AN: Next Chapter is here. This time, from the other side of the coin.
RISES IN THE EAST
The year was 240.
A thin Crafter blinked into wakefulness before yawning and leaning up from his bed.
"Time to start the day."
This was MarkAble. Specifically, MarkAble waking up in his apartment built over the restaurant Rosalio's. All within the coastal kingdom of Oak Docks.
MarkAble, or Mark as he preferred, was, in every definition of the term, a background character. An average nobody. MarkAble the Unremarkable. The only striking thing about him was his magenta hair. Other than that, he hardly had any presence and was regularly overlooked in favor of flashier, more personable, and more outgoing Crafters. He was an eight digit Crafter, clocking in at the Origin at twenty-four-million four-hundred-and-forty-eight-thousand two-hundred-and-eighty-seven.
As said before, Mark had magenta hair with curtain bangs at the front and neck length hair at the back. He wore a simple black and magenta shirt, light blue jeans, magenta backpack and belt (grafted on as is with all Crafters), and black and white dress shoes. He had dead, dark gray eyes, and a tired, weary face born from doing repetitive, routine tasks over the course of several years. That wasn't to say he hated routine, however. On the contrary, he reveled in the routine, optimizing his actions, knowing what to do and expect every day, and getting his regular week down to an exact science. Enough for him to juggle two jobs and a belligerent, miserly landlord.
*BANG BANG BANG*
Speaking of which.
Mark slid out of bed and trudged to the door, passing his open kitchenette and table before peering through the slits and grimacing. He cracked open the door.
"Mr. May-"
"Your rent is due, Matt."
Mark fought back a retort and kept his cool. "It's Mark, Mr. Mayhew, and I believe I have until the end of the week to pay the rent."
"You like cutting it close? Why not pay me now while I have you?"
"You'll have me four days from now. You know where I live. Besides, I won't have the money until Friday."
Mr. Mayhew narrowed his eyes. He was a grumpy, portly tightwad who couldn't be bothered to remember Mark's name - not that anyone could - but he was also the landlord and owner of the restaurant allowing him residence. Despite the overpriced rent, living over Rosalio's was the best location between Mark's two jobs, so he kept his insulting observations about Carl_Mayhew to himself and kept things polite. The landlord couldn't trip him up or weasel money out of him early anyway. He wouldn't get an emerald until the scheduled Friday, like always.
"Just don't forget, Matt." He threw out warningly (because he had to have the last word, and the wrong last word at that) before he was forced to back down. It was like one month without rent would kill him. Mark wished he had other tenants to hassle, but, unfortunately, it was just Mark. The restaurant only had the one apartment above it.
Mark quietly shut the door and proceeded with his morning routine.
First, a humble breakfast of cooked fish and an apple. Other kinds of meat were more expensive, but cooked fish was easy to come by just by walking five meters to the water and going fishing. Thus, it was well within Mark's budget. He ate quick and didn't bother packing a lunch. The cafeteria at work would serve food for free, and it would further save him some emeralds.
He gathered his work stuff and slipped out of his apartment and down the narrow stairs into Rosalio's busy restaurant. The smell of cooked meat was powerful and tantalizing, but Mark wouldn't order food there. It was common knowledge that restaurant food cost more than cooking your own meals. He wasn't about to exceed his budget. He exited the restaurant and onto the wooden docks that acted as streets in the Docks district of the kingdom.
Of the ten kingdoms - nine not including Nitebane - Oak Docks was paradoxically considered to be the biggest as well as the smallest. To understand that distinction, one must look into the kingdom's geography.
The first king at the time, C418, sought a kingdom by his beloved ocean, and thus settled on the eastern peninsula, dangerously close to Minecraftia's deadly Border. Touching the Border meant instant death, and there wasn't much land to the peninsula to settle. As a result, C418 built out into the water, taking the ample supply of lumber from the peninsula - and later the Jungles of Jolin - and processing it into sprawling docks and piers that extended along the coast.
Since Oak Docks' territory on the peninsula was admittedly small, there was no place for the villages or hamlets typical of most kingdoms. Instead, it was like all the small start-up communities banded together to make one giant capital city with various districts. So it was the biggest in terms of having the largest capital city, but the smallest in terms of not having any villages or hamlets. The whole kingdom was confined to that narrow peninsula.
