[It’s a sentiment that Markus shares, at least. That their meeting in the junkyard was steeped in far more vulnerability than this moment could ever hope to match, shuffling around trying to get dressed with clothes they had just stolen out from a nearby shop. But he puts it past his thoughts, focusing on putting on a new, clean shirt. Old clothes discarded, wet and ragged in a pile on the ground.
Markus has opted for something simple enough — a dark shirt, dark jeans. Easy enough to get into, though the fabric of the tee is inclined to stick strangely to the gash still adorning his torso. But it’s covered well enough, and it’ll just have to do for now; Markus turns to look at Arthur, to see if he’s done—
And. What.]
You’re…
[A lot better dressed than he is. How did Arthur coordinate an entire outfit while they were there? Markus’ eyebrows lift in obvious surprise.]
…trying to outdo me?
[He manages to twist the question into something shaped like a tease at the last second.]
no subject
Markus has opted for something simple enough — a dark shirt, dark jeans. Easy enough to get into, though the fabric of the tee is inclined to stick strangely to the gash still adorning his torso. But it’s covered well enough, and it’ll just have to do for now; Markus turns to look at Arthur, to see if he’s done—
And. What.]
You’re…
[A lot better dressed than he is. How did Arthur coordinate an entire outfit while they were there? Markus’ eyebrows lift in obvious surprise.]
…trying to outdo me?
[He manages to twist the question into something shaped like a tease at the last second.]