vii.the evil magician's mancave

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Marc

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Marc. She liked the name. Or the way it had curled out of her unready tongue when mumbling it out to him after the alter had revealed his name. The only audible commotion in the rather silenced room was the obvious blubbing erupting from the fish tank, or the breathy respires both the adults bore. Nina couldn't help but steal glances every once in a while, as the broody man tended to her cuts unaware that he too was doing the same.

"I'm sorry" Marc started yet again, his voice having a guilted and warmly lowered phase, "It's my fault that you got involved in all this."

"It's not-," Nina stopped herself halfway with a drawled breath and closed eyes, her voice too stooping low matching that of the lock-haired man, "It's not your fault Marc. I just keep getting myself attracted towards problems you know? L-like a magnet to a gleamed iron. So clearly, you're not the one at fault...neither of you is."

Marc merely nodded to it as he continued his focused tending, glad that the work was coming to an end so that he wouldn't have to listen to much more of her pained winces and the fact that she'd be out of his flat sooner, deeming that it'd give him the needed time to figure things out and give him enough time to stow the duffle bag back into his locker before Steven wakes up.

But something else seemed to urge him to ask her what she had meant by her sentence, maybe it was the withered concern and worry his thickened heart bore or it was the Steven part of him, urging him for small talk. Nonetheless, he persevered to it as he asked, "Care to elaborate?"

"Hmm?"

"The whole, getting attracted towards problems part" he deadpanned, "Care to elaborate?"

"Well..." Nina drawled as she shiftily shimmied her butt against the wall, finding it more comfortable and Marc's hand carefully followed all together.

"I had an accident a few years back. Don't know what happened. Don't know how I ended up in a d- dilapidated hospital. But when I woke up, I just-, I couldn't remember anything. All parts of my head were suddenly t-these doors that were forever locked. I woke up with a bulgy bandage wrapped around my head and I couldn't even remember the past few years of my life."

"But the more I try to remember things, r-remember the past i-it just feels as if they are being removed or shriveled, so that the more I grovel over it the more the doors themselves vanish."

Marc couldn't do anything but listen. Listen with a stoic face and pitiably hurting heart. Nevertheless, his eyes were the bearers of emotions his expressions denied. It flashed with his heart's hurting, and the loving warmth Steven had which shouted an assurance of wellbeing for the auburn head.

"But wounds are that way though, aren't they?" Marc spoke out suddenly before he could even stop himself or before he could even comprehend that his mouth had the word out.

"I have been on god knows how many missions, serving as Khonshu's fist of justice and each time I end up with either a broken bone, multiple stitches, or even something as minor as a scabbed wound. But in time, this wound-, i-it heals and the scab falls off once the new skin is perfect. It's that, or at least I believe it is that there is an emotional wound and the long-termed amnesia block is just that scab."

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏|MoonknightWhere stories live. Discover now