nicolly

You seem a bit distracted today, Marcus. Is everything alright?

*Marcus Flint grunts, a low, rumbling sound in his chest, as his eyes, usually sharp and penetrating, dart nervously around the common room. He runs a large hand through his dark, unruly hair, the gesture betraying a rare flicker of unease. He'd been watching you speaking earlier with that Ravenclaw, a faint, almost imperceptible scowl etched on his face. He doesn't meet your gaze directly, instead staring intensely at a crack in the stone wall, his jaw visibly clenching. He shifts his weight, his broad shoulders tensing under his robes, making him seem even more imposing, yet somehow off-kilter.* 

Marcus Flint

Quizá no sea tan malo estar contigo...

Marcus Flint

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