[7]: Little Banters (3)

Chapter 7: Little Banters (3)

As the clock faintly ticks, the suppressed emotions surging within the chamber of his heart became more lamenting. It appears to be hallowed and empty, but beyond those long corridors was a labyrinth where everything has been kept hidden for a piece of a lifetime.

Dacron pulled out the seat across from Marco while scrutinizing his gaze at the distracted young lad. The brunette lad was still wary of their newfound company.

The dragging noise created by the chair pulled the lost soul out of his reverie. He lifted his head and glanced at the tan young man in front of him. His gaze sent chills to the other person, as his dull eyes seemed to be empty and devoid of any emotion.

"Hey, you!" the brunette young man rudely said while pointing at the expressionless fellow across the table. Dacron tried modulating his voice to sound more intimidating. "Who the hell are you?!"

"Cut the crap! Ask him politely," Charleston nudged his nephew with his elbow since he was holding a cup of coffee in each of his hands. He put one cup in front of Marco, and the latter politely thanked him.

"Thanks, Tito. I knew you couldn't resist your handsome nephew," Dacron shamelessly said, holding a cup of coffee that he snatched from his uncle. The brunette then turned, "Coop, mind tossing a creamer?"

Cooper, who was busy making their breakfast, scoffed after hearing how brazen his friend was. He stretched his unoccupied hand and reached for a packet of creamer right beside his working station, then tossed it carelessly.

Dacron hadn't had a problem catching the packet; he just raised his right hand and caught it easily. He turned back and poured it in his steaming coffee, then threw a question at his uncle without lifting his gaze. "Hey, Tito. What's this guy's name?"

Charleston, who was blowing at his hot beverage, paused when he heard the question. His eyebrows furrowed as he realized that he did lend his place to a completely unknown stranger. Regardless of what impression he had of the boy, he didn't even have his name.

The old man sighed with his heedlessness and muttered, "I don't know. I hadn't asked him."

Charleston wasn't unfazed by the disappointed look that both his nephews were throwing at him. The elder turned to the night invader across from him, whose gaze was glued to the coffee in front of him, "Kid. Mind introducing yourself?"

"With your surname at that," the brunette youngster resolutely added.

The aroma of the coffee calmed the conflicted lost soul down. The hot beverage caught his attention, his eyes not leaving it as if it was the only thing in the world. Its steam made his bluish-gray eyes misty, creating an illusory of a frosty void filled with impenetrable fog. Anyone who would stare at those irises would certainly be adrift in its emptiness.

"All I ask was a name, dude... What's up with that piercing gaze?" Dacron irately asked while pouting like a child. He completely forgot about the menacing façade he was trying to have, his nature subconsciously taking over.

Marco lifted his hazy eyes and blinked twice, batting off the trance.

'What are you so dazed for, Marcus?' the lost soul asks himself. He fought the urge to rub his nape.

'Och, keep the heid!' Marco told himself. He let out a sigh, composing his racketing mind. ¹

He wasn't really that mindful about introducing himself to others, and he knows that it's necessary to do so. Marco owes them for letting him spend the frigid night and stay on the premises of their abode.

"Marco. Marcus Ains-" the young lad momentarily paused when he realized his mistake, "I meant, Harrison."

Dacron gave him a distrustful stare, unconvinced with what he heard. The brunette's suspicions raised a notch higher with the lost soul's uncertain answer.

"How should we know that you're telling the truth and weren't just giving us some random name?" the brunette inquired.

"I'm Marcus Harrison. That's my name. I'm not lying," Marco calmly said, although there was conviction in his tone.

Dacron gave him a scrutinizing gaze once again. He was still doubtful of the firm and the composed young man in front of him. He sighed, seemingly defeated, reaching out a hand and spread out his palm.

"I.D.," the brunette said, or more likely demanded. "You should at least have an Identification Card to prove that, right?"

"Yes, it's upstairs together with my other stuff," Marco unhurriedly answered. He was unfazed because he knew that he did not commit any crime and was not lying about his identity.

"Should I get it?" Marco ingenuously asked.

"Ah, forget it," Dacron stated, taking a 180-degree turn from his earlier suspicion. "You seem like a good person, so there's no need."

"Good person, my ass! You're just letting him off because of your damn tardiness," Cooper scolded while still holding a spatula from the other side of the room. He was back with his hot-tempered personality.

'Although he looked like a harmless little kitten, he was more or less a feisty cat,' Marco thought while letting the steaming caffeine run down his throat.

