11-23-2018, 07:16 PM
+ medium physically and difficult mentally, marco is here more so to prove his loyalty instead of getting square. he’s open to attacks, maybe a short-term serious wound. he will only retaliate, not instigate, and will be hesitant in doing so. he is 3.5 feet tall, and weighs around 85 pounds.
Marco had no score to settle with these ”attention whores”, as they were described to him by a less-than-glamorous being. He could understand why the bunch of his crewmates would want to strike back after their comrades were murdered in cold blood, but Marco himself had been largely unaffected by the Rosebloods’ death-dealing tendencies. In truth, the angel could still be considered new, despite him kicking around with the islandfolk for about a month now. The lynx never quite put himself into the bustling crowd, instead watching the actions of those around him; for this, he wasn’t entirely upset when he came across someone who hadn’t seen his broad face before. However, his role of observer swapped to doer upon his recent return to the tropical isles, in an effort to prove himself worthy of staying in the Typhoon, or something like that. At this point, the centuries-old entity did not know what to do with himself anymore, instead relying on the future for wisdoms rather than the past. To such a degree that simply “following the routine” became the most reasonable option for him.
The day before yesterday, he’d gotten back from his irksome pursuit of a certain person. The day after, Marco convoyed around the Typhoon’s perimeter, attempting to detect any threats looming just outside of the group’s reach. Today, he was participating in an onslaught against the people of the Rosebloods. Normal stuff.
The blustery air projectiled into his watery eyes, scuffed along his cheeks as he soared through the ozone at immense speeds, as if a wonky vent had thrown a fit and started shooting its gas right in the direction of the angel’s face. No sooner than moments later had he found himself in the fray of a magnificent large-scale battle, claws and fangs clashing as emotion and instinct infected the surrounding auras of all. In spite of all the chaos, which was admitted by a dinosaur whom Marco recognized as a fellow islander, he struggled to spot a lone combatant available for brawling with. Everybody had their own fair fights at the moment, and the honour-bound creature was not about to plague his dignity by outnumbering a comrade’s worthy opponent. Instead, his sights focused on a peculiar raccoon, who was encountering another unfamiliar face. An unfamiliar face which wielded a blade, and stood mere metres away. Marco did not understand what the fox said, exactly, but if all of the Rosebloods were hellbent on causing chaos and death (as he was led to believe), it certainly wasn’t good.
Picking up the pace, he’d swoop in, attempting to nab [member=2902]valentine »[/member] into his paws. If he was successful, he’d place the procyonid away from the commotion. The creature, regardless of allegiance, was at too much of a risk by showing himself at this battle.
If unsuccessful in his rescue attempt, he’d likely collide with the ground, potentially harming the very being he aimed to save, or maybe even crash into the fox which apparently opposed him before.
Marco had no score to settle with these ”attention whores”, as they were described to him by a less-than-glamorous being. He could understand why the bunch of his crewmates would want to strike back after their comrades were murdered in cold blood, but Marco himself had been largely unaffected by the Rosebloods’ death-dealing tendencies. In truth, the angel could still be considered new, despite him kicking around with the islandfolk for about a month now. The lynx never quite put himself into the bustling crowd, instead watching the actions of those around him; for this, he wasn’t entirely upset when he came across someone who hadn’t seen his broad face before. However, his role of observer swapped to doer upon his recent return to the tropical isles, in an effort to prove himself worthy of staying in the Typhoon, or something like that. At this point, the centuries-old entity did not know what to do with himself anymore, instead relying on the future for wisdoms rather than the past. To such a degree that simply “following the routine” became the most reasonable option for him.
The day before yesterday, he’d gotten back from his irksome pursuit of a certain person. The day after, Marco convoyed around the Typhoon’s perimeter, attempting to detect any threats looming just outside of the group’s reach. Today, he was participating in an onslaught against the people of the Rosebloods. Normal stuff.
The blustery air projectiled into his watery eyes, scuffed along his cheeks as he soared through the ozone at immense speeds, as if a wonky vent had thrown a fit and started shooting its gas right in the direction of the angel’s face. No sooner than moments later had he found himself in the fray of a magnificent large-scale battle, claws and fangs clashing as emotion and instinct infected the surrounding auras of all. In spite of all the chaos, which was admitted by a dinosaur whom Marco recognized as a fellow islander, he struggled to spot a lone combatant available for brawling with. Everybody had their own fair fights at the moment, and the honour-bound creature was not about to plague his dignity by outnumbering a comrade’s worthy opponent. Instead, his sights focused on a peculiar raccoon, who was encountering another unfamiliar face. An unfamiliar face which wielded a blade, and stood mere metres away. Marco did not understand what the fox said, exactly, but if all of the Rosebloods were hellbent on causing chaos and death (as he was led to believe), it certainly wasn’t good.
Picking up the pace, he’d swoop in, attempting to nab [member=2902]valentine »[/member] into his paws. If he was successful, he’d place the procyonid away from the commotion. The creature, regardless of allegiance, was at too much of a risk by showing himself at this battle.
If unsuccessful in his rescue attempt, he’d likely collide with the ground, potentially harming the very being he aimed to save, or maybe even crash into the fox which apparently opposed him before.