Principle Solo
It weighed on his mind more than he liked. When he sat, making jokes and worrying over the meaning of their existences while the world literally was falling apart around them. Disassociation, avoidance, fear, selfish desire for something stable, something familiar and comforting and whole. His mind was running a marathon and as it did his body was fixed at that moment in time; the human construct dedicated to measure change that was inevitable as was it would seem, the unweaving of even that notion.
Marcus had listened and he watched behind his own eyes and contemplated what he could do, could offer something as so powerful, so vastly important to everyone that they would openly throw their lives away at a moment's notice. Blood was blood. Cells that transported nutrients through the body. They carried water, antibodies, DNA, the building blocks of life in each microscopic bundle. Each drop held so much potential and so they cast it to the sigil, to magic, hoping, focusing, willing it to work, to hold.
If wishes were coins, they'd have made Marcus a rich man.
But the value of a single coin was not worth much in a pile. Not unless it was made of something important. If is had been cast and forged in a manner which made it unique. Marcus thought about his qualities, his uniqueness, his differences, so jarring and blatant and decisive.
He was in many ways a self made amnesiac. He knew this. His was ill mentally and while he might one day recover, it was unlikely. The damage had been done and what could heal would heal. But all wounds leave scars. But he was also content in knowing some days. He knew what he was, that he had his limitations. That he would on some days, be better than others. He could go out, enjoy company, he was not despised for it, pity was not given so much as understanding. Ashdown was kind and welcoming and-
He liked it. He liked the home he'd built for himself, what friends he had made.
Perhaps that is what he could give them then. He was not particularly strong of body nor sound of mind, but he understood that flaws would pervade. That perfection, peace and stability were fragile. Topics and tangents- he was open to speculations and alternative courses. He liked complexities and simplistic things interchangeably. As much as he feared Other Ashdown, magic-
He wanted to understand it, let it be as it should be.
He understood what it felt like to be trapped, stuck at a point, fixed unable to get past something. He understood helplessness, he understood fear and the want to go and not be afraid. The others gave the strength. They wanted to see a world where there would be chance and choice and he wanted that to. He wanted stability and freedom and hope.
He wanted to go home. That cold realization was like ice water. He offered and wanted something selfishly. But was that not the nature of being human? To place survival at the top of their subconscious? Time would run out, and he'd be forced to act or take no action.
He wanted a great number of things in his life, and he knew in the past that his actions, however hopeless, helpless had cost him a possibility. Yet now others lay before him. He could change and offer something of himself for the sake of a change.
So he would.
He looked at Renard and those around again before he spoke, before he stood and asked Temperance for her help in cutting his hand. The left hand- Not dominant, the hand you used without thinking, subconscious, the hand that could be lost but not be damning. Ironically, the same hand favored by the Illuminati.
He'd made a promise. To help save Sunny, to let her be her own person. That was what he would stand by, could stand by. She was as much a part of Ashdown as the rest of them. Zac had wanted to save her- so Marcus would try because it was in the end, a promise worth keeping.
The cut made, he winced and drew it back momentarily before nodding at her, doing his best to smile, even as he knew he'd probably regret this whole thing in the future. It was also a pity- his coat and shirt would be ruined as he pressed the new wound to the cloth in an attempt to stem the flow before he gave his part to the sigil. It would be a while for the blood to begin clotting properly.
"Everything is to have a meaning apparently. " And he'd chosen the hand of those he so feared. Did this mean he would be suspect by the magic now? Was the magic a part of them?
"Thank you though. Can't imagine you particularly enjoyed that anymore than I do."
Marcus figured the Illuminati had a much different joining ritual than this.
It did lack a significant number of triangles and all.
lmao i have to run 2 werk
Fourth: Ashdown
Mission statement: Allow all of Ashdown's residents independence and freedom from the controlling influences of others, to let the magic be as it should be and grant them the opportunities for change and progress
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