#marc andre

In, and out.

His breathing was fitful but calm. Calmer than she’d expected. How fast the shadows of the past must fade away given a warm bed and waiting arms.

It is always easy to believe such things. Marc wanted her bed to be safe. He desired it as much as he craved the grasping hands, the press and pull of their bodies in the night. Lust and longing in equal measure, both now snoring in her chambers.

A multitude of other troubles pulled at her mind. Of all the plots and plans she had to think about, at least Marc was simple. At least she enjoyed it, a simple pleasure as their time together was.

And yet work did not end. Already she had wasted an evening. Already precious time slipped through her clawed hands, never to be utilized. Not that she had much need for grandiose visions, but a certain bare amount of scheming and forethought was required of any lurking about the Dark City.

Her breath was quick as she slithered out from under the man. His arms tried vainly to grab, to pull her in, but the Drukhari found no challenge in escaping the confines of the bed.

Always the challenge was the wings. Twisting them around the ever-grabbing hands. More things for Marc to cling to, like a child to their mother’s skirts.

El Shay did not bother dressing. This room was hers, none would dare disturb her within its walls. Of that she was sure. At least for now.

The wine was bitter on her lips. The cup left half-finished before their evening now was drained dry. 

“You can stay, you know.” The man lazily rolled over, pulling the silken sheets into disarray “I don’t bite.”

Tsk. “I do.” How he loved to destroy her bed. Twisting the sheets, scattering the pillows. 

He laughed “I know.”

Shay couldn’t help but roll her eyes. A faint smirk twisted her lips, as she dragged the jug of wine from it’s resting place off the table, lazily carrying the mostly empty vessel back towards the bed. “You liked it.”

His turn to huff “Beats the whips.”

“Those come later.” Shay cooed. His cup had been left empty next to his bedside, now the man found it refilled, in his hands, under the watchful red eyes. 

The wine was gone again, and an empty cup found its way back to her claws. Shay rapped the sharp edges along the sides, already it held faint scratches. She’d need to find new ones soon.

“Your scars.” Marc had sat up, fully now. Staring intently along the harsh lines of the Scourge. Eyes half-lidded in longing and hunger. “How did you get them.”

“Why does it matter?” Her response was quick, harsh. Who was it that made him ask? What ploy? Who had managed to worm their way to her beloved pet's ears?

“Some are…” He reached out, watching her. Waiting to see if she’d swat him. She did not. For now. “These, I know these.” 

His fingers trailed along her thigh, running along the craters and divots. The scars left by guns and explosives. The marks of battle. He found more across her stomach, her chest. Each time the fingers found their prize, the touch was gentle. 

The Scourge couldn’t help but watch his movements, the softness of them so painfully faint against her skin.

“But these-” Now his hands moved towards the ragged marks. The cuts, the incisions and ripping and tearing-

“No.” Now her hand caught his. Quickly. Too firmly by the way he flinched. How his eyes flitted between hers.

“I-”

“Do not ask questions you do not wish to know.”

“I’m asking because I want to know-”

“You don’t know what you ask.” Her hiss stopped him, cruel and hateful as it was “You do not know the things I did. The things I had to do, to get here.”

“Shay-”

“No.” 

“Please-”

“You want to hear?” She raved against the sadness in his eyes. The pity. Shay couldn’t help but realize the enemy here was his own weakness “You want to hear how I was butchered? How I was broken and stitched back together? How I languished, broken, with the choice to fly or die? How all these marks are my choice?”

The wings flared, unbidden. Her back, her shoulders, every wiry muscle, and sinew in her body ached to strike him “You do not know. You can not know. You can not understand.”

Silence. Strained, forced, silence. His eyes still burned with questions, with pity. 

She hated it.

Tossing his hand back at him, she was up, stalking across the room. 

“Shay…”

What a pitiful tone. 

“Save your pity.” She sneered. Her robe tugged on, sliding without grace up over her arms “Unless you seek any in return?”

He was getting up, moving towards her across the cool tile floor. 

