concoursec | Family Meeting for the gang / Semi-Closed

Entry tags:

Family Meeting for the gang / Semi-Closed

Characters: Marco, Grell Sutcliff, Thatch, Namur, Espio, and Tobias Hayes
Location: ~Around the Garden~
Rating: Hopefully PG-13. Let's keep violence/sex to a minimum okay?
Open/Closed/Finished: Semi-Closed (if another character wants to grab Marco for something it's available!)
Summary: Tattoo adjustments, family meeting, Marco stepping up as Captain

Sometime after the whole mission with Grell & Thatch, but before Namur also leaves on missions, Marco finally addresses the family cohesion "situation." Okay, so it's not exactly a situation anymore, but he's still concerned and there are things he needs to address with each and every member of the family, and with all of them together. And if there are going to be anymore miniature explosions, he'd rather they were now when he can handle them, then later at a very very bad time.

He hunts down everyone individually to make it clear that this meeting is not optional and if he has to pick them up and carry them there, he will. He also has needles and ink with him... so that might be a bit creepy. He gave himself plenty of time before all this though, since the meeting will be at dinnertime (which he has prepared) and throughout the whole day he goes around hunting everyone down.

Luckily, Namur is probably the easiest -- ironically? -- since Namur already was on the same page as Marco about it, and why Toby would normally be the easiest, Marco had a tendency to fall into a giddy Papabird mode that just wanted to play around with his favorite son whenever he was with the kid. As such, Toby is saved for last, since Marco can just ask him to come.

[ooc: there will be a big family thread everyone can go in any order on, because there are too many to go organized, and then separate threads for everyone.]

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"No," Marco replied without even looking up, "I'm getting this done first." He was resolved, and once Marco decided on something, nothing could stop him.

The crescent moon 'stache slowly evolved on each side, Marco smoothly adding to the ends as if he was calmly stitching a pillow, not his skin. His tongue was out in concentration though, literally nothing would break his focus.

"And what's 'this'?" Espio asked, resting his chin in his hands and looking at Marco with annoyance at the whole being dragged-to-family-meeting thing, but unable to hide the confused curiosity. That tattoo was extremely important and symbolic to Marco and his family - any idiot could tell you it had to be a big deal if he was actively changing it.

Edited 2013-07-26 23:51 (UTC)

"One of the bravest and best people I've ever known in my life said that this was the emblem of Whitebeard's Era. That we weren't living in the age of pirates, but Whitebeard's Era. In this world, I thought it was my duty, my role, my desire, to carry on that era." He finished turning the mustache into a full circle and fixed them all with a look.

Was he sad about the end of the era? He couldn't say. Time was a funny thing. And no less difficult for a man who was timeless, in a place where Time was "Compressed." His eyes are serious, no glowing blue flames of intensity, and hardly deep like the ocean, but clear and endless like the sky.

"I was wrong. All six of us aren't here because of my father, but we do share something in common. We're all here because we're a family, eh? Up until now whenever I found new family, they were part of Pops' family. And by extension, everyone here is, but all six of us are family with each other, here and now. We're family because we want to be, we're family because of each other. Not Pops, not me, but all of us together, got it?"

He gestures to the revised tattoo. "That's what this means. Unbroken. It's a circle of life, of Pops hopes for us to continue into the future, and my hope for the rest of you to continue on too, eh?" A hand flippy wave, "More than that, I will actively do everything I can to protect that goal, okay?"

Marco set down the needles and quickly cleaned them. Don't worry, the food is all covered up, he's not an idiot. "No one has to have this mark or add to their own, though I'd appreciate it. And I do want Tobias to get one now that he's stronger. Partly so that I can start making my own mark on the world," Marco. Mark. God of war. Ahhh, too many thoughts. "And protect him from any idiots forever, but also so you can show that you're much stronger now, eh kiddo? And it's about eternity. It says I'll always do my best to come get you all, even if it means traveling through time and pulling you out of thin air." He nodded his head. "And I guess that's it. Any questions?"

Edited 2013-07-27 00:23 (UTC)

Those eyes were quite intense, and she could tell that this meant a lot to Marco. He was right, that they were here because they were family by choice. They could have easily dismissed such a thing, but the Fates worked in mysterious ways.

