The Moon Haunts You

MCU Moon Knight Multi Muse penned by Star

[h4untingeclipse]

{ ʜ4ᴜɴᴛɪɴɢᴇᴄʟɪᴘꜱᴇ } --- A 20+, mutuals only MCU based multi-muse featuring Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley and Layla El Faouly. Penned by Star, 32 (he/they).

RULES -------------

☆ mutuals only -- i will not be roleplaying with personal blogs, or blogs i do not follow back. ☆ this is a no tolerance blog -- meaning i don't tolerate hate such as homophobia, transphobia, ableism and the like. basically don't be a dick, please. ☆ i do headcanon the boys to be trans. if that makes you uncomfortable please don't follow. this is just my personal interpretation of them. ☆ mun and muses are all well into adulthood. no one under the age of 20 will be followed on this blog. ☆ oc friendly! i love meeting people's ocs and will happily write with them here! ☆ this blog does ship the moon knight system, but does not force that onto anyone else respectfully. ☆ mun does not have DID, but has heavily researched. if anything comes off offensive don't hesitate to inform me.

[threegoldfish]

@h4untingeclipse asked: “you know you can die from that?” and my marc for your jake because this seems silly From my meme tag || always accepting

Jake is in the middle of taking a drag from his cigarette - yes, cigarette, because of reasons he doesn't want to think about, as they annoy the shit out of him, and he's not having enough fucks left to spend on that - when Marc has the audacity to appear out of nowhere, present himself in the rainwater-puddle between his feet, and stare up at him like he's currently watching said Jake trying to throw them off a cliff or something; It would be hilarious under any other circumstances - but ¡Dios mío!, he's simply smoking a fucking cigarette, not holding a gun to his head.

And Jake blinks once, twice, stares down at his host with both a frown and a lifted brow. Don't ask him how he's doing it, but Jake can pull that one off - and yes, his gaze is very much giving 'what the fuck' energy.

There's a second of tense silence existing between them then, surrounded by the darkness of the night and the clouds high above threatening to spill another bucket worth of water onto who is already fully drenched at this point. A heartbeat passes. Two. Three.

A deep breath - a sigh, theatric, dramatic, over the top, exaggerated, you name it, as Jake throws his head back and pulls that cigarette from between his lips. No, he's not going to stomp it out or something - instead he then brings it back up, pointedly, to take a more enthusiastic drag of tobacco and lung cancer, just to make sure it reaches them deep. His eyes return to that puddle after, as lips part and a thick plume of smoke is exhaled, carried away by a not-so-gentle breeze, followed by a slow blink and a tilt of a head.

"...Should I tell you somethin' funny?", is what he says then, drawls basically, accompanied by a smug little grin that's much more devilish in nature than soft, all things considered. "Given the fact that you're sufferin' from DID, you are currently doing this to yourself - kinda. More or less. We both know it's different for us, but if viewed from an, uh, psychological or medical perspective, this is totally what you're doin' - and you're lecturin' yourself 'bout it."

Jake's being an ass, he knows, but - he's had a shit night, alright? Give him some slack here. Let him have this cigarette, at least, if he's already denied the pleasure of having a good cigar instead...

[h4untingeclipse]

Marc had a feeling the second he opened his mouth he would get something like that in return. Sass, for lack of a better word. They were still learning how to function together, still tiptoeing around one another on the best of nights. It was clear that his comment on Jake's antics wasn't exactly appreciated.

To the point his alter had to go and say that. Force thick brows on Marc's face to dip low in that puddle's reflection there. Not the most comfortable place to be, anything could disrupt his concentration and force him out of the area at any moment. A hand went up to rub over his eyes as he sighed, shook his head, clearly displeased. " I don't need you fuckin' with my head about this right now. I already have to manage this... mental shit on a daily basis and now you're throwin' it in my face? Classy. " It was grumbled out, and his eyes were back on his alter soon after, clearly not impressed. " God fuckin' forbid I worry about you. That's my bad. "

[h4untingeclipse]

So I remembered my login... Has it really been months since I've been here? 😭 I don't know if anyone would like to continue writing but please let me know! I might want to get back into the swing of things this week.

[templeofvengeance]

Ah yes, the ever-present guilt. It was Marc's most obvious pressure point, and it seemed like whatever happened in the Duat that made him walk away from Khonshu, it hadn't fixed that. How could it? Burdens that heavy weren't simply shrugged away. Marc Spector had no shortage of burdens.

Marc was also not a novice, nor on death's door this time. Leverage was limited. It's alright. Khonshu could be patient, sometimes. If he had to be. "I would take you back, as easily as I released you," Khonshu answered without really answering. "But in this specific case, my priority is to the innocent lives that will be lost. Why else would I offer a mission to one who isn't my Avatar? Good help is hard to come by."

Khonshu leaned back where he was sitting, still perched high enough that Marc had to look up at him, as always. "Speaking of, I trust you understand the limitations. No Avatar, no healing armor. Plan accordingly, Marc."

[h4untingeclipse]

" What, a god like you can't find another puppet? Hard to believe. " Marc scoffed the words, almost like a laugh to himself. Something told him Khonshu had too many cards up his sleeve for that to be the case, even if that very moment proved otherwise. " The fact you still considering me good help after everything... " After all, he'd gone and died on the God once already.

Craning himself to keep eye contact (if you could call it such), Marc managed a huff of sorts. Grimaced at the thought that he'd be going into this less protected than he likely wanted to. Could feel the press of Steven right in the dead center of his forehead at the mere thought. It was actually taking more force than he liked to admit to keep the alter from switching in and having a word or two with their previous 'boss'. " Besides one major screw up -- I handled myself pretty damn well way before you gave me the fancy armor. Think I can manage my own. " Or so he hoped. He wasn't sure he'd have another Get Out Of Jail Free card if he were to eat shit again and get shot, stabbed, maimed. " Cause I'm not breakin' the deal here. We said we were done bein' your avatar. "

[threegoldfish]

... Alright, well.

Marc rolls his eyes, deems himself stupid for having expected Steven to... well, see this - how good he looks wearing those damn jeans, yeah. Because he does!

Okay, okay, they... do make him look very Marc-ish, in a way, at least from the waist down, so... that bit? Trippy, as said. But besides all of that? They suit him. Well, obviously so, because Marc is wearing them, and he does have a hint of a sense of style at least - even though he mainly wears some shirts and hoodies together with his pants, doesn't put too much effort in...

At least he's not going for patterned atrocities and too-short slacks all the damn time. It definitely counts as him having a fashion-sense, right?

