Chapter III: Your Soul's Obsession
AN:
Hey there, Fan-fic-folks!
Kate's section was a fun write for this one. Her befuddlement was delightful.
Thanks for reading and, as always, please review.
[Chloe]
Chloe walks into the diner.
She moves with purpose, a focus that is lacking in her usual exuberant chaos. Her steps are sure and her eyes are locked on the Man. He tilts his head, curious as ever, and watches as she strides over, purposeful and purpose-lead, to sit across from him in the booth.
They quickly exchange pleasantries - Chloe giving even less attention to them than usual - before she gets down to business. She leans in, and reveals, "I've got a plan."
"You've found a bank?" The Man asks, all interest.
She nods, a hurried thing that betrays the excitement behind the focus. The thrill of finally feeling that moment of achievement and progress on the way to completing the Task and Getting What They Want. The Man wonders what it is to feel this thing, quite regularly.
"Yeah, I got the place, and I got my stuff. I just need a bit of extra cash to get a few last things before I get this shit done."
"Extra cash?" The Man asks, interest growing.
"Yeah. There's this rich fuck at school - Nathan Prescott." She says the name with no small dismissiveness. More than a casual acquaintance, perhaps? "He drinks at this bar out in the middle of nowhere sometimes, so I'm gonna go see what I can get out of him - and maybe get a few drinks. They don't card anyone."
"And how do you intend to do that?"
She frowns in confusion. Slowly, "Go up to the bar and ask for a drink? Be confident enough that they don't think I'm underage and wham. Liquored up."
The Man laughs, "How do you intend to get the money from this Nathan Prescott?"
"Oh. That." She shrugs. "Dunno. I'll see what happens."
"And you think improvisation is the way to go?" The Man offers no element of disapproval or approval, simply a question.
Chloe actually thinks about that for a second before giving a shrug. "Guess I'll find out."
The Man's face splits into a wide smile. "I am quite certain you will."
[Kate]
Kate enters the diner.
She is quiet and quick and darts through the diner like a churchmouse. Do not disturb the air or the people around you. Bow your head, say your prayers, watch the candles. She doesn't make it far, though - the waitress moves to intercept. They have a short conversation, the Waitress' exuberance and Kate's hesitance both brimming as strong as the coffee.
The Waitress. Every minute feels just like the one before, no surprise, no twist, she wants so much more. And yet, she's comfortable. Knows every beep and whine, every beat and step in the daily dance of delivering and dealing with the demands of the dickheads who come in here. The Man likes her. She is excellent with details.
Before he knows it, the conversation is done and Kate is sliding daintily into the booth across from him.
"How are you, Kate?"
She doesn't respond. Blinks a few times, long and slow. "I got... invitations." She says the word like a question, like a meal she's tasting for the first time and isn't quite how she feels. "I've been invited to two parties, a 'gathering', and something called... 'pre-drinks'?" She looks at the Man in utter befuddlement. "I think it's British?"
The Man has no idea either, but he notes it down regardless. Details. Glorious details. "And how do you feel about that?"
"Nervous. Confused. Terrified?" The girl throws up her arms, supplicant for answers from the God she no longer believes in. "I don't even know which one I'm supposed to accept." She eyes the Man, open curiosity - looking for answers in a far closer place.
The Man provides none. "Which one do you think you'd accept?"
She thinks for a long moment. He can see the strain behind the eyes, and makes a note of it. "The 'gathering' is a group of people getting together to play video games. That might be my style." The Man hums in acknowledgement. "I don't even understand what a pre-drink is, but it sounds alcoholic. That might not be good for me. At least at the parties you can dance or talk."
"You said you were invited to two parties?" The Man enquires.
"Um, yes. One from the Vortex Club, the other from the Sports Club - apparently we just won a very important match." She blushes. "I didn't even know we were playing anything. I'm still not entirely sure what game they were playing."
The Man gives a small chuckle. It's a little dry, and almost sounds like he's choking on it.
