I’m not suggesting that you walk around dressed like an overstuffed peacock. But this world is some far-flung version of the future, so why not see how you look in some of the appropriate styles?
Unwise to say that when you're about to be a captive audience. 👍
[ he'll arrive on schedule, warily eying the bar/club situation that connor mentioned on his way up. perhaps he took for granted the net income of Team SHIELD and their ability to score a nice-ish flat ina . residential area. regardless, he's dressed for work, if a tad scruffy after a day on the job (and having long since folded his blazer into his bag), with a plain rucksack slung over one shoulder. most of his injuries have been cured or lessened by new amsterdam's marvelous healthcare system, with the cut on his hand scarred over and neck no longer bandaged.
not a bad day for fitz, after all, leaning against the doorframe of connor and markus's flat while he waits for answer to his knock. ]
[The bottom floor bar/club situation might be iffy on one of the more unflattering nights, but what such establishment doesn’t have an evening with a fight breaking out, or patrons getting kicked to the literal curb after having too much to drink? Today is far more tame than that, it’s only the bustling noise of an active crowd and the constant footsteps of people entering and exiting.
And from the third floor, where the androids’ apartment is located, is moderately detached enough that the clamor is only subtle, ambient noise. Such is the case when Markus swings open the door to meet Fitz, dressed in an airy, short-sleeved button down in earthen tones, and perfectly-fitted, faded jeans. Black sneakers with crisp contour lines, not a single scuff on them. A simple outfit — the summer doesn’t allow for anything layered, especially if they’ll be walking about — but he looks put-together in a way that implies everything, as always, is quite purposefully chosen.
Looking sharp is also helped by the fact that his own bruises, once marring his face, have faded. Even the signs of a once-busted lip is a faint, barely-there thing.]
Fitz. You made it.
[Not that he expected otherwise. An unassuming once-over, observing the state of the other man; looking like he’s just come from work, certainly.]
Want to come in for a little, or are you ready to get started? We have a journey ahead of us.
[ Markus looks good. Not like, well, yes like that, but also in the sense that he's healing up — and styled at a level Fitz might not have noticed, if not for the very topic of this encounter. Fitz lingers by the door, playing up his wariness as part of their repartee, brows lifted in playful questioning. A journey now, is it? He's had worse partners for such affairs, if nothing else. ]
Mm-hmm. [ When Markus steps aside enough to offer him a moment inside, Fitz accepts, passing him with a light pat on his shoulder in amicable greeting. It would seem that the weight of their prior conversation has left some things unchanged. An easy familiarity and warmth continue. Perhaps they even heightened, after the kindness Markus paid him.
His eyes wander around the space, unabashed. A flat says plenty about a person, and two persons of personal interest reside here. ]
[ Swinging his rucksack round to deposit it on the nearest surface and rummage through the contents. ]
I'll just drop Connor's present, if don't you mind keeping it safe until the big day. [ absentmindedly, his mouth quirks, pleased when he removes the white, hexagonal box from his bag and practically drawls — ] Then, off we go, where no man has ever taken me before. [ a beat; he tips his head to one side, eyes crinkling. ] Shopping, I mean.
[ An intentional joke for once in his life!! Helps that he's obviously in a good mood today, more buoyant than his typical fare. Just a combination of little things, nothing spectacular. ]
[Temporarily closing the door behind them, he follows a step or two behind as Fitz makes his way into their home-away-from-home. It isn't a very large apartment, but it's more than enough space for two androids; perhaps the most notable trait of their living situation is the neatness of it all. Nothing out of place, nothing misaligned. Markus, the once-caretaker android, whose priorities were to keep Carl's home safe, clean, presentable; some habits are so ingrained that they become laden into the core of his personality, insurmountable. And Connor's own nigh-militaristic cleanliness only adds to the model-home vibe.
Yet it's not lacking in swaths of personality, a curious eye easily drawn to painted canvases hung up on the living room walls. All done in the same painterly style, bursting with different color palettes, landscapes, portraits, things that are not quite so easily defined. And a small balcony connected to the living room itself, where Fitz might spy the leg of an easel through the glass door.
Yet as for Markus' own curiosities, he can't stop the way his eyes track the hexagonal box that Fitz draws out from his bag.] I'll be sure to hide it away until then. As long as he's oblivious to there being anything to find, it'll be safe.
