( the avengers have not often agreed with marc's methods — the reasons why he'd quit (several times) and the reasons why he'd been kicked off the team (several times) amount to much the same thing: a difference in opinion with regards to how much is too much.
marc will be the first man to admit that he has a documented tendency to take it too far, but he'll also argue that he's not always wrong. that sometimes, someone like him's needed so that the good guys — the hawkeyes and the captain americas — can keep doing what they do without blurring any lines.
that jason seems unbothered is — well, marc wouldn't call it a blessing, per se, but it's something he's grateful for nonetheless. it doesn't yet put him in mind of jean-paul, or jeff, or even greer, but it's a detail that sits at the edges of his awareness, filed away for later.
of course, he doesn't catch what jason says, only that he's speaking and it doesn't sound like he's in trouble (good), before there's the notable, singular, loud noise of a gun firing, and both marc and his new friends attentions are pulled towards the hallway. it's fleeting, but just enough time for marc, the man he's got pinned against the wall, and the to-date unthreatened, unhurt third asshole to pause and recalibrate.
marc doesn't speak for the moment, merely grunts and, with what almost borders on disappointment, swings his truncheon back for a swing that results in a resounding thwack, metal against skin, punctuating it with a headbutt that his nose is going to be less impressed by come the morning.
the third, up til now seemingly undecided in whether to give marc or jason his attention, has opted for marc, and thrusts a knife towards marc's torso. it's nothing so elegant as jason's dagger, and not wielded with as much proficiency. while it lands, and while marc is dressed in a suit, it's not his first rodeo: the material's tougher than it looks, and though red blooms stark and bright against the white, it's not rapid enough to imply that anything important's been hit — or at least not deeply.
buddy two left slumped and unconscious against the wall, marc spins round. for a second, he looks ready to retaliate, mouth twisted in sharp displeasure, before a beat, and his gaze shifts slightly beyond and into the hallway towards jason.
quite suddenly, apropos nothing, he smiles. it's not pleasant, but it is sharp, edging towards amused. sardonic. testing. he holds his hands up, truncheon held loosely between fingertips, the white smudged with red.
no subject
marc will be the first man to admit that he has a documented tendency to take it too far, but he'll also argue that he's not always wrong. that sometimes, someone like him's needed so that the good guys — the hawkeyes and the captain americas — can keep doing what they do without blurring any lines.
that jason seems unbothered is — well, marc wouldn't call it a blessing, per se, but it's something he's grateful for nonetheless. it doesn't yet put him in mind of jean-paul, or jeff, or even greer, but it's a detail that sits at the edges of his awareness, filed away for later.
of course, he doesn't catch what jason says, only that he's speaking and it doesn't sound like he's in trouble (good), before there's the notable, singular, loud noise of a gun firing, and both marc and his new friends attentions are pulled towards the hallway. it's fleeting, but just enough time for marc, the man he's got pinned against the wall, and the to-date unthreatened, unhurt third asshole to pause and recalibrate.
marc doesn't speak for the moment, merely grunts and, with what almost borders on disappointment, swings his truncheon back for a swing that results in a resounding thwack, metal against skin, punctuating it with a headbutt that his nose is going to be less impressed by come the morning.
the third, up til now seemingly undecided in whether to give marc or jason his attention, has opted for marc, and thrusts a knife towards marc's torso. it's nothing so elegant as jason's dagger, and not wielded with as much proficiency. while it lands, and while marc is dressed in a suit, it's not his first rodeo: the material's tougher than it looks, and though red blooms stark and bright against the white, it's not rapid enough to imply that anything important's been hit — or at least not deeply.
buddy two left slumped and unconscious against the wall, marc spins round. for a second, he looks ready to retaliate, mouth twisted in sharp displeasure, before a beat, and his gaze shifts slightly beyond and into the hallway towards jason.
quite suddenly, apropos nothing, he smiles. it's not pleasant, but it is sharp, edging towards amused. sardonic. testing. he holds his hands up, truncheon held loosely between fingertips, the white smudged with red.
quietly, oddly level— )
Don't look behind you.