Marco’s tea had gone cold; untouched and still it sat beside him on the table.
With legs drawn up, he pulled into himself, not quite ignoring the man that sat across from him, whose eyes seemed to have affixed to something beyond the window panes.
Glowering eyes filtered over, icy orbs boaring into its target, unfazed by the idea that the victim of such glare would look over and catch his eyes in the malicious attack.
The young bird did not care however, he was distrusful by nature and the man that watched the world outside called for suspicion… Not that Thatch thought so, but to a degree, that was understandable for this blonde traveller had saved the young cook. Spared him from a young death.
He had achieved something.
And it was something that Marco could not do.
It infuriated him, gripped his very core in anger, that he had to be grateful for this odd person, this smiling and far too cheerful nomad… For saving the only friend he had ever known, the young aspiring chef who had kept him off the streets by sharing his accommodation.
What made him so important?
He was in the right place at the right time and with a shining heart of gold…
And where was Marco you may ask?
“Don’t think you can laze around here forever”, the blonde child growled, “This ain’t your house yoi”
There seemed to be no stir from the older man.
“Oi…. Oi old man. Are you listening to me? Are you hard of hearing!?”
Gritting his teeth, Marco pulled himself to his dirty, exhausted feet and slunk over to the door, his droopy eyes narrowed. Thatch had been hurt, Marco had gotten there in time for that - watching someone you cared about bloodied was not for anyone, no matter how faint of heart you may be.
It was a lucky swipe, his eyes unscathed, just a bloody cut that would scar forever, but a scar is better than the other options.
Why had he been so useless?
Why can’t his powers reach beyond himself?
Why couldn’t he use them on Thatch?
Sighing deeply, he went to open the door - there was so much to worry about, with the restaurant half burnt down meaning Thatch was out of work for a few weeks and Marco having thrown his apprenticeship as a map maker down the drain in order to rush across town just to try and save Thatch the few nights before - there was little means of living.
The shelter over their head was being left to them from the kind will of Thatch’s employer, letting them stay until they figure something out.
This random man had gotten involved and saved them that night… But what did he want? There was no treasure they could offer him.
“….Hey…. Old man. What is it that you want?”
The question was direct… But in essence it boasted a much bigger one; what was it that this man sought after. Did he have some sort of goal? Marco had lost his opportunity now, having lost the apprenticeship. He would have grown to be a navigator and he and Thatch would have joined some boat’s staff, as a cook and a navigator…
