["Friend". He supposes he has made a friend in Arthur, for what else does one call a companion with whom they've crawled out of a pit of hell? It's enough to grant Markus a grin, lips pulling at the edges, not quite reaching his eyes.
Then he steps forward, leading onwards, as he was encouraged to do.
In the distance, slicked heavy with rain, lies a coat hung against a piece of metal jutting up from the ground. The wind makes the material almost snap in the breeze, slick and sluicing water. Likely not in the best of shape, Markus thinks, but when they near his arm reaches out to take it, and he turns to face Arthur.]
Here. Looks like fate overheard our woes about clothing.
no subject
Then he steps forward, leading onwards, as he was encouraged to do.
In the distance, slicked heavy with rain, lies a coat hung against a piece of metal jutting up from the ground. The wind makes the material almost snap in the breeze, slick and sluicing water. Likely not in the best of shape, Markus thinks, but when they near his arm reaches out to take it, and he turns to face Arthur.]
Here. Looks like fate overheard our woes about clothing.
[He offers it to him.]