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enactors( marc still isn't entirely sure where he falls on the 'is this actually real?' question he's asked himself more than a handful of times since finding himself here, since finding the parchment with his crime(s).
still: it feels real enough, and for now that's enough.
he's dressed in a suit — it's white in its entirety, with small crescent moons serving as buttons and cufflinks. it's — fine. it's an outfit that says he — before here, at least — probably spent a small fortune on dry cleaning, and begs the question of how long it's going to stay looking Like That (answer: not long).
with one leg crossed over the other, there's a breath of a pause before he speaks. this isn't how he normally does this, but then, this isn't normal by any — even his — definition of the word. )
My name is Mr. Knight. ( is it? of course not, but there's nothing to marc's demeanour that says otherwise; and for those familiar, his accent says 'chicago!' ) I'm a priest. ( certainly, by A Definition, and by that, we mean 'by marc spector's definition and no-one else's, except (maybe) an ancient egyptian moon god's'. )
At home, I ran a mission — the Midnight Mission — through which I protected my community and my people. Travellers of the night. ( a breath of a pause and he holds up a hand (gloved, white, because of course) and gestures vaguely at his surroundings. ) A change in circumstances doesn't change my duty. If there's anyone that requires help or assistance with, ( at night, because marc is Dedicated, ), no matter how strange or unusual, please don't hesitate to reach out.
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