"It's the first food I ever tried. Someone I...admired told me to," he explains, chuffing a little contentedly as Steven ruffles his fur.
Oh, is that what you've got? he thinks dryly at Steven's confession, but all he says is, "I will watch over you," a solemn promise that doesn't sound at all like he's threading a careful needle. "Get some rest now," he urges, bumping Steven's legs toward the bed.
Bed is indeed a complicated thing; he seriously has four deadbolts, tape holding the seam of the door shut that'll break if it's opened and then closed again, sand on the floor that will show footprints, the front door key hidden in an extremely dead potted plant that has not gotten natural sunlight since January, and a homemade ankle shackle made out of a bungee cord and a blood pressure cuff. The restraint does not look kinky. It looks like a mistake of engineering.
The bed, chronically unmade, is enclosed under a point of the attic that throws it into a windowless slant of shadow. The bedposts make a shape around it like the opening of a mausoleum.
Steven looks very young in his oversized sweatshirt for bed and big, grateful eyes.
"Thank you, Kahl," he says. "Um, you can - you can post up wherever you'd like if you're careful about the sand. You might get cuddled a bit if you're up here, at least until I... maybe try to wander off."
Kahl flits into his butcherbird form and darts neatly between the apparatus, before turning back into a cat (small) once he's on the bed, since he's not totally sure Steven and the tiger would both fit.
And you can tell when he's asleep, because the shared body flinches back away from Kahl as slowly as Marc thinks he can get away with without getting clawed. Marc is coordinated and careful where Steven is enthusiastic and clumsy, and there's tension in just about every line of him.
Not a big fan of gods. Not a big fan of affection in general, frankly.
He uses a lower register than Steven does with the same voice; a tough-guy American accent. He crosses one leg over his lap so he can start undoing the stupid ankle thing with very, very practiced motions.
Curiosity! The thing that killed that cat! Ha ha. Very good. Great.
"I'm not Steven," Marc says, just so everybody's on the same page here. "We're.. .I don't know, roommates. I'm only out because I know you've already seen me."
And he appreciates you not immediately telling everyone, but is still suspicious about everything else. Suspicious is his default social reputation tier.
Cuff is tossed open, Marc steps over the ring of sand.
This actually hits Marc like a punch. He stops and stares down at Kahl, openly astonished.
There's no place where Marc's memories stop. Steven has all the amnesia in this family, Marc's got none of it. Marc remembers everything up until curling up in bed just now in the first person, as if it's all something Marc decided to do himself for some fucking reason. Still, sometimes, still, thirty years on, he'll play back something Steven did and and think oh god, that was me. Oh god, it's always been me. How do I make it stop?
(The beating heart of the thing and the merciless truth of the thing contradict each other, are opposites, but you can't understand how they balance if you don't have both.)
Souls are real? And, more than that:
"We've got our own?"
Room is spinning. The Earth got knocked off its axis a little.
"You do now," Kahl says. "It's...fuzzy in places. Still tangled together, down at the roots. If I look very close, I can sort of see where it...tore. But souls are alive. They grow. Even if you start with just one and separate it. Like apple trees, or livers. Steven's grown his little piece into his own."
Marc winces. That's very vivid, but he does get the picture.
"I'm not gonna... - you know. Do anything crazy. I won't hurt the body."
He can't die-die without killing Steven, he knows that. It's one of the only reasons he even took the Admiral's offer.
Marc does sound distinctly defensive, though. Because he HAS been caught wanting to maaayyybbbeee just let it be Steven's solo life forever? Mayyybbbeee figure out how to split them into two people and then quietly drift off somewhere?
Maybe there's a magic way around this. Maybe? Please.
"Look, it didn't hurt me when Steven went to sleep for twenty years. I'll be there, I just won't ... be there."
Oh it didn't hurt you, Marc? You're doing so well and you are making great choices and your mental health is just fine, Marc? You did not have a catastrophic nervous breakdown in November? Marc? Buddy?
"Look, this is not a good way to introduce myself. I've actually got this, I've been keeping him safe. If this is a shovel talk or something, it's fine. He's a priority. I promise."
"I'm ... mm. First day, you noticed that the body's marked by another god. That's me. I serve Khonshu, he's, uh, from home."
It's kind of an indentured paladin thing rather than Marc having any kind of worship of the guy. Contract made under severe duress, to be the hands and eyes of a god. Like Zerxus except holy fucking shit nothing like Zerxus please, that guy's life is a disaster.
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Oh, is that what you've got? he thinks dryly at Steven's confession, but all he says is, "I will watch over you," a solemn promise that doesn't sound at all like he's threading a careful needle. "Get some rest now," he urges, bumping Steven's legs toward the bed.
