[ granting his name feels like standard practice by now, likely unbecoming of a man who's often wanted — either by the law or by some clutter of criminal organizations that want him dead for some reason or other (usually the result of him pissing someone off, often by his own smart mouth), but hearing it repeated soon after washes over him with a wisp of deja vu, if only from the accent that suggests a possible hispanic lineage. ortega's voice mostly differs in that it gave his name more bite, like she was trying to slip in a punch every time she said; marta's sounds like she's trying to peel the letters back to catch a glimpse of the man who bears them, the way she seems to test it on her tongue.
her curiosity isn't limited there as she poses her question about god, the way it's slipped like casual conversation prompting him to ease out a breathy chuckle as he keeps his perceptive gaze around the altar's space. ]
I take care of things myself. [ no higher being is going to do that for him, especially since men have been making their efforts to take their place as gods these days.
as if on cue with his statement, he turns his body to squeeze in by her, ducking down to level his eyes with the etching of old runes, raising his fingers to trace calloused tips over carved wood until they trail to the small knob of the tabernacle. he keeps his hand there for a moment, both listening to the silence of the chapel and debating his next step. if he's ever been warned about the possibility of cursed objects, kovacs would barely heed it as he pulls it open and gives his full attention to observing what's inside. ]
You said you were lost? [ he asks without turning around, reaching his hand inside. he'd been lost too, or so he had been left to believe. but when he pulls his arm back, bringing with him a sheet of paper with scribbled words in clear english, he reconsiders. ] Pretty sure we were meant to find this place.
no subject
her curiosity isn't limited there as she poses her question about god, the way it's slipped like casual conversation prompting him to ease out a breathy chuckle as he keeps his perceptive gaze around the altar's space. ]
I take care of things myself. [ no higher being is going to do that for him, especially since men have been making their efforts to take their place as gods these days.
as if on cue with his statement, he turns his body to squeeze in by her, ducking down to level his eyes with the etching of old runes, raising his fingers to trace calloused tips over carved wood until they trail to the small knob of the tabernacle. he keeps his hand there for a moment, both listening to the silence of the chapel and debating his next step. if he's ever been warned about the possibility of cursed objects, kovacs would barely heed it as he pulls it open and gives his full attention to observing what's inside. ]
You said you were lost? [ he asks without turning around, reaching his hand inside. he'd been lost too, or so he had been left to believe. but when he pulls his arm back, bringing with him a sheet of paper with scribbled words in clear english, he reconsiders. ] Pretty sure we were meant to find this place.