[Otherwise, good luck hiding something from the detective bot, good lord.]
It'll be an adventure. [He replies to the joke, smile widening. The air between them jovial and light, despite conversations past. Maybe because of them.] And if you survive it, you'll come out stronger on the other side. It'll build character, and you'll turn heads.
[ Less lived-in than the SHIELD flat, in some ways, though not without its charms. The bursts of colour immediately bring Markus to mind, with his vivid articulation of the world and its complexities. And there's the charm of his selections, too. Meanwhile, the crispness of the area is more in line with Connor. Definitely fits the both of them, overall.
The present has its quirks, with symbols along the sides and raised elements. For the moment, Fitz only sets it on the counter. The clue needed to solve it won't pop up until Connor's birthday, anyway, so hiding in plain sight works fine. If Markus happens to scan the box while peering at it, a message will pop up on his implant interface. Not your big day yet, is it now, Markus? 🙈 No cheating, you beautiful roombas. ]
If I survive it. [ faux-indignant scoff as he swings his rucksack back over his shoulder. ] You gonna abandon me when I first fumble with the ol' bow-tie?
[ Perhaps it should be noted that in the entirety of Fitz's business casual to full business wardrobe, there are seldom ties. Not a fan, then. He doubles back, keen to get this expedition underway. ]
[Curiosity will of course prompt him to scan the clue, simply because it’s in plain sight, and the puzzle box itself is so intriguing that he’d be remiss not to. But the message that pops up in his vision is both teasing and not terribly informative, making it clear that this isn’t a mystery that Markus is meant to solve. He can resign himself to that, even if it makes a brow quirk, coupled with a knowing look towards Fitz himself.
But right. Shopping. Leaving the present where it is for now, Markus guides Fitz back towards the door to begin their trip.]
Not exactly what I meant, but no. I wouldn’t be so cruel to leaving you twisting in the wind like that. Besides, I assume you know how to manage a bow-tie on your own.
Because what Markus had meant, apparently, was that he very much intended to stick to the itinerary he drew up for them in the blink of an eye. They’re at what must be the fifth boutique (at least they’re nearly done), and the android may or may not have subjected Ftiz to various outfit changes by now — this color over that color, this cut of material over that one — fulfilling the original purpose of their outing and then some. But there’s never any harm in further expansion of one’s wardrobe; and FItz’s budget is far more flexible than his. Maybe Markus is living a little vicariously through his human friend.]
Turn around. [He suggests as Fitz steps out of the dressing room, arms crossed and eyes scrutinizing.]
[ If only because he asked for this (and because it's Markus at the helm of this ship, steering them in the uncharted waters of upmarket fashion in the year of our Lord 2511), Fitz is game. He follows along, occasionally even picking something himself, and only rejecting a select few items that are too out-of-sync with his more subdued personality. Dry remarks happen, inevitably, alongside some whinging about how none of the stores seem to have everything they need, specialising in one thing or another 'cause that's inefficient. Besides, it seems like Markus is having fun, which — well, it might be the sneaky point of this endeavor, doing a recce to see if his dear friend takes care of himself the same way he looks after others. He won't have prodded much yet, but it's there in the way he studies how Markus determines which items of clothing to hand-off and leave behind, hovering beside him all the way (in part because Markus dresses like he belongs here, and Fitz, y'know, isn't at that level).
When Fitz wanders out of the dressing room, he lifts both hands, as if to say well, what do you think. Even as he tries to look neutral, the corners of his mouth quirk, giving away the fact that he's pleased with the cool blue of this suit and sharp lines, if nothing else. By now, Fitz has stopped fussing when Markus asks for a bloody twirl. That's the name of the game today, and nothing he says can be worse than his initial verdict on Fitz's corporate casual wardrobe.
A slow turn for Markus ends with a hand over his face, one blue eye peeking out between his fingers. ]
Good? [ hopeful... ] It's bad, isn't it. [ this is outfit three from this place alone, for fuck's sake. ] No, just fine? Markus, mate, you're killing me. I'm dying.
[The suit is flattering, he thinks. It looks good on Fitz, both the color and the make of the lines, fitting him well enough to draw just the right amount of attention. And while it's likely the 50th or so time that Markus has asked for a turn, so much that his friend might as well be working on muscle memory at this point, it's Worth It. True scrutiny of any outfit means taking it in at all angles, and the android gives his assessment easily enough.]
