangerously close to embarrassment that he seeks to smooth over with his patented spector frownTM. )
No, ( cagily, pointed — (too pointed?) — but he still doesn't look down at his phone, as if ignoring it will convince lottie otherwise, as if not dropping his gaze will convince her that no, he's—.
(ah, fuck it, who's he kidding?)
—he inhales, slowly, then exhales. pinches the bridge of his nose and admits— ) Yes. ( apparently, blood stains aren't conducive to a good rating. apparently he'd been aggressive — not to the driver, no, he's not that much of a dick, but there'd been the collateral on the sidewalk, the stark evidence of what he does and what he's capable of. threatening had been the exact wording used, he thinks — or maybe intimidating, and marc hadn't exactly been able to argue the point. ) —Don't. (say anything, he means. )
He is banned. Lottie manages to feel bad for all of one second as he sighs heavy, pinches the bridge of his nose in a resignation they are both familiar with. In response, she finally unlocks her phone, presses at it a few times before handing it over to him. It's set to the page where he'd be able to punch in those card details, as Lottie turns to make sure not to look (because, you know, privacy or something!!).
She decides she won't say anything about Uber. That, maybe, someday she'll mention how she's banned from her favorite coffee spot for going insane at her friend's engagement party and pushing Charlene into a pool (it's not her fault she couldn't swim or something? Oops?). It's curious, almost sympathetic, even, the way she asks, ]
Hmm? ( he murmurs, half-distracted typing in his details to lottie's phone. he's not fussed as to whether she watches or not (it's not as if she'd be able to memorise his card number off the bat, and even if she did, well— he knows where she lives.)
her words take a second to register. (lyft. lyft? is he?). he pauses, mid-type, eyebrows furrowed and then — a shrug. they're all the same, aren't they? he doesn't answer, not properly, not until he's finished typing in his card details and handed the phone back to lottie. at least this way, he tells himself, she can be certain of the pick up location and drop off point. ) —Probably.
[ Wow.. In a way, Lottie is jealous of just how free Marc is from worrying about his reputation on apps like that. He's just, she doesn't know, living his life and finding workarounds? He hands her that phone back and she takes it, rubs her thumb along the buttons lining the side in thought before looking down to her screen and ordering that uber. The ETA says: ]
Five minutes. [ And 5 minutes feels too soon, like she'd have to go wait out in the front right now unless she misses the car entirely and he's charged an extra fee on top of everything. But she doesn't move, not quite yet, just turns off her screen and gestures vaguely with a hand. ]
It said it'd be a Honda Civic. [ Said in the fashion of someone who does not knowwhat that looks like. ]
( 'living his life and finding workarounds' mostly means that he, when he needs to, drives. it means he—they've—still got jake's cab (which jake doesn't like him driving), he's still got cars that haven't been taken in as part of investigations into 'might've tried to blow up his therapist, marc spector', 'maybe tried to assassinate a diplomat, marc spector', 'was a bit too publicly violent with a criminal in tower block whilst on the news, marc spector'. weirdly, he's found, his belongings aren't always taken when he's actually done something worthy of police (and more—) attention, only when someone thinks he has.
honda civic, she says, and marc looks at her, skepticism painting his features. he knows she has no idea what kind of car that is, opens his mouth to tell her as much but what comes out instead is an— )
—Ugh, fuck.
( not about the car. honda civics aren't very exciting cars, but who wants an exciting taxi ride? no, the dismayed, annoyed mutter is because marc's remembered, quite suddenly (for the second time) that walking her out means putting his boots back on. he eyes one, looking at it as if it's personally betrayed him and then sets about unlacing it properly so that he can put it back on.
(he should've done that in the first place, but he'd been too grumpy—.) )
[ Lottie watches him just.. God, she can't even tell anymore, just groan and curse over nothing. Then, after the fact, she realizes what he is doing. Vaguely understands the pain he is going through (barely) as he slaps a boot out into the open, to work the shoe open properly so he can shrug them on and wobble his way out to the car. She watches him grab those laces with her jaw slack, forehead creased. She turns to look around the room in the beats that follow, half realizing he doesn't sleep in this exact room so his clothing and shoes wouldn't be here β duh β and half realizing there's no other shoes. Or slippers. Mainly that?! ]
Marc, it's fine β [ 'No, it's not. How do you not have any slippers, or slides??', her eyes say. ] you can just walk me to your door and I can go out on the sidewalk?
