bandagedknight

[bandagedknight]

"...do I know you? Or do you have a reason to be talkin' to me right now? Because I think I missed the memo."

"I don't care for the difference in semantics. Self pity is still just weakness marinated the witless."

[bandagedknight]

Marc was used to having his life turned upside down. Most of the time it happened to be while he was in Egypt, so he had to appreciate the change of scenery. Things could have been exponentially worse than living with a ‘variant’ of himself in some kind of makeshift church. He at least had Layla and Jean-Paul. 

The two of them had been through so much together— missions, deaths, saving the world, they could deal with this. And all things considered, it wasn’t like there was currently any kind of impending threat headed their way. They were just misplaced.

If there was anyone Marc would want to be stranded in another reality with, it was Layla. He hated himself for leaving her the way he did after she died— but he was working to be better now. He had to be better. Not just for his sake, but for Layla’s. She deserved so much more than he’d been giving her back before he left, and it was a miracle that she hadn’t run for the hills by this point. 

Working on things meant taking the time to just… exist, together. So there they were, walking hand in hand through a crowded Central Park, and he was surprisingly at peace. 

He smirked softly at her question, tilting his head as he squeezed her hand and let it swing gently by their sides. He pondered his answer for a long few seconds, staring off into the grass for awhile before finally turning back to look down at her. “Do you and Steven just sit around learning trivia with each other or something? Is that what this is?” 

@bandagedknight

There was something about summer in New York City. A warm reprieve was more than welcomed after months of a seemingly endless gray. Egypt cooled in the winters, but it was nothing what America's east coast subjected its residents to. Long called a citizen of the world, Layla had only visited New York once as a child. The trip had actually been to an archaeological conference in Washington D.C. Somehow, Layla had convinced Abdallah to make the train ride up the coast to New York so they could spend a day or two in the city. After visits to the Natural History Museum and Met, she had all but tugged him into the blinding lights of Times Square. It may as well have been a different world from the one they normally spent their days in, and both had been relieved to go home.

Now, home looked different. Home was in the shape of a many minded man whose arms were the start of her world. There was more to her life, of course, but the London flat or Cairo apartment were just spaces she had a key to. Layla had been a child often on the move. Her sanctuary, once found in her father, was now in Marc. It had been all the more devastating each time she lost him because of this. It wasn't just an empty half of the bed that taunted in the night. It was a lack of security that ate at her.

The Midnight Mission of Earth-Prime was only temporary housing. It was occupied by another Marc who was not her Marc and a cast of characters that was foreign outside of Jean-Paul. Even though it was nice to have a place to stay, Layla tried to be outside as much as possible. Her schedule often conflicted with Marc's. The two avatar's remained perpetually busy, which made the time they did together all the more valuable.

Sunlight warmed freckled cheeks as Layla scanned the crowded paved walkway. Central Park was full of tourists and locals who lounged on blankets and played fetch with their panting dogs. They were all inconsequential in that moment. All Layla cared about was the one hand that was wrapped around Marc's, connecting the two spouses through intertwined fingers. In her other hand she balanced an iced coffee; before her contract with Tawaret, the caffeine would have left her buzzing. Now, it was just a pleasant sweetness. She felt revitalized in ways she couldn't have imagined herself being, even with the mess they found themselves in.

"True or false: Central Park was the result of a competition?" She asked, one brow raising as she glanced at Marc. "You get it wrong, you cook tonight."

[bandagedknight]

“Oh, of course I know the story. Lots of people think that she tried to portray herself as a man in all of her portraits to try and disguise the fact that she was a woman, but historians actually believe it was because she wanted to make it clear that she demanded the same respect as any ol’ male pharaoh. I think that’s pretty neat.” It didn’t take much to get Steven rambling on the topic, and as soon as he realized it he found himself chuckling quietly under his breath before nervously wringing his hands together. 

Things were certainly an adjustment, and that fact only rang more true the minute they found themselves in a reality that didn’t belong to them. Steven had already been trying to adjust to being away from London, living with Marc, with Layla, and now it felt like his feet had been completely knocked out from underneath him. How were they possibly supposed to navigate something like this? 

It felt impossible. And overwhelming, if he was being honest, but there was something about Layla being around that made him feel like anything was possible. 

Thankfully, Layla took the reins a bit and Steven just smiled at her like an idiot for a long few seconds, not processing that she’d asked for him to show her his favorite artifact until he’d waited an awkward amount of time without responding. 

“Oh, show you mine? Well—“ Truthfully, it was hard for him to pick a favorite. There were just so many beautiful pieces of work in the Met, and he was still wrapping his brain around all of them. But as he started to think about it, something did catch his eye earlier. 

“Have you seen William the Hippo?” 

@bandagedknight

Plans were for the privileged. To be able to say something would occur and then have it actually do so without life — or, for the unfortunate, deathless deities — intervening required a certain kind of assurance not found in the capabilities of the common man. That was not to say, however, that one could not achieve that which they put their mind to. Goals were something entirely different than plans. Goals accounted for far more than the scope of most plans. Goals were constantly shifting and evolving. It felt easier to realign a goal than account for a ruined plan.

