10-09-2019, 01:25 PM
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As soon as the words come from Catalyst’s mouth, Marco goes blank.
In any other situation he’d be able to offer himself up for some kind of physical labor and that would be that. His stature would sure make one think he’s at the very least strong, but now his own good feature is his resilience, and even that is dwindling. He starts to shrink in on himself again, this time out of shame more than fear--what good is this big body if he can hardly use it?
”I--” and then La Dama cuts him off.
Marco shoots her the most bewildered, incredulous look he can muster up. Fishing? That’s the best she could do? Sure, he grew up on the coast, but if you ever gave him a fishing rod he wouldn’t be able to tell you the difference between the ferrule and the handle. He’s never handled any kind of seafood, let alone caught it. To promise them someone with a skill like that is essentially asking to get the both of them thrown out or beat half to death … food is an incredibly important resource, and he’s sure these street punks would be itching for a chance to increase their stores.
As she speaks, Marco furiously shakes his head, hoping Catalyst will understand that Olga is just spewing shit from her mouth.
“No,” he growls. “Can’t fish.” Please don’t believe anything she says, he thinks at Catalyst, hoping that maybe his pleading eyes will inspire them to have some rachmones. Yes, poor him, look what he’s had to deal with for the past week…
For a minute after, he just stands there, silent and blank, before his face lights up and he suddenly starts to rustle through his backpack.
Aha! There it is.
Gently, with all the care someone would give to a newborn baby, Marco presents his violin.
”This,” he says, now somewhat excited. ”Good at this.”
As soon as the words come from Catalyst’s mouth, Marco goes blank.
In any other situation he’d be able to offer himself up for some kind of physical labor and that would be that. His stature would sure make one think he’s at the very least strong, but now his own good feature is his resilience, and even that is dwindling. He starts to shrink in on himself again, this time out of shame more than fear--what good is this big body if he can hardly use it?
”I--” and then La Dama cuts him off.
Marco shoots her the most bewildered, incredulous look he can muster up. Fishing? That’s the best she could do? Sure, he grew up on the coast, but if you ever gave him a fishing rod he wouldn’t be able to tell you the difference between the ferrule and the handle. He’s never handled any kind of seafood, let alone caught it. To promise them someone with a skill like that is essentially asking to get the both of them thrown out or beat half to death … food is an incredibly important resource, and he’s sure these street punks would be itching for a chance to increase their stores.
As she speaks, Marco furiously shakes his head, hoping Catalyst will understand that Olga is just spewing shit from her mouth.
“No,” he growls. “Can’t fish.” Please don’t believe anything she says, he thinks at Catalyst, hoping that maybe his pleading eyes will inspire them to have some rachmones. Yes, poor him, look what he’s had to deal with for the past week…
For a minute after, he just stands there, silent and blank, before his face lights up and he suddenly starts to rustle through his backpack.
Aha! There it is.
Gently, with all the care someone would give to a newborn baby, Marco presents his violin.
”This,” he says, now somewhat excited. ”Good at this.”
[sub]the artist formerly known as hal[/sub]
Hoot gives Hal’s body a hug