marcus keane (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
exorkismos) wrote2018-05-17 10:19 pm
exorkismos) wrote2018-05-17 10:19 pm
@wontgraham
Marcus doesn't like collaborating with the authorities. On a personal level, he's never quite learned how to keep his hackles down around law enforcement. On a practical level — it's so much easier when he can just cut and run. And it's not like Will's writing there was a demon in any reports, but a woman was murdered. There's a certain amount of follow-up work.
It gives Marcus too many excuses to hang around in the days after the case. He keeps dropping in on Will's work, finding reasons not to break contact just yet. Bennett hasn't given him any new leads. Maybe it'll be quiet for a bit. It's like that sometimes. He needs that sometimes.
After an exorcism he's always manic, riding a wave of terrifying, stomach-twisting exhilaration at having touched something otherworldly and come out victorious. That can last for anywhere between a few hours to a few days. Talking it over with Will only strings it out. Will strings it out. It's good to have someone with whom to share the heady mix of relief and exhaustion and accomplishment and lingering fear. Marcus is so lit up by it that when he crashes it actually takes him by surprise, like this doesn't happen every time. Starts with coughing, and he's arrogant enough to ignore it, even though it always starts with coughing. Then he's tired and bleary-eyed, enough that he gets the bus rather than driving. And then there's pressure building behind his eyes, thick and stuffy. In Will's office, he stumbles over nothing and has to catch himself on the doorframe.
There's not much sense in hiding anything from Will anyway. But no one would need an excess of empathy to pick up on the fact that Marcus is steadily unspooling.
"This is abduction," Marcus accuses from the passenger seat of Will's car. His arm is slung over his eyes, because lights and movement aren't good right now, and because he's been half asleep for the past fifteen minutes or so. His voice is croaky. He's also being a contradictory shit, because not an hour ago he was insistently turning down Will's offer to drive him back to the convent: too far, too many nuns, too high a likelihood of being forcefed herbal tea. Anything but that. He'd agreed to Will's house as a compromise, though right now he actually can't remember what the compromise was between. Marcus' current capacity for critical thinking isn't at the highest it's ever been.
He is, in fairness, curious about where Will lives. He lowers his arm with a grimace, squints and shoots Will a look intended to be baleful and which just ends up seeming tired. "This happens. Not pretty, but it's not the end of the world."
It gives Marcus too many excuses to hang around in the days after the case. He keeps dropping in on Will's work, finding reasons not to break contact just yet. Bennett hasn't given him any new leads. Maybe it'll be quiet for a bit. It's like that sometimes. He needs that sometimes.
After an exorcism he's always manic, riding a wave of terrifying, stomach-twisting exhilaration at having touched something otherworldly and come out victorious. That can last for anywhere between a few hours to a few days. Talking it over with Will only strings it out. Will strings it out. It's good to have someone with whom to share the heady mix of relief and exhaustion and accomplishment and lingering fear. Marcus is so lit up by it that when he crashes it actually takes him by surprise, like this doesn't happen every time. Starts with coughing, and he's arrogant enough to ignore it, even though it always starts with coughing. Then he's tired and bleary-eyed, enough that he gets the bus rather than driving. And then there's pressure building behind his eyes, thick and stuffy. In Will's office, he stumbles over nothing and has to catch himself on the doorframe.
There's not much sense in hiding anything from Will anyway. But no one would need an excess of empathy to pick up on the fact that Marcus is steadily unspooling.
"This is abduction," Marcus accuses from the passenger seat of Will's car. His arm is slung over his eyes, because lights and movement aren't good right now, and because he's been half asleep for the past fifteen minutes or so. His voice is croaky. He's also being a contradictory shit, because not an hour ago he was insistently turning down Will's offer to drive him back to the convent: too far, too many nuns, too high a likelihood of being forcefed herbal tea. Anything but that. He'd agreed to Will's house as a compromise, though right now he actually can't remember what the compromise was between. Marcus' current capacity for critical thinking isn't at the highest it's ever been.
He is, in fairness, curious about where Will lives. He lowers his arm with a grimace, squints and shoots Will a look intended to be baleful and which just ends up seeming tired. "This happens. Not pretty, but it's not the end of the world."