It looks good. [Arms still crossed, plain in his critique, but Markus doesn't mince words.] Better than the last two. Don't be shy about it. The color suits you, and it seems to fit well. Not too loud, but enough to stand out in a flood of suits that have a tendency to all look the same.
[Stepping forward, he motions at a tall three-way mirror nearby, which is practically begging Fitz to step into its vicinity to judge for himself. Note how Markus only allows this after an outfit passes his initial scrutiny.]
Stand there and tell me what you think.
[Stand there!! Markus will keep valiant watch over the purchases they may have already made — simpler fares, compared to the goal of a whole suit they're aiming for now — which are folded in nice, fancy boxes and packaged away in equally nice bags, settled at his feet for now.]
[ Oh, Jesus, somehow Markus asking Fitz to consider it himself is worse. He's leagues away from the boy who was sixteen and achingly shy, but he's still, well. So handsome and so, so nervous is how Jemma would put it, kindly. Markus pushes him a bit more, firm in his appraisal.
Even as he moves to do as he's told, Fitz ducks his head. ]
Bit demanding, aren't you. [ amused, despite any lingering self-consciousness, 'cause he wouldn't have bothered with half of the fuss, without someone urging him on. ] Yes, sir.
[ a half-hearted mock salute at his escort. However, once he steps forward, Fitz takes the task seriously, scanning his mirror image with the same intensity he typically reserves for mechanical pursuits. Better to be thoughtful than embarrassed, isn't it? His expression settles into neutrality. The colour's one of Jemma's favourites — perhaps that's to do with him, actually, seeing how it brightens the blue of his eyes. Give him a moment to hum in thought, straightening the suitcoat, glancing down at his shoes, the oxfords of 2511. ]
Could do with a few centimeters off the trousers. [ which might give away that he knows more about this than he let on, when he'd asked for help. ] Suppose I've got time for a tailor, though. [ a glance over his shoulder, perked up and mouth quirked, soft. ]
It's well smart, Markus. You've got good taste. [ an understatement, definitely. ] Might even turn a head — just the one, mind you — and then I'll really owe you. Well, owe you again. Owe you thrice.
[ three times over, by Fitz's count of kindnesses, ever on the rise. ]
[“Demanding” isn’t necessarily the tone he wants to wrap his suggestions in, but Markus has a keen eye, making words leave his lips in the form of polite commands and calm eagerness. The color looks good, Fitz seems to approve, and it fits well enough — a little long in the leg, though, and the android’s gaze trails downwards to confirm the other’s observation. A few centimeters off, indeed.
Not completely oblivious to any of this, then, though Markus processed that conclusion from the start. Fitz is knowledgable where it counts; where he’s oblivious, he can be helped. And so shall he be forced to learn during their long shopping journey, with their final stop almost behind them, that light at the end of the tunnel drawing near. Markus will have to thank the man later, despite how tiring it might be for either party to search for new articles of clothing, to scurry back and forth between dressing rooms, to try on this and that and no, that’s too small, the color’s all wrong, again and again and again.
Because Markus is, quite honestly, having fun.
He offers Fitz a grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth, almost reaching his eyes. The compliment is nice, but his gladness comes more from being able to provide both assistance and company.]
You don’t owe me for anything. [The clarification is swift and meant.] I’m happy to help; I always will be.
[And Markus, being as he is… well, that’s likely quite sincere, too.]
Though, now… do I dare say that we’re nearly almost done?
[ Idle and very nearly meandering, Fitz eases over to his friend. Still disarmed by Markus' sincerity, as ever, which earns a helpless little huff of air. At least he smiles, soft, as if the edges have been sanded off, where he might have dodged the compliment weeks before now. Always shouldn't be offered to Fitz so freely — evidence, perhaps, that Markus gives a great deal of himself to others.
Fitz hopes the gesture is returned. ]
Don't even remember what the outside world looks like, [ drawling. ] all I can see are waistcoats and brogues. Ties for days and days and days.
[ He slips his hands into the pockets of the suitcoat, testing the way the fabric lies and glancing down briefly to see if it wrinkles. Well smart, indeed. ]
Nothing you're eyeing here first though, yeah? [ glancing around. ] For work or, y'know, whatever fashionable pursuits you get up to when I'm not stealing you away for the day. [ a spark there, delighted that he was able to do just that, even though he'd like to balance the scales between them. ] If not, the deal was that I get to buy you lunch, anyway. [ Phrased carefully. Not a debt this time, but something earned. Fitz gets to do that — has orchestrated a chance to ensure that Markus is as well as he can be, in these circumstances. ] Late lunch.
