Suff my dick.
Leon
Marcus
Leon didn't think too much on how the conversation with Alice had been weighing on his mind even during the last round of preliminary matches. It could be construed as a commentary on the quality of his opposition that he didn't even have to concentrate fully on his casting to come away victorious, if he were truly thinking about it. The crowd was nonetheless pleased by the display, so Leon didn't have to really worry, he supposed.
One more match to go before having to decide which category to continue on. If he were a normal Feltzen man he would probably be rather unbearable in his snootiness, but it was Leon, who cared little for these things, yet for the sake of appearances maintained an aura of self-absorption that rivaled the women's.
He managed to find a seat on a bench by the little shop where he'd gotten that delicious meat pastry the day before. It had been entirely too long since he'd had anything decently Midgardian- what few places in Arunafeltz that served foreign cuisine were sadly lacking. His thoughts moved from what was ostensibly his last meeting with Alice to what he would say to Ethne when he finally wrote.
To say that Marcus hadn’t been threatened by Alice’s late night meeting with her illustrious ex would be a lie. He had, however, done his best to keep from saying anything to Alice about it. She had a right to talk to him, of course; likewise, he had no right to dictate her life, especially considering the things he hid from her to this day. Marcus had taken Leon’s reappearance in Alice’s life rather well, he’d thought, but having him here in the flesh made him seriously reconsider how comfortable he was with the situation.
…which is why he was a little less than pleased to see the man not five feet from him. He couldn’t not mark him now; he’d seem like he was intimidated. Which he wasn’t. The Feltzen’s spell-work, while not noticeable to the untrained eye, had been shoddy today. He had absolutely nothing to be intimidated of. After mustering up a ‘hello’, Marcus realized that he couldn’t remember the man’s real last name. Calling him ‘Auswell’ was out of the question and he’d prefer to avoid his first name if at all possible. Dammit.
“Hello,” came the greeting, as casual as the wizard could make it. A long pause rolled by until the gears in his mind finally clicked. “Valmont.”
Leon looked up at the hello, noticing the man. After swallowing his most recent bite of the pastry, he took a napkin and elegantly wiped his mouth. "Hello." He didn't find the use of his last name particularly strange or off-putting. It wasn't as if it wasn't everywhere by now. One casual look at the tournament roster would find it.
"How may I help you, sir?" Pleasant, as he had no real reason to be anything other.
He hadn’t expected to be remembered, though that would’ve made things easier on him. With a twitch of his fingers, he pulled the lapels of his coat together and smoothed the front of his robes. Marcus tried not to think of the odd impression he was making, smothered any final reservations he had, and said, “I’m Marcus Crowley.”
The friendly look was replaced by one of mild surprise. "I see." Less pleasant, but not by much. His presence here was bad. Not that he didn't imagine that Alice wouldn't have told him about the meeting and the words exchanged. But he certainly didn't expect the man to be fool enough to come speak to him of all people, out in the open, where they might be seen- if he and Alice were spotted in an alleyway, after all, this was all the more easy.
"The question remains the same. Do make it quick, however, as I suspect I am being watched even now. Things could get rather ugly if they see you talking to me."
They were so important? He’d been told of the lengths to which the Assassin Guild went to keep the three of them safe, but the dire tone in which the other man spoke startled Marcus more than he would care to admit. Perhaps Valmont was just prone to theatrics.
“Mm. Should we find an alleyway of our own, then?” He’d always hoped to be the bigger man. The realization that he never would be stung a bit.
Leon lifted an eyebrow not so much at the words but at the delivery. If Leon were the swearing type he'd have probably said 'what the shit?'
Instead, he shook his head and said "Please leave. I do not wish to be disturbed."
“I can name another who’d rather not be disturbed,” he muttered, casting a glance to the side. What did it matter if they were seen? Marcus had had people trying to kill him for over a year, and if the Feltzen government had any sense, they’d already be suspicious of Valmont. Still, if it’s what he preferred, the wizard would indulge him, as he was now regretting saying anything to him at all. He had expected to be recognized. That would be the last time his own self-importance would get him into something like this, he told himself.
“Best of luck,” he said clearly and without any noticeable tone before turning to walk away.
"I wasn't the one who requested the meet," he said in a casual tone. His opinion of the man dropped a few rungs. Only now he was starting to remember who Marcus Crowley was. He didn't remember much of him because, quite frankly, at the time he'd been in the Academy, he didn't much care for the man. Plus after a while Alice became the center of his life, which left even less time for pretentious Schwarzwalden jackasses.
