( marc's woken up not knowing where he is before. that isn't anything new, and neither is awakening, naked and confused, nausea sitting unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach. the usual answers — death, resurrection; sleep-walking — don't feel applicable here. there's the added question of: is this real? he's not sure. it feels real, the earth solid and cold beneath his hands, but still a sliver of doubt sits at the back of his mind.

he breathes in and then out. one. two. three. a thought, brief, of how he knows khonshu would be able to hear him, able to answer, able to — provide a path? he has before. it's not a good idea, but marc's never been good at good ideas. he's never been good at planning, at thinking ahead. he could, but— would khonshu answer? does he even want the miserable fucking asshole to answer? (HMM—.)

for now, he decides it'd be FUCKING STUPID, so he opts not to. opts to try and work out where he is instead. he doesn't stop to try and pick berries or nuts (not important), but he does head towards the sound of the stream. where there's water, he reasons, there's likely people.

at first, he thinks he's wrong. there's a whole lot of NOTHING when he reaches the stream, and his gaze turns one way then the other as he decides on which direction in which to head, before—

footsteps from somewhere behind. light, so either they're treading with deliberate care, or they're as naked as he is.

he's dishevelled — mussed hair, dark circles, stubble that says the thought of shaving hasn't entered his head in at least a couple of days. a scar above an eye, an assortment more across his back, his torso. mixed, the sort that are the result of fist fights and knife fights and gun fights alike. if he's embarrassed, it's not evident in his expression, not immediately, not beyond the pinch of his brow, the knitting of his eyebrows and an attempt to work out if he's familiar with — whoever.

after a moment, then— )

I was beginning to think I was alone.

( marc is not the most talkative of companions (sorry, whoever's ended up with him), but he's at least — apparently — not spooked by the skeletal and gorey, not-yet skeletal remains of animals the longer and further they trek. he's seen worse, and though he won't point it out cheerfully (marc spector is, perhaps, unaware of the definition of 'CHEERFUL'), he will offer it as an explanation if asked.

(what worse has he seen? well—.)

what does catch his attention — eventually — is the skeletal creature that seems to sit just on the edges of his vision. it's not that it's partially formed, it's not that it makes him feel uneasy (or — it does, but not for the reasons one might think).

the first time, he doesn't say anything, just looks at it and then away, quickly. decisive. the second time it elicits a frown, an unhappy downwards curve of his mouth, and he still — pointedly, deliberately — doesn't say anything. the third time, the frown is still there, the unhappiness is still there, but it's punctuated by frustration, a sudden burst of— )

—For fuck's sake, ( a growl more than anything else, and thought it's not loud, it is audible. )

( typically, marc sleeps during the day and is awake at night — a fucked-up circadian rhythm courtesy of a (mostly) nocturnal lifestyle and a lot of coffee. as such, the night market's right up his alley (in a manner of speaking). he takes his time assessing the more physical stalls and games — the fight ring, the arm-wrestling, the ones that call on pain more than anything else.

the majority of his interest is piqued at the fight ring, although he avoids getting involved at first, preferring to watch. to weigh up options. once upon a time, in another life, this was how he'd supplemented his primary income, and here, now, with circumstances as they are, he's not about to rule anything out.

in the meantime—.

he gestures, a quick, vague movement at one of the two current fighters. ostensibly, one's more skilled than the other, but marc's more interested in the guy that looks like he's taking each punch because he can, because it's fun. bluntly, then, he'll offer his opinion. )

He'll win.

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