( open / closed — catch-all. )

[enactors]

WHO: marc spector (""mr. knight"") + various
WHERE: stygia, shadowlands — out and about, tbh
WHEN: december
WHAT: moon knighting.
WARNINGS: tba, however general content warnings for MK apply esp. descriptions and/or discussions of violence.

Comments

stygia — barrens / mirth ( open ).

[enactors]

o n e

( it hadn't taken marc long to settle on a dilapidated ruin not too far from the centre of the barrens. in terms of personal taste, it's not the sort of thing marc would ordinarily choose, but the mix of sentry patrols and apparent inherent appeal to less savoury characters means it suits marc's specific wants and needs.

mirth had held some appeal: it's not too different to manhattan, not compared to the rest of stygia, which is a far cry from the environments within which marc spends his time. however, being situated away from the populous, in the dark and in the ruins, fits his brand whilst he's attempting to establish himself. it's not a thousand miles apart — in sentiment, if not in anything else — from the mansion he'd once owned on long island.

the trek into mirth, then, isn't inherently alien in terms of concept and time. it gives him chance to learn the lay of the land, the creatures, the people. the different methods and modes of transport.

within both districts, marc can be found dressed in his usual attire: a white suit, which, as the night(s) wear on, becomes progressively and steadily less pristine, soiled with a mixture of dirt and blood alike.

if (when) marc is found being, in his words, interesting with rough and ready locals, it'll become quickly evident to those more attuned to understanding how fights work that, though marc is skilled, he has an inherent lack of care. his fighting style lacks grace and if he thinks he can gain something through being the recipient of a kick or a punch or a stab or a bite, he'll take it.

even if "gaining something" is nebulous. even if it's just the element of disbelief at how reckless he is.

the blood, then, is a mixture of his and the creatures he fights in the dark.

after dealing ("dealing") with whatever problem has taken his attention, he'll pause, attention fixed on the unmoving body in front of him. with the exception of creatures, marc doesn't seek to kill — not yet, not at the moment — in spite of the voice somewhere at the back of his mind that says it'd be easier if he did. simpler. that there'd be less trouble.

at the sound of someone moving near to him, his right hand will curl into a loose fist, though he makes no other immediate movements. a beat, then— )

Nice night. ( american-accented english. calm. level. )

t w o

( occasionally, he can be found at the cairn, though — perhaps interestingly, if you've spotted him elsewhere — he doesn't drink. if anything, he'll opt for water or for (really, really terrible) coffee from the presumably rarely used and infrequently refreshed coffee machine. here, his mask will be pulled up to the bridge of his nose, stubble, scars and bruises — both old and new — lining his jaw here and there. beyond this, in spite of the mask — designed to be as featureless as possible — marc is remarkably ordinary looking.

or at least, the bottom half of his face is. who knows what the top half looks like.

he tends to sit alone — does he have friends? associates? anyone he likes to spend time with? all the evidence points to no. he's not, however, actively confrontational or aggressive — if anything, he's simply quiet. watchful, with an edge of weariness that implies he either doesn't or can't sleep as much as he should.

should anyone want to join him, be it through lack of other available seating (sorry), pity, or any other reason, he won't decline, though the quirk at the corners of his mouth is questioning and curious. )

noticeboard quests ( open ).

[enactors]

( the quests are a good way to earn a bit of money given that he doesn't have steven's investments to rely on, jake's cab fares, or his own 'bottomless pit of blood money', as frenchie had so kindly referred to it. sure, here, outgoings are less, but he has an identity to entrench. bona fides to establish. a moon knight to be, and he can't do that without some tools of his own behind him.

there aren't many of the appeals for help that appeal to him — he's not going to be dressing up as a clown any time soon, and he certainly isn't about to indulge in nude modelling — it's not that he's shy, but he's got a secret identity, ya feel? — which leaves esmerelda's trinkets, and zevra.

he's masked (of course), suited and booted (again, of course), all of which means that his expression is unreadable. if you've encountered "mr. knight" at some point over the previous nights ("nights"), it may be safe to assume he's slept or something since then, as his suit, whilst not impeccable — a few tears here and there, a bit of dirt and the odd stubborn blood stain — is certainly cleaner than it has been.

he hmms, head tilted in consideration. he reaches for one of the listings with a (white) gloved hand and pulls it off the board to re-read.

sorry if you were trying to read it yourself. )

> the darkling, notice board / esmerelda.

[enactors]

( the turn in the weather is abrupt and though marc isn't any stranger to cold winters — chicago, new york — the stark shift as compared to what he'd been experiencing to this is taking some adjustment, as is the comparative lack of mod cons in his chosen abode versus his office back home.

(central heating would be lovely.)

the "quest" (quote-unquote) slash request for assistance with regards to magical heating stones (question mark) isn't the sort of thing he'd normally sign up for, but needs must and being cold when it's not necessary is, like, something he'd prefer to skip out on.

he pointedly avoids the mistletoe and the sprites on his way to esmerelda's in mirth, where there's already one (1) other person waiting. compared to marc, he's dressed in far more regular daywear, whilst marc is still — as ever — attired in his suit. he removes his jacket and drapes it over a chair before rolling up his shirt sleeves to his elbow before pausing. )

—Do I remove my gloves? ( he asks his — soon-to-be hand-holding partner? shopworker? assistant to esmerelda? who knows. he'd assume so, but — just checking. perhaps in contrast to the mask and the suit, marc's voice is utterly normal. chicago-accented, male, polite. )