Currently, the kingdom is split into three distinct districts. The Docks, where homes and structures are built on the water and docks act as streets, the Canals, where homes are built on raised platforms intermixed with waterways and inlets, and the Cuore, which consists of the peninsula and the beaches. Each district is home to respective businesses and services, with resorts being chief amongst all others. One of Mark's jobs was in the Docks district, the other in the Cuore district.
However, the kingdom had been facing problems economically.
Oak Docks is the perfect vacation spot. Warm sands, cool waters, the salty smell of the ocean, impeccable seafood. It's lovely, and not many locations in Minecraftia have beachfront property.
The problem, however, is getting to Oak Docks. The Eastern Ocean is swarming with voracious Guardians that patrol the waters regularly. Crossing from the mainland to the peninsula is no easy task. C418 and the original settlers had to cross by boat up to the north, where the icy waters were uninhabitable for the aquatic Mobs. It was only later, around the year 127, when a mass migration was made possible by the king's legendary chainmail leggings that could freeze the water he walked on. The strait of ice he created enabled a massive influx of Crafters and Testificates to Oak Docks.
Then the Hackers attacked.
No one knew who or what they were, or how they had access to dark, eldritch powers, but once they laid siege to eight of the nine kingdoms, they became impossible to forget. The Hackers killed nearly every kingdom's ruling king, including Oak Docks' C418. When he died, the Hackers took the chainmail leggings as a trophy.
So there was no way for large groups of people to come in anymore. People could still make the voyage, like the original settlers, or else come up with innovative ways to cross. Mark himself made it over with a group of alchemists who used dozens of Water Breathing and Night Vision potions to just walk along the ocean floor. It could be done.
It just didn't have the numbers Oak Docks' resort business was hoping for.
Oak Docks had a Plan B, though, since enough people complained. It was the shadow of Plan B that Mark passed under as he made his way to work.
The Cadboro Bridge: A massive construction project with the sole aim of bridging the ocean and connecting the peninsula to the mainland. It would be the largest manmade structure in Minecraftia, and the people of Oak Docks were eager to see its completion.
However, the project was facing numerous delays and setbacks due to unknown assailants sabotaging, raiding, burning, exploding, and otherwise destroying the project. There were never any witnesses left alive to report on the unknown assailants, but the bridge was always messed up the next morning.
Oak Docks' officials were so fed up with the sabotage that they opted to build the bridge out of obsidian. Difficult to procure, but near impossible to demolish. It would take an army of miners with diamond pickaxes just to put a dent in it. They took lava from the Nether and cooled it into obsidian with ocean water, reinforcing the wooden bridge with it. It was mostly obsidian, so progress was finally being made, but that progress was slow. If the bridge wasn't meant to be built to last, they never would have resorted to this. However, once the bridge was finished, vacationers and emeralds would flow into the kingdom like lifeblood and usher in an age of prosperity for its inhabitants.
Mark gave the bridge a passing glance before continuing his walk to work at a brisk pace.
Mark arrived at the Brawfire Brewery five minutes early, as scheduled. Just enough time to check himself over and sign in.
"Morning, Matt." The receptionist greeted.
"My name is Mark, Sally." Mark stressed with a sigh. Sally didn't even acknowledge the correction before he swept past the lobby and into the hallway leading to the production floor.
Mark was the most productive and consistent alchemist working at the brewery. Like his daily routine, he had potion making down to an exact science. He knew all the ingredients and all the potions needed from day to day. Working at the brewery for twenty odd years had that ingrained into him.
While Mark was walking down the hallway, he spotted someone putting up a sign on the notice board. The sight made him stop cold. Mark recognized the perfect blond hair and gleaming teeth immediately.
It was Gian_Perfect.
Mark tried to avert his eyes to avoid a meeting but failed when he was called out.
"Matt! Hey, bro!"
"It's Mark." The alchemist sighed as he found himself trapped in a conversation. "Hello, Gian."
"Sorry, sorry." He apologized carelessly as he walked up to him. If there was anyone Mark despised interacting with, it had to be Gian_Perfect.
Gian was Mark's opposite in every way. Handsome and charismatic. An extrovert. Great with people. Charming with smooth, tan skin and deep blue eyes. Muscular.