"I don't need it, wish it to my opposition instead," he said, casually taking a bite out of his pastry, waiting to swallow and until the man was actually walking away before making the decision to lower himself juuuust a notch. "Such a shame you did not enter the contest. Every wizard could use further funds for research." Of course he knew full well that Marcus was not an affluent man. He was just being a tad snide, like a Feltzen should be, he supposed.
But it had been he to force all this pain on Alice, to come back into her life. Marcus had relayed the information Blanche had given him about Valmont to her because she needed to make the decision on her own. But a nobler man than this Feltzen wouldn’t have responded to Alice, a nobler man would’ve had the foresight to know that any explanations he could give would only rub salt in the wound. A clear-cut villain was what she needed, and not this distant de Cunegonde character; she needed to be able to mark her lying, manipulative wretch of a husband as the culprit. A nobler man would’ve served his head up on a platter to a woman like Alice, not simper and offer excuses and ramble on about his own indulgent guilt. Here was his reason for approaching Valmont: this boiling, ineffable rage.
“I wouldn’t want Alice to have to suffer another man’s funeral,” he spat, letting that rage spill into his speech in hushed words. Snotty, hubris-filled coward.
"Yes, it would be an incredible tragedy for her to have to suffer for yet another man that she loved," he said in a completely non-combative and almost condescending tone. Like he had any right. Like he was more than just a spectator. Alice loved this man, he made her happy. That was enough for him. He didn't need him to come by and rub his own weakness and failings in his face. But if this was the game this asshole wanted to play... if he wanted a villain, by Freya, let's give him his villain.
"But then, at least I'm completely sure of where I stand these days where she's concerned." After all, why else would he bother to come face to face? Why else would he make the remark about finding their own alleyway? He then proceeded to take another casual nibble of his pastry, looking away, towards the crowd with an almost bored expression on his face.
“Only idiots think they know exactly where they stand,” Marcus retorted, once more adjusting his jacket. He wanted to reach out and knock that pastry out of his hand. He wanted to make Valmont understand the vindication he felt. That for once and without hardly knowing it, he was standing up for something he knew to be true. A greater man wouldn’t have let Alice’s life be reduced to shambles over some fucking ruins!
He took a deep breath and let it rattle in his throat. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. It wasn’t just for Alice, it was also for his own piece of mind, his own territorial streak, but Marcus wouldn’t realize that until much later. Funny, how the Feltzen didn’t seem to mind fighting out in the open. “If it wasn’t for Alice and this lingering… attachment, I would be content to carry this out in the open and watch you be dragged away by those bitches who seem to have you on such a short leash, but if you’d rather not be caught and punished over me of all people, I suggest we take this somewhere else, or you get out of my sight.”
He couldn’t stop himself. Every injustice he had ever borne with a frown and a grunt came together before him in the frame of this man. Marcus didn’t mean much of what he said and he knew it. He also knew that for once it felt good to say such things.
Oh but how little he truly knew about Leon, eh? That everything that Marcus was thinking about Leon was true as far as Leon was concerned. If it were Alice saying these things he'd accept them for the truths that they were as far as his character is concerned. But for this jackass to be saying this to him when he'd never once been in his shoes... well, them's fightin' words. Casually he finished his pastry, wiping his mouth with a napkin almost fastidiously as he stood up, face to face, nose to nose, eye to eye. "Interesting theory. I would posit instead that the bigger idiot is the man who continues to doubt the true feelings of the woman that loves him after she makes it abundantly clear who's in her past and who's in her present and future. But then we Feltzens tend to have a relatively simple view on love and jealousy compared to those of Schwarzwald. One wonders, really, the kind of man who'd still have doubts enough to face his lover's past for no good reason other than to remind him of his failings and mistakes in order to attempt to look like the bigger and better man."
Leon snorted. "Get out of your sight? I wasn't the one who approached you, Crowley. I wouldn't have been that foolish." He glanced to each side, and shrugged. To Niflheim with this. He couldn't really rebuff the crack about bitches who had him on a short leash. They were, in fact, bitches, and they kept him on a short leash. So it was nothing particularly insulting. "But if you're so keen in proving your manhood to a man to whom it matters less than the crumbs I'm wiping off my tunic," he said as he did exactly that, "then follow me."
Promptly, Leon began weaving through the throng of people, heading towards the back alleys. No, he wasn't at all going to use magic. He'd be disqualified from the tournament, and get his ass kicked by General Aisling even worse than he would for this.
