"You want to irritate the world-destroying alien god," one of Marquis' men said.
"I want to get him to a point where he might make a mistake," I said. My eyes moved to Shadow Stalker. It's how we captured her in the first place. "It's a starting point."
"Starting points are only that," Lung said. "I can understand if you would start this with your enemy off-balance, then fight him knowing you can hurt him, but he cannot be truly hurt."
"Tea, anyone?" Marquis asked, interjected.
Lung nodded. I raised my good hand. Panacea nodded as well.
"Green?" he asked me. "The others drink green."
"Black. With milk."
He turned his attention to the kettle.
I looked at Lung, taking a deep breath before speaking. "Not starting this isn't an option. If we wait until an idea comes up, then we're going to be too late. We start this, reckless as it may be, and we leave a door open."
"For failure as well as success," Marquis said, on the far end of the room, his attention on emptying the kettle into the individual mugs.
"What would you suggest, then?" I asked. I might have come across a little hostile in the process.
"I would counter your question with a question," Marquis said. "Who do you see on the front lines? Which heroes and villains are still fighting? Which ones keep returning to the battlefield, before any of the others have even found their feet?"
I'd thought something like this to myself. "The monsters, the ones that are a little crazy, the ones that are a lot crazy."
"Not quite the answer I would have given," Marquis said.
"Which answer would you have given?" I asked.
"I would say it's the people who are most in touch with who they truly are," Marquis said.
"Same thing," I responded. "We're all fucked up, we're all damaged, a little crazy, a little monstrous."
He frowned a little. "People here might take offense to that. Myself included."
"No offense intended."
"There's a strength in knowing who you are. I would suggest that everyone play to that knowledge. Reflection, after all, is the province of the old. It's in your final days that you sum up your experiences, weigh the good against the bad, think back to the pivotal moments, and decide if you've made your mark. Others go through this sooner, the terminally ill. Those that expect to die."
"I don't get it," Rachel said.
"Are you happy with who you are?" he asked.
"Sure."
"In a general sense, do you know what you're doing in the next few hours and days?"
Rachel looked at me. "Yeah."
"Is there something in common between those two things?"
Bitch made a face, "Kind of?"
"That's what I'm talking about."
"I don't get it."