[ She offers, tries her hardest to work along with him on this because she doesn't want him to get any grumpier and possibly ruin what is an alright conclusion to a stupidly eventful, emotional, night. ]
( her movements are visible out of the corners of his eyes, not large enough or big enough to grab his attention away from his boots. it doesn't occur to him that lottie's realising (belatedly) that his office is not, in fact, a bedroom; that he doesn't have any other clothing in here, or any shoes — though that doesn't mean he hasn't slept in here before. whilst marc's sleeping habits are consistently POOR AND QUESTIONABLE, he does possess the ability to all but ignore comfort and nap in most situations.
it's fine, lottie says and marc grunts a vague noise of disagreement — he's already started with his shoes, hasn't he, it says — and he looks up, catching her look (challenging and judgemental, he notes). he tucks — doesn't bother to tighten, doesn't bother to tie — the laces into the top of his boot before moving on to the other one. )
[ He is so dramatic!! It is clearly not fine and he is clearly just, bratty for the sake of being bratty?! (Also he just copied what she said?!) He can stop being mad any time he wants, this shoe situation is one that is entirely man made and they both know this. And yetβ ]
You're not even lacing them? You can take it offβ
[ It's not too late, she means, but she already knows that he isn't going to listen to her. Is the same as her, brandishing a willingness to be petty and stupid for extremely petty and stupid reasons. So she just crosses her arms and watches, a soft frown on her features as she waits for him to slip that other boot on. ]
( sharper than he means it, it's not quite a warning, it's just tired. they're bickering over nothing, really, which compared to how the evening started should be a breath of fresh air, but right now, he doesn't want her opinion, isn't interested in her decision that 'he can walk her to the door, actually, that's enough'. second boot on, then, laces also tucked in, and he looks at her as if to say 'see, that wasn't so hard?' and then gestures at her (her phone, the car, does she have everything—). )
[ Lottie doesn't even need to think about the nuance of his tone to feel vaguely threatened and all around defensive, annoyed, at the way he says her name. She sighs heavily as he shucks that last boot on his foot and acts like that wasn't an ordeal for the both of them, irked that he even thinks to look at her like that (because she can tell exactly what he's trying to say and it WAS that hard because he made it hard!!).
Her phone is promptly opened, because she assumes he's asking about the uber rather than whether she has everything (she does, Lottie only brought her house keys and her phone with herβ no ID or anything for this venture, tonight). And then she huffs out, ]
( it's a reaction to his general tone, he knows, and says more about her than him (he thinks—), but marc stiffens just a touch, lips quirking in brief displeasure. dad. it could be funny, a little joke shared between the two of them that'd have the benefit of being more funny if marc — wasn't. a dad.
(—no, fine, it's stupid. he knows how he'd sounded and though marc wouldn't go so far to say the remark's deserved, he understands why lottie said it.)
fortunately, though, the car's here and marc stands, unspeakably grateful for the distraction and he turns towards the door. hesitates and looks to his shoulder (not over it), presses his lips together in a thin line, and— )
[ That was so.. Cringe!! Argh!! Lottie makes the worst kind of face at that β half embarrassed and half just, she doesn't know, appalled he even said that to her (sure, she did call him dad just like how she calls Esther mom when she harps at her, but still, at least she didn't continue the joke.. And it's different!!). She follows after him, sighing deeply β ]
Stop! Just stop.