He was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Arunafeltzen army, for Freya's sake. A career military man. He might not be particularly handy with a weapon, but that didn't mean he was by any means a pushover-especially not compared to the kind of wizard that the Midgard academies produce. Plus, he didn't need to be handy with any weapon. His fists would do. And damn, would the reaming be worth it.
The bigger and better man? How ridiculous. He’d never been the better man, nor would he ever be. If half the things Marcus had done ever came to Alice’s attention, they would no doubt not do her as much harm as her son’s death and her husband’s betrayal, but they would hardly mark him as the better man. No, all Marcus knew how to do was offer himself up as a target to those who deserved it, and he had the bullet hole in his shoulder to prove it. But this man knew nothing of the role that his deception had forced him into, that for his lies he should offer himself up to Alice as a sacrifice, not as a fellow victim. A better man would’ve told him where he’d gone wrong in clear terms; Marcus was content to spit insults in Valmont’s face. “You are a rather simple people, with no grasp of subtlety, it seems. But I’m not in the mood to discuss love with you.”
It had been a mistake to approach him, but his words had succeeded in getting a man who delighted, Marcus could tell from the way he ate that blasted pastry, in keeping a cool and rational head to call him out. And now, here they were, two grown men ready to match fists in some alley. “I would expect nothing else of a Feltzen. The sum of your entire country’s manhood matters less than the crumbs on your shirt.”
He followed Valmont into the alley, knowing full well that he was no match for the man if magic wasn’t allowed into the equation. But there was always the possibility that they’d continue to toss words at each other instead of blows.
"Right, because rampant homosexuality and promiscuity following marriage is subtle and loving, right." No, he didn't know anything about Marcus. He was just spitting out a typical Feltzen remark about those crazy Schwarzwald folk.
"Manhood," he said, chuckling. "If manhood is measured by exposing one's insecurities in a blatant manner, then I suppose so. I'd always wondered why Odin was depicted with such a long, long spear, after all. Now then, since we have some measure of privacy, you may prove your superior manhood at your leisure."
As if those things didn’t apply in Arunafeltz as well. These petty remarks on heritage and masculinity were beginning to wear on Marcus’ nerves. He hadn’t come out here to parade his prejudices about.
“If you’re going to insult me, at least pick an applicable target. Remarks on Odin won’t do you much good.” Some semblance of control, he could tell, was coming back to him, which also meant that his resolve was weakening. “And I’ve no need to show a boy how much of a man I am. I’m only here to let you know how much of a woman you nearly destroyed by not loving her enough to do the right thing. Not loving her at all, most likely.”
"Oh, you mean you're here to state the obvious," Leon said, blandly. "Why didn't you say so in the first place. Here I thought you were going to be worth my time." One final chance to get out of this without having it turn violent. Just one final chance, for Alice's sake. So. Hopefully, he took it. Or else things were going to get rather ugly.
"And for the record, I'm probably older than you are. I'm just better kept," he said as he proceeded to absently walk past him. "I'll be reporting this pseudo-incident to my superior officer. Get out of Izlude. Both of you."
So he was resorting to threats now? Pathetic. Marcus put one hand on the wand he kept in his breast pocket, doing his best to keep his poker face straight all the while. He wasn’t about to be put in his place by Valmont.
“At least you’ve managed to keep something.”
"And if you don't leave," he said, pausing to look over his shoulder. "I'll be the only one keeping anything. You care for Alice? You love her? Get her out of here. You've one half hour before I go to my superior officer. Consider it an early wedding present, in case you're half as smart as people say you think you are."
He had lived over a year of his life with the knowledge that an assassin could drop in at any time and kill him in less than a second. The only people preventing this from happening were another group of assassins, one of which had already shot him, and the rest of which would kill him in less than a second if he was no longer of use to them. Add to that the possibility of Dark Lord breaking the seal and killing him and half of Geffen in less than a second to the mix and Marcus really couldn’t care less what this man’s ‘superiors’ were going to do to him. It, however, was late and the wizard knew he’d already said too much. It had recently occurred to him that, despite his intentions, Alice would not be pleased to hear that he’d almost gotten into a full-fledged fight with her ex-husband.
“I’ll try not to sully my reputation, then,” he muttered as he turned his back on Valmont.
"Too late. But the attempt is noted," he said, absently and almost dismissively waving his hand at him without looking back as he left the alleyway.