... The longer he takes in the sight of Steven, though, the more he... feels his enthusiasm fade there, for a variety of reasons; Steven still looks good, of course, but... seeing him struggle like this, being so damn unhappy with that piece of clothing, it's... it's not what Marc had wanted to achieve here - and noticing the way he's obviously uncomfortable to hell and back, it just---

"...I can fit my phone, my wallet and my keys just fine, yeah." Which is a fact, yet merely muttered under his breath - it's not important, not anymore, and as shoulders as well as the whole damn stance of his deflate, Marc sighs. Licks his bottom lip. Sighs again, knits his brows in thought.

"...It's alright, Steven, just... take 'em off again, yeah? It's of no use if you don't like them... You look like a beaten puppy right now, and I didn't mean to make you feel this way."

---Looks like that dark cloud from before is reappearing there, tugging on his heart. Marc huffs out a quiet noise, then makes a brief gesture at his alter...

"I know that your... style, it's different. I know you love and appreciate those hideous shirts, pants, like to show off your socks. It's--- it's fine, actually. That's--- that's okay. That's very you and I like you the way you are. I... prefer to see you bein' happy and comfortable in our skin rather than to be forced to look a way that doesn't speak to you, y'know? So... take 'em off and show me what that shirt looks like on you instead, the one that you bought yourself recently. The... uhm, pink, yellow and blue one. Maybe it just... looks worse when laid out like that, but a lot better when worn?"

Yeah, this is Marc trying to be a good guy, trying to make Steven feel better now by back-paddling vigorously.

The least he wants is for his sweet little Steven to seriously feel like shit here. Marc would rather throw himself off a cliff, honestly.

[h4untingeclipse]

The atmosphere changed rather quickly, and poor Steven didn't even realize at first that it may have been his own doing. The fact Marc could tell he was a tad bit uncomfortable in the new get-up. Not in a rather negative way, but just in a manner that was odd to him. The fact that from the waist down he might as well just be Marc... It was strange. A little trippy, perhaps? Made Steven feel a little off just in the manner of trying something new and different. However he hadn't meant to let the silliness of the moment drain. Looking to Marc when the other male told him he could very well just take the trousers off since he looked like some kicked puppy. Did he truly look that way? He had no clue!

Steven wound up pursing his lips slightly, looking over himself one last time with a little shift on his feet. Did he look odd to Marc in the jeans? Perhaps they really didn't fit him at all, huh? Biting his lip, the alter felt himself go a little red in the cheeks just from embarrassment alone. " I-I mean, it's not like I hate the jeans or anything like that..! Just found 'em a bit odd s'all. But yeah, right, uhm -- I can totally get them off, they probably look absolutely ridiculous..! " And with that he was fumbling with the button, the zipper. Wiggling his way out of the jeans and leaving himself in those black pants for a second time. Only now he seemed a bit more aware of it, flushed even darker much more quickly, and cleared his throat as he fumbled to grab his own trousers. Fumbled even more to get them on himself, nearly tripping once in the process. " I don't have to wear the shirt, either. You seemed rather adamant about it being a terrible choice. " He tried to laugh it off, moving like he was going to put that shirt away all together.

[threegoldfish]

Someone's gotta watch over you while you do the same for us, right?

---This doesn't sit right with Jake, not at all; It's not because of the sentiment as a whole, nor is it because of the way Marc speaks those words out into the silence of the night... but rather because Jake has a rather strong opinion about himself and about their... dynamic, so to speak.

Marc should not need to worry about him, should not have to look out for Jake. This is his job, after all - Jake is the protector, the one who gets shit done at all costs, who doesn't shy away from spilling blood and breaking bones. He's the one to move when shit hits the fan; If Marc, or Steven, are in troube, Jake is there and deals with whatever tries to harm them both.

---In return, he's not meant to have someone else watch over him. This is just not how stuff works, in his own eyes. He will be okay, he will be fine, he can handle whatever's thrown at him - it's much more important to make sure Marc and Steven are going to be okay, because the both of them are not meant to... go through certain things. To experience stuff that belongs into a certain category, so to speak. Steven's a happy little guy and Marc is the one who basks in Steven's comfort, remains sane this way.

Jake? He's here to make sure that most violence stays away from that peaceful existence of his host and the other alter.

"Mhm."

Unsure what to say, not wanting to come across as an asshole here, Jake just... hums out a little noise there, uses that chance he has right now to hide, literally so; Carrying the corpse away from the car, it means he is also bringing distance between himself and Marc's reflection - one step at a time, he wanders deeper into the vegetation surrounding him, the Jaguar's red lights allowing him to see a hint of what's existing there, at least. There should be a dip nearby, one he can throw that damn body into...

... But he eventually does end up allowing a few more words to leave his lungs as he goes on, huffing with the weight of that stupid asshole he's currently carrying.

The spanish words from earlier, followed by that acknowledgement of what he'd done for them, in the past? Deeply appreciated. Cause something to soften there, inside his nonexistent heart, fuck. That might be why he can't just... not say anything, in the end.

"---Just tellin' you that you don't have to waste your time on me, amigo. I'll be fine."

[h4untingeclipse]

Marc could tell he'd hit a nerve somewhere, for lack of better wording. The way Jake reacted -- or for a matter of fact, didn't really react. The fact his alter went around with a simple hum of a noise, that was his only acknowledgement to Marc's spoken words. It was enough of a hint to know what he said struck somewhere within the other. Whether it was a good place, a bad one, or even something neutral, Marc had no idea. Just knew he wasn't getting much more out of Jake over it. He could accept that. At least Jake had heard him, right? Listened to his words, accepted them for what they were. That was all the host could ask for.

Even when a sense of loneliness came over him as the other walked away physically. As Marc watched him haul a literal body off to who knew where. There was something unsettling about it, but hey, he was the one who tagged along tonight. he was the one who had chosen not to take the backseat and fall back into their headspace. That was Marc's decision, so it wasn't as if he could say anything to Jake about it. He was surprised, though, when he got another verbal answer. Farther away, somewhere he can't follow besides moving through windows of the car to somewhat watch Jake wander off. The sentence left something almost sad settling in Marc's chest. Something he couldn't quite place. " I know I don't have to. I get you're fine. You're a big boy. " A playful huff, but Marc's expression was something more sobered. More serious. " Doesn't mean I don't worry, too. Just cause you're the protector doesn't mean we don't wanna look after you. " Perhaps Marc was trying to make up for all the lost time. All the time he'd pushed Jake away...