This had been a hard lesson for Layla to learn. As a child, she had meticulously planned her future from the dig sites she shadowed her father at. Abdallah had always encouraged his daughter to reach for the stars, as if she could touch Nut herself. She would go to university, follow in her father's footsteps. One day she would have children of her own to carry on the El-Faouly name. Her life did not need to be grand in order to be satisfying.

Shai had other plans for her.

A massacre. That's how she first heard of it: a massacre. A group of archeologists slaughtered in cold blood. As the daughter of a researcher, the news had sent her into a panic. She had called every contact in her phone and driven out to to the dunes herself only to be met with government agents and caution tapes. Blood as red as the scarf she had made her father mingled with the sand, wails lost to the wind that howled through the night. It seemed impossible that Ra's would rise through the sky in the morning, but he had. The world had kept turning even though every idea that Layla had carefully constructed for herself had been shattered.

From there, her plans changed. The black market became a second home that she embraced as a means to an end. Find stolen artifacts. Return stolen artifacts. Dole out justice where she could, all while creating a tourniquet around her heart because she couldn't find justice where she desired it the most. It would have been all too easy to substitute the justice she craved for vengeance. The hard truth was that no matter how satisfying the latter would be, it was not what her father would have wanted. And so, Layla persevered.

Marc Spector was the final straw. Meeting him, marrying him, loving him. Being with Marc required a kind of reckless abandon that laid all of Layla's plans to rest. There would be no children to fill their halls or wear the scarfs made by a mother's loving hands. There was only uncertainty and danger. Layla rushed into the relationship headfirst with a bullheaded determination to make it work. Being the wife to Khonshu's fist often meant coming in second to Marc and his demons. She was self-sufficient and independent because she had been raised to be. That didn't bother her. Surprisingly, letting go of her plans didn't either. They had to take each punch as they came no matter how much it hurt.

And gods, did it hurt at times.

Steven Grant certainly wouldn't have fit into the plans that Layla could have conjured up. Her husband having some kind of crisis and leaving her was easier to fathom than the truth that the breakdown was caused by a dissociative identity disorder she hadn't known about. Even after all the nights they had spent sharing a bed and each second his hands had spent roaming her body, there was still so much about the man she had made vows to that Layla had yet to uncover. Just like her father had devoted his life to exploration and the quest for knowledge, Layla would do the same. Surely but slowly she would unspool Marc's secrets and learn to live with them.

Steven was, admittedly, complicated. She looked in his face and saw Marc's dark eyes, his strong jaw sometimes lined with stubble. But those eyes were different, softer. The jaw wasn't clenched in a perpetual frown. Marc was not Steven, even if her brain kept contributing Steven to Marc. He had to be approached differently. The dynamic between the three of them was new and still very much learning to be maneuvered. It had been difficult before they had been sucked through the multiverse. Marc, Layla, Steven, and Frenchie. It was quite the group if there ever had been one. All lost, all trying to figure it out. It felt like that was the best they could do with the group constantly being pulled out from underneath them.

It was with great self-control that hands remained by Layla's side. After a lifetime of being surrounded by her own culture and embracing it freely, there was a strange detachment to see parts of it locked up in a museum across the world from where it should have been. The trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Arts hadn't officially been dubbed a date, but it still carried the weight of nervous butterflies that had taken flight in Layla's stomach. Instead of running her fingers across the smooth stone that composed Hatshepsut's sphinx, Layla occupied herself but folding the museum map that she didn't really need.

"I always loved her when I was a child. Hatshepsut, that is." Layla gestured to the sphinx. "I know you know the story, about how Thutmose III smashed her statues and tried to have her removed from history. A woman pharaoh? She wasn't Egypt's first female ruler — that was Sobekneferu — but she's not remembered like Nefertiti or Cleopatra. Even though history tried to turn its back on her, we're still standing here remembering her. That's something beautiful about that, isn't it?"

Marc and Layla discussed history, of course. There had been countless nights of takeout and wine as Layla reported on artifacts she was searching for. Marc had indulged her, but talking history with Steven felt different. Conversing with him sparked a part of her that her father had helped kindle when she was a child. The past was the past, yes, but it informed the present. It was hard to put into words, but Layla felt Steven understood. It sometimes felt like he could see her in ways Marc couldn't — and Layla meant no disrespect to her husband with that realization.

She turned to look at Steven. "Now that I've talked your ear off, show me your favorite?"

[bandagedknight]

"No whining here, just sulking. There's a difference."

"If all you intend to do is whine, do it away from me."

[bandagedknight]

"I've got nothing. I'm just trying to make my way through this confusing shitshow, same as you."

"When you spend a decent chunk of your life surrounded by demons it becomes hard to be fazed. But please, do your best."

[bandagedknight]

"Hey, I didn't say anything. But if the shoe fits, I guess..."

"Hey, don't look at me. I may have a reality stone in my chest, but I had nothing to do with this. Do you think I wanted to be displaced and trapped in some bizarro New York?"

