Marsh || Steel Inquisitor

[Public, video]

[Marsh looks, if possible, even more grave than usual. He looks very tired.]

Kara Zor-El's door appears to have reverted to barge standard.

[His mouth pinches, and then he takes a breath, as though to say something else - but he doesn't. The silence stretches, for a few more seconds.]

I will be leaving the barge and returning to my own world. Shortly.


[Private to Luna]

I would like you to consider taking my place as Kitchen Supervisor for the dinner shift.


[Spam for Zane]

[He's there when Zane wakes, as they lurch and rumble and sail away from Karazhan. He couldn't go back, of course, not like Iris did, would be more a hindrance and a danger than any help, as much as he hated to watch her descend again. But Zane, at least, was here, safe. He makes tea with shaking hands, and keeps vigil like he once had for Kelsier. It feels like it was very long ago.]


[Spam for Cassel]

[A knock on his door, the day after their return.]

It's Marsh. I have. Something for you.


[Private to Jean]

[Heavily,]

Thank you.


[Spam for T'Pol]

[It's in the middle of one of their irregular - by barge necessity - sewing lessons, after they've settled into the rhythmic silence of practicing a new technique. Without looking up, or any particular emotional inflection, he murmurs,]

When we were small, you asked how I knew about allomancy, if it was supposed to be a secret.

My mother was skaa, but my father was noble. It was very illegal.


[Private to Dean]

I apologize for my actions.


[Private to Clementine]

When you are done here, I hope you will visit me. I think you might enjoy meeting my god.


[Private to Sylvanas]

I hope someday you find peace in a manner that suits you.


[Private for Iris, backdated to right after the Pacific Rim breach]

[The first few minutes, after the spikes come back to him, are alway a special sort of excruciating. He sprawls on his chair, tries not to shudder, tries not to whimper. Later, when the fog of pain retreats just slightly, clears a space for thought, the rest seeps in, Zane's baby toes and the white-hot meld of drifting and Iris, a life with Iris, in patches and screaming and tight knuckles holding on, the smell of her hair, the slow march of lines on her face and the way he knows each one. Knew. Knew each -

- it's something. And he doesn't know what to do about it at all. He opens a voice channel, because he loves her too much to let it make him a coward, has no idea what to say.]

Iris...

[It comes out raspy and tender at once, more than he meant it to. Did you win, he thinks, even though he was watching everyone's progress when the breach ended. They regaled each other so many times.]