booming thunder | the berserkers

[MARKO !]

[align=center][div style="width: 45%; text-align: justify; font-size: 11pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: verdana;"]♦ — marko was... a little confused. he could definitely assume that maverick was important, seeing how cat talked to him as if they were equals, but either he was forgetting something or most definitely had never heard of the berserkers before. he wouldn't be surprised either way, though, frankly. but, whatever, he could deal with confusion, and there was clearly some confusion going on in the area. after all, the guy seemed to be under the pretense that cat was undertaker, which was very much false. she just didn't have the drive for it.

he glanced to michael and gave him a small smile, hoping it wasn't too clear that he was heavily enjoying having a boy wrapped around his fingers. it was nice having a trophy, but the vampire shrugged him away as politely as possible, deciding it would be best to keep him out of this. he was just too clueless for the big kids' politics.

he took a step forward. "i'm leading, actually," he said, keeping himself from petting the pigeon too tough. after all, it was a rare find, and some anger over not being correctly pinpointed as the ragtag town's leader. the question of privacy was also something brought up. "and i'd be perfectly fine with havin' the rest of san creado listen to your offerings, maverick."

the horse was a little threatening, frankly, but having a big, fancy looking pigeon was no real match in terms of where marko's own personal respect would go between the two of them. sure, he would likely bend to the concept of speaking in private if he was pushed ever so slightly harder, but where exactly was the fun in that? he wasn't a wimp, and he wasn't going to be intimidated by some dude on his high-horse, calling himself leader. after all, marko was just that but with a figurative horse instead of a literal one.

[CATHERYN]

Maverick's misplaced assertion of Catheryn's authority has her smiling, just a little. Her lips curve up in a semblance of a smirk as she glances at Marko before turning back to the leader of the Berserker's. "He's right," she says simply, offering nothing more than that. Catheryn isn't leader for several reasons, the chief of which being that she just doesn't care enough about the townspeople to hold a position of responsibility over them. Besides, if Marko wants her advice, he'll ask, and she'll answer if he can look her in the eye for more than five seconds without flinching.

"We're all friends here," Catheryn says next, and the tone of her words (a little whimsical, if the word can be used to describe her) is obviously purposefully designed to betray the fact that she is absolutely, a hundred percent, lying. She doesn't really have friends, but Marko, for once in his short life, is right. Whatever Maverick wants to say can be said in public, because then if he messes up she'll have a good reason to spread his entrails across the asphalt. Not that the lack of a good reason would've stopped her, if she so desired.

[Rialto]

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Pulling away from where he'd been leaning surreptitiously in Marko's direction, a languid movement that took far longer than it had to - watching it made people feel tired - Rialto's limpid eyes affixed on their brand new friend to trace every line of his coiled up, mortal figure. Weighing him up as much as he did them, the spread of faces and names bared for him to evaluate.

He had to slap a hand over his mouth to stifle a snicker in time with Cat's quirk of the lips, in a manner that spoke volumes about how he wasn't trying to hide his amusement at all. Maverick wasn't an unclever fellow. Rialto gave Marko the widest of all shit-eating smiles, propping one of his own elbows up on a hand and whispering to him, airily, 'Walk it off, boss. Walk it off.' They only bullied him in good fun, you know. Bonding activities with the family. That much seemed to clear out what half a second ago could have been frigid vigilance marking his posture, and for the rest of the altercation - or, you know, perfectly polite discussion - Rialto felt free to warm the side benches.

For the briefest moment his gaze flicked over to their scrappy leader himself and his equally brief interception of Michael, and again just as fast Rialto feigned nonchalance by looking up at the sky. See no evil.