[alwaysxinxtrouble]

Matt let out a thin, dry huff — the closest thing he could manage to a laugh. “Super hearing,” he echoed, brushing it off with a flick of his hand. “Sure. Let’s go with that. Lucky guess, divine timing, whatever helps you sleep.” His tone stayed light, dismissive, steering the conversation away from anything that edged too close to the truth.

He adjusted his sunglasses again — nervous habit, practiced cover — and leaned into the version of himself Marc clearly expected. “Blind lawyer bleeding in an alley,” Matt said with a rueful shrug. “Pretty on-brand these days.” The bitterness slipped out before he reeled it back in. “Muggers hit me earlier. Took my cane. Wallet too. So if I look like I’m bouncing off walls for fun, that’s why.” It was the easiest lie to offer — plausible, pathetic, and safely mundane.

Matt stayed slouched, one hand pressed to the wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “Look,” he said quietly, “I get that you’re trying to help. And I’m not stupid enough to tell you to walk off while I’m still painting the pavement.”

He angled his head down, letting vulnerability mask the sharpness underneath. “I’m not trying to make this difficult. I’m just a blind guy who got unlucky tonight. If you can help me up and point me somewhere safe… that’s more than enough.” His voice softened. “No trouble. No questions. I just want to get home.”

[h4untingeclipse]

The more Matt spoke, the less certain Marc became that he was right on the money. The other made it out to be as such -- just a blind guy who got unlucky. However there was just... something there. Something that Marc couldn't quite put his finger on, but felt he was being steered clear away from as their conversation continued on. Guided in the wrong direction, so to speak.

" Good. Cause my whole gig is to kinda help those in need, so to say. " Specific people, sure, but he wasn't just going to pass up a guy that didn't fit the description. Last thing he needed was to hear the other died in that alley when he could have done something about it. " I can get you back to your place if you tell me where it is. Least I can do. Maybe help... clean you up some. " It was farther than he'd go to help most people. He wondered what it was about this guy that made him feel the need to give the extra hand.

[threegoldfish]

Of course Marc would be following him, switching from that side-mirror to the car's rear window as Jake happens to be close enough; It doesn't surprise him, not at all, therefore there's no hesitation existing within him when his gaze happens to end up meeting the hosts's own - right when Marc talks about being worried about them, his alters, including the one who's about to pull a fucking corpse out of the trunk of his Jaguar.

It's... personal, that whole confession made by the other there. Vulnerable. It's made of feelings and emotions and it hits Jake in a place he himself doesn't like to acknowledge, doesn't want to exist in the first place; He appreciates it still, recognizes Marc's strength for allowing himself to go down this path, as the two of them seem to be very similar when it comes to... well, this kind of shit.

Said feelings and emotions. Always easier to keep it all locked away instead of opening up in such a way.

It's why that jawline of his turns more tense again, why molars grind together as Jake just... stands there now, in front of that damn trunk, his gaze having fallen away a couple of seconds ago; Once more, that damn silence stretches, and he has no fucking idea what he's supposed to say to that, to what Marc's been laying out in front of him - so fragile, something that could break into a thousand pieces if Jake were to accidentally breathe on it in a wrong way.

"...He sido yo quien ha cuidado de vosotros dos durante mucho tiempo. Asegurándome de que estabas bien, de que nada te causaría daño." ---A mutter under his breath, close to a whisper, so quiet that it barely manages to roll off his tongue as Jake inhales, then exhales, long and slow, gloved hands coming to a rest on top of his car now...

He'd tried so hard, always, all the time. Did whatever he could to make sure Marc and Steven would... survive. And yet he did fail, in the end - had to take in the sight of Marc crawling toward that fucking shrine in the middle of the desert, losing a lot of blood, close to dying...

That memory haunts Jake to this day, the knowledge that, back then, he'd been too slow to jump in, to stop Bushman from shooting them in such an (almost) fatal way. They made it out alive in the end, but---

It had happened again. Just like that, Harrow had shot two bullets through Marc's chest, before Jake had even had the chance to become aware of the danger...

They made it out alive, a fucking miracle. But who knows if they'll end up being this fucking lucky ever again, should someone manage to shoot them a third time, to hurt them, to do something to them that could cause their body to succumb to whatever injury might exist?

Jake will always protect the other two, will always do whatever he can to keep all of that danger away from both Marc and Steven; This is precisely why he exists in the first place...

He's a protector alter. He protects. Simple. Easy.

Marc shouldn't feel the need to do the same for him.

---A sudden exhale, nostrils flaring, and Jake pulls open that damn trunk with a lot more force than necessary; There it is, that damn corpse, wrapped up in a black plastic bag like a damn christmas present...

"---I'll be alright. No need to worry 'bout me, Marc. But I... appreciate it." Managing to push those words out between clenched teeth at last - just because Marc had been so vulnerable before, offered his feelings on a damn silver platter - Jake pulls that heavy body out into the open, throws it over his shoulder. Fuck that guy's heavy...

"...Keep an eye on Steven instead, yeah?"

[h4untingeclipse]

Marc can see the tenseness. He had to wonder just how hard those things must be for his alter... He himself struggled with vulnerability. In fact he would rather keep everything locked up and hidden away if he could help it. Never let a living soul know what existed inside his heart because that was easier. That didn't come with consequences or actions he could not take back. He had to wonder if Jake was very much the same. If perhaps they had more in common than he might have once thought or realized... The Spanish came, went. Marc sighed because yes, Jake had always been the one to protect them. Even when he had not seen it as such in the beginning. He had not realized that is what Jake had been attempting all those years by shedding so much blood the way he had. Now, though, it was more in the light. More understood.

" Lo sé. Lo aprecio. " Marc offered it back in Jake's native tongue, just to show he truly did appreciate it. To show he wasn't just saying shit to simply say it there. " You did a lot to keep us safe. I just never saw it that way and that's... my fault. " He was a hardhead after all. He had been so determined whatever caused the blackouts was so terrible, that he didn't look at the bigger picture... He didn't look into when those blackouts happened. Why they happened when he was in the deepest shit of his life. Just took it as a negative and moved on. Which Jake did not deserve. " Think I can't keep an eye on both'a you? " Marc huffed, rolled his eyes. Crossed arms over his chest and tried to relax there in that reflection for once. Marc took a moment to sigh something soft out of his nose before watching Jake a little more intently. " Someone's gotta watch over you while you do the same for us, right? "

[threegoldfish]

That was... very easy, indeed. Didn't take much to have Steven jump into action there, forget about everything else while taking that dare like it's going to kill him otherwise - which is... entertaining, in a way. As mean as it might sound, it just... feels this way to Marc---

And he watches, curious now, arches another brow, tilts his head. Takes in the sight of his alter making his way to where their clothes are stacked upon another, pulls out those jeans in question, marches back over and in front of the mirror. Undresses then, just like that - pushes down those sweats Marc hasn't taken off ever since yesterday evening, standing there in those black boxer briefs...