So Grell dug into the pocket of her shorts and pulled out a hair tie and went to work tying up her hair into a high ponytail before standing up. "I'll do the honors and break the ice." She didn't have to think twice about this. Having family meant a lot to her as well, so she would do what it took to protect what she had earned. Grell walked over to Marco, taking a chair and placing it close enough so he could work on her tattoo. "Of course, this means I have no inquiries."

And so she sat down, ready to go.

He should be the first. He should be the first but he couldn't move. In fact it was an effort to keep his arm locked in place so he wouldn't touch the old tattoo. Old. Ha. Already an era gone by. No. One that ended tonight. With this. A new era. These guys family? Namur of course but could he really trust Grell or Espio not to turn on him? They had more care for Marco than anyone which was how it should be but--

Grell went ahead of him.

He should have been first. He shouldn't have hesitated. Shouldn't still be hesitating. To change that much. To-- to really close that-- that chapter of his life that-- he felt he had barely begun to live in. A new era. Was he even ready for it? Could he be? Sweat trailed down the back of his neck and he forced himself to remain still. To watch and not care. Not that it mattered because everyone could see how weak he was.

Damnit....

Namur was probably one of the few that knew something like this was coming. It didn't make the despair in his heart any easier, watching as the Old Man's mark became something else, and Marco- his brother, his new captain- a Whitebeard Pirate only in legacy.

The scene felt far too much like being in Marineford again, where the only thing he could do is sit back and watch, speechless, while everything changed. He put an arm around Thatch, squeezing his side tight. He needed support just as much as his brother did, and if they couldn't hold on to each other what did they have?

But it seemed right to Namur that Grell, Marco's mate, be the first to accept Marco's sign. Espio and Toby, too. They belonged to Marco as sons, not brothers.

He didn't bother trying to hold back his tears, though. Didn't try to grind them away with the palms of his hands. As terrible as it had been to watch Ace and then Pops die, the ensuing Time Compression and finding only Thatch had made it a little unreal. Their era hadn't died. He still bore the mark, and though three was a far cry from 1600, they carried on.

But this ended it. The final nail in the coffin. After this, the Whitebeard Pirates would be no more.

Namur slid his free hand over his stomach to the spot above his hip where he'd had the mark discretely inked. He hadn't known at the time if he'd wanted it. Now he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted it changed...

Significant the tattoo may be, but to Espio, hugs and tears seemed a bit overdramatic. He had the sense to hold his tongue, though - the meaning was too important to them to say something. Instead, he just looked off to the side as Grell volunteered herself to go first, thinking.

He had never opted to have the Whitebeard tattoo, and Marco had never directly suggested it. When Marco had implied it, a long time ago, he'd instead responded by having Apollo design an alternative design to represent the friends he had lost, and he'd taught himself to hold the design as a pattern on his scales.

Espio had always said that Chaotix would always be his first priority, and this was - for the most part - true. But even he had to admit that things changed. They had to change.

His days with Chaotix were over, and while he knew it logically, accepting it emotionally was another thing entirely. Even now, years later, it was still a struggle. He had to move forward, the same as everyone else.

Maybe he did understand why those two were getting upset after all. It was a shove foward that nobody could be ready for, no matter how well they knew it was coming.

"Dammit..." he hissed, under his breath.

He resisted the urge to walk off, though, but only barely.

Tobias had been watching in silence, sensing the utter importance of this event. He had simply wrapped his arms around Pikachu lightly, holding the little Pokemon somewhat like a doll and burying the lower half of his face in her fur. Pikachu herself didn't seem to mind, just quietly letting him with her ears up, watching Marco like a hawk.

She didn't understand most humans. She didn't understand markings or ways. But she understood feelings, and the feeling of this was as clear to her as it was to Tobias.

Tobias himself... well, he wasn't sure what to say. Whitebeard had been someone important to the pirates here, but he had never really met Whitebeard. The man was nothing but a legend to Tobias, and a legend was just words. On one hand, to feel like Uncle Namur or Thatch at words wasn't something Tobias could really do. But on the other hand, words never had to be lost. They would stay as long as they were spoken or written, and for a man who was only ever words to him, the feeling of the 'nail in the coffin' passed over him.

