The explanation of Midnighter's early life makes Marcus frown, but he holds himself back, recognising he's not being asked for poor yous. Instead he nods, slow. "Yeah. I hate that crap. Holding food and shelter back until someone pays lipservice to God, that ain't right."
He leans into him a bit, surprised by how careful he is with the medal. It makes him smile, makes his heart pick up. Not in a bad way. "I mostly just — wander. When I was younger, I ran away a few times, from a few different places." He offers it in the spirit of a trade: tit for tat.
Midnighter not needing to eat, not needing to sleep, that reminds him of something. Marcus pinches his lower lip between his teeth a moment, remembering how as a younger man he'd prayed for that sort of thing. He'd had this fantasy where after an exorcism he wouldn't stumble and wind down like a broken toy, like he always does; he'd dream of just carrying on, miracle after miracle after miracle and maybe at a certain point he'd never have to stay still ever again. No more resting, no more sleeping, no more feeling, no more wasting time. Being a person was too cluttered and complicated: he'd asked, over and over, to be better than that. Less flawed, less human. God had never answered him, and now Marcus knows it was for good reason.
He wonders how Midnighter gets a bit of peace. If he ever gets a bit of peace. He settles in closer and murmurs, "Seen you eat. You ever, I dunno, sleep for fun?"
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He leans into him a bit, surprised by how careful he is with the medal. It makes him smile, makes his heart pick up. Not in a bad way. "I mostly just — wander. When I was younger, I ran away a few times, from a few different places." He offers it in the spirit of a trade: tit for tat.
Midnighter not needing to eat, not needing to sleep, that reminds him of something. Marcus pinches his lower lip between his teeth a moment, remembering how as a younger man he'd prayed for that sort of thing. He'd had this fantasy where after an exorcism he wouldn't stumble and wind down like a broken toy, like he always does; he'd dream of just carrying on, miracle after miracle after miracle and maybe at a certain point he'd never have to stay still ever again. No more resting, no more sleeping, no more feeling, no more wasting time. Being a person was too cluttered and complicated: he'd asked, over and over, to be better than that. Less flawed, less human. God had never answered him, and now Marcus knows it was for good reason.
He wonders how Midnighter gets a bit of peace. If he ever gets a bit of peace. He settles in closer and murmurs, "Seen you eat. You ever, I dunno, sleep for fun?"