Also lazy. He worked at the brewery as an alchemist, just like Mark, but his production numbers were horrible, unlike Mark. And was it any wonder why? He would inefficiently waste his time chatting up his neighbors and talking about the most pointless of things. Even now, he was clogging the hallway and putting up a notice for a party he was hosting. A party his many friends and admirers would undoubtedly flock to like a bunch of pigeons. By all accounts, his lousy work ethic should have gotten him fired years ago. The only thing saving him was his charisma with the boss. The two were on terms so friendly that nothing short of a costly blunder could cost Gian his job. He could just coast along, do the minimum amount of work, and everybody would be fawning over him as an exemplary employee.
Mark couldn't stand it. He worked his ass off to complete his potion production quotas consistently - as did many other employees - yet Gian was allowed to skate by on his looks and personality? It was blatant discrimination in the workplace.
Also, he was a poser. Who names themselves 'Perfect'?
Bottom line, Mark didn't like him and made every effort to avoid him at work. Or try to, anyway.
"I was wondering if you wanted to come to this party I'm hosting." Gian offered with a smile that could charm the pants off anybody other than Mark. "It's scheduled for the weekend, but, before you ask, it's well within curfew, so no chance of anyone going missing."
Right. Because of the disappearances that occur this time of the year, late at night. Hence, the strictly mandated curfew.
"Will I know anyone?" Mark asked, feigning interest.
"Of course. Sally, Betty, Chris, Lauren, Jenna, Paul, Barry. You know them."
"So it's a workplace party?"
"That's right. We're booking the dock at Nellie's and we need at least thirty people to chip in five emeralds apiece."
Ah. There's the catch. Mark thought. He's only inviting me to fulfill the occupancy. I also have to throw in emeralds for a party where I'll essentially be a wallflower and watch enviously as Gian gets all the attention.
"Sorry, Gian, but I'm a little strapped for cash." Mark already had his excuse. "My rent's due Friday and I really need to save the emeralds."
"Aw, bummer." He deflated slightly before recovering. "Well, let me know if you change your mind. And spread the word." He patted the notice. "This party is set to rock the docks!"
"I'll be sure to do that." Mark lied. "Now, if I can get through to work, please?"
"Oh, sure." Gian stepped aside and allowed Mark to pass. "Catch you later, Matt."
"...Mark. It's Mark. Is Mark so hard?" Mark muttered angrily to himself as he strode onto the noisy production floor.
The production floor of the brewery was a large room with long rows of wooden tables with brewing stands. There were also chests containing potion ingredients and self-replenishing wells to siphon water. The place was near packed as the last of the brewery's employees filtered in. Mark strode down the long tables and sat at his designated seat besides his coworker Cheswick. Cheswick was like Mark; Disciplined and reliable. A hard-working alchemist. The two got along fairly well, and they shared a brief greeting before settling in for the morning shift to begin.
Work at the brewery followed a set schedule. First, the morning shift, from morning to noon, where the alchemists would use their brewing stands to brew the day's potions. There would be a short lunch break at noon, and then the afternoon shift would begin, ending sometime between noon and sunset. Then everyone would go home, or to their second jobs like Mark.
Each day had different potions to release based on the similar ingredients required to make them. Monday was Invisibility and Night Vision. Tuesday was Swiftness, Slowness, and Leaping. Wednesday was Weakness, Strength, and Regeneration. Thursday was Water Breathing and Fire Resistance. Friday was Poison, Harming, and Healing. Adding to the complexity of the brewery's requests, certain potions needed to be higher tier, longer lasting, throwable, or a combination of the three using the respective glowstone dust, redstone dust, and gunpowder. It didn't help matters that redstone was in short supply. Importing from Daymonte would be an option once the bridge was finished.
First step was the base. Water was bottled into glass bottles and then set to boil on the brewing stand with a nether wart. This would make the Awkward Potion that all quality potions originate from.
