Chapter II: The Mind's Fixation
AN:
Hey there, Fan-fic-folks!
Finally managed to get all of this ironed out. Made sure their tasks were appropriate and thematic to them in a way that I could work with. Enjoy. :)
Thanks for reading and, as always, please review.
[Mark]
Mark walks into the diner.
Well, the man muses, it would be more accurate to say he storms in. Mark doesn't rage with fire, roaring and consuming, but with thunder. A low rumble rollicks through his chest as his eyes crackle, flicker like lightning - never striking the same place twice. Not until they hit the Man. There his eyes stay as he ignores the rest of the diner as unimportant, clearing the space between them with a few long strides and sitting down forcefully onto the opposite seat.
The Man pauses, blinks, looks Mark up at down, then... "Good day then, Mark?"
Mark simply growls at the Man, taking a moment to collect himself before saying sharply "Your task is bullshit."
While the tone was cutting, the Man simply tilts his head, curious like a puppy, and asks "How so?"
These are the details, after all. Exactly what he wants. No, not wants. Needs. This doesn't work without them sharing the details, so the details are what he needs.
Mark stares at him. His eyebrows raise and he looks every inch a wary target. His eyes narrow, revealing the torrent of analysis going on inside. Lightning may strike briefly to bring inspiration, but the dark, thunderous storm inside him rages with a furious persistence over everything in the town of his mind to find answers. Rain pours into every nook and cranny, covers every inch of every angle of every surface the storm can reach. Mark's analysis may be thorough for the outside, but the interiors, insulated and hidden from the rain's reach, remain unknowable.
The Man makes a note.
Mark sighs. He lifts his hand and kneads at his temple, groaning out, "This task is... impossible. Can't you be any more specific? Half my class are fucking terrified little shits, trying to find one that really fears everything and not just whatever bullshit teenage angst they're going through that day is never going to happen."
"You're going on appearances, then?" The Man makes another note, runs a hand gently across the pages of the Book. "To find fear, I mean?"
Mark looks puzzled. "What other way is there? Kid gets wide-eyed and shaky-handed, he's scared. You don't need to be a genius to spot that."
"Sure, sure. But you said you're only able to identify fear for the moment, yes?" The Man usually doesn't help, but clarification and questioning are permissible. In certain instances.
"Yes..." Mark confirms in a slow drawl. "What's your point?"
"Well, if you've worked out how to identify fear, then you're part of the way there. You need to find a boy who fears the World, remember." Were it anyone else saying it, that might sound like an admonition. It certainly wasn't a question. With the Man's dulcet tones, it was simply an instruction. Remember the Task. Remember the Parameters given. The needed target of the Fear. It wouldn't work, otherwise.
Mark leans back, eyes go distant as the storm rages again. The teacher is dispassionate generally, it seems, but when truly pondering he goes to anger faster than anything else. Is it anger at himself? At the world? At the Task? The Man? Quickly, lightning strikes. "I'll have to talk to them, won't I?"
"How you complete the task is up to you." The Man shrugs. "But it might be a good idea."
Mark sighs. "Damn it."
The Man chuckles, getting an irritable glance from the irritable teacher. "Nobody ever said this was going to be easy."
[Kate]
A girl walks into the diner.
She's diminutive. Not small, not short, but somehow a minimal presence as she stands near the doorway. She's chosen a position close enough for easy retreat, but far away enough that she'd not be underfoot. She holds her shoulders tightly, primly - a trained formality, not an innate one - but her eyes flicker about the place in a way that broadcasts the anxiety her shoulders don't.
The girl is nervous.
The Man wonders what she might want, as he sometimes does. What her choices would be, what she'd say she'd do and what she actually would. He almost doesn't notice as she glides gently into his booth. After a glance around the diner, she relaxes. Odd, that. That she'd relax that visibly with a stranger. He dismisses the thought as she speaks the pass phrase. "I hear the Pastrami Sandwich here is really good."
Hmm. Not quite right, but close enough. The Man lays his hands on the Book and smiles. "Kate?"
She gives a small nod and an almost-as-small smile. She leans in. "You're... him, right?"
"I am who I am." The Man says simply, a small smirk on his face.
She raises an eyebrow. A hand goes to the cross around her neck. "Exodus three fourteen. You're... Christian?"
The Man shakes his head. "No." Another smile. "But it seemed appropriate, under the circumstances. How are you, Kate?"
"I'm fine."
The Man shakes his head again. "No, you aren't. But that's okay. Most people who come to me aren't fine. But they know what they want to make them fine." He tilts his head curiously, looking over the girl. He knows there's something in his eyes as he asks, "Do you know what you want, Kate?"
She stares at him for a second, probably wondering what he knew or what he 'did', then takes a breath. She nods to herself, then begins to speak. "I grew up in a Christian family. We're very close with others in our Church, but I've never really... I've never really had to deal with people outside my faith before."
The Man hmm's, makes a note. "But that's changed?"
