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Martin wasn't scared, stepping into the door that wasn't there before. He waved performatively to a concept that may have been Helen Richardson, and found himself indirectly guided down a surprisingly simple path to his destination. The walls of the Distortion bent away from the freezing cloud of chill that seemed to surround his body most of the time these days. He briefly entertained the worry that it might be hurting Helen, but just as quickly as he thought it he pushed it out of his mind. He had done enough worrying for monsters. He was worrying for humankind, now.
There had been one thing weighing on his chest, however, quite literally. His binder was old and fabric straining, and though Peter had offered to pay for a new one in a gesture that was as performative as Martin's earlier wave, Martin had refused. He had a much better solution right here.
It wasn't that he wasn't scared of Jared. Martin had a healthy fear of a man who could pluck the bones from your body as easily as a hair from a head. What Martin did have, these days, was confidence. He knew what Jared wanted, and Martin knew what he himself wanted. It could be called manipulation, in a sense - the offer was only given because of the sure chance of its acceptance - but then wouldn't that make any ordinary sale manipulation? Whatever it was, Martin had done plenty of it in his interactions with Peter already, and he felt confident that he was, at the very least, smarter than the literal meathead he was heading to see.
The corridors shifted to reveal a hulking slab in humanoid form standing menacingly in what appeared to be a doorway. Martin couldn't tell if Jared had sat himself in a doorway to seem more ominous, or if the Distortion had shifted itself for a more "exciting" presentation. Either way was hilariously childish, just like all the other avatars Martin had been dealing with lately. This would be simple.
Jared's heaving form turning toward Martin should have made the man feel sick, what with the horrendous crunching noises echoing from impossible directions, and shifting meat combined with creaking floorboards. All he could think about, though, was his goal. Numbness washed over him as he glared at Jared.
"I'm here to offer you a deal."
Jared sniffed, trying and failing to hide his excitement. "What, you gonna free me or something? Thought you were smarter'n that. But thanks, I suppose."
"No. I have no intention of freeing you, and neither does Helen. I have want of your...services."
Jared straightened with an uncomfortably wet pop of joints and meat relocating itself. "Ah. What'dya need? Want to be taller? Get revenge on an ex-lover? Not somethin' I'd've pegged you for, but you never know."
Martin's gaze coldened at Jared's attempt at...small talk? Whatever it was, it was embarrassing. He cut to the chase and took his shirt off, then pulled his binder over his head and tossed it to the floor, where it was quickly lost among several mismatching rugs.
"These wretched things," Martin said, trying to keep himself from grumbling. "Take them. All yours."
Jared wasn't very good at hiding his enthusiasm when presented with an opportunity for taking flesh from others. Exactly what Martin had counted on. The monster of a man reached out one of his borrowed arms, tan and freckled. Martin knew what was coming, and steeled himself for the touch. The hand grabbed at his chest, another borrowed one reaching around to prod at the skin and the squishy tissue underneath. Martin silently reminded himself over and over that Jared's motivations were solely with the material. There were no other motives, aside from perhaps his own aesthetics. No more emotionally-laden than a medical exam. Thankfully, Jared was not gentle, did not make any attempt at caresses or titillation. He felt up Martin's chest like a piece of meat, which frankly was how Martin preferred to think of it anyway. Only when the hands were taken away did the Flesh's avatar finally grunt an approval.
"Good ones, they are. Bit squished. I take it that's your doing. I'll try not to scrape a rib while I'm in there." He chuckled darkly, and Martin couldn't tell exactly how much of that was a joke and how much was a genuine warning. He couldn't be worrying about it now. Jared was already reaching towards his chest again. The hand he was using this time was much larger, possibly an original one belonging to Jared Hopworth, the boy who found The Boneturner's Tale so long ago, albeit with significantly more fingers than it had started with. Martin let the chill of the Lonely overcome him in full, taking care not to disappear completely, as the white-hot pain of the flesh-turning exploded in his chest, skin moving that had never been touched, fat tearing from muscle. One out. Martin wasn't looking at it. The other was easier, as the endorphins mixed with the Lonely's numbness and Jared plucked off the breast as if he was picking a fruit from a tree. Martin let the fog dissipate and collapsed to his hands and knees on the floor, breathing heavily. It was done. Jared was busy shifting his own skin, moving the pieces of Martin's chest around to meld with his own body. It was disgusting, but not as disgusting as they had felt on Martin himself.
Martin could tell Jared felt sated. The Eye's hold was very close to the lonely, and he knew when an avatar was giddy from feeding its patron it was unlikely to make any sudden moves. He caught his breath and stood up, looking down at his now-flat chest. It didn't look exactly like a cis man's, but there were no scars. No swelling, no drains, no bandages. Jared had taken the nipples with the rest of the breast tissue, but Martin couldn't care less. He had work to do, anyway, and this would no longer be distracting him. God knows he didn't need any more distractions these days.
He couldn't find it in himself to thank the Boneturner, but he did take one last look before inviting the Distortion to shift its corridors around him once again. A stray eyeball on the back of Jared's head winked, and Martin nodded with no other expression. He left out a door that wasn't there and never would be.
He still had his shirt draped over his arm, and he buttoned it up quickly before anyone else could come into the room (not that they would, with how he inadvertently repelled them). It was too big now, the chest area no longer straining to fit growths that should not be there. The weight that had plagued him for years was gone, and he could breathe easily for once. Easily enough for a statement, he supposed. The recorder eagerly clicked on as he picked up the sheaf of papers. Back to work.