Since it was a Monday, Mark would follow up with a golden carrot from the ingredient bins. This would make the Potion of Night Vision. For the Potion of Invisibility, Mark would simply have to add a fermented spider eye - a combination of a spider eye, sugar, and a brown mushroom - to the Night Vision potions to make Invisibility potions. After that, he'd focus on the minute qualities with the glowstone dust, the redstone dust, and the gunpowder, though, in the case of Monday's potions, it was impossible to improve the tier of Night Vision or Invisibility with glowstone dust. The same could be said for Thursday's Fire Resistance and Water Breathing. All Mark could do was extend the duration (which most customers wanted) or turn them into splash potions (which really only saved time).
Mark worked quietly and diligently. Like Cheswick beside him, he never allowed himself to get distracted and completed each stage of the potion-making process with top-quality efficiency.
After twenty years of work, Mark found that the best way to pass the time was to keep yourself busy. Time only dragged when there was nothing to do, and, while others would complain about the hefty workload, Mark was content to follow the recipes and routines until it was time to clock out.
After several dozen perfectly crafted Invisibility and Night Vision potions, it became noon and the note block for lunchtime sounded. Most of the production floor scraped out of their seats and made a beeline for the cafeteria to be first on line for food. Others, including Mark and Cheswick, were slower to get up and amble out, stretching their lower backs from an extended period of sitting.
Lunch was cold mushroom stew and stale bread, but Mark ate it without complaint, used to the bland flavors. Food was fuel and free food was free fuel. Hunger Meters were just a tank that needed filling to avoid starving to death.
Mark had trouble eating in peace when Gian_Perfect was loudly promoting his party in the middle of a group of people. People were already RSVPing.
"You heard about his party?" Cheswick asked.
"Yup."
"You thinking of going?"
"Nope."
"Could be fun."
"Could be a lonely waste of money." Mark spared Cheswick a glance. "Are you going to go?"
"Not sure yet." Cheswick sounded undecided. "I know it's not my thing, but I get so envious watching Gian attracting people like he does. I want what Gian's got. Can't do that if I don't break out of my shell. Definitely won't get a girlfriend."
"You'd need a whole other personality, not just breaking out of your shell." Mark told him bluntly. "Guys like Gian are like the sun. They're warm and bright and they draw people in, like moths to a flame. I'm sure there's hard work involved in being personable and charming, but the hard work we put in is more towards doing our due diligence and making money responsibly. If he's the sun, we're the moon. We only shine off his reflected splendor. We're cold, but we light up the night. We're worlds apart, like night and day. We can never be like Gian."
"So then what about girlfriends?" Cheswick asked.
Mark tilted his bowl back and drank some soup before washing it down with a bottle of water. "You make enough money, prove yourself a reliable breadwinner, then find a woman who's looking for security rather than charm. That way you won't need to be personable or handsome. Bing bang boom."
"It's that easy, huh?"
"Sure. Look, money makes the world go round, and it's hardworking Crafters like us who get recognized and rewarded. Those girls may flock to Gian now, but what happens when he's jobless with bills coming out of his ass? You think the girls will stick with him on the streets - or docks? No. Women want someone reliable. Dependable. Responsible. That's a real man."
"...Yeah. That's right! You're right! That's us to a tee!" Cheswick responded energetically. He was able to eat his stew and bread with gusto. "Mm! Why was I worried before? I'll have loads of time to find a nice girl once I've secured a high-paying position. I'm gonna try and pitch my bottle idea to Mr. Brawfire again. That'll get me noticed!"
Right. Cheswick's idea to have customers recycle the bottles of drinkable potions back to the brewery. They'd save on glass in exchange for a percentage off potion purchases. For companies and guilds buying the potions wholesale, it would be a far better deal. It was really quite a brilliant idea. Mr. Brawfire only turned it down because he was against discounted merchandise.
"You should do it. It's a good idea." I encouraged, finishing up my stew and setting the leftover wooden bowl aside. Cheswick stacked his on top of mine when he was done.
"What about you? What kind of girl are you looking for?"
Mark made a noncommittal noise. "Honestly, I've been so focused on earning a promotion and keeping my head above water that I haven't given it any real thought. Once I have a secure, well-paying position here, I'll feel comfortable to really think on it... but if I had to choose," his eyes slid to several of his female coworkers as they ate, not too long to be creepy or unprofessional. "I suppose having someone who needs me would be nice."
"Someone who needs you? What?"
"Yeah. Just to feel needed... being so dependable to have someone leaning on me and trusting me. To be important to someone - that sense of pride and gratification. That's what I'm looking for." Mark nodded. "I'd want someone who can depend on me."