“You certainly have enough marks” The Eldar continued, unabated by his silence. “Not even all of them from me. From us. How many were you given before? From your old life you still cling to?”

Her eyes flashed to the tattoos. The branding he still wore. How many old allegiances could he cling to? Lights in the dark. Memories. She could never know.

Shay let him approach. Let him reach for her. This time Marc did not hesitate. The arms snaked around her, holding her. Not too tightly, she could move, could leave. Even if he truly tried, no force he could muster would stop her escape. He was a weak and brittle thing, even in his prime.

“That's not what I wanted.” The murmur was gentle. Quiet. Marc knew there was no need to be loud. She heard every breath. Every movement. 

“Then what is it you want, little guardsman?” 

There was surprise to her own question, in its sincerity. The sort of ache only found in genuine questions. Shay was unsure if she’d ever felt it before. 

She needed to know.

She wanted to know.

His response came after a time. Painfully delayed by contemplation. Still, his arms stayed, fingers gently rubbing her back. The granite skin was smooth to his touch, save the divots and ridges which had caused this mess.

Was he waiting for something? For her?

Resisting the urge to squirm, a tentative hand was raised, then placed on his own back. 

The sudden stiffness of Marc was explosive. His whole body tensed, and froze, waiting for a crack of pain or a sudden strike.

But none came.

“I…” His words were unsure “I don’t want to be afraid.”

Shay sighed. “Then you should not have come with me. This place is only terror for your kind.”

The resigned ‘mmm’ he mumbled into her shoulder was pathetic. Though, it wasn’t long ago El Shay found herself whimpering at his mercy. Memories best left forgotten, for pride's sake.

Kindness, trust… She still struggled with it. She did not understand why he’d want it. What good they did.

But favors she had grown up with all her life.

“Marc.” The emotion in her voice wasn’t something she could place. Shay wanted to sound honest, perhaps softer than her usual biting and hissed retorts, but it sounded wrong in her ears “The city is a terrible thing. I can not promise safety here.”

His own shoulders impacted hers, falling with resignation.

“-but I can offer protection whilst under my own wings. Provided you can help keep them attached to me.”

Hope. He stirred, straightening ever so slightly “Yeah?”

“I trust you’ve not lost what skill you have while lying amidst my sheets? Elsewise I suppose the discipline your officers use makes more sense.” 

Lopsided, agonizingly radiant, Marc grinned “My shooting was good enough for you before.”

“Yes well, now you’ve gone and fattened yourself on my stores and wine.” The claws rapped harmlessly against his fit stomach, and the scourge turned to walk away. The matter, was finally, resolved. “Perhaps you’re sluggish now.”

His hand found hers, seemingly unbothered by the raptor grip. 

“I promise. I’ll keep you safe.”

The scourge snorted, the laugh escaping with twisted mirth and she pulled away.

And yet, her palm tingled. 

Marc-Andre Fluery Lockscreen Edit

As a suggestion from the Hard Mode asks, maybe: 4 for R'tan, 17 for Bean, our beloved, 5 for Ostia and 31 for Marc and El Shay?

Feel free to ignore any or all or switch characters around, you know! Absolutely no forcing on my part. Just love listening about OCs ;u;

R'tan - Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know? If I'm sticking with my 'R'tan inherited a little of Vulkans healing powers and in fact is very, very old' lore, then it'd be the drop site massacre. I don't think it'd be the worst day in his life, surprisingly, but the betrayal of your brothers would certainly be something he'd never forget.

He tries really hard to be his cheery self with anyone he meets. But any time he's deployed with Ironhands or Ravenguard, he sees all the friends he lost. Those deployments are quiet. Those legions and their successors often think the Salamanders and other Astartes are talking about a different R'tan Estar when they hear stories of a large, gregarious man with a smile that lights up the room.

Bean - What was your character’s favorite toy as a child?

Maybe not a toy, but I imagine Bean as a wide-eyed, nose-in-a-book kind of kid. He got all his families hand me downs, and his favorite was a well-worn fantasy novel. The traditional Lords and Ladies and Knights and all the courtly chivalric romance and pastoral joys involved in that.

