the first pedestrian of the apocalypse

[myironeyes]

[Marsh hasn't made a public announcement in a long time. Not since before the last convergence with the mirror barge, in fact. He frequently keeps to himself outside of his work shifts in the kitchen, his inmate, and a dwindling circle of friends, so for many newcomers this may be the first good look they've had of him: a stocky, tired man in his late thirties or early forties, wearing a hooded black cloak nazgul-style and thin, spiky red-and-black tattoos around his eyes - or, rather, where his eyes should be. Instead he has two blunt steel spikes that have been pounded into his sockets.]

There are few differences between myself and my counterpart. It does not matter which of us I am, or where.

I am strong, and fast, and difficult to kill. If you need help, call and I will help you.

[There's a pause, and for a moment it seems like that's all he has to say. But not quite. The Dalek had prevented him from being psychically puppeted last time, but that isn't a guarantee that it won't happen in the future.]

Unless you see me smiling. In that case, run.

[Okay, now he's done.]

Comments

[spam]

[myironeyes]

Without as much, I said, not none.

[He's got his dry little grin on, teasing, even through the lightning flash afterimage of old grief. Iris never martyred herself behind his back. She schemes, but she tells the people who need to know, mostly, or she has in his experience.]

No, likely not.

[There's no resentment or derision there - for all his rebellions, he was never the zealot in quite the same way Kel was. But he understands the gap, the unbreachable feeling of the chasm, however wide - or in his case, narrow.]

Kel never - even for years before he knew he was mistborn. He was never in the fields or the mills. He never - worried, like I worried, he was never surprised every day we were still alive. We never had much, once we were on our own, but he never had nothing, either. I made sure.

That - confidence. Not bravery but actual fearlessness, because he didn't think anyone could touch him. Some of it was just him, of course.

[But some of it Marsh did. That's - the best thing he's ever done. And Kelsier died and Marsh lived, because the universe has a terrible sense of humor.]

I never understood him. Not that part.

[spam]

[routemistress]

[She reaches up, then, and kisses his cheek, tender and lightly. Iris has martyred herself at least once, but she had no one with her when it happened.

Although, she recalls, the Doctor - C'rizz's particular incarnation of him, too - did help her with the aftermath, graceless as he was about it.]

The other day I 'ad one of the new wardens 'ave a go at me for telling jokes when we've got the mirror barge coming up. I acted like it didn't bother me, 'e told me, and 'e were so offended by that.

[She chuckles at the memory, soft and low; and at close quarters it's clear the whole exchange has pleased her profoundly.]

I told 'im it'd 'appen whether I worried about it or not, and I'd sooner save me energy for making weapons. It's not 'cause we think things can't touch us, you know. It's 'cause there's just no point.

...just like there's no point asking you not to, my love, you grow it like Aster grows feathers.

[spam]

[myironeyes]

[A faint coil of tension at the kiss, awkward-uncertain at the degree of tenderness, but it doesn't ripple from his damaged mind to his damaged body; and his voice when he responds is dry, fussy and fond and intransigent.]

I maintain he was younger and stupider than you.

Before the pits -

[He really was fearless; careless. He was never not defiant, but it was flippancy before conviction.]

He changed. Not enough to stop laughing, never that, you're right. But changed.

[He grew up, much though Marsh struggled to believe it at first.]