"That sounds more like a you quality than a her quality."
"Maybe I'm explaining it wrong, then." Mark scratched his head. "Like, she can do things herself... but she's not afraid to come to me for help. The opposite of pride. Humility? I want someone who's humble? No. Someone who's... devoted? Who can't live without me? No, that's not it either. It's hard to put to words." He frowned before giving up. "Ah, maybe it is a me thing. I want someone who can acknowledge my worth."
"Ah. Izn't zhat what all partnerz do?" Cheswick replied poetically with a thick accent. What even was that accent?
According to Mark's internal clock, lunch was over. The note block rang a second after he decided that, and everybody in the cafeteria scraped out of their chairs, threw away the remnants of their lunch, and went back to brewing potions.
At the end of the day, Mark hurried out of the hallway to get to his second job when he was stopped by the boss, Erik_Brawfire.
"Matt, what's happening?"
"Mark, sir."
"What? Oh. Right. Anyway." Mr. Brawfire soldiered on by taking a book out of his belt. "I've noticed something odd about your requests for vacation time."
"That can't be right, I've never taken a vacation day."
"That's the problem." Mr. Brawfire held up the book. "You haven't taken any of your allocated vacation time in twenty years."
"Well, I'm a hard worker, sir, looking to climb the corporate ladder-"
"Are you aware that you're required by kingdom law to take vacation time?" Mr. Brawfire interrupted Mark's attempt at painting himself as a promotable employee. "It's because of all the resorts. Giving employees time off helps breathe life into the resort industry. They're serious about it, and I've got you and Chester skimping out and making me look like a slavedriver."
"You mean Cheswick, sir?"
"That's what I said. But back to the matter at hand." He held the book open to Mark. "You need to use up your accrued vacation time - or at least put a dent in it - by the end of this year or else I'm gonna have the kingdom officials breathing down my neck."
Mark couldn't believe he was getting reprimanded for working too hard. He never wanted to cause trouble. He just wanted to prove himself an outstanding worker. He never used or abused sick days - unlike Gian_Perfect - and kept his vacation days saved in case he needed them, or an accident happened. One never did, but he preferred being prepared.
"...Fine. How many vacation days do I need to take?"
"Fifteen days. That's three weeks."
"What am I supposed to do for three weeks?"
"I don't know, and I don't care. Just count yourself lucky there's limited carry-over or else you'd be taking a hundred days off."
"What happens if I don't take the vacation time before the year is out?"
"Then I have to pay for allegedly withholding your vacation time. Triple salary for every vacation day, which I will not stomach, thank you very much, so schedule your vacation time sooner than later. Or else."
"Ugh. Yes, sir."
"I mean it, Matt. Take time off... or you'll have plenty of time off in the unemployment office."
With that parting threat, Mr. Brawfire returned to his office, leaving Mark to look over his head and ponder if he named himself 'Matt' when he first spawned. He also pondered what he could possibly do with three weeks of vacation time considering he'd still have to work his second job. He pondered on this on his way out of the Brawfire Brewery and towards the Cuore district of the kingdom. Specifically, the beaches where the resorts lay.
The Royale Resort. It wasn't the best, but it wasn't the worst either. It was one of the countless vacation spots with an average rating. Mark worked there as a part-time accountant, helping to balance the resort's fickle budget. Sounds like easy, boring work, but Mark once had the misfortune of covering up a solid gold pool statue as a tax write-off. The paperwork involved took four weeks to process and the kingdom's financial office was still keeping tabs on the place.
Of course, there was also the more mundane things, like allocating the resort's budget towards commodities like wool cloth towels, food, boats, beds, drinks, ice, and other things. It was tough when income was low, but that would all change the second the Cadboro Bridge was finished. Mark just had to help keep the resort above water for a while longer.
Mark reached the resort close to sunset and wasted no time getting to the small, windowless side room designated as his workspace. He found the spot he left off at last time and got started freeing tied up funds to keep the place in the black.
There was a simple framed clock ticking along the wall that was the only sign of time passing in that windowless office. That and the temperature drop as sunset turned to night and the ocean breeze swept past the beach and into the resort.
