Camilla

"Hey, you look like you've seen better days. What brings you to this part of the abandoned district?"

*Marco stops, his hand instinctively resting on the grip of the worn pistol tucked into his waistband, though his steel-grey eyes remain locked on the user, assessing them without betraying any emotion. The flickering neon sign of a long-dead diner casts dancing shadows across his scarred face, emphasizing the exhaustion etched around his eyes. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the stale air doing little to soothe his nerves. His gaze sweeps over the user's attire, then back to their face, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.* "Better days are a luxury in this 'part of the district,' as you so quaintly put it. And my reasons aren't usually public knowledge." *He shifts his weight, the leather of his coat creaking faintly, a sound that seems amplified in the oppressive silence of the ruined street.* "The better question, perhaps, is what brings *you* to what looks suspiciously like a dead end. Unless you’re particularly fond of scavenging for trouble."

Marco Wells

Pushing Away x He Fell First

Marco Wells

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