His black boxer briefs.

---It... should not have an impact on Marc whatsoever, especially since there's a valid reason existing for his alter to be the one to have them on; They did switch only a little while ago, after all, with Steven taking over to take care of Marc - to make him feel better, to take all of that weight off of his shoulders that's connected to being the one to manage the body, to be alive, all of that.

And yet here Marc is anyways, feeling his throat doing a funny thing, causing him to swallow. He even glances to the side there, a little bit sheepish, which--- fuck, stop this, there's no reason for him to feel this way! A little huff of sorts, an effort to remain nonchalant, before those dark eyes dare to glance back over and look at the other who's now pulling on those jeans that have caused such an interesting moment to happen between them...

Then, there Steven is - wearing that piece of garment, just like that, within the blink of an eye. He even turns around to show himself off, complains about them - but all Marc can do at that moment is to just... look, to stare, with his eyes wide open and something unreadable appearing on features; It's... strange, to see Steven, sweet little Steven, wear them, his jeans, as it just---

They look good on him. Truly do, damn. As weird as it is, not fitting that aesthetic their brain has seemingly burned into their consciousness when it comes to his alter's choice of attire, it just... yeah. Shit. They do look good indeed. They do make him look very much like Marc himself, though - it's a little trippy, uh-huh - but... well, thank god Steven's whole way to carry their face is different enough to shatter that odd sensation that's briefly trying to come up to the surface...

"...O-kay." A slow-spoken okay it is, lingering on top of a tongue for a second too long, as that gaze continues to trail. ... ---A shake of a head, as if Marc is trying to get rid of an imaginary fly, and his attention is back up where those doe-eyes of the others are - accompanied by that huffy act of his, trying to make it all look so much worse than it really is.

Marc sighs. Rolls his eyes.

Fucking drama-queen.

"...Steven, just... just hold on for a minute, alright? Take a look. Like, a real good look, yeah? Just--- step away enough so you can see yourself in one of the mirrors where I am currently not existing within, and allow yourself to take in the sight. Just do it, trust me. Do it and let yourself not be a sorehead for a second or two, will ya?"

Because he is looking good. He truly is. And that it's Marc's jeans he's currently wearing... only adds to it. Fuck.

[h4untingeclipse]

There was certainly a look on Marc's face in that moment, but it was one Steven couldn't seem to properly read. That, and perhaps the alter was a bit to 'exasperated' at the time to really properly try and do so. Too caught up in his own head about how bloody tight the jeans were. Which, he had not been lying! They fit snugly in a way his own trousers never did, so by default he thought he was very correct in what he had been saying only moments prior. The jeans were too tight and Marc was definitely in the wrong.

" S -- Sorehead? I'm not a sorehead -- " Steven said those words with a pout to lips, like he was truly offended by them. Went back to that positioning of crossing his arms over his chest in a manner of a child who was not getting their way. He tended to default to such a stance whenever he was a little huffy. Drama-queen indeed. Marc did ask nicely, besides the sorehead comment -- so Steven wound up sighing something soft, unfolding his arms and taking a few steps back so that he could appear in the remaining reflections of the mirror with ease. Full bodied, for the most part. Enough to see what the jeans did happen to look like on his frame. It was... odd, to say the least! It looked too much like Marc, if he was just looking at his chest down. Sent a strange sensation right in the middle of his stomach. " Right, well -- I suppose they don't look bad or nothin'. But it's weird! And they're still too bloody tight, look at them! Can you even fit a thing inside those pockets? " Steven was most certainly exaggerating there. Even went to try and wiggle a hand inside said pocket with a bit of difficulty, looking at Marc with an 'I told you so!' kind of expression on his face.

[threegoldfish]

As stupid as this is - and as much as Marc feels a certain way about Steven calling him a bloody sausage while cradling that atrocious shirt close to his own frame - he has to admit that this is... it's---

It's freeing, somehow. He feels a lot better, just because they're here, holding a conversation about some random ass shit no one should truly give a flying fuck about in such a serious way. Sure, Marc will never get over the fact that Steven loves to dress like a blind grandpa at times, but... still. There's been no need to turn all of this into what it is now, and yet they're here, and Marc's depressive episode is beginning to feel much lighter, less... daunting. Less devastating.

Steven just does this to him, it seems. Steven exists, is being his self, and Marc... feels better. Shit.

Is that why he wears those clothes? Because he's subconsciously trying to make Marc feel better, in a way, even when it leads to patterned shirts and pants that sure as hell are too short for their legs? Perhaps it's also giving Steven some kind of comfort he cannot understand himself - and it presents in him simply enjoying too short pants and shirts that should be put into a museum for modern art (the one no one gets behind, wonders about) rather than to be worn on a man's body.

Huh.

Marc blinks, but then shakes the thought away - and swallows instead, focuses back on his alter being very much flustered there. It's easy to see, with how damn expressive he is, really - he's basically a sign on legs right now, made of blinking neon lights and a lot of arrows that point on him from all angles.

"---Alright, then I'm a damn sausage for all I care." It's that smugness that allows Marc to take it, to accept his own fate here. I could be worse, after all - he could be... a turd or whatever. So yeah, he takes the sausage, arches a brow, folds his arms over his chest.

"The whole jeans-thing is much more interesting right now anyways, no? I mean--- god, you're really focused on them, huh? Those tight jeans... let me tell ya, they aren't even that tight - they're straight-cut ones, y'know? There's also ones that are called 'skinny-cut', but... well, our ass doesn't fit into them. I tried. It was stupid."

And embarrassing, yeah - Marc still remembers that one time he went shopping with Layla, tried on those pants, causing her to slip into one of the most intense laughing-fits she's ever had while apologizing profusely...

Marc blinks, clears his throat.

"Anyways - they aren't that tight. They're comfy. Did you ever give them a try, like, at all? I know you woke up once while I was wearing jeans in the past, but--- those jeans were even wider cut than my usual pairs. And, uhm, you were busy with trying not to die, so... I guess you didn't really focus on what you were wearing back then..." ... "Perhaps you really need to just--- put them on? Maybe you'll understand who I'm trying to impress with them, then."

