[A quiet individual by default, Markus isn’t the talkative one of the pair of androids, unless sparked by offense or passionate idealism. Because he doesn’t want Noctis to think that he’s disengaging, he clarifies—]
I’m taking the time to listen to what you have to say.
[And what’s being said sounds like such a practical solution. Like a chance to breathe, if it were so easy. Markus considers this, then speaks, lacing his words together one at a time.]
But I know that. I feel the weight of that every day. And maybe it would be easier with someone else to be myself around. [Whatever that even was. He feels so entrenched in who he’s supposed to be, that some days he can’t tell where the line’s been drawn — but that’s a matter for another time.]
But life’s not given me even a chance to breathe yet. I went from everything to nothing in the blink of an eye. [Lucy’s words reflect in his syllables.] From home, to the junkyard, to finding purpose in people like myself, to this place, caged in an unfamiliar body. To a bleak future, where timelines from my own home refuse to align; and that’s not even accounting for the fact that I can, apparently, lose control of my own actions due to a sickness that no one could’ve guessed at.
[Markus can’t help himself, he brings up a hand to rub at his eye with the heel of a palm. How did he find himself on this end of the conversation? Noctis continually surprises him.]
Time feels like… such a foreign luxury. Making that kind of connection here is difficult.
[ With each word comes a new weight and a new desire to interrupt, to commiserate, but the list of things he can relate to grows steadily longer as Markus continues to speak. Chastising him for silence was clearly premature; he shares what's bogging him down far more openly than Noctis could've given him credit for. Damn... ]
... yeah. [ It's all he can manage at first, finally nudging that tray away from himself as food loses its appeal. He's seriously been through a lot, hasn't he? It's more than just grappling with his newfound humanness or struggling to lead, it's upheaval and harsh doses of reality. ]
I get it. And I know-- that already sounds like I'm just saying it. But it's only been a few weeks now since I lost my home too. Just like you said it... with everything changing overnight. The city I was trying to describe to you, I don't know what it looks like anymore... It's not safe for me to go back and see, not since the invasion. But I'm gonna' fix it. Just like you're gonna' fix what happened for your people. [ And in that moment there's not just some apathetic boy sitting in that bed, there's someone with steelier eyes and a calmer sense of determination. A leader in his own right, if only a budding one. ]
... I don't get the unfamiliar body thing, though. Even if I can't say I love having a computer in my head.
[Unburdening all of that should have been a weight lifted, but Markus feels no different. Feels all wound up, tighter in his chest and throat, and he swallows against what his human body involuntarily dictates. Glances briefly, uselessly, at Noctis’ discarded meal, pushed away and unwanted.
And then he listens. Hears Noctis speak of a ruined home, one that sounds like he was forcefully departed from. Invasion. War.
He remembers what the other declared his role to be, the day he had newly arrived. A guard, and it would make sense to see the steel in his eyes now, wrought by determination and duty. And yet there’s something else there, something that reflects in Markus’ own core, though he can’t pinpoint exactly why.]
Of course we’re both going to see it through to the end. Without a shadow of a doubt.
[It almost doesn’t need to be said. Something unwinds in him. In the... sameness, that unexpected solidarity, coming from Noctis.]
You sound a little like a leader yourself, you know. You give advice like one.
[Tinged with awkwardness, maybe, but time often sheds that much without issue.]
Why is something that simple simultaneously a source of significant anxiety and soothing calm? It's ever looming. An entire kingdom resting on his shoulders, people suffering all because they have faith in his potential that he doesn't necessarily see yet himself -- Jared, Clarus, his father... Whose fault is it that they're gone, really? The Empire's? Or... is Markus someone to whom he can show a fraction of the guilt he'd advised him to keep hidden from the people who depend on him? ]
Ah... hm, well, I told you already. It's not my advice. Call it a loan from my dad... He led a lot of men, better than I ever will. [ There's a hint of his honest feelings slipping out unchecked too; if he'd said that back home wouldn't he be due for a lecture? ]
[After all that, ‘no’? But he leans back in his chair, letting shoulder blades sink into the cushioning, ignoring the pain laced across the bones of his ribs. The weight of the conversation appears to lessen, moving along a different track.]
You need them, too. And I don’t expect the nurses will be lax enough to just leave you with your medications without visually confirming that you’ve taken them. I can figure something out for myself once I leave here.
