"Okay, so how about just 10 percent of it."
"Just be nice Mark. Give him 20!"
The dimly lit restaurant was filled with the noise of clattering plates on the mahogany wood tables. Clashing with the soft rock music billowing from the ceiling speakers, Mark Warner was starting to get a major headache that would rival the Greek god Zeus's as he gave birth to six of his offspring. Although, Mark had to admit Zeus only had to deal with that and not the siren of mirror breaking that sat before him, masked with murky brown ponytailed hair and a thin Midwestern accent.
"I'm just saying 10 percent sounds about right.
"Not with what you've done to him. Im surprised he hasn't poisened our food.
"We'll, if he did we wouldn't have to worry about tipping him would we?"
The young woman groaned and rolled her eyes before glaring back at her unfortunate date.
"Can I just say-."
"Look, 10 percent is what he should get." Mark interrupted. "I mean that's all you should get. That pasta was overcooked and-."
"No it wasn't. It was fine." The date interrupted.
"All he did was carry these empty plates over to the kitchen and then he-."
"But it doesn't matter, Mark. He was still nice." She said.
"So was Hitler to Eva Braun. What're you saying?"
The young man in his early twenties. with dark brown, shoulder-length, and barely spiky hair with dark green eyes sighed for what seemed to be the millionth time tonight. After wiping his mouth, he turned his face from looking at an elderly couple diagonally across from them to the displeasured and antagonistic girl in front of him, wearing an annoyed smirk on her face before speaking with an undertone of anger.
"How would you feel if you're parents didn't have this money, and you had to work all day in some stupid bar and grill and just put up with people like you all day. Then you came home and still had some weird equations you had no idea about, and, oh I don't know, maybe your dog gets ringworm or something and decides to vomit everywhere. Wouldn't you like a break somewhere?"
Mark looked up at the crimson red ceiling and took a long drink from his silver cup in front of him. He ticked his tongue a few times and continued to glare at the impatient woman before tersely responding in a monotone voice.
"Well, if it was only people like me in the world we would get along fine. Second, who gives a fuck about math anyway?"
"I'm a math maj-."
"Let me finish! Third, I would never ever get a dog. I can't believe you even suggested that. And finally, that first question is completely hypothetical, so it makes no sense. That's like asking me what I would do if the world was ending."
"And what would you do, Mark?"
"I would go to the top of the Willis Tower, and enjoy the Greatest Show On Earth."
Mark started to rise toward his feet and shifted into his peacock feather blue jacket and buttoned it up before throwing a few dollar bills into the food-crowded table.
"Look, I don't...I just don't feel it. With you. I'm not the best at these things, and I understand our friends have kinda pushed us here, so if we could just pay and leave, we could forget all about this. I think that's how it should be." Mark softly spoke.
The girl bit her lip and rolled her cerulean eyes before taking a long breath. Suddenly, she skidded her chair away from the table and sprung to her feet. She quickly snatched her ivory purse from the rickety dark wood chair and sauntered out of the ostentatious Thai restaurant. A waiter slowly walked towards the table and put on a fake smile, before having it wiped away like a dish rag on a dirty plate.
"She didn't tip you, by the way. Just so ya know. And the pasta was overcooked after all."
Mark's ink black loafers matched the opaque night sky as the light breeze pushed the dancing green leaves across the paper smooth Chicago street. With a quick jostling of his feet, he reached the edge of the street and vigorously waved his arm to stop the yellow taxi cab. Mark pushed himself onto the cool leather seats and barked out his destination.
"518 South Street." Mark clearly articulated to the dark skinned and short-bearded man.
The taxi lurched to a start and rolled its way, weaving trough the busy nighttime tragic like a carp flowing in a slow river. Mark stared out at the bright window displays of Downtown Chicago. Mark's grass green eyes suddenly shot as large as the obscured moon. His breath hitched and he looked back at the burly Indian male.
"I know where I'm going okay."
The driver looked at the rear view mirror with an inquisitive look on his face before questioning the suddenly perturbed man in his care.
"Excuse me where you saying something."
"Oh shit." Mark cursed from under his breath. He shifted his alert gaze toward the window and breathed a little heavier.
"No I'm not. I just forgot something. So just stop telling me what to do." Mark spoke the last sentence quickly as he tried to close his eyes while breathing louder.
"Sir, I don't know what your-"
"It's fine. There's no one beside me." Mark blurted out. "If you could drive faster, it's only seven blocks away."
"There's traffic. I'm sor-"
"Can you just not talk please and hurry. My back's getting tense." Mark shifted around on his seat and unbuckled himself as he stretched his somewhat athletic frame to rest his back on the far side of the cab.
