well, it's not a great club to be part of, is it? the resurrected.
[ death ought to tighten their grip a little; too many people are slipping through the cracks. ]
there's this thing they tell us during corporate training. something about work-life balance, how it's supposed to help you ground yourself. find your center. [ and here's the joke: ] you ever try meditating?
(prayer. it'd be a good suggestion if khonshu wasn't khonshu and if praying to anyone else — god — didn't make marc so uncomfortable given his self-described estrangement.
(—from both, actually.) )
I've never been content with doing the bare minimum.
then go ahead with the ritual sacrifice. but only if you're comfortable.
[ prayer has only ever gotten her in trouble. piety, faithfulness, devotion - all of the other words that madam liked to preach about in between the cuts and the bruises and the mental torment.
god has heard enough from the likes of her. he doesn't seem eager to respond, anyway. ]
( but a lack of response is something they have in common. that'd always been his issue: god was indifferent and uncaring. god didn't answer. was it any surprise that he'd been swayed by a god that did?)
With the added bonus of tax breaks.
( jokes, marc doesn't know the first thing about his tax situation. he fully ignores his finances beyond "wait I need money, how do I get money". )
( he doesn't drink often these days. here and there, yes, but not frequently. he's not especially charming when he drinks, not especially patient. he's none of these when he's sober, but it's worse when he drinks.
but the answer to her question is—
mm, that's complicated. )
I gave up my heritage. ( is the short, simple way of putting it, in as much as it's an answer at all. ) Celebrating would be in poor taste.
[ the church has stolen so much from her before she ever knew it was hers to be stolen. her name, her years, her skin and her teeth and the marrow of her bones — all of it was been writ over before she knew the power that yes holds. she doesn't believe in the kindness of god, or the love of the angels, but they sure still have room in their wretched hearts for her.
her, and the rest of their handmade children. pick a nail bed, pierce the skin underneath. it's the same kind of love. ]
( he remembers more than he'll ever admit to. prayers and traditions and habits that he won't admit to keeping, from the selah he'd uttered at the end of his encounter with hawley, to the way that he thought of the shema each and every time he was faced with death. to the way that he gravitates towards kosher foods out of habit.
small things that he deliberately doesn't think of that say he hasn't given up his heritage or his people as much as he says he has. things that say the reverse is true, too.
perhaps that's when ben's getting at with his cards. )
it can be daunting to have the ball in your court. not all expectations are built the same.
[ and unlike most people on the planet, things have a way of talking back to them. the misfortune of being chosen for the things they do, she supposes. the way rosary beads against her knuckles are both balm and bruise, the way silk can taste so rough on the tongue. ]
( she's right, but that's another thing marc isn't inclined to acknowledge. he prefers to pretend that he's fine with it all, that it doesn't upset him or frustrate him. prefers to pretend that it's not part of the reason for his — as a detective friend had put it once — repressed rage.
and all too well, he knows how heavy expectations can become. that's the one thing he can admit.
but. )
Is that what you think the problem is? That I'm "daunted"?
( that's insulting. it's not wrong, but having it phrased like he needs it spelled out to him—
it's not his favourite remark. (even if he does need it spelled out.) )
Don't patronise me.
( anyway. )
Why are you blowing up a building?
( sometimes there are more interesting ways of dealing with a problem. )
[ it's a testing lab for a new pharmaceutical product. not quite medicine, but not quite weaponised biologics yet. it's always unfortunate when volunteers find themselves on the wrong side of medical testing history, but rats don't have the nervous system needed for something to be marketable — and, well, that's where johnny works.
make marketing's job easier. she's not killing people, at least. change of pace; always good. ]
[ if she were honest – she's not here to pick a fight. not yet. ]
my first zombie friend. madam would love to hear it.
[ she wouldn't; she would hate it. to pollute divinity even by association, in madam's mind, would be an insult to everything that the convent stands for. but she's never kissed an angel on the mouth, or swallowed the blood off its tongue, and johnny's not answered her call in years. she can hate all she likes. ]
i'll bring coffee. water? what's a good drink for blowing up a thing?
black coffee, no sugar, paper cups. i'll see you there.
[ attached is a map pin, and a quick photo of the building. it's a sleek monolith of a building, almost brutalist if not for the ornate wrought iron railings securing the tall, narrow windows. the facade reads SUJI NEOTEC in fading red. ]
( it's an invitation that calls for moon knight rather than mr. knight, a distinction created off the back of necessity and a want to rehabilitate his own image. the three-piece suit has been swapped for something more tactical, more form-fitting, chelsea boots swapped for toe-capped boots and fine white leather gloves swapped for spiked cestus. it's not that marc wants trouble, not really, but blowing up a building? it's the sort of thing that invites it.
he's early because he's him, and he waits in front of the railings, hard to miss as always. subtlety has never been a trait marc spector's embraced, the white of moon knight as stark and bright as ever in the dark, a deliberate disregarding of popular convention: he wants to be seen.
it's not always the most considerate approach for anyone that might accompany him. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Time and experience, sure. But death helps teach lessons too.
I didn't used to. My occupation didn't lend itself to it.
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[ death ought to tighten their grip a little; too many people are slipping through the cracks. ]
there's this thing they tell us during corporate training. something about work-life balance, how it's supposed to help you ground yourself. find your center. [ and here's the joke: ] you ever try meditating?