[That actually earns a little huff of amusement from Markus.]
You mean it isn’t normal to see a collection of ties every time I close my eyes?
[An easy joke, of course. everyone knows markus actually see rEVOLUTION across the back of his eyelids
With that, though, Markus can’t help the way his eyes skate back towards the front of the store. Displays of the newest fashions for the season, color palettes to match, all vying for attention. But amazingly enough, this particular android does possess a noticeable amount of self-control, even when it comes to one of his more prominent vices.]
I’m always eying something, Fitz. But I do have to pretend to be frugal on occasion, too.
[Or rather, he has to be frugal for the sake of Connor’s bank account. Markus’ job might mean there’s a stream of income, and a pianist at an exclusive locale pays decently enough, but the hours are limited and not always reliable. Best to save. A new outfit can wait. Probably.]
So, late lunch it is. Let’s make our last purchase and get you out of here.
[A statement punctuated by the way he bends down, scooping up the many bags they’ve collected over their trip by their handles.]
[ Markus cracking a joke wins a laugh, warm and loud.
They make it out with their bags, racking up a bill that earns choked noise of surprise from Fitz, though he pays it all the same. He's committed to the day out with Markus — and to rising up the ranks at Vyonation. Once outside and on their way (heading west first, towards the river, the posh walk south that leads out of the area of boutiques and into somewhere more affordable for lunch), his tone shifts. More hesitant than his earlier griping and playfulness. He lifts a hand, jostling his clasped shopping bags with it in his attempt to gesture and carry onward. ]
I was actually wondering if you'd tell me a little bit more about — well, about your home. And how you fit into it.
[ Connor had hinted at something greater, at least in his personal experience. ]
[The bill is a heinous amount to anyone who knows what the definition of ‘frugal’ truly is, enough to raise the eyebrows of those unaccustomed to the arm-and-a-leg pricing of designer brands. Even Markus, used to this sort of thing, thinks that he’s broken some sort of record in his own measure of experience, but his friend is still able to foot the bill, which is equal parts enviable and impressive all the same.
Later, bags marked with chic and stylish logos swing lazily as they amble westward, a few carried by Markus in loosely gripping fingers. The question heralds a shift in the tone of the day. It’s open-ended and provides the android with the freedom to answer how he likes, but broaching this subject is a bit like stepping over an invisible threshold, and he can see where the path leads if he employs honesty.
Given that it’s Fitz, honesty is the only option. Markus’ eyes press forward as he considers an answer.]
I used to fit into it. [He begins easily enough, with referencing to the beginning.] I used to have a role assigned to me, but that changed so... quickly.
[So quickly, as if those years — meaning absolutely everything to Markus — meant nothing at all when thrust into the thrall of fate. Of misfortune, quick to tear everything away at a moment’s notice, until one life lays barren and another unwittingly starts to form.
Brow furrowed, he flicks his attention to his companion. Friendliness still exists between them, but playfulness begins its slow drain.]
I told you that I was a caretaker for an elderly artist once. Do you remember that?
[Carl Manfred. How he still misses him constantly, a hole in his chest that still aches and quietly bleeds. Change of tone, indeed.]
[ Fitz anticipates a shift, though he had wondered Markus would take a more abstract perspective, truthful and informative without providing the intimate details that prove he's more man than idea (and less malleable than he makes himself, for his friends). As ever, Markus surprises him, a sharp pivot left where Fitz expected a soft turn.
Used. Past tense. For time is the longest distance between two places, as he so often recalls, though Markus describes it as quick (If Connor's hardly a year old — how long has Markus been active? A question for later.) Fitz meets his sideways glance with his customary attentiveness, ever too fixated on his interlocutors. Might be alarming, for his other friends. A crease in his brow matches Markus' own sobering expression. ]
Carl.