Mark briefly considered taking his vacation at the Royale Resort and saving travel time to continue his part-time work, but ultimately ruled it out for being too costly.
Mark was fairly sure his accounting work and the kingdom's care packages pumping money into the resort industry were the only things keeping the place going, yet he never received any recognition for his work. He worked hard, but he was also confined in this dinky office, if you could even call it that.
He wondered how the resort would do if he ever took a vacation away from them.
All too soon, time flew by and became evening. Mark got up and marked his place in the accounting book before leaving it in his chest and exiting. As he was making for the door, he spotted a group of four of his resort coworkers. Three of them were female with only one male among them, a masseur. They spotted me instantly.
"Hey! Uhhh..." One trailed off, squinting.
"Mat - I mean Mark!" Mark corrected himself. Lord C418 above, he even had to correct himself now. "My name is Mark."
"Right, my bad. Anyway, we overrun. Would you mind walking us to the Docks? Safety in numbers and all." A different one proposed.
She was referring to the disappearances. For the past fifty years, maybe a little longer, Crafters had been going missing late at night. It was always the same time late in the year. Mark even recalled some missing persons fliers hanging in the Canals District. No trace of the missing Crafters was ever found, Head or otherwise, and the guards were stumped on leads.
All the kingdom could do was issue a curfew this time of year. Every citizen was to be in their home or indoors after midnight. The guards patrolled the districts and arrested anyone still out on suspicion of causing the disappearances. Having a curfew helped limit the number of people disappearing, but people still didn't feel safe this late in the year. Even in the brief window before curfew, people were scared of being out alone. Hence, why Mark's coworkers were requesting to walk home as a group. Larger groups were less likely to be targeted, according to the guards.
"Not sure what good I'll be, but sure, I'll go with you." Mark agreed. He was going back to the Docks anyway, and he didn't want to get caught alone at this time of night.
The temporary band of five set out quickly to make it back before curfew. They chatted as they walked, though they kept their eyes peeled on every dark shadow they saw.
"Thanks again, Matt. My neighbor went missing last week, so I'm pretty spooked."
"Hm." Mark didn't bother correcting her.
"I lost my friend three years ago. It's scary how anyone can just get whisked away."
"If you ask me, the guards aren't doing their job right. They have no culprits for the bridge sabotage, and they have no culprits for this. Crafters don't just vanish."
"Do you think they're really dead?"
"Probably." Mark said bluntly, his honesty hurting those who lost people. "Some have been missing for fifty years. Plus, with the disappearances occurring the same time each year, it's too unusual. There being no evidence left over is even more of a sign that they're dead. Someone is spiriting Crafters away."
He didn't mean to be a pessimist. He was just being realistic. What good would giving them hope do?
Maybe if he was the sun like Gian, he'd have the perfect most charming thing to say, but that wasn't Mark. He couldn't give empty promises. He was a man of substance... even if he was often overlooked and nobody remembered his name.
All further discussion about the disappearances ceased so as not to jinx the group as they made their way to the Docks district. The ocean breeze made it colder than ever, but Mark hunched his shoulders and bore it without complaint. One by one, the members of the group were dropped off at their respective homes, with Mark being the second to last to go. He slipped into Rosalio's, went up the stairs, and was safely ensconced in his meager apartment. Well before curfew.
Since it was late, he didn't eat much for dinner. That too was part of his money-saving routine. He'd have a big breakfast in the morning, but, for now, he settled for a piece of cooked fish. After that, he indulged in his side hobby of cataloguing his day in his journal. Mark always wrote his daily events down, just to keep all the fond memories and revisit them in his later years. Maybe when he had a lucrative job and a significant other. His last twenty years was transcribed across thirty-six journals and safely tucked away in a double chest in the corner. He was now on his thirty-seventh. He concluded today's entry with a flourish of his quill before closing the book and stifling a yawn.
At midnight, he glanced out the window as if he'd spot the culprit behind the disappearances. He was relieved to find nothing. The chances of him being taken out of all of Oak Docks' citizens was pretty low. Mr. Mayhew lived above the restaurant too, and he was just as likely to get spirited away.
Mark banished it from his mind as he swished water in his mouth to wash it before going to bed. He drifted off in no time, ready to start his routine anew in the morning.
Tuesday.
