10-06-2019, 10:14 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]One might consider Marco lucky to have never even heard of the Badlands. Then again, he hasn't heard much of anything ... most things slip his mind nowadays. If Olga has mentioned this place prior to ten minutes ago, he's most likely forgotten. Things just don't stick anymore.
"Rathole" may not fully cover the extent of their reputation. He's probably better off not knowing.
Anything makes him jump now, to the point where the old Marco would have been so ashamed. He's a large man, and in theory he should be able to take anything that comes his way--but the slow, clunky way he moves, as if struggling against imaginary restrains, hinders him so much that even despite his size, he's an obviously easy target. So there he stands, cowering pathetically behind an old woman half his size, folded into himself like he expects to be attacked at any moment.
He supposes that now he has good reason to be nervous, standing in foreign territory, surrounded by what look like a sure dandy bunch. He's not so intimidated by Salem as he is Catalyst, though both of them are a full head taller than himself and adorned in just about every body modification he can name; which, to him, makes it clear what kind of people they are. Thugs, he would call them. Edgy, unkempt thugs.
Captain Litvinenko. Oh, so that's her name. All this time, he's been too embarrassed to ask. Though he doubts he'll remember it again; La Dama works just fine (though he only refers to her as that out of respect for the elderly and not because she is truly anything elegant.)
"Drop off?" he repeats, puzzled. All this time spent travelling together, hand-in-hand, and she's going to leave, just like that? Sure, he's been vying for independence the entire time, but now that it's really come down to it, he's not so sure he wants to be alone.
His brow furrows, and though both hands twitch and shake, he can only curl one into a loose fist. Did she purposely take him to this place to dump him like unwanted trash? Oh, God only knows what they'll do to a man like him. She's leaving him for dead! These people will eat him alive.
"You are just leaving me here?"
He hopes his upturned eyes and quivering lip make her feel guilty. Marco doesn't have the words to properly express himself, so he just thinks his anger and hurt at her, hoping that she'll get the message via telepathic brain waves ... or something like that.
"Rathole" may not fully cover the extent of their reputation. He's probably better off not knowing.
Anything makes him jump now, to the point where the old Marco would have been so ashamed. He's a large man, and in theory he should be able to take anything that comes his way--but the slow, clunky way he moves, as if struggling against imaginary restrains, hinders him so much that even despite his size, he's an obviously easy target. So there he stands, cowering pathetically behind an old woman half his size, folded into himself like he expects to be attacked at any moment.
He supposes that now he has good reason to be nervous, standing in foreign territory, surrounded by what look like a sure dandy bunch. He's not so intimidated by Salem as he is Catalyst, though both of them are a full head taller than himself and adorned in just about every body modification he can name; which, to him, makes it clear what kind of people they are. Thugs, he would call them. Edgy, unkempt thugs.
Captain Litvinenko. Oh, so that's her name. All this time, he's been too embarrassed to ask. Though he doubts he'll remember it again; La Dama works just fine (though he only refers to her as that out of respect for the elderly and not because she is truly anything elegant.)
"Drop off?" he repeats, puzzled. All this time spent travelling together, hand-in-hand, and she's going to leave, just like that? Sure, he's been vying for independence the entire time, but now that it's really come down to it, he's not so sure he wants to be alone.
His brow furrows, and though both hands twitch and shake, he can only curl one into a loose fist. Did she purposely take him to this place to dump him like unwanted trash? Oh, God only knows what they'll do to a man like him. She's leaving him for dead! These people will eat him alive.
"You are just leaving me here?"
He hopes his upturned eyes and quivering lip make her feel guilty. Marco doesn't have the words to properly express himself, so he just thinks his anger and hurt at her, hoping that she'll get the message via telepathic brain waves ... or something like that.
[sub]the artist formerly known as hal[/sub]
Hoot gives Hal’s body a hug