[ he replies, quiet but sure, because loss always has a name, and it won't do to forgot or obscure it. ]
And your role, your used to ended when he... [ he trails off, biting the inside of his cheek. Hard not to consider how Connor had discussed the topic of deviance and its manifestation in his own life, contrasting it against Markus' first descriptions of love and loss as motivators for change. ]
[Fitz says Carl’s name with gentle certainty, and to hear it ringing from someone else’s lips is a strangely poignant sound. Reverberates in his bones, like a bell pealing, softly unearthing all associated with it — memory that carries halcyon fondness and unprocessed grief both. Markus has to shift the bags a little in his hands, solidifying his grip, hoping that the idle gesture buys a half-second enough of time to tamp it all back down again, to realign his insides and to give his friend the clear answer that he deserves.
Emotional creature that he is, it’s hard to shake the tremor of feeling inlaid in each syllable, but Markus presses forward, as he always does.]
When he died. [Perhaps that isn’t a surprise, not when Markus has mentioned loss and how that same loss will wring out change; in his case, by wrenching one life out of his hands, only to leave him grasping for another.
He takes this memory and hems away the details deemed unnecessary to answer Fitz’s original question. Lets the idea of breaking and entering, of Leo Manfred and his addiction, of tempers flaring, of waking up yet still choosing to not fight back, fall to his feet as he shears them away.]
It was a heart attack; I was the scapegoat. And no one will question a human when an android is to be blamed instead. I never had a chance to even defend myself— [He pauses briefly, returning his gaze to the path they’re taking, heat radiating with unkindness off of the pavement they tread.]
…The next thing I knew, I woke up, broken, in a landfill. A junkyard for discarded androids. [Markus doesn’t just hem away details here. He tears them right down the middle — he’ll not linger on this memory for long.] I clawed my way out. And eventually, I found refuge with others like myself. Others who had woken up to their inherent freewill, who hid in shadow and in fear of what the humans would do to them. Slowly wasting away, with no means of repairing themselves from injury, simply biding time until supplies or parts would run dry. Alone, scared, lost.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
A day trip only if you have no complaints. But we'll be rushing it, otherwise.
Come on over. I'm not busy with anything today.
[artist neet lifestyle]
And it'll be fine. You might get a few looks from the employees, but rarely is anyone bold enough to say anything.
[Besides, Fitz's money is as good at anyone else's. In the end, that's all that matters to places like these.]
no subject
Just means you'll have to suffer my wittering for an entire day, so.
On my way.
[ WAIT ]
I dress okay for everyday wear, don't I?
no subject
It’s fine.
[It’s Fine.]
A little old-fashioned, though, but there’s some charm in that.
no subject
Some charm.
Just shoot me next time.
[ dramatique ]
no subject
Sorry, that’s not exactly how I meant it.
Your choice in colors are nice. We’ll utilize this preference when we pick out something new for you.
But they say variety is the spice of life. Why not step out of your comfort zone, even in casual wear?
no subject
I'll have you know my girlfriend likes the way I dress, by the by.
I think.
[ SWEATS DOES SHE... ]
no subject
[Fitz...]
I’m not suggesting that you walk around dressed like an overstuffed peacock. But this world is some far-flung version of the future, so why not see how you look in some of the appropriate styles?
no subject
[ his style used to be... so much worse...
A LONG PAUSE. ]
I suppose there’s merit to blending in with this world.
But we can start with the formalwear for now and work our way backwards.
[ for now. Markus wins, but he was always going to, in this area. ]
no subject
[Cute.]
Then it’s settled. See you soon?
no subject
👍
[ he'll arrive on schedule, warily eying the bar/club situation that connor mentioned on his way up. perhaps he took for granted the net income of Team SHIELD and their ability to score a nice-ish flat ina . residential area. regardless, he's dressed for work, if a tad scruffy after a day on the job (and having long since folded his blazer into his bag), with a plain rucksack slung over one shoulder. most of his injuries have been cured or lessened by new amsterdam's marvelous healthcare system, with the cut on his hand scarred over and neck no longer bandaged.
not a bad day for fitz, after all, leaning against the doorframe of connor and markus's flat while he waits for answer to his knock. ]
no subject
And from the third floor, where the androids’ apartment is located, is moderately detached enough that the clamor is only subtle, ambient noise. Such is the case when Markus swings open the door to meet Fitz, dressed in an airy, short-sleeved button down in earthen tones, and perfectly-fitted, faded jeans. Black sneakers with crisp contour lines, not a single scuff on them. A simple outfit — the summer doesn’t allow for anything layered, especially if they’ll be walking about — but he looks put-together in a way that implies everything, as always, is quite purposefully chosen.