Marcus
Leon didn't think too much on how the conversation with Alice had been weighing on his mind even during the last round of preliminary matches. It could be construed as a commentary on the quality of his opposition that he didn't even have to concentrate fully on his casting to come away victorious, if he were truly thinking about it. The crowd was nonetheless pleased by the display, so Leon didn't have to really worry, he supposed.
One more match to go before having to decide which category to continue on. If he were a normal Feltzen man he would probably be rather unbearable in his snootiness, but it was Leon, who cared little for these things, yet for the sake of appearances maintained an aura of self-absorption that rivaled the women's.
He managed to find a seat on a bench by the little shop where he'd gotten that delicious meat pastry the day before. It had been entirely too long since he'd had anything decently Midgardian- what few places in Arunafeltz that served foreign cuisine were sadly lacking. His thoughts moved from what was ostensibly his last meeting with Alice to what he would say to Ethne when he finally wrote.
To say that Marcus hadn’t been threatened by Alice’s late night meeting with her illustrious ex would be a lie. He had, however, done his best to keep from saying anything to Alice about it. She had a right to talk to him, of course; likewise, he had no right to dictate her life, especially considering the things he hid from her to this day. Marcus had taken Leon’s reappearance in Alice’s life rather well, he’d thought, but having him here in the flesh made him seriously reconsider how comfortable he was with the situation.
…which is why he was a little less than pleased to see the man not five feet from him. He couldn’t not mark him now; he’d seem like he was intimidated. Which he wasn’t. The Feltzen’s spell-work, while not noticeable to the untrained eye, had been shoddy today. He had absolutely nothing to be intimidated of. After mustering up a ‘hello’, Marcus realized that he couldn’t remember the man’s real last name. Calling him ‘Auswell’ was out of the question and he’d prefer to avoid his first name if at all possible. Dammit.
“Hello,” came the greeting, as casual as the wizard could make it. A long pause rolled by until the gears in his mind finally clicked. “Valmont.”
Leon looked up at the hello, noticing the man. After swallowing his most recent bite of the pastry, he took a napkin and elegantly wiped his mouth. "Hello." He didn't find the use of his last name particularly strange or off-putting. It wasn't as if it wasn't everywhere by now. One casual look at the tournament roster would find it.
"How may I help you, sir?" Pleasant, as he had no real reason to be anything other.
He hadn’t expected to be remembered, though that would’ve made things easier on him. With a twitch of his fingers, he pulled the lapels of his coat together and smoothed the front of his robes. Marcus tried not to think of the odd impression he was making, smothered any final reservations he had, and said, “I’m Marcus Crowley.”
The friendly look was replaced by one of mild surprise. "I see." Less pleasant, but not by much. His presence here was bad. Not that he didn't imagine that Alice wouldn't have told him about the meeting and the words exchanged. But he certainly didn't expect the man to be fool enough to come speak to him of all people, out in the open, where they might be seen- if he and Alice were spotted in an alleyway, after all, this was all the more easy.
"The question remains the same. Do make it quick, however, as I suspect I am being watched even now. Things could get rather ugly if they see you talking to me."
They were so important? He’d been told of the lengths to which the Assassin Guild went to keep the three of them safe, but the dire tone in which the other man spoke startled Marcus more than he would care to admit. Perhaps Valmont was just prone to theatrics.
“Mm. Should we find an alleyway of our own, then?” He’d always hoped to be the bigger man. The realization that he never would be stung a bit.
Leon lifted an eyebrow not so much at the words but at the delivery. If Leon were the swearing type he'd have probably said 'what the shit?'
Instead, he shook his head and said "Please leave. I do not wish to be disturbed."
“I can name another who’d rather not be disturbed,” he muttered, casting a glance to the side. What did it matter if they were seen? Marcus had had people trying to kill him for over a year, and if the Feltzen government had any sense, they’d already be suspicious of Valmont. Still, if it’s what he preferred, the wizard would indulge him, as he was now regretting saying anything to him at all. He had expected to be recognized. That would be the last time his own self-importance would get him into something like this, he told himself.
“Best of luck,” he said clearly and without any noticeable tone before turning to walk away.
"I wasn't the one who requested the meet," he said in a casual tone. His opinion of the man dropped a few rungs. Only now he was starting to remember who Marcus Crowley was. He didn't remember much of him because, quite frankly, at the time he'd been in the Academy, he didn't much care for the man. Plus after a while Alice became the center of his life, which left even less time for pretentious Schwarzwalden jackasses.
