STRENGTHS: Instinctive, Intense, Focused, Strong-Willed, CharismaticMarcus is a man quietly contained. A John Wayne kind of man that doesn't think he's the settling down type and doesn't see the point of complaining about his issues in life. They're no ones' business. What the fuck did he need to share his feelings for? They were his own and if they were completely prudent to a situation or conversation, he'd share them. Being a strong-willed man, and part of the corps for over twenty years means that he's comfortable taking leadership positions. He will not take it upon himself if rank is already established, nor step on toes, but if there is a need or a vacuum created, Marcus is that man to step in and fix the problem.
WEAKNESSES: Selfish, Cynical, Ruthlessness, Hedonistic
LIKES: rock'n'roll, non-fiction, warm weather, intuitive people, tattoos, hard liquors, guns, doing crossword puzzles in pen, and animals
DISLIKES: winter, posturing men, overly religious people (more to come)
When he had been a young man, Marcus had a short fuse; but now that he's older he's typically mellow like embers in a bed of coals. That being said, if the witch's temper is stoked, its a hungry and unforgiving fire that will not stop until it has taken all the air out of its target. That aside, Marcus is flirtatious and soft-spoken man when actually moved to talk. There is a biting wit smouldering under the thick surface. One just has to get Marcus there for a whole other side to be seen. Marcus has expensive tastes. He likes fine tailored suits (when it's called for), high-end bourbons, and fine cigars.
APPEARANCEWILL FILL LATER. MAYBE. HOPEFULLY. THE LAYOUT WILL NOT LOOK AS GOOD IF I DO NOT FILL THIS OUT. BUT I HATE WRITING APPEARANCES. BECAUSE IT'S JUST NOT MY JAM. AND FRANKLY, THIS BIO IS STUPID LONG AS IT IS. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU PLAY A CHARACTER FOR YEARS AND YEARS.
HISTORYMarcus came from strong parentage. His mother made it a point of hers while tucked away within the Cirque Nocturne in the early 70s. Having become a witch of a certain age, Marcus' mother had decided it was time and her duty to procreate with the strongest and most willing warlock she could find. Being attractive and spirited, it hadn't been that difficult. It was the 70s, after all, the height of free love and all that. There might have been a coven orgy or two at some point. Possibly. Her time working as a Fire Breather at the Cirque Nocturne got hazier and hazier as the years went by. So did the fast and loose stories she used to craft for Marcus who had been no more than four by the time his mother had decided not to renew her contract and fled back to England with quite a hurry.
This was the formative years of Marcus' life, nothing but travel throughout the UK and Europe as the erratic and chaotic woman that was Marcus' mother couldn't keep herself to one coven but still desperately craved the community and power source it provided. Marcus grew up watching a witch that threw her magic around to get what she wanted at the expense of everyone including her own son. Hunters had been tracking them both and finally had caught up with them.
During their times in Italy, Marcus had been kidnapped. The Hunters used him as bait for his mother. Barely a pre-teen, the Hunters had known about his mother's powers and prepared to counter hers but hadn't been aware of his. They just had known he could throw little illusions about but with varying success. It was Marcus' fear and anger that got him out of that situation as he proceeded to light the Hunters on fire, one by one. Lighting them up from the inside out or by fire erupting from his mouth. He could walk through the fire and none of it would touch him, even bent to his will. His mother showed up to see the ending. To see young Marcus walk from out of the fire, clothing half burnt off of him and black with soot. She had burst into tears, pulled his smokey self into her, and expressed how revealed and proud she was. That now his elemental powers had finally presented that his training would shift and be more intense. Marcus swore to her that he'd never be what she wanted and had no interest in learning this power by her.
The encounter and his words caused a large rift between mother and son; and as a result, Marcus was sent back to the US to live with cousins. Cousins that had very mild manifestations of their genetic trait, if at all and their speciality had been about control. Marcus worked hard to carve something out of what illusion talents he had while living in the wildlands of Montana. The Wallace cousins owned a horse ranch and from eleven and on Marcus learnt more than just human education and a defensive/control based type of magic. He also learned the business of ranch handling, guns, and a bit of knife throwing for a bit of fun. Marcus grew up living like a Western Redneck 'with a funny accent' as many of his classmates would joke over the years. By the time he got into a local high school, the thick South London accident had softened to a rumble low that a lot of girls deeply appreciated. The culture shock, homorones, and the own brand of his elemental magic made for Marcus to go through an ultra-aggressive and volatile streak in his teenaged years. Though he had seen the chaos within his mother and been repealed by it, the witch discovered it wasn't as easy to temper his base nature as he thought. Binge drinking, violent fights, juvie arrests, and a good deal of fucking around.