[But. He’s noted that slip, the insecurity. Prods, gently, at the new opening.]
So your father served in the Citadel’s retinue of guards, as well?
... I wanna' say that I hate how you're assuming I can't get something past a nurse. I can get shot and still take down Connor but this is where you're gonna' draw the line? [ And there's actually a faint little smirk there to hint at it being a joke -- if they can't ever talk about it then how will they get over it?
But when Markus continues forward with that question the expression freezes, slowly dropping away. ]
The head of the Crownsguard wouldn't leave his king's side. My father was in the city during the attack, while I was gone on another errand... It didn't matter how hard he fought, they were outnumbered. It's--
[Because Markus’ face falls, too, even though it had been on the verge of twisting up into a faint grin at the initial quip. Heart shorn with the empathy that so often defines him, though there are degrees of Noctis’ own tragedy that he can’t even hope to comprehend what it must’ve been like. To have lost someone precious to you at the hands of an invasion, a war, and having been away; unable to do anything about it. The news coming delayed after the fact.
Not like himself and Carl. A last exchange of parting words, as his old life fell down around him like rotted plaster.]
Or commiserate, too, if that’s what you’d prefer.
[But I’m sorry for your loss and I know what it feels like can ring hollow to someone not wanting to hear it.]
[ His inhale is slow, deliberate, and even then there's a slight waver to it as he tries to clear away the emotions that have been looming large in the back of his mind and have only recently been yanked back to the forefront. What had Markus said? That there hasn't been any time? A matter of weeks since he saw him last, since his father had struggled to chase after his son down stairs he was in no position to tackle, and Noctis had been too preoccupied with his own problems to really read Regis's intent. He hadn't seen the full extent of pain in his eyes, or longing. Hadn't thought too hard about how Regis kept extending their goodbye with short words to a son he'd been too busy for for large chunks of his life. Who, during their farewell, acted too busy for his father.
Noctis slumps lower in the bed, glassy eyes kept low as he struggles to keep it all held back. Still. ]
... sorry. It just hasn't been enough time. Or... probably won't ever be. [ He swallows, flicking his chin higher as he focuses back on Markus. ]
The old man you stayed with? [ "Commiserate", that word weighs heavy. ]
[Markus understands, unwilling to prod further because of it. No time to look backwards when circumstances are constantly pushing one forward; no time to breathe, no time to grieve. He wonders if there’ll ever be time, but Noctis’ declaration rings poignant and true— probably won't ever be. The only thing he could do was keep it pushed down, and hope that the pressure didn’t crystallize it into something with sharper edges as time passed.
Maybe Noctis is the same way.]
Yes. His name was Carl, and he was like a father to me. Though I was the one who was supposed to take care of him, he… helped me grow in ways that I didn’t realize until it was too late.
[Markus’ look eases downward, to some nondescript part of Noctis’ bed. The explanation he gives is simplified for now, but relays the painful beats of the story well enough.]
He died of a heart attack. Emotions running too high between an altercation between himself, his son, and… I. When the police arrived, his son blamed it on me. Said that I attacked him. Like I would ever do such a thing.
[His jawline tightens, fingers curling in his lap.]
But of course they wouldn’t take the time to listen to me. I don’t even remember much of what happened after that, except waking up, discarded and broken, in a rainy junkyard. [Finally, Markus lifts his gaze to Noctis.] It’s almost unbelievable how just a few short moments can change the whole course of your life, isn't it?
Not in the sense that he denies others help or his time, but in that he so easily becomes tangled up in his own issues and problems, dwelling on himself, on anything in his vicinity. But even with that tendency he takes a moment to cast aside what's twisting in his gut right now, listening to Markus's every word and finding it painfully easy to conjure up images to illustrate the story. Markus hadn't fully known the gift he'd been given until he no longer had it, and he'd just wanted to help him...
And then, to be blamed for it? To be cast aside to deal with his grief alone like that? ]
... sorry. For your loss, and because they wouldn't listen to you. There's no way to get around how wrong that is...
[ He accepts the shame of a quiet sniff as he leans back because it's preferable to letting any tears fall. How does he say what's on his mind...? ]
Yeah. Unbelievable's one word for it. Look--
If you wanna' feel sad or guilty around me, that's okay. Not saying it has to be me, just that I get it a little.
