( marc's gaze drops to adrian's lips when he speaks, involuntary and instinctual as soon as he realises he can't hear the words. he's not precisely skilled in lip-reading, but he's had some experience of it in the military, but here and now it doesn't help him. the rain's too heavy, obscures the shape of adrian's mouth behind the glass to the point that marc can't even begin to guess, and truth be told, marc's not sure if the language is one he even knows.
it doesn't much seem to matter, for adrian holds out a palm and disappears, and marc does indeed wait, something that sits adjacent to curiosity but isn't quite that holding him where he stands.
whilst adrian retrieves the binder, marc keeps half an eye on him, and half an eye on the water. it's rising, but not in any formation that marc can make sense of. it's not steady, not like he'd expect if it were the result of a leak or a burst pipe, and in the moments before adrian returns to the window, marc's gaze seems focussed on a particularly dark, inky black portion of the room, brows pulled tight as if he's silently trying to work something out.
there's no sudden bang against glass to grab his attention, instead it's the glint of laminated paper in moonlight, and he drags his gaze across. it's too dark to make out the shape of the words, but the symbols are clear enough. mostly clear enough, he mentally amends, something pulling tight in his stomach the longer he looks. that adrian's giving the code to him says it's something out here, and his eyes lift slowly to meet adrian's.
if he looks tired — and he does — it's nothing to do with the situation at hand and everything to do with marc, sorry to say. fortunately, or something along those lines, it doesn't seem to dull marc's edges. he pulls out the fucking terrible phone he's managed to purchase, the one he'd argue is better than his phone at home by virtue of not being smashed yet, and holds it against the window.
the light's limited, but he can at least make out the words 'rear', 'building', 'panel'. all in a day's work, really. he holds up a finger as if to say 'one' or more likely, 'one moment'.
he's gone for what feels like long too long, and by the time he returns, he's certain they're not alone. any disorientation, any nausea, any burgeoning headache is shoved to one side out of practice and familiarity, even as he re-studies the symbols. in spite of himself — or perhaps, thanks to himself, someone used to forgetting, to having to recover details he doesn't want to admit he doesn't recall — he makes a few quick notes in his phone, a kind of shorthand understandable only by himself.
it's punctuated by the occasional, fleeting glance to adrian, a non-verbal 'you okay?' accompanied by a silent checking of the water level. he knows what it's like to drown, and it's not an experience he'd recommend but to his most unfavoured enemies.
he's still disoriented and off-balance after entering the code, fresh blood staining the sleeves of his shirt, running down his dominant (right) hand as he returns to the front of the building. is it immediate? did he get it right? he's not quite sure, and his focus wavers for a beat too long (khonshu? no), and then—
no subject
it doesn't much seem to matter, for adrian holds out a palm and disappears, and marc does indeed wait, something that sits adjacent to curiosity but isn't quite that holding him where he stands.
whilst adrian retrieves the binder, marc keeps half an eye on him, and half an eye on the water. it's rising, but not in any formation that marc can make sense of. it's not steady, not like he'd expect if it were the result of a leak or a burst pipe, and in the moments before adrian returns to the window, marc's gaze seems focussed on a particularly dark, inky black portion of the room, brows pulled tight as if he's silently trying to work something out.
there's no sudden bang against glass to grab his attention, instead it's the glint of laminated paper in moonlight, and he drags his gaze across. it's too dark to make out the shape of the words, but the symbols are clear enough. mostly clear enough, he mentally amends, something pulling tight in his stomach the longer he looks. that adrian's giving the code to him says it's something out here, and his eyes lift slowly to meet adrian's.
if he looks tired — and he does — it's nothing to do with the situation at hand and everything to do with marc, sorry to say. fortunately, or something along those lines, it doesn't seem to dull marc's edges. he pulls out the fucking terrible phone he's managed to purchase, the one he'd argue is better than his phone at home by virtue of not being smashed yet, and holds it against the window.
the light's limited, but he can at least make out the words 'rear', 'building', 'panel'. all in a day's work, really. he holds up a finger as if to say 'one' or more likely, 'one moment'.
he's gone for what feels like long too long, and by the time he returns, he's certain they're not alone. any disorientation, any nausea, any burgeoning headache is shoved to one side out of practice and familiarity, even as he re-studies the symbols. in spite of himself — or perhaps, thanks to himself, someone used to forgetting, to having to recover details he doesn't want to admit he doesn't recall — he makes a few quick notes in his phone, a kind of shorthand understandable only by himself.
it's punctuated by the occasional, fleeting glance to adrian, a non-verbal 'you okay?' accompanied by a silent checking of the water level. he knows what it's like to drown, and it's not an experience he'd recommend but to his most unfavoured enemies.
he's still disoriented and off-balance after entering the code, fresh blood staining the sleeves of his shirt, running down his dominant (right) hand as he returns to the front of the building. is it immediate? did he get it right? he's not quite sure, and his focus wavers for a beat too long (khonshu? no), and then—
shit
fuck
doors. )