At some point, Marcus' uncle had enough after one more arrest of 'a minor in a drunk brawl' and told him when he turned eighteen he was out of the house. That the house wouldn't recognize him as a family and he'd better think of something else. The talk had been two weeks before Marcus' eighteenth birthday. Besides going to his mother for help, angry and impulsive young Marcus went down to the local recruiter's office and enlisted into the Marines. His uncle signed what forms were needed and it was done. Duel citizen Marcus was US property.
In hindsight, basic was exactly that Marcus needed. The Marines did what it did best, it broke the witch down and built him back up into a better version of himself. His career within the military went along smoothly as he lived a relatively normal life. Then Afghanistan happened.
Marcus' unit first deployed for eighteen bloody months. He watched as members of his units got blown up by dirty car bombs or by suicide attacks. He had to kill more women and children then the witch ever wanted to admit to anyone else because so many picked up guns to shoot against them. After the fighting, another tour was meant to keep the peace. To protect the people after the fallout and give them aid. The people took their aid happily but wanted US soldiers to get the hell out. More of his unit died in that time of 'peace' than within the initial 'war'.
One day, his unit was attached to a cavalry unit caravanning aid to another city being onslaught by rebel militia. The convoy was attacked. A rocket struck the hummer he had been in, killing everyone instantly but himself where the hummer toppled over and kept him pinned within with the rest of the chard or burning bodies. Helplessly, Marcus had to watch from upside down as the rest of the convoy, his unit, took on fire and ultimately were overpowered by armour-piercing guns mounted on the beds of pickup trucks and rocket launchers. Two units dead in the sandy waters.
Every man has a boiling point and this event had been that point.
Rolling with so much rage, when the enemy found him trapped among the dead, as they went to loot the cars, they pulled him out yelling and laughing all at once. They weren't laughing for much longer as flames erupted from his mouth with a roar and lit the closest man on fire in all his robes. Surprise confusion was the only thing that saved Marcus from being mowed down by the guns. There was screaming, gunfire, the stench of boiling and burning flesh. The word 'Dragon! Dragon!' in Arabic feel from the mens' lips as they tried to defend themselves from Marcus. In the end, ten more bodies littered the sand burnt and shot while the witch stood among them trying to control the fire within him.
Somehow he made it back to base. They tried to get detail information from out of him but they got a sketchy story at best. They marked it off as trauma and ordered for him to be honourably discharged back to the US with a handshake of a job well done and a medal. Once his feet touched down on US soil, Marcus disappeared. He travelled for some time, making nowhere his home. It was a stop at some unimportant city that Marcus felt the magical pull of the Cirque Nocturne as sure as a mortal man feels the pull from a Siren.
That had been more than a year ago that felt like a lifetime. Disaster had struck, the employees dissolved of their contracts, and the gates closed to them. It had been a troublesome experience in the end but a rather valuable one. Marcus did not leave those gates alone. With his temptress Elia, partner in every crime, in arm, the two did not travel far to plant new deep and twisting roots. Settling into the old and powerful French Quarter, the two opened up a speakeasy named Nevermore.
It peddled the typical in a dark flare of ambience to the tourists but the underline was so much more. Elia, being the rare dark gem that she as, was troublesome for the Covens but Marcus with his handsome smile and less troublesome power and bloodline, he was received a bit better among the covens. Foolishly they let a smiling wolf in who worked hard to entreat business. And business did he receive. Business of the magical sort was conducted in both between Covens, between other species, and more was granted behind a back door at a hefty price.
Previous purveyor of magical items suddenly went mysteriously out of business within New Orleans and both Marcus and Elia were more than happy to provide - along with more darker, dangerous bobbles in their little Black Market enterprise. Their business flourished and the two indulged in their growing power and unconventional domesticity. To a point, Elia even brought home a rather familiar-looking puppy. A puppy that at one point had been a cat when alive. Sad, confused Black Dog that Max was. Marcus conceded that he supposed they could keep the poor, very valuable retch - living in luxury in one of their spare rooms.
All was well until on October 30, close to the thinning of the veil, Marcus felt an uncontrollable urge to close his eyes while in the middle of reading a book in bed. When he woke, the ceiling was wrong, the book was gone, and so what the familiar warmth of Elia. There was something slim and cool in his hands that ended up being an iPad the room was the one her had back at Cirque Nocturne. He was livid.