"..."

Tobias lowered Pikachu into his lap a little, rubbing his hand between her ears and thinking.

Marco allowed him a moment's pause to breathe. Was it saying goodbye to his father? No. For the first time in a long time, he really felt sure that he was actively doing what Whitebeard had wanted of him. It wasn't an easy decision to make though. For his own selfish reasons, Marco longed to hold onto the past as long as possible. To live in Whitebeard's era just a little longer, but that wasn't what his father wanted for him at all. His father wanted him, wanted all of them to live on. He'd order Marco back for that reason. To live. To protect them, to survive the new era.

Maybe it wouldn't be the kind of era Marco would love as much, and he wouldn't be as happy as he had been, but with the five others in the room with him, he wasn't scared of facing it anymore. It would be hard on all of them, and they all needed him, but he could do it. One step at a time.

He was relieved to find Grell right in front of him, ready and waiting. She'd been the first person he shared the mark with here, and it really did make sense that she'd be the first one to change it. Family, in that, her dream was the same as Whitebeard's. "Red, I assume?" he grinned softly and got to work.

"Thank you Kitten," it was quieter than he'd meant it. Almost seductively whispered in her ear, but it was more choked from his own emotion than out of a desire to leave it for her ears only.

"Ah, look, it's not an ending, eh? That's why it's a circle. There are no endings. We carry Pops with us, and we wouldn't be together if not for him, still." Because Marco and the others wouldn't be who they are, much less where they were. "But his dream was for a family, and I can safely say now, all a father wants for his son is for him to live on happily into the future, eh? And that goes for everyone here."

Still, Marco was glad he'd done his before explaining it. The more he had to use words, the more he wanted to hesitate. He kept the doubts pushed to either side, but it was difficult not to think about. Even more difficult when he could tell the rest of the room was figuring out the situation too.

How long had it been since he'd first added the tattoo to his chest? Since he declared himself as Whitebeard's son? Since he told others to get the tattoo and join him as Whitebeard's children? Ace, the first division, so many of them.

But he meant it. It wasn't the end of the era by changing the tattoo, it was carrying it into the future the way Whitebeard wanted.

Damn he missed him.

He'd run out of footsteps to follow though, and it was time to take the lessons he'd learned along the way and continue on his own.

"You know me well, my love." Grell smiled softly to Marco before she closed her eyes while he worked. The quick needle movements needed to ink her skin were painful, but it was the sort of pain she thrived on, so it was a welcome feeling. She could feel the tattoo evolve, adding onto the meaning it held.

"He's correct." Grell spoke after Marco, her eyes still closed for the moment. "This...symbol, for lack of a far better word, will never lose its meaning for us. We won't be erasing its pattern, as if we ever would, but adding onto it. Allowing it to evolve." She then opened her eyes to look to them all, finding that they appeared so very uncertain about such a move. There was no hesitation in her, but she had found that not everyone has the same resolve as she possessed.

"I've only met Pops once, for the week or so the Time Compression decided to bless us with his presence. I can't say for certain what his intentions with us, his family, would be, but I doubt we could live up to his greatness."

She let that sink in for a short moment before continuing.

"Yet we will surely try, but not with evolving ourselves."

Grell could safely say that she had changed a lot from the first time she arrived in Garden. A lot had remained the same, yet blossomed with a sort of vibrance found with maturity.

And with that, she closed her eyes once again, concentrating on the needlework.

Edited 2013-07-27 18:59 (UTC)

Losing the symbol's meaning meant little to Espio. He could see clearly that it was an evolution rather than an ending - building on a foundation set long ago. He wished he was in a position to say so, but the truth was he still felt like an outsider with these pirates, barring Marco.

He had not wanted to take on the mark. He wasn't a Whitebeard pirate, and he doubted he could ever truly be one. Didn't think he wanted to be.

The changed symbol was, in a way, a relief. To him, it was saying this was his family, not a family in a far off reality that he'd never even seen or met. It was turning into something that held significance to him.