"I don't need it, wish it to my opposition instead," he said, casually taking a bite out of his pastry, waiting to swallow and until the man was actually walking away before making the decision to lower himself juuuust a notch. "Such a shame you did not enter the contest. Every wizard could use further funds for research." Of course he knew full well that Marcus was not an affluent man. He was just being a tad snide, like a Feltzen should be, he supposed.
But it had been he to force all this pain on Alice, to come back into her life. Marcus had relayed the information Blanche had given him about Valmont to her because she needed to make the decision on her own. But a nobler man than this Feltzen wouldn’t have responded to Alice, a nobler man would’ve had the foresight to know that any explanations he could give would only rub salt in the wound. A clear-cut villain was what she needed, and not this distant de Cunegonde character; she needed to be able to mark her lying, manipulative wretch of a husband as the culprit. A nobler man would’ve served his head up on a platter to a woman like Alice, not simper and offer excuses and ramble on about his own indulgent guilt. Here was his reason for approaching Valmont: this boiling, ineffable rage.
“I wouldn’t want Alice to have to suffer another man’s funeral,” he spat, letting that rage spill into his speech in hushed words. Snotty, hubris-filled coward.
"Yes, it would be an incredible tragedy for her to have to suffer for yet another man that she loved," he said in a completely non-combative and almost condescending tone. Like he had any right. Like he was more than just a spectator. Alice loved this man, he made her happy. That was enough for him. He didn't need him to come by and rub his own weakness and failings in his face. But if this was the game this asshole wanted to play... if he wanted a villain, by Freya, let's give him his villain.
"But then, at least I'm completely sure of where I stand these days where she's concerned." After all, why else would he bother to come face to face? Why else would he make the remark about finding their own alleyway? He then proceeded to take another casual nibble of his pastry, looking away, towards the crowd with an almost bored expression on his face.
“Only idiots think they know exactly where they stand,” Marcus retorted, once more adjusting his jacket. He wanted to reach out and knock that pastry out of his hand. He wanted to make Valmont understand the vindication he felt. That for once and without hardly knowing it, he was standing up for something he knew to be true. A greater man wouldn’t have let Alice’s life be reduced to shambles over some fucking ruins!
He took a deep breath and let it rattle in his throat. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. It wasn’t just for Alice, it was also for his own piece of mind, his own territorial streak, but Marcus wouldn’t realize that until much later. Funny, how the Feltzen didn’t seem to mind fighting out in the open. “If it wasn’t for Alice and this lingering… attachment, I would be content to carry this out in the open and watch you be dragged away by those bitches who seem to have you on such a short leash, but if you’d rather not be caught and punished over me of all people, I suggest we take this somewhere else, or you get out of my sight.”
He couldn’t stop himself. Every injustice he had ever borne with a frown and a grunt came together before him in the frame of this man. Marcus didn’t mean much of what he said and he knew it. He also knew that for once it felt good to say such things.
Oh but how little he truly knew about Leon, eh? That everything that Marcus was thinking about Leon was true as far as Leon was concerned. If it were Alice saying these things he'd accept them for the truths that they were as far as his character is concerned. But for this jackass to be saying this to him when he'd never once been in his shoes... well, them's fightin' words. Casually he finished his pastry, wiping his mouth with a napkin almost fastidiously as he stood up, face to face, nose to nose, eye to eye. "Interesting theory. I would posit instead that the bigger idiot is the man who continues to doubt the true feelings of the woman that loves him after she makes it abundantly clear who's in her past and who's in her present and future. But then we Feltzens tend to have a relatively simple view on love and jealousy compared to those of Schwarzwald. One wonders, really, the kind of man who'd still have doubts enough to face his lover's past for no good reason other than to remind him of his failings and mistakes in order to attempt to look like the bigger and better man."
Leon snorted. "Get out of your sight? I wasn't the one who approached you, Crowley. I wouldn't have been that foolish." He glanced to each side, and shrugged. To Niflheim with this. He couldn't really rebuff the crack about bitches who had him on a short leash. They were, in fact, bitches, and they kept him on a short leash. So it was nothing particularly insulting. "But if you're so keen in proving your manhood to a man to whom it matters less than the crumbs I'm wiping off my tunic," he said as he did exactly that, "then follow me."
Promptly, Leon began weaving through the throng of people, heading towards the back alleys. No, he wasn't at all going to use magic. He'd be disqualified from the tournament, and get his ass kicked by General Aisling even worse than he would for this.
