[ christ, if marcus isn't supposed to kill someone, this just feels like psychological warfare. the second billy floats the possibility that there's a chance here he's not supposed to hurt anyone, marcus groans, dropping forward until his head is between his knees. it would be easy, he thinks, to just topple forward. they're not high enough that he's guaranteed death on impact, but if he angles himself the right way, drops down neck-first, who knows? maybe he'll get lucky.
but billy keeps talking, brings up vegas, and marcus immediately shakes his head, snapped out of whatever he's thinking. he's wide-eyed and clearly unravelling, but he stares at billy with every ingrained survival tactic he has. gotta look cool, gotta look stable. gotta be quiet and unapproachable. the whole effect of trying to stay calm while clearly not gives him a manic, terrified expression, lips pulled into a thin line, pressed together tight. ]
I don't-- I wouldn't screw you like that. I haven't told anyone about Vegas.
[ that's a lie. that's a pretty fucking big lie, actually, because while marcus has not only told people about vegas consciously, he also has vague, disconnected memories of mumbling i need to get back to vegas the second he got here, whispering about billy's dad under his breath and scaring the sober people he passed by asking if they can clean off the blood on his hands before he gets caught. but marcus needs billy, and saying anything that could shake the only solid foundation he has right now - saying anything that could betray the trust billy put in him - just feels like shit. that's not something he can deal with on top of everything else.
there's a second of silence while he just - tries to think. if the loose ends argument holds any water, then there are half a dozen other people he can think of in danger. people he's talked to about king's alone, let alone vegas. marcus feels his mouth run dry. ]
Maybe I should talk to him. Try to figure out why there's a target on his back. Or-- or, shit, maybe that'll fail me, too. If this is a test of blind obedience, I can't question why someone wants him dead. Motherfucker.
[ marcus tips forward again, clutching his hair with his fingers and shutting his eyes tight. humanity is a meaningless spurt of consciousness marring a once perfect void of space. for all his hypocrisy, for all his praying, there is no god watching over marcus. insignificance is too solid of a word for something as minimal and as worthless as him. any choice he makes going forward will be the desperate, ugly scramblings of a diseased, plague-riddled rat deep in over its head.
unfairly - cruelly - marcus looks at billy through the gaps in his fingers, his hand having drifted down from his hair to cover his eyes. maybe if he's not the one to make the choice going forward, he can live with the consequences. as prideful as he is, he also depends on people he loves, and there's few people he loves more than billy. if only because marcus has secured their bond to unfathomable degrees after everything he did for him. ]
But - you think I shouldn't do it, right? That's the call you're making?
no subject
but billy keeps talking, brings up vegas, and marcus immediately shakes his head, snapped out of whatever he's thinking. he's wide-eyed and clearly unravelling, but he stares at billy with every ingrained survival tactic he has. gotta look cool, gotta look stable. gotta be quiet and unapproachable. the whole effect of trying to stay calm while clearly not gives him a manic, terrified expression, lips pulled into a thin line, pressed together tight. ]
I don't-- I wouldn't screw you like that. I haven't told anyone about Vegas.
[ that's a lie. that's a pretty fucking big lie, actually, because while marcus has not only told people about vegas consciously, he also has vague, disconnected memories of mumbling i need to get back to vegas the second he got here, whispering about billy's dad under his breath and scaring the sober people he passed by asking if they can clean off the blood on his hands before he gets caught. but marcus needs billy, and saying anything that could shake the only solid foundation he has right now - saying anything that could betray the trust billy put in him - just feels like shit. that's not something he can deal with on top of everything else.
there's a second of silence while he just - tries to think. if the loose ends argument holds any water, then there are half a dozen other people he can think of in danger. people he's talked to about king's alone, let alone vegas. marcus feels his mouth run dry. ]
Maybe I should talk to him. Try to figure out why there's a target on his back. Or-- or, shit, maybe that'll fail me, too. If this is a test of blind obedience, I can't question why someone wants him dead. Motherfucker.
[ marcus tips forward again, clutching his hair with his fingers and shutting his eyes tight. humanity is a meaningless spurt of consciousness marring a once perfect void of space. for all his hypocrisy, for all his praying, there is no god watching over marcus. insignificance is too solid of a word for something as minimal and as worthless as him. any choice he makes going forward will be the desperate, ugly scramblings of a diseased, plague-riddled rat deep in over its head.
unfairly - cruelly - marcus looks at billy through the gaps in his fingers, his hand having drifted down from his hair to cover his eyes. maybe if he's not the one to make the choice going forward, he can live with the consequences. as prideful as he is, he also depends on people he loves, and there's few people he loves more than billy. if only because marcus has secured their bond to unfathomable degrees after everything he did for him. ]
But - you think I shouldn't do it, right? That's the call you're making?