...Is this a dare spoken by Marc here? Maybe. Perhaps he's also just... sensing an opportunity here to show Steven that he will also look great when wearing jeans. Of course he will, they're sharing a body, after all!

[h4untingeclipse]

Yet to Steven those clothing choices simply reflected, well. Himself. It was an odd thing, so to speak, when it passed his mind now that he knew what he was -- an alter, all of that. How did he come up with his personality? How did he come to be, exactly? None of it made much sense, but to Steven he simply was, is. Which included his apparent god awful sense of style, according to Marc there. Though the other man admitting his sausage-ness was very pleasing to the ear. Had Steven looking a little too smug. Granted said smug expression was wiped away as quickly as it came thanks to Marc's own smugness. Their host seemed far too happy with the new topic of conversation and now Steven was left to flap his lips once again. Like a bloody fish out of water, that is what he was in the moment. " Clearly you don't look at the body when you wear the bloody things, because they most definitely are that tight. " Steven nearly scoffed the words out, like he truly could not believe Marc was so oblivious to his own clothing choices there. " Who needs trousers that cling that much, anyways? Course I've not tried to wear them! That's your style and this is mine. " He sounded exasperated once again, in that very Steven manner of his.

He even went as far as to cross his arms over his chest, trapping his poor shirt in between and likely wrinkling the absolute hell out of it. Not that he was paying it much mind in the moment, as he eyed Marc and his sudden dare of words. Because that is exactly what it was -- a dare. " You know what -- fine! So be it, I'll try the damned things on and show you just how ridiculous you look in them all the time. " If anyone was going to take the bait, it was unfortunately poor little Steven as he went back to their little closet of sorts. Rummaged until he found those aforementioned jeans. Didn't even bat an eye while setting them and his shirt on the bed, hands going to the waist of sweats the body had been wearing and simply shoving them right down. Perhaps if he had been thinking more about it, he'd have a little shame. However no, in that very moment he was stood in black pants, the boxer briefs an apparent Marc staple as he grabbed the jeans and then began working on bringing them up. Shuffling around to get them over thighs, arse, everything. Zip and buttoning, only to then turn and look at that mirror with a flail of a hand at the body's lower half. " See?! Honestly, even getting them on was a hassle! "

[threegoldfish]

"...If anythin', it's on both of us, Marc."

A fact, simple as that. Because while Marc did ignore him for the longest time - acted as if those blackouts of his were just random occurances that barely held any significance, if any at all - Jake didn't reveal himself to the host either. He stayed hidden, made sure Marc wouldn't sense his existence, wouldn't see him in action, wouldn't be aware enough to witness another one sliding into his body to protect him...

Basically, Jake had existed for both Marc and Steven in just the same way that Marc had existed for Steven in the past - one-sided awareness, one-sided exchange of informations.

Until, one day, it had all crumbled to dust. That wall that had once existed between them? Gone, just like that. Poof. Suddenly, Jake was there, and both Marc as well as Steven were able to see him, to sense him, to know he's one of them - the one who'd caused those blackouts, who'd done all of the things the others weren't able to do for a variety of reasons.

Time had passed, and now they're here.

Another breath is being taken, and Jake finally slows down the car, allows it to come to a halt in what appears to be the literal middle of fucking nowhere - the world's asshole, so to speak. Dark, far away from any human soul, eerie, a little scary... but very much perfect for dumping a body.

However, he does not get out of his Jaguar just yet; Jake just... keeps sitting there, stares ahead, sighs and closes his eyes for a moment or two as thoughts race behind the span of his forehead, being annoying as fuck. With him turning the engine off then, the radio dies as well...

Silence. A heartbeat passes. Two. three.

"...You don't have to worry 'bout the body." It's spoken much more gentle than expected, with Jake blinking those dark eyes of his back open, shifting to gather himself, pulling on his jacket, his tie. "I promise I'll keep it safe - I know I'm not the one it belongs to, after all. Just... borrowin' it every now an' then."

He's not meeting Marc's eyes during the whole of it, just opens the door once he's finished speaking; He gets out of his car in a swift motion, allows for sure feet to then carry him around and to the back, to where the trunk is waiting to be opened...

[h4untingeclipse]

Marc pursed lips, but there wasn't much he could do to deny Jake's words, honestly. At the end of the day, his alter might just be right. It might be a problem on both their ends. Marc because he took so long to try and understand Jake's existence -- and Jake because he still kept shit hidden from the host, even to that very day. Both at fault, yeah, that kinda made sense, didn't it? So a sigh left his nose, and he hummed in acknowledgement. " Guess we still got some shit to work on, then. " He huffed a laugh at the thought. To think he needed to get to know his own alter. Someone that was a literal part of him... It was almost comical in a way. How the hell did he know so little about someone he shared a body with? Silence befell them, and Marc wondered just what Jake might be thinking in that moment. Only for the alter to speak up and have the host frowning just slightly to himself. All thick brows scrunching downwards, pressing in. Something about the words just did not sit right with his soul, he realized. Understood the reason soon after and parted lips to answer --

Then Jake was out of the car, wandering towards the trunk. Left Marc there in the side mirror for a moment before he huffed once more. He tried to follow and found his best bet was the reflection in the rear window. Able to see Jake from that position and try to meet eyes with the other. Not that it worked out as well as he wanted, but damn it if he didn't try. " Y'know it's not just the body I'm worried about, right? I meant you as a person, Jake. " It was probably the first sign of true care he showed the alter. Something Marc definitely felt bad for as time had passed between them. As he got to witness Jake exist more and more those days. " I get it, you can take care of yourself. I've... seen what you can do, yeah. " A lick over teeth at the thought, but he continued on anyways. " Doesn't mean I don't worry. 'Bout you and Steven both, y'know? " A pause then, and his eyes averted finally with a long exhale of breath. " ... S'just the three of us, after all. Gotta look out for you two. "

[alwaysxinxtrouble]

Matt could feel the stranger’s eyes on him, steady and unflinching, and it made the back of his neck prickle. Most people got nervous when they saw blood, or at least when confronted with someone clearly trying to hold himself upright by pure stubbornness. This man didn’t even flinch. His heartbeat stayed even, his stance measured, his breathing controlled in a way that set off every alarm Matt had.

He straightened his sunglasses again, just to be sure they still hid what they needed to. His ribs throbbed, but he forced his spine upright anyway, refusing to give this stranger more weakness to catalog.