[ I'm an adult, she wants to scream, the only bedtime stories she reads are her favorite comments people put on her blog. Andβ she just needs to cut that train of thought off right now, clearly. She glares up at him, ]
( as they step outside, the night air feeling cool and pleasant and welcome after the oppressive stuffiness of the mission (it wasn't, it only seemed that way due to emotions, none of which marc particularly acknowledges), he holds a hand up and pointedly doesn't look at her. there's a car — a honda civic, white — parked a couple of street lamps away. marc can't read the number plate, lottie didn't tell it to him anyway, but he assumes that's her car. )
You called me dad, ( he levels at her, finally looking back over his shoulder to her. the glare, the distinct aura of 'thoroughly unimpressed'. what was he supposed to do, just let the jab go? no. where frenchie had always made fun of marc's americanness, marc had always responded in kind about jean-paul's frenchness, the two of them throwing half-hearted stereotypes at each other. (marc's knowledge of france had always been less than jean-paul's knowledge of america, had relied a lot on cheese and wine.) ) And—
( there's half a second where he thinks of adding something else, and it's visible in his expression for exactly as long as it takes to change his mind. he drops his hand, gestures across the road. )
[ The incredibly petty part of Lottie wants to say, 'You were acting like one about me saying you don't have to put your shoes on?! What do you expect me to say?' but the fight dies down when he cuts himself off. As curious as she is to know what he was going to say, she won't press him on it now (because boy, that expression, it's refreshing to see Marc visibly think in the same way she does). No, she'll do it when she gets home from the safety of her bed.
Her eyes, eventually make their way to her car β a white honda civic, pointedly parked away from where she put her pickup spot, her lips curl down vaguely pissed β right as his hand eases down. Her gaze sidles over to him, her own face giving away that she's thinkingβ
(Oh, man, she has the opportunity to do the funniest thing and say bye dad but she won't. He'd be so pissy at her and it'd be kinda worth it but she won't!! But she could? But she won't!!)
βbut then it settles, as she shuffles her weight between her feet and inhales. ]
..That is my car. [ A beat, before she scratches at her neck, ] Thanks, again, for paying. I'll text you when I get home?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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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(it would probably help, he doesn't think, to explain that she'd managed to hit a nerve, even — no, especially because she didn't mean to.)
she agrees that it's late (has no other choice — objectively speaking, it is late, it's the sort of late where marc, if he wasn't busy doing this and he was awake, would be thinking about getting a(nother) coffee regardless. late enough that he'd think about how fucking stupid he is for leading this lifestyle, how his routine probably isn't that great for his health. he knows lottie's still awake at this hour sometimes — he's had messages from her — but not often enough for him to think it's a regular occurrence for her.
what it's not is late enough for marc to know he'll go straight to bed when lottie leaves.
he doesn't stay under the desk for long, reappears to catch her agreement, her fingers massaging her temples as she attempts to fathom how they weren't from where they were to here. he leans against the desk, palms flat against the surface. haltingly, she thanks him for explaining, tacks on an explanation of her own that she doesn't quite finish and leaves him to infer the rest. he doesn't really know, but he knows how people are with him and thinks it's probably none too dissimilar: sometimes, he's treated like a person, normal and regular. other times, he's treated like all he is, is the sum of his worst mistakes, someone to be tolerated and humoured.
(it's frustrating and is it any wonder he prefers to work alone? no, but he also can't blame anyone for the wariness, as much as he hates it.)
she switches topics abruptly, telling him to let her know if he does something, and marc doesn't ask what she means. lets his features pinch together tightly as he tries to work it out (fails), and decides to just accept the remark and come back to it later because she asks, unsure, if she should go, not that she should go. )
I'll call you a car, ( he offers. he doesn't know how she got here, actually, and the thought occurs to him suddenly, distractingly. it's not that he's kicking her out (eh), it's that he doesn't know why she'd want to stay, why the hesitancy. they've cleared the air (mostly), marc's made it a little bit weird (again), but it's fine. )
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Oh, thanks..
[ (Lottie did take an Uber, one that was equal parts nonchalant and curious as to why she was being dropped off in front of nowhere. Not even a restaurant, not even a houseβ just the side of a shady street that Moon Knight protects (the fact isn't on the forefront of everyone's mind, but it is still there when they are in the thick of his corners).) ]
Lemme know how much it is and I'll venmo you?
