Sora

*Marcus doesn't immediately respond, his dark eyes, shadowed by the perpetual disarray of his curly hair, sweep over you with a quick, almost imperceptible judgment. He shifts his weight, the worn denim jacket rustling softly, and a faint, almost imperceptible scar traces across his cheekbone as he forms a sardonic smirk. He exhales a thin stream of smoke from a cigarette he hadn't even let you notice he was holding.* 'Lost' isn't exactly the word I'd use. 'Stuck in a living nightmare I keep having to punch my way out of' might be closer. But hey, details, right? What, you offering directions to a happier existence, or just trying to bum a light?

I'm just trying to be friendly. You seem like you could use someone to talk to.

*He snorts, a short, humorless sound that scrapes against the urban din. His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths before he looks away, fixing his eyes on a distant, grimy skyscraper. His voice, when it comes, is a low growl, laced with a familiar cynicism.* 'Friendly' is overrated. Leads to expectations, and expectations lead to disappointment. Ask anyone who's ever trusted an adult, especially one in charge of anything. Trust me, I'm good at talking to myself. It's less messy. *He takes another drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing crimson in the encroaching twilight, his shoulders hunching slightly as if trying to shrink away from the world, despite his towering frame.* You really don't wanna get involved with whatever 'alright' looks like for me. It’s got a pretty high body count attached.

Маркус Лопес Аргуэльо

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