[It’s hard to pull himself back up from the mire of memories. Markus is aware of the here and now — the hospital bed, with Noctis and his empty jello cup and unsatisfactory fish, the dull pain in his own limbs, the press of his back against the chair — but it’s like a part of him was swept back to that night, even though he’s given only a succinct summary.
But Noctis’ words drag him back up to the surface of now, and reality slides itself back into place again. The consolation is appreciated, but it’s the offer, coming from a young man who initially seemed so aloof, that makes a deeper gratitude well up in his chest.
For a moment, he doesn’t know what to say.]
Noctis… thank you.
[Maybe he will, maybe he won’t — but knowing that he can, if he allows himself, is its own kind of reassurance.]
And you should know that the offer, coming from me, is the same. If it is ever something you want to talk about.
[ It's strange, hearing his full name. "Noct" always felt more natural in relaxed situations like this, because there are so few people he would be relaxed around. But Noctis... and without a title attached to it? He could get used to that too. ]
My old man? [ He asks bluntly, no point in beating around the bush any longer. ]
Or... stuff in my life I feel sad or guilty over? [ There's almost a hint of amusement there; you either laugh or you cry and he doesn't want to cry again, not after what he went through earlier with Connor. ]
[Markus almost offers a quiet shrug, despite the solemnity of what they had been talking about. His father, or what makes him feel sad. The stress of this new world, that all of them are fumbling through day-to-day to understand.]
My door is always open, whatever it happens to be.
[Figuratively, of course, because guess who DOESN'T KNOW NOCTIS IS GOING TO BE LIVING WITH THEM??]
[There are two (2) things mentioned that he can reply to. The first is the notion of fashion, in which Markus might be surprisingly quick to offer advice or discuss.
[…No. He definitely doesn’t remember this discussion. Connor sometimes just does his own thing, with Markus being surprised by it later. This appears to be another instance of just that.
Not that it’s much of an issue, either way.]
…I think that’s a good idea, too. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to recover.
[As if Markus is going to say ‘no’ after giving the boy a concussion.]
[ Well... this is a little awkward, but given the soul-baring conversation they've just had he can push past it without too many difficulties. And given how shitty the beds are in the safehouse. ]
I don't take up too much space. I guess I can clean some too, if I get a few pointers. [ What kind of guard doesn't know how to clean an apartment. ]
[To be fair, it’s not like Markus is personally familiar with the lifestyle of a guard. But the expectation that one would know how to clean up after oneself seems… universal. Weird.]
It wouldn’t be anything outside the normal upkeep of a modest living space. That being said, you’d be a guest. [A lift of a brow.] I’m not going to saddle you with a list of chores to do.
[ Eloquence, first and foremost, above all else. It's more important to get his meaning across as quickly as possible so that he's not locked into indentured servitude. ]
I can pick up after myself or maybe help cook a few things, like I did with you... [ Was that really helping or just keeping him busy, though. ]
[At least he's honest about it. But the unwillingness to be locked into servitude or otherwise, there's still a ghost of an offer there. Picking up after himself, willing to aid with the cooking...
It counts, as far as Markus is concerned.]
I always need a second pair of hands in the kitchen.
[It's a statement that'll make a nice enough epitaph on Markus' android gravestone one day. Famous last words and all that.]
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I’m taking the time to listen to what you have to say.
[And what’s being said sounds like such a practical solution. Like a chance to breathe, if it were so easy. Markus considers this, then speaks, lacing his words together one at a time.]
But I know that. I feel the weight of that every day. And maybe it would be easier with someone else to be myself around. [Whatever that even was. He feels so entrenched in who he’s supposed to be, that some days he can’t tell where the line’s been drawn — but that’s a matter for another time.]
But life’s not given me even a chance to breathe yet. I went from everything to nothing in the blink of an eye. [Lucy’s words reflect in his syllables.] From home, to the junkyard, to finding purpose in people like myself, to this place, caged in an unfamiliar body. To a bleak future, where timelines from my own home refuse to align; and that’s not even accounting for the fact that I can, apparently, lose control of my own actions due to a sickness that no one could’ve guessed at.
[Markus can’t help himself, he brings up a hand to rub at his eye with the heel of a palm. How did he find himself on this end of the conversation? Noctis continually surprises him.]
Time feels like… such a foreign luxury. Making that kind of connection here is difficult.