But did he even really belong to the family here? It kind of felt as though he didn't anymore.

"I..."

But he would. It may feel rocky right now, but that didn't change the fact he was part of it, and that he wanted to be. Lowering his head a little, he concentrated on making the mark on his left shoulder - to the front.

And yet... once the mark was made, he found himself shaking. He couldn't deal with it - not now, not here, not when he'd found himself thinking of his friends this way, not still thinking that he didn't belong anywhere. Shakily, he got to his feet, and turned to leave. Just give him a minute to get over himself, please, is what he wanted to say, but his mouth felt too dry.

Tobias glanced up as he heard Espio talk, looking over at him with the blank, stoic face the boy tended to take when his expressions weren't properly matching up. But when Espio gets up, starts to leave, he doesn't.

Instead, he reaches his hand out, trying to grab Espio's as he goes past. It's not a very strong grip -- the chameleon could pull away easily -- but even without a sound spoke, the meaning is clear.

Tobias didn't want him to go.

Edited 2013-07-27 19:32 (UTC)

Thatch startled a little, as the Fishman slipped an arm around him--and for a moment could only stare at him. Damnit that idiot shouldn't cry like that. Thatch felt his own throat closing. He wanted to do something. To change the fates somehow and twist them back the way they should have been. To a time where this change wasn't needed and the Whitebeard Pirates sailed on just as they were into that blue horizon. But he couldn't change. He could only accept. As Namur fought to accept, he noticed. Unsure. Uncertain. Maybe even he didn't know his own thought in this. Or maybe he was mourning the past, too. He wrapped an arm around Namur's neck and draped it over his shoulder, closing his eyes to be with himself. Listening to Marco's talk about carrying with them. The circle. As if they were entrusted with the future. Marco was always the future--or existing in that place were all time was the same and different or something obscure and phoenixy. Twilight. Namur was alive. And as for himself...

He listened to Grell talk. As if she had any right to As if she understood-- How could she? It was impossible for her to, really. But he imagined she was speaking to Espio and Toby perhaps--and even if she weren't--he let it go. Because what else could he do but let go of everything. Everything that had shaped him and formed him. Everything that he had ever been. And now he was first mate or, so he'd insisted and Marco agreed but what did that really mean? He was pretty sure that the others weren't interested in that kind of thing and the only thing Namur had saw of him was that he was weak. Broken pieces of the person he'd once been. He would give Marco everything to fight at his side and support him in whatever he wanted but could he give enough? Was there enough in him? Even taking that mark--

Because the truth was, he couldn't. Not until he meant it. Not until he deserved it. But Grell was taking it without hesitation like a true first mate should and maybe it was her all along. He heard Espio stand even, and blocked out the chameleon's voice because he didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to be angry at him for rejecting this so easily. Give him a chance to breathe. To accept it. He didn't even grind his teeth as he wanted but kept himself still. Perfectly still, barely even breathing, like a ~~corpse~~ stone.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't. But he didn't deserve to be here without it. He didn't deserve to be part of the future if he couldn't even stomach the symbol of it. Of moving forward. So he would either have to find a way to accept it now or--find a way to leave. Go somewhere else. Really be a dead man. An old one who couldn't change and just withered. He didn't want to do either. He wished he could go into that twilight place himself and just exist without existing and changing and trying to prove himself when he wasn't even sure that he could. But he wasn't someone who was allowed to exist in that state. He swallowed and tightened one hand into a fist so that the tears burning behind his eyes would stay there. Namur may have been mourning the end of an age, but Thatch was only mourning himself and didn't deserve them.

Espio glanced down at Toby, and offered him an awkward smile. "I just want a minute." His voice was hoarse and dry. "Just 'round the corner. I'm not leaving."

He felt ready to cry, and he didn't want to do that in front of everyone. He had to pull himself together, put his thoughts in a nice neat coherent line so that he could speak.

Finally finished with Grell's tattoo, Marco moved quickly scooped up Espio before squishing him into a hug with the rest of his brothers there, Thatch and Namur.