She nods. "I've started up at Blackwell, the local arts school? The people there are..." She hesitates before finishing with a lame "Not very Christian." From her expression, she wanted to say more, but restrained herself. Interesting. "It's been tough. I don't... fit there. But it's been having impacts at home, too. I don't fit there either anymore."
She trails off. The look in her eye says she isn't done speaking, but no words come from her.
The Man leans in. "Is that what you want? To... fit in?" He speaks the words surely, but there's an air of befuddlement to them. Like he's forgotten what they mean.
She shakes her head. Slow, sure. "I want to hear God again. At school, at home, I don't care. I just want that feeling of faith back. To have somewhere I can be, without judgement."
The Man leans back again. Ponders. Checks the Book. Meets her eye. "That can happen."
[Rachel]
Rachel walks into the diner.
She walks like she has something inside her, brimming over and wriggling for escape. Hopefully for her, it's something that would satisfy her task. She drops her usual approachable smile and welcoming chatter at each of the booths, greeting her adoring flock, before her brightness focuses onto the Man.
He watches her back. For a moment, lets himself be warmed by her. Only for a moment.
She slides into the booth and flashes a smile. "Hi again."
"Hello, Rachel. How are things?" The Man asks.
"Pretty good. I've gotten some really tasty stuff. Some proper scandalous secrets."
The Man contorts his face into an expression of interest. Something urging her to continue. She takes the opportunity with gusto. Always one to love the spotlight. "The first is from this guy, Drew. He's in my class. Anyway, a few years ago his dad lost his job, something to do with the Prescott takeover of the old fishing company. He got in with a local drug dealer and started selling."
She looks over the Man, eyes wide in supplication. He gives her nothing, merely motions for her to continue. She smirks.
"The second is from this local law enforcement guy. He worked with this criminal to kill his ex-girlfriend."
"And the third?"
"The homeless woman outside the diner. Apparently she's the daughter of a powerful politician from a few decades back. She wouldn't tell me who, but I can get it if you think it's the right thing for the task."
The Man nods gently, scans over his book. A sequence catches his eye and he taps his pen against it, once, twice. Lets it rest. He shakes his head. "I am afraid none of those are satisfactory."
"Seriously? Not even the second one? I thought you'd love that one. It's a totally hidden secret!"
"Your father's secrets are already known enough that they are no longer secrets, but ignorance."
"Shit." Her expression twists into a moue of distaste. Her eyes stare off into the distance.
The Man hmms.
She looks back at him. "I really thought I had that one."
"What were you looking for, when you uncovered these three?"
"Secrets. Stuff people were hiding, not telling anyone."
"And do you consider that to be a truth? That was your task - to uncover a truth."
She tilts her head. "Fair point. So, it's less about something hidden and more about something real?"
"That seems plausible."
She raises a brow. "And oddly appropriate." She gives the Man an evaluating look. "You're very good at not saying much, aren't you?"
He shrugs. "It's a living."
She thinks for a moment, then smiles, brightness back up to full intensity once again. "Fine then. A truth. I'll see what I can do."
"Good luck, Rachel."
[Chloe]
Chloe walks into the diner.
The Man is... surprised. There was nothing planned for the day. He studies her further, noting the pep to her step. She's excited. Something has happened, something she appreciates. He watches her, swaggering in - somehow, her attempts to be furtive come off as even more attention grabbing than normal.
She drops into the booth with a thud and grins broadly at the Man. "Hey dude."
"Hello, Chloe." He responds simply. He temples his fingers together over the Book and waits.
"Sorry for, y'know, comin' without an appointment or whatever. But I got something I wanted to show you and couldn't fuckin' wait." She grins. "It's so cool."
The Man puts on an expression of interest. It's a little worn at the edges.
Chloe glances around, again, somehow seeming all the more suspicious in her attempts to avoid scrutiny, and pulls something from her jacket, hands it to him. The Man looks it over. A revolver. She quickly snatches it back and stows it back into her jacket somewhere. "It's my step-douche's. He's the guy I told you about."
"He kept it in your home?"
"Yeah! In a fucking rack in our garage. Had a whole bunch of the things in there."
"Aren't you worried he'll notice it was gone?"
She scoffs. "Nah. He'll blame me, but he won't be able to find it. I'll keep it stashed outside the house. He can do whatever the fuck he wants, but he won't stop me."
"It sounds like you've planned for everything." The Man smiles, makes a note in the Book.
She laughs. "Well, not quite. Still gotta work on the, y'know, actual bank thing."
"The 'actual bank thing'. Yes." The Man lets out a small laugh. It vanishes in a heartbeat, and his expression turns serious once again. "Have you shot it?"
"No, not yet. Gonna take it up to the junkyard later."
"Ah," The Man smiles again. "Beer bottle shooting range?"
Chloe gives a broad, mischievous grin. "Hell yeah."
The Man chuckles. "I'm glad to hear you have a plan. Pay attention to how it feels to shoot it. I'll be asking about it next time."