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... yeah. [ It's all he can manage at first, finally nudging that tray away from himself as food loses its appeal. He's seriously been through a lot, hasn't he? It's more than just grappling with his newfound humanness or struggling to lead, it's upheaval and harsh doses of reality. ]
I get it. And I know-- that already sounds like I'm just saying it. But it's only been a few weeks now since I lost my home too. Just like you said it... with everything changing overnight. The city I was trying to describe to you, I don't know what it looks like anymore... It's not safe for me to go back and see, not since the invasion. But I'm gonna' fix it. Just like you're gonna' fix what happened for your people. [ And in that moment there's not just some apathetic boy sitting in that bed, there's someone with steelier eyes and a calmer sense of determination. A leader in his own right, if only a budding one. ]
... I don't get the unfamiliar body thing, though. Even if I can't say I love having a computer in my head.
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And then he listens. Hears Noctis speak of a ruined home, one that sounds like he was forcefully departed from. Invasion. War.
He remembers what the other declared his role to be, the day he had newly arrived. A guard, and it would make sense to see the steel in his eyes now, wrought by determination and duty. And yet there’s something else there, something that reflects in Markus’ own core, though he can’t pinpoint exactly why.]
Of course we’re both going to see it through to the end. Without a shadow of a doubt.
[It almost doesn’t need to be said. Something unwinds in him. In the... sameness, that unexpected solidarity, coming from Noctis.]
You sound a little like a leader yourself, you know. You give advice like one.
[Tinged with awkwardness, maybe, but time often sheds that much without issue.]
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Why is something that simple simultaneously a source of significant anxiety and soothing calm? It's ever looming. An entire kingdom resting on his shoulders, people suffering all because they have faith in his potential that he doesn't necessarily see yet himself -- Jared, Clarus, his father... Whose fault is it that they're gone, really? The Empire's? Or... is Markus someone to whom he can show a fraction of the guilt he'd advised him to keep hidden from the people who depend on him? ]
Ah... hm, well, I told you already. It's not my advice. Call it a loan from my dad... He led a lot of men, better than I ever will. [ There's a hint of his honest feelings slipping out unchecked too; if he'd said that back home wouldn't he be due for a lecture? ]
... you want some of my meds?
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[After all that, ‘no’? But he leans back in his chair, letting shoulder blades sink into the cushioning, ignoring the pain laced across the bones of his ribs. The weight of the conversation appears to lessen, moving along a different track.]
You need them, too. And I don’t expect the nurses will be lax enough to just leave you with your medications without visually confirming that you’ve taken them. I can figure something out for myself once I leave here.
[But. He’s noted that slip, the insecurity. Prods, gently, at the new opening.]
So your father served in the Citadel’s retinue of guards, as well?
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But when Markus continues forward with that question the expression freezes, slowly dropping away. ]
The head of the Crownsguard wouldn't leave his king's side. My father was in the city during the attack, while I was gone on another errand... It didn't matter how hard he fought, they were outnumbered. It's--
... not what you asked, huh.
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[Because Markus’ face falls, too, even though it had been on the verge of twisting up into a faint grin at the initial quip. Heart shorn with the empathy that so often defines him, though there are degrees of Noctis’ own tragedy that he can’t even hope to comprehend what it must’ve been like. To have lost someone precious to you at the hands of an invasion, a war, and having been away; unable to do anything about it. The news coming delayed after the fact.
Not like himself and Carl. A last exchange of parting words, as his old life fell down around him like rotted plaster.]
Or commiserate, too, if that’s what you’d prefer.
[But I’m sorry for your loss and I know what it feels like can ring hollow to someone not wanting to hear it.]
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Noctis slumps lower in the bed, glassy eyes kept low as he struggles to keep it all held back. Still. ]
... sorry. It just hasn't been enough time. Or... probably won't ever be. [ He swallows, flicking his chin higher as he focuses back on Markus. ]
The old man you stayed with? [ "Commiserate", that word weighs heavy. ]
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Maybe Noctis is the same way.]
Yes. His name was Carl, and he was like a father to me. Though I was the one who was supposed to take care of him, he… helped me grow in ways that I didn’t realize until it was too late.
[Markus’ look eases downward, to some nondescript part of Noctis’ bed. The explanation he gives is simplified for now, but relays the painful beats of the story well enough.]
He died of a heart attack. Emotions running too high between an altercation between himself, his son, and… I. When the police arrived, his son blamed it on me. Said that I attacked him. Like I would ever do such a thing.