"It is not letting go of the past. Nor is it leaving the past behind. I don't know what kind of strength you three expect of me, but I am not that strong yet. And I don't ever want to be. Pops will always be with us, and the Chaotix too, Espio. We are the ones carrying them on. Whether the universe ends or anything else, we carry them with us."

He held Espio up high, shoulder level with Thatch and close enough to rest on Namur's gills thanks to the tight hug Marco held them all together by.

"And we carry each other too. I don't care if you all consider each other strangers still, you are family. Bound by wanting to be family. Maybe we didn't all know Pops the same way, but we've all been outcasts one time or another, or maybe we still are everywhere else except for here. Here, we are united by that, and our choice to be here. No one is rejected, and no one rejects anyone else. Even themselves, got it?"

He set Espio on the back of his neck so he could feel his chameleon brother guarding him when and where he needed it most. Even if Espio was going to cry into his hair, Marco would borrow that strength. The willingness to show that kind of thing in the open among those who mattered. "There has never been a family member I've forgotten, and that is why the Whitebeard mark used to mean revenge. From now on, I want it to mean life. We live with each other, by each other, and through each other. Not a single life that came before us will be forgotten, but this is how I'm going to honor them."

His voice was still calm, intense, but for all that his family was on the verge of tears, Marco himself wouldn't cry yet. They would have to do it for him, and in return, he'd be their calm to weather through the storm.

They seriously should have done this somewhere else. Somewhere not in an enclosed space. It wasn't so bad when Marco tattooed himself. Marco healed quickly. But Grell's neck still oozed blood from hundreds of tiny pinpricks. It smelled good.

But no. Namur would ignore it. There were bigger events happening. Not the least of which was having a chameleon summarily dumped on his face as Marco acted like he had to convince them it was a good idea.

"Damn it Marco! Y' ain't got t' make some shitty speech like we ain't gonna go along with y'!" Namur shouted. His voice only cracked a little. "Y' ought t' know us better'n that!"

He realized he was yelling, and didn't need to be, and seemed to visually deflate.

"We got things t' think 'bout. Things we got t' accept. Things we are leavin' behind when we do this. Stop bein' a dumbass 'bout it, an' give us some shitty room t' breathe."

Speaking of breathing, Namur needs air without the taste of blood. He's already emotional enough without adding to it.

Tobias... it had been strange for him. He'd been thinking. Hard, and seriously, because he could see everyone was upset and especially Thatch and Namur...

Even with Time Compression mucking everything up, he'd almost always been the helpless kid. Even when trying to stand up now, he had to go back to Marco or Espio or Grell for comfort and advice, to figure out some things and to understand others. But now... Maybe for the first time, Tobias doesn't feel helpless, or awkward.

Maybe for the first time, he understood. Even if in his own way.

"...It's okay, isn't it?"

He was quiet, but his voice gained a bit of volume, even if he remained looking at the floor.

"Whitebeard... even if he's my grandfather, he's not really a person to me. I didn't meet him... so he's just words and stories and legends. But that's okay. Because words never go away."

Pikachu shifted a bit as Tobias looked up, tilting his head slightly.

"Lance is important to me too, but he's just words and stories to you guys. And that's okay too. If I keep talking about Lance and telling stories about him and everything, then he'll never go away. Even if he's... not here anymore... I just have to keep talking about him and he'll live forever.

"And... it's the same with Whitebeard, isn't it? He's not here, but as long as we keep talking about him and telling stories and everything... then he'll be around forever and he'll never go away."

Namur's shouting rattled something in him which wasn't helped by Marco squeezing them together as if he thought it would help. For a moment he hated him and everything about this damn situation. He wanted to shove Espio off and mercifully Marco took his annoying warmth away so Thatch felt like he could breathe again. Marco wanted a family. This was part of the family and he knew that but--

Toby's voice broke through the short silence, soft but self assured. Trying to assure them. Yes, he understood that. Pops would live on in the people that loved him and that knew about him. In stories and in legends. That wasn't the problem.

