Lo and behold, Sunhaven had just become the foster parent to yet another holy figure; which was certainly not a bad thing at all. This being’s presence only increased the bulk of angelfolk whom operated on these isles even further, giving rise to a slew of solace to the male’s intellect. See, the enclaves of the Typhoon, howbeit luxorious and pleasant, housed a quantity of demons in addition to angels, the fact of which induced thorniness upon Marco, for the lynx had put an end to a many of their kind prior to rolling in, and was forthwith complied to treating the hellions as friends instead of foe. Hence, he felt awkward around the place, hardly leaving his home unless absolutely necessary - until today. As the sun threw its mighty beams onto the Earth, Marco detected a new latency in the midst. An angel, for sure, yet not one of the few he had grown accustomed to among the ranks of the Typhoon.

No, this person was new, and like him.Clad in wings of his own, along with his fiery halo, he enthusiastically left the comforts of his abode in search of this creature.

The creature’s aura was so enticing, it took the angel nearly no effort at all to track the male down. Upon arrival, he’d scan the wolf, immediately identifying those telltale wings, his scent being strangely foreign. Shooting the canine a holy smile, whom must be an angel, not a shred of doubt throughout his holy veins, he’d speak in his honeyed tone, controlled by what was barely a Romanian accent. "Welcome to the Typhoon," he’d introduce, ”my name is Marco, I’m new here, so I’m new to this type of stuff. Do you wish to join us here on our little retreat?”.

Oh, dear. If Father were here, he could speak to the stranger, but Peppino only knew a little bit. He wanted to help, but he wasn't certain how much help he would be, and the hesitation shone in mismatched eyes as the young canine slowly approached the small group. He only recognized one of them, which was Victor, who didn't know any Italian, and he wasn't certain about the other person just yet, so he assumed that the...best thing to do in this situation was extend a hand, however feeble and trembling it may be. "Mi dispiace, parlo poco l'italiano," he apologized, smile sheepish. "Come si chiama? Mi chiamo Peppino."
[align=right][i]INFORMATION

Through the whole of the stranger’s incoherent babbling, Marco observed with absorption, his eyes slightly widening when he caught glimpse of the word ”latino”. Fiorello, as the wolf introduced himself, had not the capabilities to speak in English tongue, instead exclusively conveying through Italian, with the possibilities of Latin. Lamentably, Italian has not been a language he’d attempted to learn in heaven - that, he regretted, seeing how Italian was such a fun, singsong dialect. However, Latin was found somewhere among his scope of jargons, and it was a language Marco believed himself to be skilled in reciting. It was possibly confusing for Fiorello here if the lynx were to instantaneously substitute the conversation’s language for another, thus, he cleared his throat with a notable "Ahem," to clutch the stranger’s attention, followed by a ”Latine?” to notify his surroundings on the language he was to speak. Shifting his paws, slightly, out of concern for if he were to distort his best sentence, the angel spoke once again. ”Domum nostram exoptati advenistis, the Typhoon. Salve, Fiorello, Marco nomen meum. Quid nobis tua consilia?”. It had been ages since that language was required of him to speak, perhaps fifty, so there was a chance that his skills weren’t as polished as they used to be, but at least he could get the job done with them.

//translation: “Latin”, “Welcome to our home, the Typhoon. Hello, Fiorello, my name is Marco. What are your plans for us?”

The concept of angels getting kicked out of heaven wasn't something he ever thought he could be familiar with. He always thought them to be holy things, incapable of true free will. This was how he had differentiated the humans from the angels. Humans were the ones with total reign over what they wanted, therefore inclined to sin. Angels, on the other hand, weren't exactly deserving of their own names. They held only purpose and reason, molded and created to fill whatever was needed. That being said, in neither of his two lives did he really believe in a religion or the supernatural. The idea of it all felt too surreal so perhaps angels were simply higher beings to the creatures that inhabited The Typhoon. After all, he had met several angels here and a demon. Being banished from the holy land was something he would have to accept over time. For now, however, he will take everything those angels said with a grain of salt. He was unwilling to play the role of the fool.

It wasn't difficult for him to notice some stranger walking across the sands, about to stand up and grumble as he usually did to ignorant foreigners when one of their newcomers (Marco) arrived to meet him. Bakugou approaches from behind, seemingly shadowing the two winged creatures as Marco, rather calmly, introduced The Typhoon and asked the other their purpose for being here. What followed from the foreigner's mouth was a series of words he could only guess the meaning. He didn't understand the language but from the sounds of it, he assumed the male to be saying that he didn't know English but could speak Italian or Latin. He gives a sideways glance to Victor, snorting in his own amusement at the husky's attempt at communicating. They were both at lost, knowing other languages but the ones required for this particular situation. Bakugou, after all, was fluent only in English and Japanese. It was in his name, something to be assumed of him. So far, however, his multiple dialects (consisting of a whopping two languages) wasn't helping him. He felt as dumb as a deer struck by the blare of headlights, helplessly supervising because he figured it was his job to at least ensure it went smoothly.

When Pincher's son arrived, he felt insignificant to hear the child speak in the language requested. He wasn't sure if the sounds the other made was fluent or clumsy but he knew it was better than nothing as he sat down, thinking this might take a while. As the others spoke, however, in the languages the stranger knew, he begun to feel increasingly anxious. He didn't know what they were talking about, assuming only what a few words meant such as 'mi chiamo' meaning 'my name is' or 'Fiorello' being the name of the subject who they were talking to. He tries not to frown, feeling his own skin heat up because he was annoyed that he was being left in the dark to watch this stranger interact with other pirates. He didn't like not knowing what was happening.