Looking sharp is also helped by the fact that his own bruises, once marring his face, have faded. Even the signs of a once-busted lip is a faint, barely-there thing.]
Fitz. You made it.
[Not that he expected otherwise. An unassuming once-over, observing the state of the other man; looking like he’s just come from work, certainly.]
Want to come in for a little, or are you ready to get started? We have a journey ahead of us.
[He’s joking.
It’s true.]no subject
Mm-hmm. [ When Markus steps aside enough to offer him a moment inside, Fitz accepts, passing him with a light pat on his shoulder in amicable greeting. It would seem that the weight of their prior conversation has left some things unchanged. An easy familiarity and warmth continue. Perhaps they even heightened, after the kindness Markus paid him.
His eyes wander around the space, unabashed. A flat says plenty about a person, and two persons of personal interest reside here. ]
[ Swinging his rucksack round to deposit it on the nearest surface and rummage through the contents. ]
I'll just drop Connor's present, if don't you mind keeping it safe until the big day. [ absentmindedly, his mouth quirks, pleased when he removes the white, hexagonal box from his bag and practically drawls — ] Then, off we go, where no man has ever taken me before. [ a beat; he tips his head to one side, eyes crinkling. ] Shopping, I mean.
[ An intentional joke for once in his life!! Helps that he's obviously in a good mood today, more buoyant than his typical fare. Just a combination of little things, nothing spectacular. ]
no subject
Yet it's not lacking in swaths of personality, a curious eye easily drawn to painted canvases hung up on the living room walls. All done in the same painterly style, bursting with different color palettes, landscapes, portraits, things that are not quite so easily defined. And a small balcony connected to the living room itself, where Fitz might spy the leg of an easel through the glass door.
Yet as for Markus' own curiosities, he can't stop the way his eyes track the hexagonal box that Fitz draws out from his bag.] I'll be sure to hide it away until then. As long as he's oblivious to there being anything to find, it'll be safe.
[Otherwise, good luck hiding something from the detective bot, good lord.]
It'll be an adventure. [He replies to the joke, smile widening. The air between them jovial and light, despite conversations past. Maybe because of them.] And if you survive it, you'll come out stronger on the other side. It'll build character, and you'll turn heads.
no subject
The present has its quirks, with symbols along the sides and raised elements. For the moment, Fitz only sets it on the counter. The clue needed to solve it won't pop up until Connor's birthday, anyway, so hiding in plain sight works fine. If Markus happens to scan the box while peering at it, a message will pop up on his implant interface. Not your big day yet, is it now, Markus? 🙈 No cheating, you beautiful roombas. ]
If I survive it. [ faux-indignant scoff as he swings his rucksack back over his shoulder. ] You gonna abandon me when I first fumble with the ol' bow-tie?
[ Perhaps it should be noted that in the entirety of Fitz's business casual to full business wardrobe, there are seldom ties. Not a fan, then. He doubles back, keen to get this expedition underway. ]
did a small timeskip, lmk if I need to edit!
But right. Shopping. Leaving the present where it is for now, Markus guides Fitz back towards the door to begin their trip.]
Not exactly what I meant, but no. I wouldn’t be so cruel to leaving you twisting in the wind like that. Besides, I assume you know how to manage a bow-tie on your own.
[And out they go. It’ll be fun.
Probably.
Because what Markus had meant, apparently, was that he very much intended to stick to the itinerary he drew up for them in the blink of an eye. They’re at what must be the fifth boutique (at least they’re nearly done), and the android may or may not have subjected Ftiz to various outfit changes by now — this color over that color, this cut of material over that one — fulfilling the original purpose of their outing and then some. But there’s never any harm in further expansion of one’s wardrobe; and FItz’s budget is far more flexible than his. Maybe Markus is living a little vicariously through his human friend.]
Turn around. [He suggests as Fitz steps out of the dressing room, arms crossed and eyes scrutinizing.]
perfect beautiful legendary
When Fitz wanders out of the dressing room, he lifts both hands, as if to say well, what do you think. Even as he tries to look neutral, the corners of his mouth quirk, giving away the fact that he's pleased with the cool blue of this suit and sharp lines, if nothing else. By now, Fitz has stopped fussing when Markus asks for a bloody twirl. That's the name of the game today, and nothing he says can be worse than his initial verdict on Fitz's corporate casual wardrobe.
