no_sin_but | (no subject)

(no subject)

Stairs are not...let us try this again.

Where would you prefer to collapse, your room or the road? For a stairway is really a road, and this one has heavy traffic, but...

But you do not choose when, you do not choose where, you do not choose who triggers it.

This is why Marlowe is sitting at on the landing of one of the stairs on one of the floors, head against the wall and eye closed. One leg drawn up, the other foot resting on the second stair down; he could just be thinking.

People's knuckles aren't normally so white when they do that, though.

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And she has precious little idea of what to do with it.

"If you don't think I'd be in the way," she adds, after a pause.

"Able to blend in, girl?"

Camouflage at home was always more about disappearing among trees, not people.

Still, she has something of a knack at playing what she is not.

"Yes."

"And you can fight, I take it. Swords and daggers?"

She nods.

"Both, yes."

There are two knives on her right now, not to mention her (tattoo) sword.

There is an oddly concentrated air about him now, for all his voice is still quiet and calm enough.

"Would you care to take a trip to England in the interests of keeping me alive and unarrested?"

Her smile is small but genuine. Her eyes remain brilliantly focused.

"I would take that trip, and gladly too."

"Well, that's a relief. I don't fancy being tortured."

He almost sounds cheerful.

She doesn't quite laugh.

"I don't think anyone does."

"No. And they'd break my hands. Warped sense of humour."

He thinks for a moment, and then glances back at her.

"Sooner rather than later suit you, my lady?"

"My schedule is wide open," she says.

"A few days advance warning--if you can manage it--to set some things in order is all I really need."

A quick nod.

"I can do that. I need to remember what I was doing, and such things."

She nods.

"Of course. And I'll get some clothes from Bar; she's handled clothes for a different time for me before."

He moves on the landing, reaching out and taking her chin in his hand.

"Your hair is well enough, I think...but we really do look nothing alike, do we?"

She arches an eyebrow, but doesn't otherwise move.

"I don't suppose we do."

His soft voice thoughtful, eye sharp-yet-distant (it is a look that Darren would recognize well; Kit there and yet thinking);

"I have to make passports, else we'd be arrested."

"Alright..."

She's still not quite sure where he's going with this.

"I now pronounce us man and wife, at least while in my time. Care too choose a name? Mary Anne as it stands is a touch too unusual."

It takes her a minute to process that idea.

A very long minute.

"I...I suppose I could remember to answer to Mary well enough. Elizabeth fits the time, but Mom only ever used that when I was in trouble."

"Mary...Marian, or Mary?"

He's waiting for the other shoe to drop, but gives little sign of it.

"Either," she says.

And here's the shoe.

"...how's this 'pretending to be married to you' thing going to work, exactly?"

"Same last name on the passports, no questions with just having one room, I wear a ring. I think we already cover the constant bickering quite well."

"Sounds easy enough."

But a lot of things sound easy.

"Expecting anything more difficult?"

"Not particularly," she (lies) says.

"And I expect I can roll with any surprises."