no_sin_but | (no subject)

"At this point, I just want the the thing to be over with. One more month of shows and then I never have to see any of them again. And that's the best news I've had since Geoffrey entered the mental hospital."

Anyways. Casual as fuck,

"How's your week been?"

"Oh, you know. Entirely bizare, in a way that only an actor's life can be. I'm sure it'd be a play."

Beat.

"Now there's an idea..."

"You're thinking of writing again?"

Darren forgets himself and looks in and smiles at him, open and blinding and please let Marlowe write again.

"I miss it."

That's not a yes. It's not a no, either.

"Right."

Out again, back to book hunting.

Drily,

"Besides, I have the time. No one to spy on or for."

"Someone said to me once, when you are what you do, when you stop you aren't. Most men die rather quickly after retirement."

He's not trying to be morbid, he just couldn't imagine it.

Marlowe pauses.

"And nine years after I stopped, I still call myself a writer. So what does that mean?"

"That it's just a hiatus."

Obviously.

He snorts.

"Nearly a decade, it's a bloody long one."

"Never say never," says Darren, with faith that's practically childish.

That actually gets a laugh.

Albeit a cynical one.

"Eaten yet?"

He manages to not sound like he's fretting.

"No, actually. I needed the bath more."

"What got you in that state?"

Darren doesn't remember Marlowe being a clean-freak.

"An odd desire to hear English accents again."

"You went to England?"

Oh.

"Just for a day or so. But, October. Mud and everything."

"With Mary Anne?"

Asking cheerfully, letting slip without thinking but his tone of voice is so casual he couldn't possibly mean anything by it.

"What time period?"

There are lots.

Forewarned, as they say, is forearmed, and Marlowe doesn't even glance at him.

"I am fully capable of walking through my door on my own, you know."

"But your England isn't safe for you."

Stupid he is not.

"You're supposed to be dead. You have people looking for you."

"Oh, Christopher Marlowe is still dead there. They'd only look for me if they knew I was there."

"It seems like quite a risk to take."

Peeking back through the door. Keeping his eyes on Marlowe's one good one. It takes effort, because he's (handsome, naked) missing an eye after all, and Darren isn't from a time when such things are common place.

"I could get you there."

A wry smile.

"I know. But it wouldn't be my time."

Darren disappears back into the room.

"It'd be something. And you wouldn't die."