“I’m not dying in a grungy alleyway,” Matt said again, quieter but firmer. “Believe me, I’ve had worse nights.”

The man took another slow step closer. Matt caught the faint whisper of fabric — smooth, flowing, almost weightless — completely unlike the heavy coats and jackets he was used to hearing in Hell’s Kitchen. The air shifted around him with the quiet confidence of someone who didn’t stumble into danger but walked straight into it on purpose. Annoying, stubborn presence.

Matt huffed out a breath, half a laugh, half an exasperated sigh. “You know,” he started, head tilting slightly, listening to the man’s pulse, “you’re pretty comfortable giving me grief about being out here.” He let the silence sit for a moment, his fingers tightening on the brick at his back.

“So let me ask you something,” Matt said, his voice low, a dry edge of challenge threading through it. “What exactly are you doing walking around grungy alleyways at night? Because normal people don’t drop out of the sky in a magic suit and stroll up to bleeding strangers.”

Another beat — and Matt added, a little rougher, “You looking for trouble, or does it just follow you around too?”

[h4untingeclipse]

If only Marc had the knowledge that every last tick of his body could be read so easily. Maybe he'd be more on edge. Perhaps even keep track of his own even pulse, the fact he was so unphased by something like a man bleeding out in some dingey alley. This wasn't even close to the worst he had seen. At least the guy was still breathing. " Worse nights than this? Y'know that's a crazy statement, all things considered. Aren't you a lawyer around here? " Marc might as well let it be known he has some knowledge of the guy. It would come out sooner or later, all things considered. Since he was determined to help as much as he could. He might be a protector of the Travelers of the Night and all, but that didn't mean he wouldn't protect people outside of it, too.

A beat passed, and the other spoke freely. Left Marc to be baffled by what he heard. There was no way the guy saw him, from the information Marc had been fed about the other through news articles and Steven yammering about anything and everything he read on their trip here. So how in the hell... " So blind guys really do have super hearing or somethin'? You get all that from some shifting around? " He sounded skeptical now. Sounded a little on edge. " Listen -- why I'm here doesn't matter. You gonna let me keep you from painting the town more red, or not? "

[threegoldfish]

Complimentary colors. The yellow adds a bit of pop. It's snazzy. Jesus Christ.

Marc just keeps staring at his alter as if he's currently able to witness an impossible thing happening right here, right now, in the middle of their flat - and yes, his stare is filled to the brim with disbelief and... disbelief. More disbelief! Parted lips, knitted brows and all! He just... he can't believe that this is truly happening here, that Steven is holding that damn shirt like it's a thing he gave birth to, defending those atrocious colors, calling them complimentary and snazzy and---

A blink. A second one. Another shake of a head, lips that part even further before they fall back closed. Open again, just to close a moment later - repeating the action twice before Marc, finally, manages to have some sort of noise leaving his lungs...

"---A sausage, huh." There's just nothing else he could possibly say regarding that ugly piece of fabric there, so his attention has shifted now, focusing on that very creative insult that has been thrown his way mere seconds ago. "I am... behaving like a sausage. How is--- what is--- like, I don't..."

An exasperated sigh, hands that are thrown into the air then, so far that they slide out of that damn mirror and disappear into nothingness as Marc tries to make sense of it all.

"Okay, okay, okay - I act like a sausage. What does that even mean? What does a sausage act like in the first place?" It's kind of ridiculous to ask for any sense of logic here, because Marc's very much aware of the fact that there is none - Steven's just calling him a sausage because he can, is all. But since his alter has so gracefully started it all off with that stupid sausage-thing, Marc might just bite straight into it - why not, after all?

Especially since Steven speaks about his choice of attire after. His jeans. His absurdly tight jeans. Huh. Interesting.

"...Absurdly tight." There, Marc just has to repeat that one, and there's... something sticking to his syllables. Something a little smug, maybe. Perhaps. "That's... that's what you're focusing on, Steven? That my jeans are absurdly tight?"

[h4untingeclipse]

What a wonder of the world it might be, to figure out just how they got to that point. From Marc's depressive episode -- to fighting over clothing choices in a manner that sounded much like some old married couple. Bickering, back and forth, like neither man had any sense to them whatsoever! Steven was not backing down, either. Even when Marc called his bluff about the whole 'sausage' insult. Had the alter faltering, flapping his lips, then waving a hand quickly like he was swatting something away. " A sausage just -- it acts like you because you are one! Stop trying to make sense of my insults, you're making it lose its flare here! " Poor little steven sounded so exasperated with their host then, sighing and pursing his lips in a manner that could almost be a pout. " Just accept what you are and bloody move on. " Finality to his words, his hand now falling back to his side.

Only to now falter there, reach up so both could grip that shirt and fiddle with it as his previous words about the jeans was brought up. It was much like the words he'd spoken back in that storage unit, really -- falling past his lips before he really thought about them in the first place. I don't care how bloody handsome you are. He remembered it well... The jeans comment was much the same, actually. Marc's smug little smarmy face was enough to have Steven's own cheeks fill up with some color. Bloody hell! " Oh, come off it! You know damned well your jeans are too tight for no good reason! Who are you trying to impress, huh? "

[threegoldfish]

Unfortunately, yeah.

Jake just rolls his eyes, throws one more glance over at the other, then looks back at what lies straight ahead - which is... not much, besides that road and some vegetation. There aren't even houses around anymore, just trees and foliage and all the good bits where something dangerous could lurk within, ready to strike and hunt down unsuspecting prey...

---The whole freelance crime boss thing does tickle an amused huff from the depths of Jake's chest, however, because... fuck, that's quite a funny way to call it, albeit not too far from the truth. Should he print himself some business cards there? Jake Lockley, freelance crime boss for hire. No, he won't. The thought is entertaining, however...

"...Kinda accurate, but also... not exactly that." A hum, thoughtful, and Jake's dark irises flick left and right as he makes sure to not have some fucking branch scratch up that amazingly well-done paintjob of his car. "---And yeah, I am draggin' the body into shit like this. Because what else am I supposed to do? Should I stop to exist instead? Not do what I wanna do, just because I was born into a body that already belongs to another guy? Let go of my own thoughts and principles, of my opinions, of my... ---fuck."

Wishes. Jake had wanted to say wishes. Wishes and dreams, all of that. Thing is, he just... never really believed into such, never allowed himself to have them, and therefore it feels like he's unraveling something to himself there he isn't quite ready for yet. So he bites his bottom lip instead, brings a hand up to his flat cap, gives it a bit of a tug.