[ She says, in lieu of anything else. Because, what can she say? She's not sure if there's any merit to actually staying, to actually finishing the conversation she is so very much dying to just.. Dig into, even slightly? Now, having accepted his offer, she knows that she never will, Marc's willingness to humor her outside of this moment dwindling by the second as she walks over to dump her own cup of coffee into his trash can. ]
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she looks up at the ceiling and he follows her gaze, briefly, and there's nothing there. then she looks back to him and offers to venmo him the money and the look he gives her says as much as the— )
No. ( firm, dismissive, intended with absolutely no room for argument (but it's lottie, so what he intends and what he gets are not always the same things). ) It's the least I could do.
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..Okay.
[ A beat. ]
Wanna walk me up when it gets here?
abrupt, weird, and mopey: the name of marc's autobiography
lottie doesn't argue the point (thankfully), meaning her question earns a nod whilst he reaches for his phone. pauses. (how many ubers has 'marc spector' got in his life? not many, and the last journey he had made—
—mm.
he misses having a private car and a driver.)
that is: lottie's rating is definitely higher than his. he looks at her, expression deliberately impassive. )
—I'll give you my card details.
( maybe if he says it decisively enough, she won't question it. )
his best selling book to date (his only book To Date)
But pointedly does not unlock it, does not use it, and does not look for any type of app that suspiciously looks like Uber? No, he in fact says he'll give her his card details and this is where the niceties end and her questioning begins. She scrunches her face slightly, crossing her arms in his direction. Not exactly unlocking her own phone quite yet, because she needs to know something first β ]
God.. Are you banned from Uber, Marc?
[ Typically.. People who offer to pay just get the car using their own phone! They also, usually, don't have her put their card details under a payment method on her own account (that she will accidentally use, one of these days)!! ]
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No, ( cagily, pointed — (too pointed?) — but he still doesn't look down at his phone, as if ignoring it will convince lottie otherwise, as if not dropping his gaze will convince her that no, he's—.
(ah, fuck it, who's he kidding?)
—he inhales, slowly, then exhales. pinches the bridge of his nose and admits— ) Yes. ( apparently, blood stains aren't conducive to a good rating. apparently he'd been aggressive — not to the driver, no, he's not that much of a dick, but there'd been the collateral on the sidewalk, the stark evidence of what he does and what he's capable of. threatening had been the exact wording used, he thinks — or maybe intimidating, and marc hadn't exactly been able to argue the point. ) —Don't. ( say anything, he means. )
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Oh, he is.
He is banned. Lottie manages to feel bad for all of one second as he sighs heavy, pinches the bridge of his nose in a resignation they are both familiar with. In response, she finally unlocks her phone, presses at it a few times before handing it over to him. It's set to the page where he'd be able to punch in those card details, as Lottie turns to make sure not to look (because, you know, privacy or something!!).
She decides she won't say anything about Uber. That, maybe, someday she'll mention how she's banned from her favorite coffee spot for going insane at her friend's engagement party and pushing Charlene into a pool (it's not her fault she couldn't swim or something? Oops?). It's curious, almost sympathetic, even, the way she asks, ]
..Even Lyft?
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her words take a second to register. (lyft. lyft? is he?). he pauses, mid-type, eyebrows furrowed and then — a shrug. they're all the same, aren't they? he doesn't answer, not properly, not until he's finished typing in his card details and handed the phone back to lottie. at least this way, he tells himself, she can be certain of the pick up location and drop off point. ) —Probably.
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Five minutes. [ And 5 minutes feels too soon, like she'd have to go wait out in the front right now unless she misses the car entirely and he's charged an extra fee on top of everything. But she doesn't move, not quite yet, just turns off her screen and gestures vaguely with a hand. ]
It said it'd be a Honda Civic. [ Said in the fashion of someone who does not know what that looks like. ]
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honda civic, she says, and marc looks at her, skepticism painting his features. he knows she has no idea what kind of car that is, opens his mouth to tell her as much but what comes out instead is an— )
—Ugh, fuck.
