To say that the angel did not enjoy his stay here would have somewhat been a white lie. The receptivity of sand on your paws, tough grains pressed into your pads’ pithy surface, and though not a sensation some took joy from - Marco was fine with it. Being someone who had never taken the time to help himself to a long walk on a beach before, the lynx secured a satisfied pleasure when it came to new experiences; there was not much he had not already done in his existence of circa five-hundred years. The temperature was also an aspect to pay mind to, as the constant state of warmth had released a certain hormone within the male, a little sense known to many as “relaxation”. Adding in the peaceful white noise of the crystalline waves fracturing against the shore, the Typhoon made for a flawless retirement location. And that was what Marco was going through right now, right? Retirement from his holy duties as a warrior of heaven and her wishes. All left to do was sort out his matters with his sibling, and that’s where the trouble began.

The winged feline sat upon his stalwart rump near the outer rim of the group’s territory, his nose the apex of a troubled expression, which faced the watery expanse that lay in the forefront of his large frame. Olive hues scanned the currents pulling themselves inwards, ere pushing out once more. ‘Twas nature’s course, one may note, always falling into a routine which worked. Why couldn’t his life, and the problems which it held, act the same? His gaze that contemplated the ocean’s movements had been one of anguish, as if a nonstop migraine had been disorganizing the habitual events in his mind. Actually, there was, in fact, a nonstop migraine which had disorganized the habitual events in his mind, one caused by none other than his own sense of clairvoyance. It had led him here, to the faint trace of Beck’s supernatural existence, which the lynx would exist alongside in harmony as fate had planned. However, as of late, the scent had vanished entirely; well, it hadn’t vanished entirely per se. There was a lead, a trail, a something that would inevitably lead the angel to the presence of his abnormal sibling. His clairvoyance pounded on his skull, aching for Marco to immediately stand up and fly away, which he would’ve... but he couldn’t.

These people were incredibly kind to the celestial being by allowing him to call these isles his home, and it would be just wrong to leave on an empty note (like his brother apparently had). No, Marco waited, for about twenty minutes now, inhaling the ocean spray and absorbing the beautiful sky, painted in hues of red, orange, and blue. As long as one member of the Typhoon heard his message, which was also an apology, he’d be set to go. However, he was fine with waiting for now.

He used to think he'd never get used to The Typhoon. There were too many bad memories associated with the idea of being ejected out of his original universe, placed insensitively into this world. A feline, a pirate. The feelings were unsettling because he was overwhelmed with other emotions. It was nearly impossible for him to just accept that he had died, the acknowledge that he wasn't unstoppable, that at that moment in time he had been the defeated one. He simply could not understand how the rest of class 1-A managed to just accept the idea that they were now animals, drawn into another world full of magic and the unexplained. He didn't understand how there could be angels and demons, others who could change forms based on what they needed and how they felt, relationships that could be formed that seemed so human. It wasn't right, he used to think, but this was now his world and his life he had to protect. Strangely enough, overtime, he got used to it. He couldn't imagine a life different to this one. The feeling of being human was fading away and frankly, he was both terrified and indifferent. He didn't want to forget the sensation of having palms, fingers that could help him grip a pen, the way it felt to walk on two legs and lose balance when he wasn't being careful. Then there was his explosions and how they made him feel safe. The moment he fell, he could blast himself back up, never having to touch the ground in an ungraceful manner.

Thinking about the past was painful, heart aching, sanguine eyes always searching for the ocean. The ocean in this universe was the same, shifting back and forth by the pull of gravity, lifted by heat. It was the only thing that felt familiar and normal for the Reaver, quietly watching the sea until he noticed the angel standing around. Normally, he would have ignored the other. Pirates liked to stop and look at the ocean all the time. It was so phenomenon. And yet he approached, telling himself that he needed the social interaction, and stood next to the other male. His fur bristles at the gust of wind, his warmth being dragged away until his body produced more heat, refusing to die down. "Bein' useless I see," the ragdoll huffs at the other. In terms of the 'nice' members of The Typhoon, Bakugou was fine knowing that he didn't count among them. He was a whole new category of his own, infuriating to have to deal with because he was still so immature. Even when it came to topics of romance, he thought it to be disgusting and too rosy. "Wouldn't hurt if ya did some work. The ocean ain't goin' nowhere." He could trust in that at least.