"Sir, you need to buck-"
"Just get to the fucking place. And no talking." Mark ordered.
The driver mouthed an obscenity to himself and pulled to the lane closest to the sidewalk and accelerated down the crowded midtown street. Mark sliced through the silence as he continued to ramble.
"I'm glad you at least care about me. Just don't remind me about that." Mark said.
"Sir, I didn't say anythi-."
"Are you deaf. I told you to shut up"
"Sir, if you don't stop yelling, I'll kick you out." The driver said shaking his hands in front of him in frustration.
"Fine by me! Your the one not getting paid!"
The two plunged into a thick and bitter silence. Mark continued to rub his forehead and suck in air before satisfyingly pushing out a long column of air. Suddenly, Mark tensed up again and shot to an upright position and scanned the inside of the taxi.
"Nero! I said shut up!"
"You know what? Get out." The driver said in a high and strained voice.
"Hell no. It's only two blocks awa-."
"Exactly, you can walk."
"Just...You know what. I'm done."
Mark flung open the door as fast as flickering lightbulb, almost striking a fast walking female in a neon gray tank top. The lady shouted out at him, but Mark shot out of the taxi and pounded his feet onto the pavement the two remaining blocks to the looming light dotted structure that was the Skyfall Condos.
An agitating elevator ride later, Mark stumbled out onto the wide, green carpeted hallway and felt the cool, coffee scented air waft by him as he stunted to room 420.
Mark bolted into his modern, spacious condominium and raced to the stainless steel kitchen. He reached up for the top cabinet and opened the door before flicking his arm in and pulling out a small orange container. He nearly broke the top open and poured out a single red capsule and shoved it into his mouth. He took an empty glass on the counter and drew water from the sink faucet before draining the water into his throat.
"There. I fucking did it Nero. Shut up. And you two! Don't tell me what to do."
A hollow and terse knock ripped through the somewhat placid void of noise. Mark whipped his head straight for the source and pointed at it before continuing to yell.
"No. No ones there. Shut up. There's no one there."
"Excuse me. Mister Warner, I have a delivery for you."
"Fine. I'll open the door, but just to humor you. You'll be gone in a few seconds anyway!"
Mark out his hand on the cool silver metal and closed his eyes as he took another deep breath. His hand had a vice grip on the handle, making his knuckles a cue-ball white before turning it and opening the door.
A middle aged, somewhat portly and balding African-American male in a light blue jacket with matching pants was standing before him with a clipboard facing him. Mark sighed in relief, but he quickly shifted his eyes towards a tall brown box behind the assumed delivery man.
"Oh, I-I'm sorry. I've had a rough night. Uh, what's going on here." Mark said in low voice.
"I just need you to sign this sir," the man said in a placid and deep voice.
"But wait, what is this? Who sent me this? What's going on?"
"It's anonymous sir. The paper says its a gift ordered yesterday from the Flying Mint Bunny Corporation."
"What the hell? Did someone get me a mail order bride or a blow up doll or something"
"Sir, what you do in your spare time is none of my business. Please sign here."
"But this isn't mine. There's a mistake." Mark said while shaking his head and lifting his hands into the air.
"It says your address right. If there's a mistake, you can call the number on the instruction book."
"But I can't take thi-."
"Sir, it's getting late. If there's a mistake, just call the number. please sign here." The delivery man gently spoke.
Mark grimaced at the paper being held towards him and he grunted in frustration as he wrote his name on the paper, which had little on it except a light blue logo and a transaction log of other people.
"Do you need me to roll it in."
"Just to the middle right here."
The man rolled the package to the middle of the large room between a white couch and an empty minibar. He leaned onto the couch and caught his breath before rising back to his feet.
"Okay, call if there's any problems and I'll see you later." The delivery man said as he walked out of the spacious condominium.
"Yeah tha-. Wait. Whaddya mean by late-" Mark was cut off by the closing of the oak door.
Mark stared with his mouth agape at the tall package in front of him. It was a rectangular box roughly two inches taller than him. After a few more seconds, Mark reached for the booklet on top of the package and brought it down to his eyes. He whipped the booklet to the first page, and his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth incredulously opened again. After a second of quick reading, Mark looked at the box again.
"What the hell is an Arthur Kirkland?"
Thank you everybody and welcome to my first foray into the mystical world that we are partaking in today. Being my first story, I would love a mountain of constructive criticism. Also, I want to ask what the first UNIT should be like. Being a Punk version of England, I could imagine he would be different from normal England. Don't worry about lack of characters either. The units will be rolling by the next chapter. A story is a story though, so it needs to be concise and have well thought out characters. Tell me what you think of the main OC so far, and please tell me what you think should happen next. I have a very good path planned out, but suggestions are opened and loved. Thank you.