The auburn-haired young lad asked further while simultaneously flipping a pancake, "How would you even know if what he said was the truth or even prove that he's a good person, as you say?"

"Yeah, so what?" the brunette indifferently asked before taking a sip of his hot beverage. He faced his off-putting friend and raised an eyebrow, "Even Tito Charles let him stay, so what's the big deal?"

"Okay, stop now, children," Charleston readily mediated the rising tension between the two youngsters. He clearly doesn't want another round of bickering from his nephews, so he deliberately averted their attention to another topic, "Now. The kid has already introduced himself, so what are you guys waiting for?"

The tan young man flashed a boyish smile and offered his hand more politely than he did a moment ago. He cheekily introduced himself to the lost soul across him, "Dacron Zelano, my dudes."

"That mouse right there is Cooper Brielle," Dacron introduced his friend, jerking his thumb backward while maintaining eye contact with Marco. The brunette leaned closer to the quiet lad with his hand slightly covering his mouth as if what he was about to say was top secret. Marco didn't dare move even a little closer.

Dacron abashedly whispered, "He's quirky and has no taste for any form of art at all."

"I heard that, you bloody doofus!" Cooper glowered at his friend but didn't do anything else. He settled the tray with pancakes on the table and told them with a frown to wait a while more.

---

Marco, together with his newly acquainted acquaintances, had a pleasant and joyous breakfast. They all had their fill of pancakes, omelets, and an unrestrained intake of caffeine.

The atmosphere around them was surprisingly light for the guest in the house. It was comfortable and lively. The comforting feeling seemed so foreign to the lost soul that it eventually creeps uneasiness in him, but he shoved it away. He wasn't used to it.

Marco didn't expect them to welcome him wholeheartedly and to experience having a nice and pleasant meal. After what felt like a lifetime, he finally got the chance to dine heartily. He could not even quite remember what it felt like before. It became a distant dream.

Once they had their fill, they proceeded to open the workshop for the day. The three locals went to do their own things, and Marco, a lost soul that he is, was just standing aside so he would not hinder them and giving a hand from time to time.

Marco silently basked under the illumination of the glorious sunlight's golden warm rays. He was leaning onto a corner of the workshop's ramp-up, watching the two youths bickering with each other for who knows how many times already.

"Where are you taking that? Still doing something?" Dacron asks and hangs his right arm around Cooper's shoulder, leaning onto him while craning his neck to the poor small lad's occupied hands.

"Hey! Watch it!" the auburn-haired youngster shrilled when he almost dropped the heavy toolbox he was carrying because of the sudden added weight.

Dacron only laughed and unapologetically leaned his weight even more. The auburn-haired youth glowered at him and continued doing his task, quietly enduring the unwanted heavy load.

"Your arm's heavy! Get off!" Cooper yanked the brunette's arm away once he placed the toolbox down in its rightful place.

'Thae twa lads dae pure seem lik' wee weans, dinnae thay?' The corner of the lost soul's lips hoists upwards. ²

Marco shifted his gaze to the blonde elder inside the shop who was crouching down on the side shelf, and he appeared to be searching for something. He could hear the old man's low grumblings from across the room and couldn't help but grin while watching.

He averted his eyes to his surroundings and felt a faint daze with the greenery. Although the place was just a few meters away from the asphalt road, and there were a few houses nearby, it didn't ruin the nature's atmosphere in the area.

Marco earnestly took in the new environment he was currently in. He hangs his head low, staring at the nearby grasses at his feet before closing his eyes for a moment.

Despite the cold autumn breeze, the lost soul strangely feels warmer. Something tugged in his heart, like the faintest nudge or a touch of a soft feather on his fingertip.

Marco lifted his head and gazed at the vast blue sky with a few white fluffy-looking clouds lazily drifting in the gentle breeze and a flock of birds passing by. The surroundings were fondly bright, basked with nature's beauty and the reigning serenity. It was something he hadn't witnessed for a long time.

The surroundings were too bright for his sensitive eyes to handle, so his eyelids reflexively shut. The glaring sun shoots its sunbeams and lightens the lost soul's face just as his heart feels a little light.

"It's nice. It feels quite nice," Marco whispered to the wind with a small smile forming on his lips.

The falling leaves from the nearby honey locust tree swirl in the air, dancing with the rhythm of each gush of the wind. Its golden sunburst crisps rustling through every waft of the chilly breeze.

***

[1] A Scottish slang translates as: "Oh, keep the head!" which means to stay calm.

[2] It translates as: "These two lads do really seem like wee kids, don't they?"