Never Bow Down (d11 train)

It's safe to say Marcellus didn't expect a train ride. Or steaks or endless buffets of food. He's typically the Avox of it all. Waiting to serve, tongueless, word is a service, and that's all Marcellus has been lately.

He's not mad about it, though. The service. With it, he has a purpose. And that's all he's ever wanted, despite the idiocy. In the Justice Building, only his new friend found herself inside of his waiting room. It hurt to know his parents never cared to say goodbye. Not that it was surprising - Mom and Dad weren't seeking to rekindle any lost time from his move to his tiny shoe box. It was nice to spend his time, or as much of it, with the one person who does try to care.

She just hugged him. Tight, and he held it like a boy with his blanket. Fearful of losing his protection, his safety net. Marcellus couldn't speak. He was never the talker of the two, so he sits and pours soup bowls. How else is he supposed to live? He feels he's doing good for people as long as he can service. And Marcellus wants to be good. He hasn't seen a lot of it in his life, anyway. Their interactions were short. In the air, a small, uncomfortable mist had started to prod and poke at their arms. It's like that feeling when someone's sweating; it feels all prickly. It seemed unspoken that he wouldn't be able to kill. Marcellus just isn't built like that.

After several moments, he is quick to exit the building and onboard the train. The other two, Harbinger and Ines, seem to have already made their comfortable seats. His cousin wasn't very close to him in terms of relationship. It's hard to trace it back exactly, but he's never cared. There's enough Rhodes to create a nation. But the idea of being stuck with people he's related to wasn't exciting. Mom and Dad were the only references, after all.

The door slides open, a metal gear creating a whizz that seems too mechanically impressive to Marcellus already. He didn't spend much time with technology, so it was newer than some would expect. “I just want to know that I won’t be forgotten.” Was the first words to be heard, and it was Ines, speaking. He respects that. The boy had never considered being remembered or creating a legacy worth remembering. He thinks it's silly to try and make a crown for a fool.

He peruses the cart, looking at the options of food set out, and he begins to understand the small 7-year-old who turns his nose away from broccoli in the soup. It's crafted to perfection (this food, more than his own), yet it doesn't offer the comfort that is being sought in a meal. The prickly, uncomfortable feeling that poisons his arm still lingers as he listens to the girl speak. “Tell me you’ll help me? Tell me that I have a chance.”

He listens respectfully and silently, as his mother always taught him. A child should always respect others. They know more. They're worth more. Provisions to the world are much more important for a boy that can't count to fifty. Marcus didn't feel like he ever had a chance, so it felt only right to let a girl who hoped to have a chance get the opportunity. It made sense. Marcus told his unofficial partner to adorn him in teal, his favorite color. A light blue, it's like the sky and how everything used to feel much more vibrant before his incapabilities shrowded his thoughts.

"You have a chance." He notes, trying to figure out the right words to say. "You want it, which is a good start." Which wasn't the same for him. A small pitcher filled with a sweet, herbal-like drink was on the drinks cart. He thinks it's a tea. Pouring himself a small, iced glass of the substance, he took a chair next to his cousin. He hasn't shared a table with someone of ancient genetics in months.