( there have been occasions in marc's life where he's not been sure whether what he's experienced or experiencing is real. the dream had felt very much like a dream — in so far as those 'feel' like anything specific — but the other feeling, the dread and the tension in his chest at the question, that had felt real, not that it means anything.

he wakes quite suddenly — he's never been a heavy sleeper — and the stark, firm unfamiliarity of the bed and the room has him up and standing within moments. his gaze settles on the other bed, the other person, but he's not particularly inclined to wake them. not yet, anyway.

instead, he starts to — quietly — open and close the drawers to the bedside table, before moving on to closet. there are a few personal belongings that he recognises as his own and a few that he doesn't which, given the circumstances is — kind of to be expected, he guesses.

the ones that are his, he carefully pockets before the sound of movement from his roommate ("roommate") gives him pause and he glances back over his shoulder, meeting their gaze with his own. )

—Don't be scared. ( is that comforting? who knows, not marc, not really. but it's An Attempt^TM )

( the voice in his ear isn't exactly unfamiliar, not given his fondness for being connected to — well, whoever was willing to be at the other end of his cowl mic back home. frenchie, marlene, reese. it being unasked for is — something of an adjustment, but it's fine. he's fine.

(it's not fine.)

he doesn't know what he'd been expecting from the supply drop, but from the momentary furrow of his eyebrows, this doesn't seem to be it. still, it doesn't stop him from picking out a cd, familiarity and recognition quickly dancing across his features before he places it back down in the pile. )

Is it like this every time? ( startlingly mundane, he means. )

( marc's always been very particular about how he presents himself when it comes to moon knight and mr. knight — aesthetically, anyway. he's always tried to be particular about how he presents himself in all other aspects, but it's not something that's ever worked out well.

he'd found himself waking with some of his personal belongings — a white suit, shoes — but not all of his weapons. there had been no crescent darts and no moon stick. at first, he'd thought that perhaps it was because this wasn't real — how many times had he wanted to walk back so many of his decisions and choices? — before deciding that it probably wasn't that, either.

real or not — it feels real enough — he still wants his weapons. he doesn't like guns: he's used them more than enough in his past lives (technically and metaphorically) to gravitate towards nearly anything else, not to mention it's a little difficult to make a gun moon themed.

he browses the room, mild curiosity set on his features before drifting towards the machine. immediately, suddenly, he thinks that this would probably be more up frenchie's street, or soldier's, rather than his, but here he is. a sideways glance at the other person in the room, punctuated by a gesture at the machine. )

You first.

( open to other prompts and options if none of the above work! feel free to shoot me a pm if there's anything you want to discuss, content warnings + opt-out for moon knight are located here, canon point is tentatively circa mackay's (current) run. )