oomfies | ✨ 𝙊𝙋𝙀𝙉 𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏

[ ..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 — 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?

( 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. )

[ 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 — ]

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 frown^TM. )

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. )

[ Oh.

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?

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 know what 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 — duh — and half realizing there's no other shoes. Or slippers. Mainly that?! ]

Marc, it's fine — [ '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. )

Too late. ( beat. ) It's fine.

[ 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 yet— ]

You're not even lacing them? You can take it off—

[ 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. ]

Lottie.

( 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—). )

Okay, dad..

[ 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 her— no ID or anything for this venture, tonight). And then she huffs out, ]

Uber's here. C'mon!

( 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— )

Don't expect a bedtime story.

[ That was so.. Cringe!! Argh!! Lottie makes the worst kind of face at that — 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 — ]

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. And— 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.

( 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. )

—That's your car.

[ 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 — a white honda civic, pointedly parked away from where she put her pickup spot, her lips curl down vaguely pissed — right as his hand eases down. Her gaze sidles over to him, her own face giving away that she's thinking—

(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!!)

—but 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?

Don't worry about it. ( it's fine, he means, and it takes him only a second to realise it's not clear if he means 'don't worry about him paying' or ;don't worry about texting', and hurriedly— )

You came out here, ( he adds, attention returning to the car parked across the road, the one that lottie was so thoroughly displeased by. he can only guess why, but he imagines it's because the car is not parked outside the mission; and he imagines it's not parked outside the mission because it's the mission. it's not a comforting building in and of itself, made less so by the fact that it quote-unquote was rebuilt over night.

(and by the fact that whilst marc has decided this area of new york is HIS, and whilst there are a large number of his neighbours that do seem to appreciate the work he does — even if it comes with a side of 'crescent moons spray painted on the side of buildings' — there are others that are less than impressed with the attention marc draws.) )

Please do.

[ It is definitely because she put the direct pick up spot in front of the Mission, and one can only guess the reason why she'd be there (definitely not to salvage a friendship on the rocks, that's for sure— which can be her own fun little secret, now that she thinks about it?). She doesn't disagree with him, though, she was the one who came out here, so it's nice that he's returning the favor, in a way. Expressing his gratitude, in his own way.

And clarifying what he means, for her sake, because she, too, got a little confused on what she wasn't supposed to worry about. She smiles the tiniest bit, gives a light nod of her head while her hands.. Well, they're going to stay in her pockets, because she's not sure if they should hug or handshake or.. Do something atypical for them? Just because it's been an emotional night?? ]

Okay, cool. Seeya?

[ And because she isn't sure, she just playfully bumps her shoulder into his as she passes, looks both ways before crossing the street and— gets into that uber. Not before waving to him, though, as the car takes off back to her place.

Approximately thirty minutes later, he'll get: ]

homee

( he's still awake when she gets home because in spite of his internal musings on 'feeling awful' and 'god, SO TIRED', marc is still marc and refuses to do anything that might be good for him as a person.

he doesn't quite leave her on read (is tempted), and instead sends her a solitary— )

👍

( reconsidered a fraction later— )

Good night.

( "go to bed." )

[ And less than a minute later—]

u first

[ Followed by: ]

gn!!!

✨ 𝙊𝙋𝙀𝙉 𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏

no subject

abrupt, weird, and mopey: the name of marc's autobiography

his best selling book to date (his only book To Date)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject