the marquis de Carabas (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mattersverymuch) wrote2013-09-22 02:02 pm
mattersverymuch) wrote2013-09-22 02:02 pm
Entry tags:
- basically a pirate anyway,
- business as usual,
- dean "through the cracks" winchester,
- dean is not my friend,
- freebie with tenth richard,
- god children suck,
- making my way up in the world!!,
- marcus cardona is not my real name,
- nobody knows my real name,
- ooh london ooh,
- ooh oxford ooh??,
- pissing people off (like a boss),
- richard means baby you guys,
- snow white is also a fairytale,
- temple and arch and fucksticks,
- the miller's son is dead
13 ɂ spam
[As a child, Marcus called himself a marquis. He did this as a way of laying claim to his territory, which, in his opinion, was the entirety not just of Oxford but of England as a whole. It's his, always has been.]
[As an adult, with a cleaner face and more deliberately false manners, he has learned to claim it in different ways.]
[Marcus Cardona is a smuggler, and this is a poorly-kept secret. He has allies and enemies in strange places. He has currently made an enemy of the Church (to which he has never been particularly attached; religion disconcerts him, as does the concept of faith in general) for refusing to commit certain unsavory acts of smuggling. The General Oblation Board seems like thinly-disguised sadism. And really - why hide oneself under the guise of religiosity, when in truth all you want to do is prod things to see what they do?]
[There is also the unfortunate fact that he now has several children in his custody - slightly stolen, or taken under false pretenses at least - none of which he considers to be even halfway decent company.]
[So he sends a letter to a young woman of his distant acquaintance, whose name makes him wonder in a serious way about her parents' creative abilities. It reads:]
[Later in the day, he can be found at the docks, unloading his slightly less illegal cargo; later still, he is at the market, delivering said cargo to vendors. None of them look at him with particular enthusiasm, and many don't even meet his eye. That might, of course, have something to do with Catalina, whose piercing eye belies Marcus's casual, flamboyant demeanor. She looks ruthless, as though she would gladly break the taboo against touch to sink her beak into a danger to herself or to Marcus. This is part - though only part - of why he is feared.]
[As an adult, with a cleaner face and more deliberately false manners, he has learned to claim it in different ways.]
[Marcus Cardona is a smuggler, and this is a poorly-kept secret. He has allies and enemies in strange places. He has currently made an enemy of the Church (to which he has never been particularly attached; religion disconcerts him, as does the concept of faith in general) for refusing to commit certain unsavory acts of smuggling. The General Oblation Board seems like thinly-disguised sadism. And really - why hide oneself under the guise of religiosity, when in truth all you want to do is prod things to see what they do?]
[There is also the unfortunate fact that he now has several children in his custody - slightly stolen, or taken under false pretenses at least - none of which he considers to be even halfway decent company.]
[So he sends a letter to a young woman of his distant acquaintance, whose name makes him wonder in a serious way about her parents' creative abilities. It reads:]
My lady Snow,[After which meeting, Marcus shows up at Dean Winchester's doorstep with a baby in a basket. Yes. Literally. It's not his basket, either.]
I have recently come into possession of several children under the age of twelve. If you'd be so good, refrain from asking how; be content in the knowledge that they're better off with me than where they were. That should tell you enough, really.
That said, they can't stay with me or I fear I'll weigh them down and drop them in the river. They would, at least, be cleaner that way. Please come and take them away as quickly as possible. Should you be unable to remove all of the little worms, I have a backup plan. But then I always do.
Yours incredibly sincerely,
Cardona
[Later in the day, he can be found at the docks, unloading his slightly less illegal cargo; later still, he is at the market, delivering said cargo to vendors. None of them look at him with particular enthusiasm, and many don't even meet his eye. That might, of course, have something to do with Catalina, whose piercing eye belies Marcus's casual, flamboyant demeanor. She looks ruthless, as though she would gladly break the taboo against touch to sink her beak into a danger to herself or to Marcus. This is part - though only part - of why he is feared.]
no subject
I wasn't able to find place for all of them, [he murmurs, almost to himself, before setting the basket down on one of the workshop's many tables. Then he turns to face Dean with a snap, as though he's remembered something.]
But you like children, don't you? You can have this one. Free of charge. I certainly don't want it.
[And truly, he doesn't. But Catalina has placed herself squarely by the table and is watching the door unblinkingly. Anyone who walks in uninvited will find its daemon's throat torn out.]
no subject
[Of the things Marcus is saying, both aloud and silently, Dean believes only one of them and that is that he does not want this child. He didn't just remember that Dean likes children. He found places for all of them. He's here.
Dean doesn't think it will be free of charge, either. For several reasons. Hannah's head lowers and she paces closer, heavy stare on the basket itself, coming around to creep with a straight back and swift feet straight at Catalina, but from a side rather than head-on. She'll press close. She doesn't fear the bird, just as Dean doesn't truly fear Marcus.
In fact he's staring. And then, a moment later, he backs up to drop the deadbolt into place across the door before turning to point at Marcus with the pistol, though it's not really a threat. It just happens to still be in his hand, where it's going to stay until he understands.]
Where. Did you get it. Them. Start at the beginning.
no subject
Put the gun down, [he says wearily, pressing his fingers dramatically to his temple,] you'll just damage yourself.
I won't tell you where I got them.
[He is snide and viciously protective. Of Dean, not the child. The less Dean knows, the better.]
no subject
He's a blacksmith, not a nanny, so this can't possibly count as that. He squints at Marcus for a moment, Hannah sniffing Catalina's chest, then crosses the room to stash the pistol back beside the cashbox where it goes.]
And I don't suppose you'll tell me, either, what you did with the others.
What do I need to do? Does she belong somewhere?
no subject
[In that sense, he feels a strange sort of kinship with the little thing. Not enough to want to take care of her by any stretch of the imagination, but - he also doesn't belong the sort of anywhere people tend to mean when they say what Dean's just said. Just to the city and the streets.]
The others are safe. Your type of safe, not mine.
You need to protect her. There are those who want to tear her apart, and I do mean that literally.
no subject
[That definitely gets Dean's attention, and even Hannah glances over abruptly, plumed ears askew as she stands. He understands abruptly why it's his doorstep Marcus has shown up on, and he moves directly to the basket, reaching in to move the blanket - careful, so careful despite his spark-scarred and iron-callused hands - so he can see her face, dark hazelgreen eyes searching for any damage, any marks.
Hannah watches the man while her human is distracted, unintentionally intense, tail low.]
What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why?