Marcus hums a tune he'd heard on the radio as he enters the Flea Market.
Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world... She took the midnight train goin' anywhere... Brilliant. Now I'm never getting that damn song out of my head today. Eyeing the wares spread out in the stalls on either side, he smiles and nods to a few of the vendors he recognizes from his frequent visits. Marcus saunters past most of the piles of junk, er, merchandise, as he makes his way toward Mr. MacLeod's stall. The old man usually had a good assortment of scrap metal that Marcus could put to some good use. Besides, the Metalflesh was always on the lookout for any unworked bits of iron he might come across. "Alright, Mr. MacLeod?" Although Marcus heard the man's cronies mostly call him "Mac", he didn't feel comfortable using the diminutive. Especially since he suspected the old fellow wasn't particularly fond of the nickname. "Have anything exciting and new?"