[bandagedknight]

"Hate to say it, but that makes you peluda, chica." Jake paused when she snapped at him to look up, and he smirked softly as he pulled his eyes upwards and raised his eyebrows.

"No, I'm not a furry. Yes, I happen to have fur, but I'm not — hey. Eyes on my face, not the tail."

[bandagedknight]

"I'm not looking for any trouble, mate. I was just already new to New York in my own reality, and now I'm buggered trying to find my way here in a new one, too. That's all. Honest."

"For flying fucks sake. Could you give me some space, mate?" Jono projected annoyed as flames reached through his leather wrappings and licked his cheeks.

[bandagedknight]

Marc stayed silent at that point for a long few seconds, trying to keep himself from going down the same spiral he'd been clawing his way out of for years. Things couldn't be changed, and they never would be. New reality or not. "Would you've wanted to interact with her even if she was here?" He pointed out quietly, his voice void of any animosity as he raised a brow at her. He wasn't sure he could stomach meeting a Randall from another reality that potentially didn't die that day in the cave.

"You come all the way to a new reality just to find what — that the only thing you'd want to change is the same?" Natasha was still gone. Missing, not dead. It didn't matter. She was still out of reach. "I don't know. That doesn't seem fair, does it?"

[bandagedknight]

"I'm sorry, can you backtrack a bit? Monsters are real? Oi, maybe I shouldn't be surprised by that, actually..." They did fight a rabid jackal that was conjured up by Egyptian magic. Vampires and werewolves shouldn't have been completely out of the question.

"Last I checked, I had signed up to hunt monsters, not traverse the bloody multiverse. Pardon me for not being super chuffed right now. Does anyone even know where the vamps hang out in this godforsaken reality?"

[bandagedknight]

"Oh, yeah. It's real nice that we get to stay in this creepily abandoned complex until everything's sorted out. It's like a frickin' vacation if you ask me."

[bandagedknight]

Marc had to resist the urge to automatically roll his eyes as he glanced down towards his food, gently shaking his head. This guy sounded just like Steven. "You ever stop to think that it might be kinda rude to compare someone's food to bird shit? Maybe you guys are the weird ones."

"I know your biscuits are different but it just looks weird, mate." Hobie looked at the substance again. American Gravy didn't seem to look right. "Why's it grey?" a beat "it's like a bird's gone and shat on your plate." was that insulting? "No offense." he added.

[bandagedknight]

A crescent was thrown in the direction of the noise as soon as Marc processed it behind him, the sharpest edge of the blade sinking into the wall nearby. He lowered his head when he finally turned around to face the intrusion, letting himself glance at the swords the other man was holding. "Can I help you?"

"Don't be suspicious, don't be suspicious--" Don't be suspicious! Don't be suspicious. Wade hummed along with the voices as he carefully collected the swords, he wasn't sure who they belonged to but he wanted to play with them. He was gonna put them back! ...eventually. ...Hate to interrupt-- Oh, do you? Are we sure this is wise? Nobody cares. I do. I care. I said what I said. "shhhhhuddaaap--I'm tryna' focus." Wade hissed. there was a light thunk and he jumped, a tiny eek escaping his throat. He quickly cleared it and tried for a deeper tone "I--uh." he snapped up, standing straight. "--these are mine." wade turned in the dark room shuffling the sheathed weapons behind him. oopsies! see, this is what I was worried about. relax. it's not like we can die. No, but we can hurt.

"Evening Madam President." Wade greeted.

[bandagedknight]

"A-what now?"

"Good to know some things never change. Mutants are still going to be hated no matter the universe."

[bandagedknight]

"At least the museums here are still pretty nifty. If you look past the colonialism behind it all."

"Always wanted to visit New York, just thought when I did I'd be able to leave. Expectations were too high I guess?"

[bandagedknight]

gstace​:

“oh, really? because from where i’m standing, it looks like you just gave that guy a one-way ticket to hell with that blade of yours. but who am i to judge, right?” gwen arched an eyebrow, her gaze shifting towards the body. "so, uhm, what happened? did the bad guy accidentally trip and fall face-first onto your blade? or did you two have a friendly disagreement about the weather and things got a little — stabby?”

There were a lot of things Jake wanted to say, but none of them felt like they’d really be enough justification for murder to a complete stranger. She seemed innocent enough, just stumbling into the wrong place at the wrong time, so he chose to ignore the way Khonshu loomed on the firescape behind her before he shrugged. “You want the real answer? He ran a child trafficking ring. I’m just doing my job, and the less you know about that the better.”

[bandagedknight]

Jake was just finishing up some work for Khonshu, the ceremonial armor dissipating from his body as he stared down at the body below him in the alleyway. He’d been particularly aggressive on this job, and stopped to admire the crescent blade that was currently sticking out of the man’s eye. There was no remorse felt for the man, though. A child trafficker didn’t deserve any. But he actually flinched when he heard another voice across the alleyway, and he awkwardly glanced down towards the body again before locking eyes with the woman. “It’s not what it looks like?”

“you ever get the feeling that the universe has a fucked up sense of humor?”