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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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.

Should she be surprised that Namur walked off, or that no one bothered to stop him as they did for Espio? Well, for what it was worth, Grell was, yet her only reaction is a raised eyebrow and a surveying eye over all of them.

"Such a double standard." She mostly said it to herself, but didn't care enough if anyone heard her. The opinions of others never really bothered her too much, and she was sure that the same applied to them for hers. Marco was determined as always. Thatch was a man of many masks, and she was sure the present one was just that. Espio was a stubborn, awkward duckling, and Toby was the only voice of reason. No, they wouldn't bother listening to purple prose from a red reaper.

Grell walked to her previous seat, wanting to see which way this river would flow now with crossed arms. She really did look forward to it.

Marco was flustered. Somehow this wasn't how he expected it to go, and part of him felt stupid for expecting any different. Obviously they were all going to want time to process it, and just because he needed to push forward and never look back didn't mean the others wanted that. What the hell kind of a leader was he? He didn't want this job, still. And that was part of the problem. He wanted to puff up his feathers in phoenix mode and kick all their asses. To argue it was an order, except it wasn't, and it never would be.

He watched Namur go, with his own shoulders slightly hunched like a wary vulture about to take into flight and hunt him down. He was going to get Namur, whether the shark liked it or not. A little bit of blood or not, he'd seen Namur go through worse in wars and he needed them all here. Which was selfish, but since when was Marco ever not selfish?

"Perhaps I was trying too hard to be an earthquake," Marco spoke quietly. He sounded deadpan, but part of him was hurt, a little stressed, and immensely worried. Rationally he knew he was in an idiotic panic mode over nothing, but he didn't know how to fix that. "It's not a stupid analogy at all. That's how my Pops was, and I don't know how to lead any other way." He had to find his own path, true. But when his father was the best and strongest leader in the world, how could he not try to emulate the man who did it best?

"I'm sorry," he apologized and set Espio down. He gave Thatch a grateful grin, already knowing some of what was transpiring in the other man's head, and truly relieved by it. Especially since he didn't have to voice anything extra just yet. Thatch knew, Thatch understood, and Marco needed that.

Blue eyes narrowed, Marco had his own resolve, and his own way of doing things, and if Namur didn't like it, he could fight him.

"And thank you. All of you," Toby for his words though they made him incredibly nervous. Whitebeard was only a legend now? Well, he was a legend even alive, but that made the ache worse a little, though Toby hadn't meant it that way. Grell for being first, Thatch for being his rock, and Espio for being Espio.

"I'll be right back," he stated quietly, but in two quick strides he was outside hunting down his shark brother.

---

"Namur," it was a quiet growl, but Marco grabbed either side of shark cheeks in his hands, just in front of the gills and gave the 8th division commander a fierce look. "I'm sorry I overloaded you. I was hoping you'd stay and fight me." Maybe because not all of Marco was as determined to stride into the future as much as he wanted, or maybe because he wanted to bust through the barriers head-on. Namur was doing what Marco did though, and instead of providing opposition, just left so it wouldn't be there. "Blood or not, stay and bite me next time. You got it? You acted like I didn't trust you to handle it, and in so doing, you didn't trust me to handle you. I don't want to be captain, but you still have to trust me to be your equal. You want to fight? You feel that rage? That desire to bite and destroy? Don't run from it. If this is to be my era now, I'm using that and directing it where I want. Got it?" He was fierce about this.

Did Namur really think Marco didn't understand? That Marco never had bloodlust problems? Sure he wasn't a shark, but he was a zoan. There was a reason he had to limit how much meat he ate. This era was to be an era of vengeance back home if Marco had any say, but he couldn't direct Namur if Namur swam off on his own.

"Bite me, but don't tuna out like that again or I'll kick your ass so badly you'll wish you'd bit me first. Understood, number 8?" He couldn't explain all of what was going on in his head. That part of him was such a jerk of a commander that he'd wanted his brother to deal with the blood rage so he could prove he could handle it, so he could show he could use it, so he could show that he would take care of them all no matter what. That was selfish, so selfish. But as a commander, no, as their acting-in captain, he had to be. Pops had been selfish a lot of times too. Even now in death, their father still was. "Don't ever think your bite is stronger than my shoulders. You are still my younger brother, and don't you forget it."

Damn, he'd almost made it to the ocean. Namur could hear it rumbling, just beyond one more wall. A leap, handspring, and a flip away.

"I ain't fergettin' it, damn it!" Marco wanted his rage? He could have it now. In the form of teeth bared to the gums and a full bodied headbutt to the gut. "Wasn't bein' no damn guppy. Was savin' yer dumbass son's life, cuz I swear, that kid opened his stupid mouth one more time I was gonna rip him apart! Maybe yer okay gettin' bit, but he ain't. Even if he tastes like somethin' gone screwy!"

If sharks were prone to growling, Namur would be doing so now. But instead of some audio cue to his changing state, he let off a burst of chemicals, shunting them from his body as he sprang after Marco to let the fight happen. He landed hands- first just short of Marco and spun, aiming to kick him into the wall, then pushed himself into a backflip to regain his feet.

"Said I'd be back an' I meant it. Jus' ain't goin' t' be wantin' t' rip someone t' pieces with Thatch's blood in the air. That's a line I ain't crossin'!"

And just like that, Marco grinned and cheered up. "Okay," he grinned cheerfully, and didn't bother fighting back the fishman brother at all. Just leaned against the wall like he meant to be there all along and quietly messed with Namur's hair. He didn't feel the need to defend Toby's words. They spoke for themselves, frustrating and all. And Namur already knew the intentions behind them, so Marco hardly needed to explain that.

"You're cute when you're angry," he beamed merrily and messed with the hair even more.

Worst captain brother ever.

It was all Thatch could do not to roll his eyes at Grell. Double standards his ass. It wasn't the same. Namur and Espio weren't the same. And anyway there went Marco fluttering after him which--was not what a captain should do. He wasn't a first mate anymore he couldn't just drag people back to where he wanted them to be. He should trust them to come back. If he wanted to do it this way--he should do it this way, but leaving like that undermined his own strength.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and pressing his fingers to his lips. But it had happened so Thatch had to figure out a way to fix it. Time first to let it sink in but maybe...

Ah hell-- wait a second. Thatch stood, taking off his shirt completely and throwing it on the chair.

"Be right back," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Unless you want to come for the show."

Because there would be one if what was happening what he thought was happening. He walked out, slower than he wanted so they could keep up if they felt so inclined,and out to where Marco was merrily petting the frustrated Namur. Geeze--

"Fight him, you idiot!" he snapped, bodily hauling Namur back by the back of the shirt and ramming his fist up into the Fishman's gut.

He felt it coming a scant moment before it happened, but Thatch was sneaky and fast and Namur didn't have time to react before he had the wind knocked out of him. He doubled over, but didn't go down. The force of the blow threw him back against the wall, which hurt like hell because his dorsal fin bent to the side.

"Ow, shit," Namur panted once he got his breath back. He ducked his head and slammed into Thatch's ribs, using a kick against the wall to propel him forward.

Thatch grunted as the full weight of Namur hit him, slamming against the ground and ripping up a dark earthen rocky furrow with his back as they skidded along the ground. He was going to have to wash his hair after this.

"Gonna make you pay for that, fish fry."

He grabbed Namur's pointy little ears to force his head up and kneed him in the gut, then wrenched them over so he was half kneeling on Namur's stomach and headbutted him hard enough to set his own ears ringing.

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