( not about the car. honda civics aren't very exciting cars, but who wants an exciting taxi ride? no, the dismayed, annoyed mutter is because marc's remembered, quite suddenly (for the second time) that walking her out means putting his boots back on. he eyes one, looking at it as if it's personally betrayed him and then sets about unlacing it properly so that he can put it back on.
(he should've done that in the first place, but he'd been too grumpy—.) )
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Marc, it's fine β [ 'No, it's not. How do you not have any slippers, or slides??', her eyes say. ] you can just walk me to your door and I can go out on the sidewalk?
[ She offers, tries her hardest to work along with him on this because she doesn't want him to get any grumpier and possibly ruin what is an alright conclusion to a stupidly eventful, emotional, night. ]
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it's fine, lottie says and marc grunts a vague noise of disagreement — he's already started with his shoes, hasn't he, it says — and he looks up, catching her look (challenging and judgemental, he notes). he tucks — doesn't bother to tighten, doesn't bother to tie — the laces into the top of his boot before moving on to the other one. )
Too late. ( beat. ) It's fine.
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You're not even lacing them? You can take it offβ
[ It's not too late, she means, but she already knows that he isn't going to listen to her. Is the same as her, brandishing a willingness to be petty and stupid for extremely petty and stupid reasons. So she just crosses her arms and watches, a soft frown on her features as she waits for him to slip that other boot on. ]
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( sharper than he means it, it's not quite a warning, it's just tired. they're bickering over nothing, really, which compared to how the evening started should be a breath of fresh air, but right now, he doesn't want her opinion, isn't interested in her decision that 'he can walk her to the door, actually, that's enough'. second boot on, then, laces also tucked in, and he looks at her as if to say 'see, that wasn't so hard?' and then gestures at her (her phone, the car, does she have everything—). )
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[ Lottie doesn't even need to think about the nuance of his tone to feel vaguely threatened and all around defensive, annoyed, at the way he says her name. She sighs heavily as he shucks that last boot on his foot and acts like that wasn't an ordeal for the both of them, irked that he even thinks to look at her like that (because she can tell exactly what he's trying to say and it WAS that hard because he made it hard!!).
Her phone is promptly opened, because she assumes he's asking about the uber rather than whether she has everything (she does, Lottie only brought her house keys and her phone with herβ no ID or anything for this venture, tonight). And then she huffs out, ]
Uber's here. C'mon!
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(—no, fine, it's stupid. he knows how he'd sounded and though marc wouldn't go so far to say the remark's deserved, he understands why lottie said it.)
fortunately, though, the car's here and marc stands, unspeakably grateful for the distraction and he turns towards the door. hesitates and looks to his shoulder (not over it), presses his lips together in a thin line, and— )
Don't expect a bedtime story.
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Stop! Just stop.
[ I'm an adult, she wants to scream, the only bedtime stories she reads are her favorite comments people put on her blog. Andβ she just needs to cut that train of thought off right now, clearly. She glares up at him, ]
I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that.
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You called me dad, ( he levels at her, finally looking back over his shoulder to her. the glare, the distinct aura of 'thoroughly unimpressed'. what was he supposed to do, just let the jab go? no. where frenchie had always made fun of marc's americanness, marc had always responded in kind about jean-paul's frenchness, the two of them throwing half-hearted stereotypes at each other. (marc's knowledge of france had always been less than jean-paul's knowledge of america, had relied a lot on cheese and wine.) ) And—
( there's half a second where he thinks of adding something else, and it's visible in his expression for exactly as long as it takes to change his mind. he drops his hand, gestures across the road. )
—That's your car.
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Her eyes, eventually make their way to her car β a white honda civic, pointedly parked away from where she put her pickup spot, her lips curl down vaguely pissed β right as his hand eases down. Her gaze sidles over to him, her own face giving away that she's thinkingβ
(Oh, man, she has the opportunity to do the funniest thing and say bye dad but she won't. He'd be so pissy at her and it'd be kinda worth it but she won't!! But she could? But she won't!!)
βbut then it settles, as she shuffles her weight between her feet and inhales. ]
..That is my car. [ A beat, before she scratches at her neck, ] Thanks, again, for paying. I'll text you when I get home?
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