Kate continues, "I think I heard the Sports Club one will be out on the field - in the mud. I don't think that's, um... my 'scene'." The minute pauses around that last word make her sound like a soccer mom trying out her mastery of her children's slang. "So, it's the Vortex Club - which will probably have even more alcohol and maybe even drugs, I've heard a lot about their parties - or the 'gathering'."
"It sounds like you've thought this through." The Man observes.
Kate laughs. "Not even a little. I've been thinking this all through as I've been talking to you." She flashes a small smile, full of charisma - a charm, and a gift. "It's been liberating, giving the details to you. Almost like Confession."
"I'm not one to judge people for their Sins, Kate. My function is only to provide the tasks. And-" He taps the book. "-to collect the details. I listen."
Kate looks almost offended. "That's what Confession is! It's an opportunity to share, to get the weight off your shoulders and be really listened to."
The Man holds up his hands. "I understand."
He doesn't apologise. She notices, frowns. There's a moment of consideration. Is this really what she wants? Is this really worth it? The moment passes. "Well, I'm thinking I probably need to do this properly. Faith requires action. Sacrifice. I'm nervous about it, but I think I should go to the Vortex Club party. I don't have to drink, but I can dance and enjoy the music." She gives a small laugh. "Maybe I'll hear God in the overproduced techno music."
The Man tilts his head. "Stranger things have happened."
[Mark]
Mark enters the diner.
He's keen. Not in eagerness, but in sharpness. Finely honed and ready to cut. His gaze is surgical, perceiving and processing the world around him into images. Tools for his message, symbols sacrificed on the altar of his ambition. All of it tinged by the madness within, that carefully concealed obsession hiding behind a thin veneer of patter and charm.
Mark sits, his form dominating the other side of the booth like a crouching tiger. The Man is unimpressed, holding unmeasurable fathoms of his own. "I've found one."
The Man's eyebrows raise. "A child who fears the world?"
Mark nods. His voice goes quiet, but not in discretion. His eyes are too distant for that. He's somewhere else, and it's dimming his presence in the room. "Nathan Prescott. Arrogant little toerag. The very image of a pampered prince." He snorts. "The subtext is so fucking obvious. The kid's a pathetic, anxiety-riddled mess. Christ, I don't think there's anything the kid isn't afraid of."
"Interesting. Did you speak with him?"
Mark rolls his eyes. Drawls, "Unfortunately." All the angst of an unwilling educator, tired of the shit of the system.
"About..?" The Man leads, leans in.
Another eyeroll. "His ambitions, his dreams, the usual teacher-student crap. Gave him a little bit of fatherly attention and he ate it up."
"And do you have any plans for where to take things from there?"
Mark shrugs. "He's too fidgety for an apprentice. There's no control, no technique, behind his work. It does have the right vibes, though. Very Guro." A scowl creeps across his face. It was good to see Mark embrace the honesty of the process. Giving the details. They always did, in the end. It was vital. "I suppose I could try mentor him a little. See if there's something to salvage from the clumsy mess he calls a portfolio."
"You seem to be on a good track."
"Is it the right track?" Mark asks.
The Man gives him a look. "That's up to you."
Mark chuckles wryly. "Yeah. Somehow, I knew you were gonna say that." He shakes his head. "Still. I have to take away his fear, right? Stop him being afraid?"
"That's one interpretation, yes."
"That's... for fuck's sake." Mark would slam a hand down on the table, if he wasn't worried about the noise. The Man had no such concerns - the process was far beyond their ceaseless gaze. "Aren't you supposed to tell me what to do?"
"I give the task. How you do it is up to you." The Man repeats. It's an old debate, one that arises with almost every supplicant. They never understand that their decisions, their details are the whole point. If he were to tell them what to do, it would be his task, and not theirs.
Mark grumbles. "Fine. Fine. Be that way, you useless bastard. Fuck it. Until I come up with a better option, that's what I'm going for. Give the little shitfuck waste of space some confidence, give him the proud fatherly experience he craves. If that doesn't work, then-"
"If you complete the task, you will get what you want. There wouldn't be much point, otherwise."
[Rachel]
Rachel enters the diner.
