It seemed that Bakugou had returned to The Typhoon just in time, though it didn't take long for him to realise the inconsistencies which were plaguing his home. Some of his furniture and items had been re-arranged, he had forgotten to do a small 'garage sale' to rid of all his extra weapons he had crafted before he left. He would have been convinced there was an earthquake had he not noticed that his little notice had been picked up, crumbled slightly from the grasp of another. Someone had entered his home to see if he had gone. Well, maybe they went inside to steal from him, but it was nonetheless a reminder that The Typhoon did pay some notice to his comings and goings. He wasn't sure if he felt honoured, relieved or annoyed. Well, at least it meant that he was someone - not just another extra. Then again, there were always the darker emotions that crept into play, the paranoia that maybe they were celebrating his absence, hoping he would never return. No one was ever one hundred percent truthful. Although Bakugou hated to lie and make up false accounts, sometimes half-truths were just as misleading and damaging. Simply returning was able to send chills up his skin, the male immediately uncomfortable. Maybe, secretly, he wasn't welcomed here.

The ragdoll shudders a sigh, sanguine eyes sweeping towards Pincher's form - a sense of familiarity rising with the gathering, crowds of pirates flowing in. Another meeting. It felt like he hadn't been to once since forever and immediately he remembers the disgusting breath of Owen sitting right behind him, breathing down at his back. His fur bristles in annoyance, smoke puffing from his nostrils as he walks, sitting in the front. It would be more than rude for an indominous rex, as big as he is, to sit in the front of a crowd and block everyone's views. He isn't in the mood for dealing with the annoying shenanigans of other Typhooners. He likes the idea of having peace and quiet until his mood lightens. It felt like there was always some kind of heavy burden resting along the back of his neck, drawing his spine downwards and weighing on his shoulders. Sleep felt uncomfortable, he didn't like the sensation. Still, he knows he had to bear with the meeting for as long as it would take. His ears were ready to listen to whatever the Captain had to spill, whiskers twitching with the cold air around his nose and doing his best not to stare at the mysterious glow of Pincher's tattoos.

The angel had not intended on staying for so long, but Beck, as it turned out, was a very difficult fellow to track, sometimes appearing and interacting with many, ere dematerializing and making himself a challenge to rediscover. Every now and then, the thought of his brother leaving entered his mind on a train of troubled thought, only for him to be proven wrong by a re-emergence of the ghost’s presence.

For now, it was but another period of the poltergeist’s inactivity.

The Typhoon was perhaps the best nesting place, what with its beautiful scenery and perfect temperature; though, on the other hand, the people calling the exotic isles their home were, to simply put it, a bit more hardcore. Had they been bad? No, not at all. But the actions of the Typhoon’s citizens fell under the category of chaotic, contrary to the judicial semblance Marco had gotten used to over the years. If push came to shove, then the angel would promptly leave, though that was surely not going to happen anytime soon.

He’d make himself present. It was not in his set of goals to make himself a prominent face in the clan, so the lynx understood that this meeting would not have a portion dedicated to him, and he was quite fine with that.

© LEXASPERATED