I think somewhere in his pack he still has that book. It's a nice memento of home and a reminder that life can be bright and joyous, as long as you take the time to find it.

Ostia - On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?

A pack of lho sticks, Argus' gilded lighter, a carved figure of R'tan he crafted for her, a combat knife, lots of lint, some sort of writ showing rank and title in case she needs to get people off her case. As well, likely some amount of rations, even if she's on a ship or shore leave. Ostia always has some amount of salted meat or hardtack on her person.

Is it because she's prepared? She'll claim so, but she always just forgets about it. Likes to snack on it during meetings with her men when they least expect to see field rations.

Shay & Marc - Describe a scenario in which your character feels most comfortable.

Marc: Likely when him and Shay are doing weapons maintenance. He gets to be doing something he's used to, the act of striping and cleaning his rifle is familiar and known in a world of unknowns. It's also a time when they can just bicker or discuss the merits of weapons completely divorced from their circumstances.

It's a moment that feels surreally normal to the man nowadays.

Shay's would likely be when she's returning from a successful job or hunt. Glutted on death and success, then coming back to her spire knowing now that it's guarded in her absence? There's comfort in that she'd never really want to admit.

Living alone means you can trust your home to still be safe once you return. But Marc helps make the spire really feel like home. Or at least, that's what he's told her the feeling is, Shay's just relieved there's a place to slink back to.

Here are the questions to your characters 😁

To Ostia ( #3 What is/was your character’s relationship with their father like? )

To Marc-André ( #33 In the face of criticism, is your character defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve? )

To Marc-André ( #21 If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others? )

To R'tan ( #37 Is your character more concerned with defending their honor, or protecting their status?

To El-shay ( #In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been? )

And lastly,

To Klara ( #41 Does your character feel that they deserve to have what they want, whether it be material or abstract, or do they feel they must earn it first? )

Ostia- Ostia and Gadriel were very close behind the scenes. He and Lucelle were seen a lot more in public together, mostly because Ostia was pretty ill growing up. But Ostia adored him. Very much looked up to him, and wanted to be a hero just like her Father. Gadriel was always worried about her trying a bit too hard, getting hurt, very much a doting but worrying guardian. But they were close.

Marc - As to the first question, 120% defensive. He'd be very reluctant to admit fault and would dance around any blame or critiques. Very much the same for the second question as well, Marc always looks outward for blame first before he'd consider himself the cause.

R'tan - Honor for sure. R'tan is a fairly well-respected individual, partly because he's got so, so much experience, but also because his word means a lot to him. If he says "I'll be there", he means it. It would take some monumental nonsense to stop him. He'd take a demotion or a demerit over doing something he thought was wrong every time. Who knows, that might be why he's out at the ass end of the galaxy fighting Orks with a bunch of rookies instead of being a part of the Salamanders 1st company 👀

Shay - Most afraid would DEFS be when Marc first found her. Injured and unable to fly far behind enemy lines? It's not the worst scenario, but it'd be a lot to grapple with all at once.

She'd never admit it to him, though.

Klara - Klarissa grew up having access to basically any material thing she could dream of. But the only thing she ever wanted, the freedom to live her own life, was out of reach while with her family. The first real choice she made as Klarissa, not as Klarissa Heiress to the Hyperion Dynasty, was to run away. By making that hard choice, by essentially forfeiting her own safety in the name of freedom, she earned the weird station she now sits at.

I don't know if she'd be an 'earned' it kind of thinker, but I definitely think she'd lean towards it. Nothing in life is free, nothing in life is guaranteed, and even if people deserve to have something it's always got a cost. Sometimes is mundane: time, gelt, items traded or bartered with. Other times, it's far, far steeper. Blood, loyalties, lives.

The Hyperions are a cold, calculating bunch. Likely why Klara, even being the family black sheep, still fits in rather well with the Adepts. Anything you want can be yours, you just need to accept there's a price.

And perhaps a monkey's paw. She certainly didn't ask for the Ork but you know. We're there.