The Man notices immediately how much her light has dimmed. Though he cannot tell if it is the source that is faulty or if others have taken too much of the emanation, borrowed too much of the heat and warmth and left the light cold. Embers come to mind. Dull, glowing stones smoldering in the corpse of a blaze.
She looks tired.
Rachel still greets everyone, still dazzles and delights with smiles and sweetness. But there's a tinge to it now. The Man can't unsee the light flickering. As she sits, he greets her first. "Hello, Rachel."
"Hi."
He blinks. Monosyllabic? That's unusual, for a girl quite as prone to hiding behind words as Rachel is. But that's not his role here. Instead, he sits and he waits. Eventually, Rachel looks up and speaks, "Uncover a Truth, right?"
"Right." He nods.
There's another empty pause, and then, "I'm fucking Mark."
"Mark?" He asks.
Rachel looks about uncomfortably. "Um. Mark Jefferson. The photographer? He came to teach here last year. Have you met him yet?" The Man gives no answer. "Anyway, um." Another um? Fascinating. "He's... interesting." She leans back and her eyes go distant in a way that speaks to recollection. "And he's hiding something - and it's actually something he's lying about, not just a secret he's keeping. That counts, right?"
"That would seem to be uncovering a Truth, yes." The Man acknowledges her question with a nod. Well. Part of it, anyway.
She eyes him. Dimmed lights, and dying fire. "You know what I'm asking."
The Man sighs, and checks the book. He flicks through a few pages, finger running down the rough material as he reads what is contained within. Then he closes it, with a sharp sound. He says nothing, but eyes Rachel pointedly. She gives a sigh of her own, one that wonders why he won't come out to play.
She holds it for a moment, and then her face splits into a grin. The fire crackles just a little bit brighter.
[David]
David enters the diner.
He is furious. It's not a controlled fury, like the Man might've expected from an ex-military grunt like David. He's furious in an almost child-like way, those days when anger leaked out into everything, so strong and so turbulent that you couldn't even hope to direct it. A sure, strong, confusing swirl of emotions and thoughts, tinging everything with that same doubt and disgust no matter the link. Stomping and snarling through all the spaces one inhabits.
He marches over to the Man and slams himself down into the seat across from him. The Man simply tilts his head and watches patiently. Eventually, David swallows - the Man watches the movement of the muscles in his throat - and then he scowls. "This bloody task."
"Not going well?" The Man asks, voice neutral and unprovoking.
David still bristles. "I've put up cameras all over town and there's nothing new."
"You went through with it, then? Your plan to surveil the town?"
"How the hell else was I supposed to do this damn task? See something I don't see." David repeats the instructions for his task with a bitter snark that almost impresses the Man. "I can't be everywhere at once, and I don't have a squad to have my back."
"So, what have you found?"
"Nothing new. The Blackwell Kids are fuck-ups and smackheads and liars, like usual. There's that new girl - Ms Marsh. Thought she might be a good influence, but no. She's off at those Vortex Club parties too, just like the rest of them." He scowls at the mere thought of the girl. "She likes to claim she was drugged, but they all are at these things - playing about with the marijuana and other crap. It's just what they sign up for. Can't believe Wells lets it happen. That kind of thing is exactly what's wrong with this world."
The Man raises an eyebrow. "You're not a fan?"
David scoffs. "I hate this fucking world. Nothing makes sense. Everything is so damn complicated and they're all just liars and layabouts." He shakes his head. "In the army, you'd wake up at a certain time, you'd do what you were told. Everything was so simple. Follow orders, do your job, support your squad. Have their backs." There's an immensely distant look to his eye that feels like David is living a nightmare. "You don't have any fucking instructions at all?"
The Man shakes his head. "I can't tell you what to do. I am here to guide and record, nothing more."
"That's bullshit."
"I'm afraid this process simply doesn't work unless it's your choices, David. It has to be you, or it just doesn't work."
David slumps. "Whatever. I guess I'll keep to the course. See what happens, right?"
"Quite right."
The Man closes the Book.