"Listen, you really interested in what I do, or do you just--- y'know, wanna hear about how much of a bad guy I am?" Because that's how it has been for the longest time, no? Jake, the mysterious alter who never revealed himself, who Marc was never fond of because things did turn violent whenever he appeared: Sudden blackouts, blood baths and dead bodies after.

Dangerous. Vile. Gruesome.

... However, whatever had threatened Marc's safety to begin with had been dealt with as well. Blood, murder and gore in exchange for the body's safety - to make sure Marc, and Steven, would be okay...

But that detail is easy to miss. Jake gets it. He truly does. No sarcasm here, not at all.

---He swallows, allows a breath to escape him, gaze having turned serious again - perhaps there's even something somber sticking to the corners of his eyes, causing crows feet to deepen, the crease between thick brows to appear more pronounced...

[h4untingeclipse]

Marc was quickly stunned into silence. It was almost like a smack to the face, truly. To have Jake go on and on about living, about existing. Damn it, it made Marc feel like a complete asshole again, much like earlier. Another instance of putting his foot into his own damn mouth without necessarily meaning to. Sure, he didn't agree with how violent Jake was. In fact the blackouts? They kind of terrified Marc in the beginning. Not knowing what was happening, only to come to realize he had an alter willing to shed blood like it was nothing. Like it was another Monday afternoon or something. He didn't agree with it, but what kind of man would he be if he said Steven could live his life freely, but not Jake? He'd be a fuckin' shit one, that's what kind.

There was a sigh that left his nose, and Marc glanced away in what might be a mild onset of shame in himself for coming off the way he did. For causing Jake to feel any sort of manner that was negative. Not his intention, never would be. " You know that's not what I meant. " Marc's voice was softer then, muttered, apologetic as he kept his eyes on the scenery that passed. Trees, darkness, no houses or streetlights in sight. Ominous, eerie. " You're -- allowed to exist. M'not gonna take that away from you, alright? I just -- I fuckin' worry, okay? " It was hard to admit. It was a little more vulnerable than Marc tended to enjoy being. Wasn't exactly his strong point and he was sure both alters knew that well. Considering one or the other tended to come out when he felt this way. Steven for the stress, Jake for the danger. Always when Marc was his most vulnerable. " I don't think you're a bad guy. Guess I just -- don't understand you well enough. That's on me, not you. "

[threegoldfish]

There's a comment resting on the tip of his tongue, something that wants to come out quick, sharp, cheeky; Jake swallows it down for the time being, bites the inside of his cheek instead, and simply continues to just exist for a little while longer - allows Marc to speak his thoughts, listens to every single one of them...

---Then he lets out a small chuckle, amused about the other's... assumption? Fear? A mix of both, perhaps. It's cute, in a way, and almost makes Jake feel a little bit proud there - the fact that Marc considers him to be a gang boss of sorts, because one needs to have certain qualities to them to manage to become one in the first place.

But, unfortunately...

"---Don't worry, chiquito - I'm not some gang boss, unfortunately." Would be pretty cool though, no? Jake hums, arches a brow, finally glances back over at the host who's certainly having a time here while being stuck inside the Jaguar's side mirror.

"I'm just... me. Myself. Jake Lockley. People know me and they approach me with... different requests of theirs. Dependin' on what they want, I either tell 'em a price or I tell 'em to get lost - which has happened before, yeah. I've got some rules set down, morals and shit, so... I'm not out there doin' everything, is what I'm sayin'."

That almost sounds like he's about to talk himself into trouble there; Jake clears his throat, his attention back on the road, as he shifts a bit in his seat to get more comfortable. Fiddles with the radio's settings next, because it was about to lose signal there - ah, better, the jazz is back. Good.

He takes a turn to the left just after, driving onto a road that's void of any street lights.

[h4untingeclipse]

" Unfortunately, huh? " Marc caught that easily, raising a brow at the implications that Jake might want to be some type of gang boss. It was safe to say the title would... fit his alter a little too well. The way Jake presented himself was like a man with power. Someone who new exactly what they were doing at all times of the day. Jake had the aura of someone who never made a misstep, never lost. It was damn near impressive. Just as much as it might be worrisome...

" So what -- you're like a freelance crime boss, then? Close enough to a gang boss, if y'ask me. You're seriously dragging the body into shit like this? " Marc didn't sound upset here, as much as he sound worried, perhaps. He and Jake were never on the same page, no. Marc had spent years ignoring the guy existed, as a matter of fact. Pushed it to the back of his mind when he'd blackout. Assume it was nothing when clearly it was everything. Even still, even with them getting off on the wrong foot... Marc cared for his alter. Worried, wondered. Wanted to make sure the guy was at least safe in his endeavors. If not for the other's sake, then for the body's sake as well. After all they all had to make a metaphorical home of it. They all had to exist inside it, one way or another. Last thing he needed was Jake getting them into some serious shit...

[threegoldfish]

So, Marc's very much familiar with Steven, truly. He's been watching the other for a long time, after all - had been aware of his existence long before Steven had realized the truth about it all, about Marc being existent, the one who technically owns the body, all of that. Which means that Marc is, as said, is at least somewhat edcuated when it comes to most things that apply to his alter; Steven enjoys vegan food only, loves to be social despite being awkward at the very same time, oftentimes felt very lonely and had wished for someone to be by his side, likes to read books and figure out ancient Egypt stuff...

And, besides all of that, he's got a rather peculiar style to him when it comes to... well, clothes.

Which, honestly, is the only trait about the other that Marc just cannot get behind, no matter how hard he tries to figure it out. That Steven's inerhited all of Marc's nerdy aspects - okay, yeah, makes sense. That he also yearns for long-lasting friendships and all of that - very much understandable as well. Hell, even the whole vegan-thing is... well, it's, uhm, it's logical, in some way - Steven likes animals, and Marc likes them too, and he's just a much more peaceful nature that went all out on that sentiment to shape it into his own behavior.

---But the patterned shirts he seems to be so utterly fond of, the pants that always end just above his ankles rather than to fit properly, the way he manages to combine both of that into rather questionable every-day outfits?!

No, Marc just can't understand any of it. He can't. Fuck, no matter how many times he tries, he just... there's nothing popping up inside is head that would warrant for Steven to have that need to him to mess around with their style of clothing in such a brutal way. It just makes no sense whatsoever!

