#marty m.

[mildculthit]

@newmutiny ᢉ𐭩'd, marty has been watching art serve for long enough that it stops being an accident. he's sitting court side with a paddle balanced across his knees, bouncing a table tennis ball against the rubber in this steady tok, tok, tok that's probably annoying. actually, no. definitely annoying. that's why he's doing it.

look at this ping pong motherfucker court side at tennis practice.

art sends another serve down the line and marty goes, ' you know what your problem is? ' nobody asked, this has never stopped him.

he gets to his feet and wanders down to the court, squinting at art like he's being paid for the character analysis. ' you look too fucking reasonable. that's no good. guy sees you across the net, he thinks, that guy waits for the little green man before crossing. ' marty points the paddle at him. again, look at this ping pong motherfucker court side at tennis practice. ' nobody's scared of that ... you ever play table tennis? '

[mildculthit]

‘  he  didn’t  ever  get  her  something  that  nice  and  she  finally  let  him  do  anal .  ’ — NICO/MARTYYYY

marty's head snaps around so fast it's like somebody just called his name at the bloody bingo, grand prize over here baby! ' wait, wait, wait. finally? ' his hand comes up like he can physically stop the conversation from moving another inch without him. ' what the hell does finally mean? how long was this guy campaigning? ' marty leans in. this is his business. it absolutely is not his business but this is now filed under MARTY MAUSER, NOSEY BUGGER, so yes it is his business. ' don't just gimme the headline, bud, i need the whole goddamn story. '

[mildculthit]

continued, @paraeble:

" y'know, i didn't really have a problem with it— " there's that smile again, almost sheepish, but shit-eating for sure. " not 'til he told me he lived in his grandma's fuckin' basement. " rich talk, coming from patrick who was between places, for lack of a better word. tennis, shitty tinder dates to score a comfortable bed during match season, both sports where you sold your body to some higher power— patrick was equally skilled at both. " you getting soft, mauser? you're two steps away from clutching your fuckin' pearls. "

he lets out a laugh that's struggling to decide if it's horrified or impressed. leave those pearls out of it, marty mauser leans in.

' no, no, hold on. ' he starts counting on his fingers. ' stranger tries to finger bang you in a bar. weird. huuuge red flag. then... ' another finger. ' he tells you he lives in his grandma's basement and that's where you draw the line? ' he stares at patrick for another second because, actually, what else is he gonna do before he lets out this ruckus of a laugh again.

' your standards are ... they're organised completely wrong. ' he gestures vaguely, madly. imagine he's trying to rearrange an invisible chart. ' you've got them alphabetically instead of by severity. what, don't wait up, nana. i'm at o'malleys trying to sexually harass a tennis player? that doesn't worry you? '

[mildculthit]

i got me some serious connections. heavyweight. / Kendall to Marty? LMAO

marty rubs a hand over his jaw, fighting a laugh that loses almost immediately. almost, being the keyword. ' you say heavyweight like i'm supposed to picture the mafia. i'm picturing a guy named kevin with two phones, motherfucker. '

[mildculthit]

“you're busted.” (who wants to get caught by spidey)

the pawn shop window explodes inward and marty barely flinches. he’s halfway over the counter when a web yanks the backpack from his hands, sending it swinging lazily above his head. he watches it for a second. ‘ aw, come on. ’

@webquirk , ‘ you’re busted. ’

‘ you’ve got impeccable timing in the worst possible way. ‘ marty gestures vaguely around the shop. ‘ i was seconds away. ‘ he gives the web one experimental tug.

‘ that’s honestly annoying. i’m liberating some inventory. this guy- the guy that runs this place. ‘ his finger twirls accusingly round. ‘ he’s the thief! ’

[mildculthit]

" he tried to finger bang me at the bar. " —patrick, to marty silliness.

marty winces. ' jesus christ. people are skipping, what ... four stages now? see, that's the sort of confidence i can't even get frustrated with. arrested? absolutely. but confident. fuck. ' he points vaguely off somewhere in the distance. ' that's not flirting. that's home invasion territory, you know? '

[mildculthit]

❛ why don't you mind your own business? ❜ -- nico @ marty

marty blinks like he's genuinely trying to process the concept. ' ... my own business? ' a beat. he looks around, checks to see if there's another conversation happening he’s supposed to be in. he turns right back and nico gets this evaluative up and down. ' tried it. my business? boring. my business is nothing. just sitting there. this? this is way more interesting. by miles. '

[mildculthit]

‘haven’t changed much, have you?’ marty thee mauser

‘ changed? nah. never. ’ mara’s managed to land somewhere between a compliment and a dare, because that question in particular has followed marty room to room, place to place like a bad smell for years. ‘ i was already operating at a pretty high standard. this is a carefully curated personality, can’t go throwing that away for somethin as simple as time passing. ’