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( meditation. that is a good one. )
I've heard of work-life balance. ( it's as funny as the thought of meditation, if he's honest. ) About as familiar as meditation.
( "no." )
Does it come recommended?
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there's always prayer, if you want to do the bare minimum. works in almost every religion that i know of.
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(—from both, actually.) )
I've never been content with doing the bare minimum.
( UNDERSTATEMENT. )
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[ prayer has only ever gotten her in trouble. piety, faithfulness, devotion - all of the other words that madam liked to preach about in between the cuts and the bruises and the mental torment.
god has heard enough from the likes of her. he doesn't seem eager to respond, anyway. ]
i hear charity donations work just as well, too.
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( but a lack of response is something they have in common. that'd always been his issue: god was indifferent and uncaring. god didn't answer. was it any surprise that he'd been swayed by a god that did? )
With the added bonus of tax breaks.
( jokes, marc doesn't know the first thing about his tax situation. he fully ignores his finances beyond "wait I need money, how do I get money". )
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[ it's never good when gods decide to pay attention. a lot more people die than usual. that being said— ]
does that mean i can ring you around the holidays for a check or two?
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Depends on how cash poor or not I am at the time.
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[ money fades, death is eternal (for some). ]
that reminds me. which holidays do you recognize?
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( punctuated by a pause. there's an "I don't celebrate" typed out that's promptly deleted. it's true, but—. )
A friend of a friend sends me a Hanukkah card every year.
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no one should be alone during a holiday. i hear it's bad for people.
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It wouldn't be my first choice.
( what would it involve? small talk?! )
I don't celebrate, so I don't think I count.
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[ that would be— well, she's not much better. ]
is it the festive spirit or just... you don't like them? i'd like to understand.
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( he doesn't drink often these days. here and there, yes, but not frequently. he's not especially charming when he drinks, not especially patient. he's none of these when he's sober, but it's worse when he drinks.
but the answer to her question is—
mm, that's complicated. )
I gave up my heritage. ( is the short, simple way of putting it, in as much as it's an answer at all. ) Celebrating would be in poor taste.
( it reminds him of his father. )
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[ the church has stolen so much from her before she ever knew it was hers to be stolen. her name, her years, her skin and her teeth and the marrow of her bones — all of it was been writ over before she knew the power that yes holds. she doesn't believe in the kindness of god, or the love of the angels, but they sure still have room in their wretched hearts for her.
her, and the rest of their handmade children. pick a nail bed, pierce the skin underneath. it's the same kind of love. ]
some things have a way of coming bck for you.
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( he remembers more than he'll ever admit to. prayers and traditions and habits that he won't admit to keeping, from the selah he'd uttered at the end of his encounter with hawley, to the way that he thought of the shema each and every time he was faced with death. to the way that he gravitates towards kosher foods out of habit.
small things that he deliberately doesn't think of that say he hasn't given up his heritage or his people as much as he says he has. things that say the reverse is true, too.
perhaps that's when ben's getting at with his cards. )
But the ball's probably in my court.
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[ and unlike most people on the planet, things have a way of talking back to them. the misfortune of being chosen for the things they do, she supposes. the way rosary beads against her knuckles are both balm and bruise, the way silk can taste so rough on the tongue. ]
want to help me blow up a building?
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and all too well, he knows how heavy expectations can become. that's the one thing he can admit.
but. )
Is that what you think the problem is? That I'm "daunted"?
( that's insulting.
it's not wrong, but having it phrased like he needs it spelled out to him—
it's not his favourite remark.
(even if he does need it spelled out.) )
Don't patronise me.
( anyway. )
Why are you blowing up a building?
( sometimes there are more interesting ways of dealing with a problem. )
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[ it's a testing lab for a new pharmaceutical product. not quite medicine, but not quite weaponised biologics yet. it's always unfortunate when volunteers find themselves on the wrong side of medical testing history, but rats don't have the nervous system needed for something to be marketable — and, well, that's where johnny works.
make marketing's job easier. she's not killing people, at least. change of pace; always good. ]
you can flip the switch if you help me set it up.
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but it's fine. he's not quite petty enough to call attention to it.
and besides, the wrong side of (not-quite-)medicine is something marc's very familiar with. it was the reason marlene's brother had died, after all.
(it was what marlene's brother did.) )
I'm a dead person.
( look, ma, he's funny. )
I'll help you set it up. Have lots of practise to call on.
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my first zombie friend. madam would love to hear it.
[ she wouldn't; she would hate it. to pollute divinity even by association, in madam's mind, would be an insult to everything that the convent stands for. but she's never kissed an angel on the mouth, or swallowed the blood off its tongue, and johnny's not answered her call in years. she can hate all she likes. ]
i'll bring coffee. water? what's a good drink for blowing up a thing?
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Coffee, please. Black, no sugar.
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[ attached is a map pin, and a quick photo of the building. it's a sleek monolith of a building, almost brutalist if not for the ornate wrought iron railings securing the tall, narrow windows. the facade reads SUJI NEOTEC in fading red. ]
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he's early because he's him, and he waits in front of the railings, hard to miss as always. subtlety has never been a trait marc spector's embraced, the white of moon knight as stark and bright as ever in the dark, a deliberate disregarding of popular convention: he wants to be seen.
it's not always the most considerate approach for anyone that might accompany him. )