ɪᴛs ɴᴏᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ʟᴏᴏᴋs ʟɪᴋᴇ.
He doesn’t really have anywhere to be.
Darby Lane is a cesspool, but Marco neither cares nor finds it entirely bad. He’s a pirate, after all, and he’s used to shady places, sketchy people. Sometimes there’s glitter in the gutter, if one knows what stones to turn. Turns out he’s not quite used to what he’s seeing in front of him now.
Arms crossed over his chest, Marco stands in front of that well-known brothel, looking at the women in the window that try to entice him inside. Its quite odd, seeing these women; one of them looks like Haruta ( the thought of someone he considers his little sister getting into sketchy situations makes him bristle, though she can handle herself ), and the rest of them look like Pops’s nurses.
It might appear as if he’s staring, considering; but rather, he’s lost in his sort of painful reverie. The red haired woman’s words echo in his brain all loud-like and layered over static. Some you might know, some you might not. Some you might know, some you might not.
It comes back to him in a rush, a great swell like that of an orchestra’s crescendo. How mugh he misses his nakama. How it hurt so bad to see them die, oh, it hurt so bad.
It does not occur to Marco, however, that it might just look like he’s thinking really hard over his options regarding the window women.