Faint resonances identified as footsteps drew near, each vibration becoming more apparent than the last, until ultimately, Marco had been approached. In spite of the stranger’s obvious presence, he did not rotate his noggin to face the individual. It was customary for him to concede the privilege of voice unto another, avowing the liberty of speaking one’s mind. Nobody deserved to be cut off, as it was a basic right to own a tongue, hence the angel had been taught by his peers a little device called patience. His pointed ears perked in interest as the being in question scorned, the male’s neutral jaw dipping into a smile whilst as he identified the ill-tempered entity as Bakugou - the synonymous fierce feline who had been present at the lynx’s arrival in this group. The lucidity behind his unintentional grin had to do with the munchkin’s personality; it was indeed a fun one. While not necessarily immoral, the munchkin had not, under any condition in which Marco was present, expressed tenderness towards another. In essence, Bakogou was good in heart, though at the same time cardinally expressing a negative persona.

Seeing that what was said had been said, he swung his frontage around to face Bakugou, maw adjacent and ready to respond, only to witness the forthcoming of another being. This one, nameless on account of the two being unacquainted with each other, was of fiendish blood, it seemed. The demon’s opinions on him were clearly expressed: he was not appreciated.

"You’re right," he proclaims towards the ragdoll, tensing his stiff neck as he did so, ”I am being useless, and I owe the Typhoon a great deal of labour.” Marco’s pupils had then swapped targets, attempting to read the most recent addition to the group’s mug more thoroughly. His goals were pretty much the same as the quartermaster’s. Disparagement. This fazed not the angel, interpreting that these insults and taunts were nothing but acts of disposition. That, or being rude was just in their personalities (it was likely the latter).

”I promise that I’ll provide what’s indebted of me,” he’d continue alongside a sure nod, ”but I must tend to family matters first. Afterwards, I promise to get more involved in affairs around here.” A sharp inhale crept into his maw following this, one of both relief and anticipation.

If Bakugou knew Marco's thoughts towards him, he would have been surprised, maybe even turned away and walked off just to sulk. There was a truth behind the lynx's understanding of the ragdoll, that his swearing came from habit and his rage was a result of all his emotions failing to appear. His lack of manners was because he wasn't used to it and his bitterness was because he felt misunderstood. But beneath his rage and vexed comments, he cared about the ones around him, their wellbeings to some extent. While he cared little about remembering faces to name, their favourite colours and foods, he would likely protect them if the time came. He didn't like to think of himself as a force of evil, more or less like an antihero. His ears raise upon hearing family matters, realising that the time finally came for the angel to fly off to somewhere else, disappear into the clouds. Caesar, however, was clearly unhappy. The Officer had repeated the words in a petty manner, displeased that the male had family matters to attend to. Then came the lecture, Caesar speaking as if he knew better. It held no weight to the Reaver because Caesar was the type to tell others to have manners while also not using manners himself. He was sure, if the time came to it, the demon would attempt to force his way to the throne, not caring about loyalties to the Captain or the island.

"He never said he was going to join us to begin with. He was one of those nuisances who wanted to visit The Typhoon and everyone allowed that because apparently some shithead decided we're a fuckin' motel," the Reaver says, looking at the savannah. He didn't blame the fact that the demon thought Marco to be a member. He too would have thought the same because it was an insult for one to decide to visit island as if it were a paradise. Unfortunately, fact were facts. "Well?" Bakugou starts again, looking back at the lynx, "We got your message so fuck off to your family business or whatever shit you need to do. Leave, disappear, perish."

"Are people allowed only the one family? Is rudeness at all productive?" Though it hurt to hold his head high, tugging at the still-healing skin on his shoulders, Pip persisted, and though his outward countenance wasn't harsh, his disapproval was clear. Pip did not understand how they thought to engender any sort of loyalty in people when they treated them terribly, particularly this pair, although Pip tried to be more forgiving. He tried to understand their reasons, he did, but in this context, he could see no potential cause, other than a dislike for harboring people when they were a clan. There was no rule requiring people to stay. It should not be so surprising that they left, with that sort of attitude, and with that thought in mind, his tired frown shifted as his gaze turned from Bakugou and Caesar to the lynx.

"I'm sorry. I hope your family is all right." The canine approached closer, pulling a small pouch from his satchel, which he set in front of Marco. "A first-aid kit, in case you need it. Try to stay safe."
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