The choice had been made, a choice which may have been depraved of forethought. The angelic creature bid his exotic home of the Typhoon farewell, departing the luxurious isles to fly. But where was his destination, precisely? That question remained unanswered once he had first taken off, though now, it appeared quite clear; Tanglewood, or whatever the swampy tribe had called themselves. For one to detach themselves from a paradise-like locality in search of a repulsive biome such as a morass, it would have to take a fair amount of stupidity, or good reason; it had been a bit of both, in truth. In all actuality, it was not the group which he yearned for, but an individual - a specific phantom for which he had very strong ties to. Was it smart to converse with a group not on the Typhoon’s allies list? Perhaps not.

Kilometres of violent ocean had come to pass when the angel spotted land. A shore, the lynx judged as his altitude lowered. It was one kept in careful condition, and upon closer inspection, one could see that the sights matched exactly what Marco desiderated: a plentitude of quag, joint with hints of civilization. And, of course, not to mention his clairvoyance, that practically drove the fibrous feline in his decision-making and opinions, has been thrust into a frenzy lustful for results.

No sooner than he caught glimpse of the place, he touched base with a just magnitude of grace. Once the dust settled, his surroundings revealed that where he stood were the outskirts of a community with an aesthetic comparable to those he’d seen in his early days of angelhood. It was within these looming trees and murky bogs, he’d find his brother, Beck, and he was sure of it.

+ rushed because of my draining battery!

For a local to virtually immediately herald his presence, Marco’s dense cheeks sloped upwards into a smile, marginally pushing his eyes into a position which was barely more than a squint. Not a touch of hostility resided in this fellow, nay, he could see it clearly through those olive hues of his. Instead of exhibiting aggression or a foul attitude, like what was shown by some of those attendant on his first day in the Typhoon, the yellow-ish inhabitant of Tanglewood provided an aura of harmless eagerness. Compared to what he had seen firsthand back at home, if he could call the tropical isles that, the angel heeded the native’s conduct as acts of hospitality. Thus, the lynx happily complied, and without hesitation, he’d answer the feline’s query.

"Hello to you, as well," he’d return in a rather pure tone, ”my name is Marco Dragomir, and I have come to your pleasant little operation here in search of a specific individual, whom I believe is lodging here?”

The large feline had paused, allowing his introducion to sink into the creature’s mind, ere he continued to speak. However, the chance to resume never came; the noggin of none other than his older brother had timidly peered out from the backside of the male that Marco had been previously gabbing with. Riveted by this, as well as being somewhat awestruck, the right brow from his own mug flung up in an enticed manner. Either insatiable luck had been on his side, or that boisterous clairvoyance has been right all along.

Did he follow him? Had the lynx trailed his sibling across land and sea to unite with him? Indeed he had. It would be a lie to reply with a “no”, and he was not a dishonest man. Though, another thing to consider was if Beck would appreciate the truth. Would the ghost welcome the fact, or would he turn up his translucent snout and accuse him of being a creep? He did not know. There was no definitive score in view at the current time, only theories. Deep down, he had faith in Beck, in that, as a brother, he’d embrace the angel’s occupancy.

Shooting a nod to the other male, as if to state that the ”specific individual” was in view, he’d then shift the entirety of his focus unto the poltergeist. ”I do believe that I have followed you here, Beck. The others may not have entirely appreciated my decision (or my existence there in the first place), but I could care less about them right now.” It was true, not everybody in the Typhoon were exactly head-over-heels for an angel; especially the demonic folk, like a certain male at hand on the eve of his departure. If he hadn’t felt that he owed them labour in return for allowing his squatting, Marco likely would not return. Yet, he felt exactly that way, and things were to go as planned. Persisting with a playful shrug, he’d glare at Beck once again to speak. ”I’ve finally found you after decades of searching, and you slip out of my grasp once more. Can I count on you staying here so we could possibly have a conversation? Or are you planning to take yet another trip somewhere?”