But how could they understand the problem? They were so young and Grell was timeless...outside of things perhaps. He wasn't sure.They didn't know but--how could they? Marco knew but he couldn't explain it. In his own bird way he tried. Mooshing everyone together and hope it would all work out somehow. Trust that it would somehow. Like a captain should. That worry should not be his.

Thatch uncurled his fist and opened his eyes to the to bright room, reaching up with his other hand and ruffling Namur's stiff spiky hair, tugging and pestering him to distract him from the stress of the situation.

"It's about change, lad. When you've been part of the same crew for ten years, fifteen, twenty, it's hard to come to terms when it's time to let go. It's hard to mourn. Hard to change. To feel ready." He glanced at Toby. "To know it up here" he tapped his temple.

"and that it's good is one thing. But telling a heart to change... mountains have been shifted easier. Namur wants time to come to terms with it. Needs to breathe, aye? He's a wise man and knows the way the waters go better than you might think. But I'm stubborn and afraid because it's hard to really leave all that behind. All that history.

But...as they say...." He glanced up at Marco.

"Say goodbye to all you know
Head into the sun's warm glow
Singing loud and singing proud
We sail on through the night..."

It was Shanks' favorite and Marco wouldn't like it but it was true enough.

"Right brother?"

Change or die. Shift or flee.

He'd given up everything but--maybe just so he could get something entirely new.

Espio, for his part, was really annoyed at being hauled up and squished and stuff, and then be lectured about what he already knew. Geez! And hearing Toby and Thatch and Namur try to reinforce that - ugh.

And so, he did the only thing he could do in his position. He took a moment to gather himself, take a deep breath, shove his worries about abandoning the Special Zone to the side, and then...

Rammed his fist into the side of Marco's face. Hard.

Because, obviously, that would help.

"You see?! We all know that already! We get the point! We're not fucking stupid, don't lecture us like kids!"

He crossed his arms, still seated on Marco's shoulders.

"It's just a reminder of what's lost, so give us a minute to consider it on our own terms instead of squashing us all and prettying it up with words, okay?! You just gave us all a massive shove, and it bloody well hurt!"

A slow nod.

They were all correct of course, but Marco didn't know how to fix it, to do what needed to be done, to make it all work out somehow. "Of course it hurt!" Thatch had gone a long way to fixing it. Yes, he hated Bink's Sake, but Thatch really did know the right thing to tell Marco to smooth it all over and make it work out somehow. "But it's better to face that hurt head on than to let the excuses pile up and delay it. Or am I wrong?" A small growl. He had to kick at that wall, to throw himself at it, because if he didn't, he'd just trying to avoid it entirely.

But not everyone could just fly over it the way he could. He needed to kick it down for them.

"Namur, relax." He handed the fishman a glass of cucumber water. An old mermaid remedy. "I know your instincts better than you give me credit for."

A soft sigh and he looked down, "All of you... I know it's not easy. Change is the hardest thing I can think of. And I don't mean to repeat the obvious; it's not that obvious to me. But I don't know how to bring down the mountains other than kicking them down to rubble, eh?"

"It hurts. It hurts like hell. But if you can't hurt with your cr-- nakama-- then who can you hurt with? You're a proud lad, Espio and Namur, too, would rather sail these rough waters alone but family sails these waters together."

He untied his neckerchief and opened his shirt to slide it off one arm, revealing the tattoo on his shoulder. His throat was closed and his hand was shaking from it all but he let them see it. There was pride and there was fear but if he couldn't share that with them then they weren't family.

"You put my first tattoo on me," he said, looking up at Marco. "And I want you to put the last." He would serve no other captain. Two was enough for...both lifetimes he supposed.

She really did adore how Toby was the voice of reason. Such a proud mother moment going on right now. It did distract her from how quickly Marco got up from his seat, after finishing her tattoo, and trying to literally mend their family together. Such a worrisome birdie he was. For now, Grell observed the event, seeing how they interacted. They were grumpy, frustrated, unsure, unyielding, frustrated...

But they were still there.

It really made Grell think back to all the reels she had viewed, and seeing how families interact, wishing she could be part of such a unit. Decades upon decades of wishful thinking. She would have never imagined she would be seeing such a thing in her own afterlife. Despite the situation, Grell was quite satisfied with the turn of events.