He was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Arunafeltzen army, for Freya's sake. A career military man. He might not be particularly handy with a weapon, but that didn't mean he was by any means a pushover-especially not compared to the kind of wizard that the Midgard academies produce. Plus, he didn't need to be handy with any weapon. His fists would do. And damn, would the reaming be worth it.
The bigger and better man? How ridiculous. He’d never been the better man, nor would he ever be. If half the things Marcus had done ever came to Alice’s attention, they would no doubt not do her as much harm as her son’s death and her husband’s betrayal, but they would hardly mark him as the better man. No, all Marcus knew how to do was offer himself up as a target to those who deserved it, and he had the bullet hole in his shoulder to prove it. But this man knew nothing of the role that his deception had forced him into, that for his lies he should offer himself up to Alice as a sacrifice, not as a fellow victim. A better man would’ve told him where he’d gone wrong in clear terms; Marcus was content to spit insults in Valmont’s face. “You are a rather simple people, with no grasp of subtlety, it seems. But I’m not in the mood to discuss love with you.”
It had been a mistake to approach him, but his words had succeeded in getting a man who delighted, Marcus could tell from the way he ate that blasted pastry, in keeping a cool and rational head to call him out. And now, here they were, two grown men ready to match fists in some alley. “I would expect nothing else of a Feltzen. The sum of your entire country’s manhood matters less than the crumbs on your shirt.”
He followed Valmont into the alley, knowing full well that he was no match for the man if magic wasn’t allowed into the equation. But there was always the possibility that they’d continue to toss words at each other instead of blows.
"Right, because rampant homosexuality and promiscuity following marriage is subtle and loving, right." No, he didn't know anything about Marcus. He was just spitting out a typical Feltzen remark about those crazy Schwarzwald folk.
"Manhood," he said, chuckling. "If manhood is measured by exposing one's insecurities in a blatant manner, then I suppose so. I'd always wondered why Odin was depicted with such a long, long spear, after all. Now then, since we have some measure of privacy, you may prove your superior manhood at your leisure."
As if those things didn’t apply in Arunafeltz as well. These petty remarks on heritage and masculinity were beginning to wear on Marcus’ nerves. He hadn’t come out here to parade his prejudices about.
“If you’re going to insult me, at least pick an applicable target. Remarks on Odin won’t do you much good.” Some semblance of control, he could tell, was coming back to him, which also meant that his resolve was weakening. “And I’ve no need to show a boy how much of a man I am. I’m only here to let you know how much of a woman you nearly destroyed by not loving her enough to do the right thing. Not loving her at all, most likely.”
"Oh, you mean you're here to state the obvious," Leon said, blandly. "Why didn't you say so in the first place. Here I thought you were going to be worth my time." One final chance to get out of this without having it turn violent. Just one final chance, for Alice's sake. So. Hopefully, he took it. Or else things were going to get rather ugly.
"And for the record, I'm probably older than you are. I'm just better kept," he said as he proceeded to absently walk past him. "I'll be reporting this pseudo-incident to my superior officer. Get out of Izlude. Both of you."
So he was resorting to threats now? Pathetic. Marcus put one hand on the wand he kept in his breast pocket, doing his best to keep his poker face straight all the while. He wasn’t about to be put in his place by Valmont.
“At least you’ve managed to keep something.”
"And if you don't leave," he said, pausing to look over his shoulder. "I'll be the only one keeping anything. You care for Alice? You love her? Get her out of here. You've one half hour before I go to my superior officer. Consider it an early wedding present, in case you're half as smart as people say you think you are."
He had lived over a year of his life with the knowledge that an assassin could drop in at any time and kill him in less than a second. The only people preventing this from happening were another group of assassins, one of which had already shot him, and the rest of which would kill him in less than a second if he was no longer of use to them. Add to that the possibility of Dark Lord breaking the seal and killing him and half of Geffen in less than a second to the mix and Marcus really couldn’t care less what this man’s ‘superiors’ were going to do to him. It, however, was late and the wizard knew he’d already said too much. It had recently occurred to him that, despite his intentions, Alice would not be pleased to hear that he’d almost gotten into a full-fledged fight with her ex-husband.
“I’ll try not to sully my reputation, then,” he muttered as he turned his back on Valmont.
"Too late. But the attempt is noted," he said, absently and almost dismissively waving his hand at him without looking back as he left the alleyway.