[His jawline tightens, fingers curling in his lap.]
But of course they wouldn’t take the time to listen to me. I don’t even remember much of what happened after that, except waking up, discarded and broken, in a rainy junkyard. [Finally, Markus lifts his gaze to Noctis.] It’s almost unbelievable how just a few short moments can change the whole course of your life, isn't it?
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Not in the sense that he denies others help or his time, but in that he so easily becomes tangled up in his own issues and problems, dwelling on himself, on anything in his vicinity. But even with that tendency he takes a moment to cast aside what's twisting in his gut right now, listening to Markus's every word and finding it painfully easy to conjure up images to illustrate the story. Markus hadn't fully known the gift he'd been given until he no longer had it, and he'd just wanted to help him...
And then, to be blamed for it? To be cast aside to deal with his grief alone like that? ]
... sorry. For your loss, and because they wouldn't listen to you. There's no way to get around how wrong that is...
[ He accepts the shame of a quiet sniff as he leans back because it's preferable to letting any tears fall. How does he say what's on his mind...? ]
Yeah. Unbelievable's one word for it. Look--
If you wanna' feel sad or guilty around me, that's okay. Not saying it has to be me, just that I get it a little.
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But Noctis’ words drag him back up to the surface of now, and reality slides itself back into place again. The consolation is appreciated, but it’s the offer, coming from a young man who initially seemed so aloof, that makes a deeper gratitude well up in his chest.
For a moment, he doesn’t know what to say.]
Noctis… thank you.
[Maybe he will, maybe he won’t — but knowing that he can, if he allows himself, is its own kind of reassurance.]
And you should know that the offer, coming from me, is the same. If it is ever something you want to talk about.
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My old man? [ He asks bluntly, no point in beating around the bush any longer. ]
Or... stuff in my life I feel sad or guilty over? [ There's almost a hint of amusement there; you either laugh or you cry and he doesn't want to cry again, not after what he went through earlier with Connor. ]
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[Markus almost offers a quiet shrug, despite the solemnity of what they had been talking about. His father, or what makes him feel sad. The stress of this new world, that all of them are fumbling through day-to-day to understand.]
My door is always open, whatever it happens to be.
[Figuratively, of course, because guess who DOESN'T KNOW NOCTIS IS GOING TO BE LIVING WITH THEM??]
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[ Either? Again Noctis is plagued with the thought of Regis leaning heavily against his cane, watching his son leave--
No, he can't do that, not yet. ]
Does that include problems with the fashion here? I guess I can talk to you about that when we get back to the apartment...
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The second, a little more derailing, is—]
When ‘we’ get back to the apartment?
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Ah, well, he wouldn't have asked his retinue either before inviting someone in for a bit, probably. More like warned them. Then warned the person. ]
Connor said I could rest up there. Figured it was a good idea, with the arm.
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Not that it’s much of an issue, either way.]
…I think that’s a good idea, too. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to recover.
[As if Markus is going to say ‘no’ after giving the boy a concussion.]
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I don't take up too much space. I guess I can clean some too, if I get a few pointers. [ What kind of guard doesn't know how to clean an apartment. ]
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It wouldn’t be anything outside the normal upkeep of a modest living space. That being said, you’d be a guest. [A lift of a brow.] I’m not going to saddle you with a list of chores to do.
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... hah? Seriously?
You just want me to hang out there?
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Like I said, I want you to recover from your injuries.
[His look turns a shade skeptical.]
Unless you were looking forward to keeping the apartment clean. There's only so much enthusiasm that I'll turn away.
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[ Eloquence, first and foremost, above all else. It's more important to get his meaning across as quickly as possible so that he's not locked into indentured servitude. ]
I can pick up after myself or maybe help cook a few things, like I did with you... [ Was that really helping or just keeping him busy, though. ]
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It counts, as far as Markus is concerned.]
I always need a second pair of hands in the kitchen.
[It's a statement that'll make a nice enough epitaph on Markus' android gravestone one day. Famous last words and all that.]
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Just you? [ It's a little funny, for some reason, as he follows that line of logic to its natural end. ]
So... hm, I guess Connor's not too good at it, huh?
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He’s… learning.
[A beat.]
He has less experience with cooking than I do. But he’s eager to help, so I can’t discount that.
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