Thatch folded his arms behind his head and stared up at the dark ceiling. Leave it to Marco to have a reason for doing something outside of...well... what Thatch had done. He thought about it, though, trying to put it into words that didn't sound utterly pathetic.

Unfortunately those didn't seem to exist.

But in the end, Marco was Marco and understood him better than anyone anyway.

"I had nothing else to do. I wanted to be with people." He shrugged. "I didn't know anything about this place." And he'd been desperate enough to cling to the first thing that he reasonably understood. "Afterward, I guess I just decided to keep going in a straight line until something stopped me."

Or he died of old age...Which had looked increasingly likely the longer he'd been here with no discernible way of getting home in sight.