After a moment of frolicking off in thought, Grell started to pay attention when Thatch spoke up just moments ago, revealing his tattoo. She was glad his resolve hardened somewhat. Most humans were disinclined to change. Was that going on here?

Such an odd lot. That goes the same for chameleons.

Grell lifted a finger to her neck where the tattoo throbbed with soreness. Blood was definitely dripping by the looks of her finger. She didn' really feel like wiping it away just yet.

"So I see you've done a bit of deflowering, Marco." It had to be said. "I was warned about your type~!" She stood up and made her way to the others, making sure to stay out of reach from that disastrous group hug. It would mess with her hair, surely.

That, and she didn't do group hugs.

Namur's been sitting quietly ever since Toby spoke, his teeth clenched tight against each other. He remembered to close his mouth over them, even- a testament to how hard he's trying to keep the peace. So it's alright, because Pops wasn't really an actual person, huh? As if that little shit knows what he's talking about. It's okay, because they'll always have words to remember him by? Words are cheap. People spew them out by the thousands every day. And there ain't enough words in all the damn dictionaries in all the worlds to ever do the Old Man justice.

Others have spoken since, and he thought he heard Thatch singing. But there was red around the edges of his vision, bright like fresh blood. He could smell it. Taste it. He needed it, and that dumbass ephyra thought he was soooo damn smart talking about shit he didn't understand. Namur had been known to maim grown men for less.

Marco thumping a glass of water on the table brought him temporarily out of that dangerous spiral of thought. He scowled at it, and then at Marco, keeping his teeth still firmly clamped, just as he'd taught himself to do. Did Marco honestly believe that some little green thing in water would calm him down? Was he really that out of touch? Namur would have laughed, if he didn't already feel like punching everyone in the room.

Thatch offered himself next, and Grell slunk over to continue playing their little sex games. Namur didn't understand why Thatch put up with it. But he didn't understand most of what Thatch did, and that was why he hadn't been able to actually help him. Even now, Namur wondered if he really meant the words he was saying, or if Thatch was simply going along, doing as Thatch did. In some ways, he was more a color changing lizard than Espio.

But Namur was done. He didn't want to feel this rage still burning in him when he smelled Thatch's blood. Didn't want to be tempted to rip someone apart with Thatch's taste in his mouth. He needed air. He needed blood. He needed the sea, to cycle water through his gills until his brain cooled.

Carefully, he stood and unclenched his teeth, looking straight at Thatch. "Sorry bro. Think I swam through a nasty spurt a whaleshit. Gotta go clean it out a my gills. I'll be back when Marco's done bleedin' y'."

Then he turned, and strode out and down the hall.

Espio watched as Namur left, contemplating whether or not he should call after him given that he didn't quite understand his reasons for going out. Given that he'd attempted to leave himself, though, he decided he'd better not.

Instead, he glanced back down at Marco and bopped him on the head again. Lighter, this time.

"Seriously, you are trying too hard," he pointed out. "Some of us need a kick up the ass, but that doesn't mean we don't need time to ourselves to clear up our own heads. That said... I don't think we're changing at all. We're the same people, something's just..." he paused, looking for the right way to express his thoughts before he settled on "shook the foundations. Like an earthquake or something." He laughed, nervously. "And don't make fun of it, I'm no good at analogies."

If he hit Marco just once more, Thatch was going to send him sprawling. His words were true enough and he focused on them. Namur had to leave because Namur was Namur. Espio had hidden wisdom for all that Thatch wanted to strangle him with his own tail. Toby understood important things and Grell was the cherry laced lightning bolt in the room. You never knew when she was going to go off and charge the air with one thing or another.

"Aye. Well it is what it is now." He wants them to get it done already. But this kind of mark should never be recieved with that kind of attitude. He wants to see Marco's face as he works in the design that Thatch is going to have him do. To feel the prick of the needle and the heat from the pads of his fingertips. To close his eyes and shut out the world--

Though shut out this group? Not likely.

He'll steal Marco later. All for himself. For a few hours anyway. To settle. To reform. To stop himself from wanting to say stupid things.

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