A slow turn for Markus ends with a hand over his face, one blue eye peeking out between his fingers. ]
Good? [ hopeful... ] It's bad, isn't it. [ this is outfit three from this place alone, for fuck's sake. ] No, just fine? Markus, mate, you're killing me. I'm dying.
[ HE'S FRAGILE. ]
sparkles
It looks good. [Arms still crossed, plain in his critique, but Markus doesn't mince words.] Better than the last two. Don't be shy about it. The color suits you, and it seems to fit well. Not too loud, but enough to stand out in a flood of suits that have a tendency to all look the same.
[Stepping forward, he motions at a tall three-way mirror nearby, which is practically begging Fitz to step into its vicinity to judge for himself. Note how Markus only allows this after an outfit passes his initial scrutiny.]
Stand there and tell me what you think.
[Stand there!! Markus will keep valiant watch over the purchases they may have already made — simpler fares, compared to the goal of a whole suit they're aiming for now — which are folded in nice, fancy boxes and packaged away in equally nice bags, settled at his feet for now.]
no subject
Even as he moves to do as he's told, Fitz ducks his head. ]
Bit demanding, aren't you. [ amused, despite any lingering self-consciousness, 'cause he wouldn't have bothered with half of the fuss, without someone urging him on. ] Yes, sir.
[ a half-hearted mock salute at his escort. However, once he steps forward, Fitz takes the task seriously, scanning his mirror image with the same intensity he typically reserves for mechanical pursuits. Better to be thoughtful than embarrassed, isn't it? His expression settles into neutrality. The colour's one of Jemma's favourites — perhaps that's to do with him, actually, seeing how it brightens the blue of his eyes. Give him a moment to hum in thought, straightening the suitcoat, glancing down at his shoes, the oxfords of 2511. ]
Could do with a few centimeters off the trousers. [ which might give away that he knows more about this than he let on, when he'd asked for help. ] Suppose I've got time for a tailor, though. [ a glance over his shoulder, perked up and mouth quirked, soft. ]
It's well smart, Markus. You've got good taste. [ an understatement, definitely. ] Might even turn a head — just the one, mind you — and then I'll really owe you. Well, owe you again. Owe you thrice.
[ three times over, by Fitz's count of kindnesses, ever on the rise. ]
no subject
Not completely oblivious to any of this, then, though Markus processed that conclusion from the start. Fitz is knowledgable where it counts; where he’s oblivious, he can be helped. And so shall he be forced to learn during their long shopping journey, with their final stop almost behind them, that light at the end of the tunnel drawing near. Markus will have to thank the man later, despite how tiring it might be for either party to search for new articles of clothing, to scurry back and forth between dressing rooms, to try on this and that and no, that’s too small, the color’s all wrong, again and again and again.
Because Markus is, quite honestly, having fun.
He offers Fitz a grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth, almost reaching his eyes. The compliment is nice, but his gladness comes more from being able to provide both assistance and company.]
You don’t owe me for anything. [The clarification is swift and meant.] I’m happy to help; I always will be.
[And Markus, being as he is… well, that’s likely quite sincere, too.]
Though, now… do I dare say that we’re nearly almost done?
no subject
Fitz hopes the gesture is returned. ]
Don't even remember what the outside world looks like, [ drawling. ] all I can see are waistcoats and brogues. Ties for days and days and days.
[ He slips his hands into the pockets of the suitcoat, testing the way the fabric lies and glancing down briefly to see if it wrinkles. Well smart, indeed. ]
Nothing you're eyeing here first though, yeah? [ glancing around. ] For work or, y'know, whatever fashionable pursuits you get up to when I'm not stealing you away for the day. [ a spark there, delighted that he was able to do just that, even though he'd like to balance the scales between them. ] If not, the deal was that I get to buy you lunch, anyway. [ Phrased carefully. Not a debt this time, but something earned. Fitz gets to do that — has orchestrated a chance to ensure that Markus is as well as he can be, in these circumstances. ] Late lunch.
no subject
You mean it isn’t normal to see a collection of ties every time I close my eyes?
[An easy joke, of course.
everyone knows markus actually see rEVOLUTION across the back of his eyelidsWith that, though, Markus can’t help the way his eyes skate back towards the front of the store. Displays of the newest fashions for the season, color palettes to match, all vying for attention. But amazingly enough, this particular android does possess a noticeable amount of self-control, even when it comes to one of his more prominent vices.]