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Bed is indeed a complicated thing; he seriously has four deadbolts, tape holding the seam of the door shut that'll break if it's opened and then closed again, sand on the floor that will show footprints, the front door key hidden in an extremely dead potted plant that has not gotten natural sunlight since January, and a homemade ankle shackle made out of a bungee cord and a blood pressure cuff. The restraint does not look kinky. It looks like a mistake of engineering.
The bed, chronically unmade, is enclosed under a point of the attic that throws it into a windowless slant of shadow. The bedposts make a shape around it like the opening of a mausoleum.
Steven looks very young in his oversized sweatshirt for bed and big, grateful eyes.
"Thank you, Kahl," he says. "Um, you can - you can post up wherever you'd like if you're careful about the sand. You might get cuddled a bit if you're up here, at least until I... maybe try to wander off."
Wince. Very embarrassing.
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"That's okay." Cuddles permitted.
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Kahl gets cuddled. Steven usually ends up in a tight little frowning ball by the time he's asleep.
2/2
Not a big fan of gods. Not a big fan of affection in general, frankly.
Re: 2/2
"I don't wish to hurt you."
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He uses a lower register than Steven does with the same voice; a tough-guy American accent. He crosses one leg over his lap so he can start undoing the stupid ankle thing with very, very practiced motions.
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"And besides, I'm curious."
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"I'm not Steven," Marc says, just so everybody's on the same page here. "We're.. .I don't know, roommates. I'm only out because I know you've already seen me."
And he appreciates you not immediately telling everyone, but is still suspicious about everything else. Suspicious is his default social reputation tier.
Cuff is tossed open, Marc steps over the ring of sand.
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He doesn't mention the third one. If Marc doesn't want him spilling secrets, fair's fair.
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There's no place where Marc's memories stop. Steven has all the amnesia in this family, Marc's got none of it. Marc remembers everything up until curling up in bed just now in the first person, as if it's all something Marc decided to do himself for some fucking reason. Still, sometimes, still, thirty years on, he'll play back something Steven did and and think oh god, that was me. Oh god, it's always been me. How do I make it stop?
(The beating heart of the thing and the merciless truth of the thing contradict each other, are opposites, but you can't understand how they balance if you don't have both.)
Souls are real? And, more than that:
"We've got our own?"
Room is spinning. The Earth got knocked off its axis a little.
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"Yeah. It... tore.
But he's got his own. That's all I ever wanted for him," he says. He's very emotional, but the only tell is more gravel in his voice.
Oh my god, they're not undiagnosed, but what the fuck else can it possibly be any more. They have a diagnosis. From... a talking cat.
Fuck this place, fuck all its silly shit, but Marc is very grateful at the moment.
"If something happens to me, will Steven disappear, or will he be okay? Can you see any of that?"
(None of them would be okay without the others.)
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"Something?"
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Something."
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"If something happened to you, his soul would bleed out."
Do not fuck around with wanting to disappear forever, Mark. Even as different people, you're still all bound together.
cw suicidal ideation
"I'm not gonna... - you know. Do anything crazy. I won't hurt the body."
He can't die-die without killing Steven, he knows that. It's one of the only reasons he even took the Admiral's offer.
Marc does sound distinctly defensive, though. Because he HAS been caught wanting to maaayyybbbeee just let it be Steven's solo life forever? Mayyybbbeee figure out how to split them into two people and then quietly drift off somewhere?
Re: cw suicidal ideation
He doesn't say it harshly. Just an implacable fact.
"Just because he isn't you doesn't mean he doesn't need you."
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Maybe there's a magic way around this. Maybe? Please.
"Look, it didn't hurt me when Steven went to sleep for twenty years. I'll be there, I just won't ... be there."
Oh it didn't hurt you, Marc? You're doing so well and you are making great choices and your mental health is just fine, Marc? You did not have a catastrophic nervous breakdown in November? Marc? Buddy?
"Look, this is not a good way to introduce myself. I've actually got this, I've been keeping him safe. If this is a shovel talk or something, it's fine. He's a priority. I promise."
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"But you can introduce yourself again if you want to."
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Hi."
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That seems like maybe a lot. Mortals die, like, all the time?
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It's kind of an indentured paladin thing rather than Marc having any kind of worship of the guy. Contract made under severe duress, to be the hands and eyes of a god. Like Zerxus except holy fucking shit nothing like Zerxus please, that guy's life is a disaster.
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Kahl had wondered.
"Since he isn't here, if you need to call on me, you can."
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"What kind of debt does that one build?"
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cw child abuse mention
cw child abuse mention/suicidal-ish thoughts
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Re: 6/6
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