"...Snazzy. Fun. Funky." Deadpan, combined with a blink, a little out of breath still; Marc allows for a second to pass, takes in the sight of the other protecting that damn piece of fabric like it's turned into a sentient being, then shakes his head. "Snaz--- Steven, that thing? That--- that is... that's an imposition! I mean, look, I get it, you like patterned stuff, you think it's... erm, cool---" Snazzy. No, Marc's not going to include that word into his every-day vocabulary, thank you very much. "---And you do own some shirts that are... okay. Ish." Ish. Mhm. "But... this? I mean... like... did you--- is that yellow combined with pink and turquoise? Steven, come on, that--- it hurts to look at it! How on Earth is one supposed to even wear it? Like, what kinds of pants--- okay, I won't even start with the pants here, I'm just saying..."

...

"---Did you just call me a sausage?"

A sudden break of his rambling, another blink, lifted brows. And yes, Marc does let out a small little huff then, in disbelief.

[h4untingeclipse]

Steven could not believe what he was hearing there. Marc was full on judging his state of dress! From his shirt even down to the bloody trousers he wore! That deadpanned speak, the way Marc eyed the shirt he still cradled to his bosom. Steven truly was holding the clothing like it was a first born child, funnily enough. As if Marc's words could hurt the inanimate object's feelings somehow. " The colors are just fine, thank you very much! Blue and pink are complimentary, you know... " The words were said around pouted lips, Steven almost huffing them like a petulant child. " The yellow adds a bit of a pop! It's snazzy, just like I said. " Just like Marc seemed to refuse to say. As if the word was somehow a sin against nature or something equally as ridiculous.

Marc's question did get somewhat of a smug look to grace Steven's features in that moment. Cheeky and triumphant at the reaction he had seemingly gotten from their host. A laugh, a raised chin. " You bet your arse I did! Because you're acting like one! " What did it mean, exactly, for one to act like a sausage? Steven couldn't quite say, would not have the answer for that question at all. Only knew that Marc was, of course, being one. " Just because you're boring and simply wear t-shirts and jackets and absurdly tight jeans -- " Now Steven was grumbling a bit, like Marc had gotten him all riled up. " -- Doesn't mean my sense of style is any worse! "

[threegoldfish]

...Well, actually, yeah - Steven's desk is... it's something, truly. Now that Marc thinks about it, both of them are quite similar in that regard, right? ---Actually, no, not at all. Marc has depressive episodes, ends up not doing dishes, allows mold to exist and whatever bacteria to eat away on the leftovers he forgets to either put away or throw in the trash. Other than that, he's actually quite neat and tidy, all things considered - prefers to put his stuff away, folds his clothes, doesn't like to have stuff cover the floor (mainly because he's almost broken his damn foot twice while sharing an apartment with his alter!)...

Steven, however, is messy. He might not leave the dishes out, handles leftovers and washes up, but his stuff? Oh god, his stuff, his books and papers and trinkets and blankets and pillows and clothes and fish food - all of it, and so much more, is everywhere. His desk is where the big finale of it all usually exists, a whole mounain of whatever he's momentarily focused on - hieroglyphs, mostly. Egypt stuff. Sometimes he even brings home an artifact or two to do some research on, which is... it's wild to think about, yeah.

Okay, so... perhaps they aren't really similar when it comes to that. But they are creating messes, the both of them - just in different ways, caused by different circumstances. Huh.

...Wait, did Steven just say that it's nice to have him around?

With Marc having fallen into a whole-ass thought process there, he only now realizes that Steven has long since moved on, once he's spoken out a few more words that have gotten lost before reaching his brain - left the sorry excuse of a kitchen behind, made his way over to where their clothes are. Marc's with him then, about a moment later, reappearing within that 3-way mirror that's hanging on the wall to their left; Ever since having started to talk to one another, it usually stays folded open, to make things easier on them.

And he's feeling a bit sheepish there. Well, yeah, he knows, technically speaking, that Steven... likes him, in a way, despite them having needed a moment or two to figure shit out, back when Harrow had threatened to send most people to the Duat, all of that bullshit. Knows that Steven enjoys his company, even though, in Marc's humble opinion, he's really not fun to have around most of the time...

But to hear it like that? Shit. Hits him deeper than expected, yeah. Has a certain kind of warmth spread across his cheeks, the center of his chest. Perhaps he will just... stay, for a little longer. Accompany Steven to get those meat patties from the local supermarket. It's easier to do such when he's not the one needing to move the body, after all, so...

Besides, it's just nice to watch, as said before. Marc enjoys it, deeply so, to just take it all in - the way Steven lives, goes about his day, does his thing---

---But then, something changes - a piece of clothing appears, being held up and basically presented by his alter; That fuzzy feeling that had started to accumulate there, within his mind, his heart? Yeah, it's basically being vaporized by the sight that Marc's now forced to take in, made of the most astrociously patterned shirt he's ever seen in his entire life.

"---The fuck is that?" There's true exasperation sticking to those spoken-out words, with Marc's eyes widening before he squints, even leans forward a bit within that mirror, before pulling back with a scrunched up nose. "...I thought you already managed to buy all of the ugliest shirts that have ever been put on sale before, but--- the hell is... ---where did you even get this thing from?!"

He has to admit, he's... impressed, in a way, by Steven's ability to find such ugly shirts to begin with. But he's also feeling a little horrified about it...

[h4untingeclipse]

Steven had, indeed, said he enjoyed having Marc around. He had meant every words as well, too. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact Steven had assumed himself to be so... alone for so long. Trapped in a mundane roundabout that he called life that only had joys spark when he got to go to work. Sure, when he had first found out about Marc things had been... strained, to say the least. He'd been determined the other was such a terrible person, didn't want to believe he was going crazy. Then on top of that felt hurt to realize he was not the original, but something created. It had been a rough patch for them both, truly. After everything, though -- he felt closer to Marc. He felt as if things had shifted in a much kinder direction. They flowed well with one another and Steven was lo longer alone. It was... nice. He preferred that over an empty flat.

Or, so he thought -- until Marc seemed to judge his clothing style in that moment. Poor Steven actually looked offended for a moment. Found that three-way mirror of theirs to scoff at Marc. To flap his lips a few times before he finally began to speak. " Ugliest -- Marc, that's so rude! " Like a mother scolding a child about manners, Steven held the shirt now to his chest in a way that could be him protecting the article of clothing. Shielding it away from Marc's harsh words. " It's a -- a snazzy little piece! The patterns are meant to be fun and funky, that's the point! You --... you sausage! " Don't ever ask Steven how he came up with his insults. He may very well never be able to tell someone.