I’m always eying something, Fitz. But I do have to pretend to be frugal on occasion, too.
[Or rather, he has to be frugal for the sake of Connor’s bank account. Markus’ job might mean there’s a stream of income, and a pianist at an exclusive locale pays decently enough, but the hours are limited and not always reliable. Best to save. A new outfit can wait. Probably.]
So, late lunch it is. Let’s make our last purchase and get you out of here.
[A statement punctuated by the way he bends down, scooping up the many bags they’ve collected over their trip by their handles.]
no subject
They make it out with their bags, racking up a bill that earns choked noise of surprise from Fitz, though he pays it all the same. He's committed to the day out with Markus — and to rising up the ranks at Vyonation. Once outside and on their way (heading west first, towards the river, the posh walk south that leads out of the area of boutiques and into somewhere more affordable for lunch), his tone shifts. More hesitant than his earlier griping and playfulness. He lifts a hand, jostling his clasped shopping bags with it in his attempt to gesture and carry onward. ]
I was actually wondering if you'd tell me a little bit more about — well, about your home. And how you fit into it.
[ Connor had hinted at something greater, at least in his personal experience. ]
no subject
Later, bags marked with chic and stylish logos swing lazily as they amble westward, a few carried by Markus in loosely gripping fingers. The question heralds a shift in the tone of the day. It’s open-ended and provides the android with the freedom to answer how he likes, but broaching this subject is a bit like stepping over an invisible threshold, and he can see where the path leads if he employs honesty.
Given that it’s Fitz, honesty is the only option. Markus’ eyes press forward as he considers an answer.]
I used to fit into it. [He begins easily enough, with referencing to the beginning.] I used to have a role assigned to me, but that changed so... quickly.
[So quickly, as if those years — meaning absolutely everything to Markus — meant nothing at all when thrust into the thrall of fate. Of misfortune, quick to tear everything away at a moment’s notice, until one life lays barren and another unwittingly starts to form.
Brow furrowed, he flicks his attention to his companion. Friendliness still exists between them, but playfulness begins its slow drain.]
I told you that I was a caretaker for an elderly artist once. Do you remember that?
[Carl Manfred. How he still misses him constantly, a hole in his chest that still aches and quietly bleeds. Change of tone, indeed.]
no subject
Used. Past tense. For time is the longest distance between two places, as he so often recalls, though Markus describes it as quick (If Connor's hardly a year old — how long has Markus been active? A question for later.) Fitz meets his sideways glance with his customary attentiveness, ever too fixated on his interlocutors. Might be alarming, for his other friends. A crease in his brow matches Markus' own sobering expression. ]
Carl.
[ he replies, quiet but sure, because loss always has a name, and it won't do to forgot or obscure it. ]
And your role, your used to ended when he... [ he trails off, biting the inside of his cheek. Hard not to consider how Connor had discussed the topic of deviance and its manifestation in his own life, contrasting it against Markus' first descriptions of love and loss as motivators for change. ]
no subject
Emotional creature that he is, it’s hard to shake the tremor of feeling inlaid in each syllable, but Markus presses forward, as he always does.]
When he died. [Perhaps that isn’t a surprise, not when Markus has mentioned loss and how that same loss will wring out change; in his case, by wrenching one life out of his hands, only to leave him grasping for another.
He takes this memory and hems away the details deemed unnecessary to answer Fitz’s original question. Lets the idea of breaking and entering, of Leo Manfred and his addiction, of tempers flaring, of waking up yet still choosing to not fight back, fall to his feet as he shears them away.]
It was a heart attack; I was the scapegoat. And no one will question a human when an android is to be blamed instead. I never had a chance to even defend myself— [He pauses briefly, returning his gaze to the path they’re taking, heat radiating with unkindness off of the pavement they tread.]
…The next thing I knew, I woke up, broken, in a landfill. A junkyard for discarded androids. [Markus doesn’t just hem away details here. He tears them right down the middle — he’ll not linger on this memory for long.] I clawed my way out. And eventually, I found refuge with others like myself. Others who had woken up to their inherent freewill, who hid in shadow and in fear of what the humans would do to them. Slowly wasting away, with no means of repairing themselves from injury, simply biding time until supplies or parts would run dry. Alone, scared, lost.
Does that sound much like living to you, Fitz?
(no subject)
(no subject)