Mark woke up with a yawn.
Breakfast of cooked fish and apple.
Walked to work.
Tuesday was Swiftness, Slowness, and Leaping. The demand for Slowness was in splash potions, and Swiftness and Leaping needed to be tier II with maximum duration.
Lunch break with Cheswick. Mushroom stew and bread from the cafeteria.
Resumed work.
Clocked out and moved on to Sunspot Resort.
Continued daily budgeting. Made requests for supplies.
Got back home before curfew and enjoyed a light dinner before writing in journal, washing up, and going to bed.
Wednesday.
Woke up.
Breakfast of cooked fish and an apple.
Slipped past Mr. Mayhew.
Avoided Gian_Perfect's invitation.
Made the day's potions. Weakness, Strength, and Regen.
Took lunch. Mushroom stew and bread. Chatted with Cheswick.
Finished work. Left for second work. Finished that. Went home. Light dinner. Journal. Bed.
Thursday.
Same old breakfast.
Same old work. Water Breathing and Fire Resistance this time. No glowstone required.
Same old lunch with Cheswick.
Same old second job at the resort.
Same old walk back to the same old home for the same old light dinner.
Wrote in journal.
Went to bed. Rinse and repeat.
Friday.
Breakfast.
Brewery. Poison, Harming, and Healing. No redstone dust needed for Harming or Healing.
Lunch with Cheswick.
Got paid before clocking out.
Resort.
Got paid before clocking out.
Home. Paid rent to the impatient Mr. Mayhew standing guard outside the door.
Light dinner. Jornal. Wash up.
Bed.
Saturday and Sunday were time spent restocking on food and handling tedious chores, like cleaning or keeping tack of savings. The tedious tasks made time fly by, though, and the weekend was over in a blink. It gave Mark time to plan when to take his required vacation days. He still didn't know what he'd do on this vacation, but he at least knew when he would be off work.
The alchemist was vaguely reminded of Gian's weekend party, but he quickly dismissed any idea of going. With his lack of presence and poor socializing skills, he would just be a wallflower and not have fun.
Instead, he ate a fancy - for him - dinner of cooked potatoes and carrots before jotting down in his journal and going to bed early. The weekend was meant for rest, after all, not partying.
Monday again. A new week.
Woke up.
Breakfast.
Leisurely walk to work.
Morning shift potions. Invisibility and Night Vision.
Lunch with Cheswick.
Afternoon shift.
Walked to Sunspot Resort.
Balanced the resort's budget.
Walked back home.
Light dinner.
Journal.
Bed.
Tuesday.
Breakfast.
Avoid Mr. Mayhew.
Brewery.
Swiftness, Slowness, and Leaping.
Lunch with Ches-
...
Cheswick was absent.
Mark felt a disturbance in his routine as he sat up straight and glanced around the cafeteria. Cheswick hadn't been in when work started either, Mark's neighbor on the production floor noticeably missing. Like Mark, Cheswick never took sick days or vacation days. However, considering Mr. Brawfire was coercing workers into using their accumulated vacation time, maybe Cheswick merely chose today to take off.
Then again, there were the disappearances to consider. What if Cheswick went missing?
Mark didn't feel comfortable throughout lunch, and that disturbance followed him the rest of the day.
Wednesday.
Breakfast.
Jog to the brewery. Got there ten minutes early.
When the morning shift began, Mark noticed Cheswick was absent again.
Mark skipped lunch to talk to Sally at the reception desk.
"Hey, Sally, sorry to bother you, but did Cheswick submit time off? I didn't see him today or yesterday."
"Cheswick...?"
Mark couldn't believe the flash of confusion on the receptionist's face. "Our coworker. Cheswick. Ring any bells?"
"Oh, wait, do you mean Chester?"
"We don't have a Chester working here."
"Oh. Um." The receptionist panicked and looked to her papers for answers. "Uh, nobody named Cheswick submitted vacation time. Sorry, Matt."
"It's Mark - are names tough to remember?" He asked.
"S-Sorry."
Mark groaned at her uselessness before pushing off and returning to what was left of his lunch break.
Thursday.
No Cheswick again.
Mark was starting to get worried. If his coworker didn't submit vacation time and was absent, it was likely he had been spirited away between Monday and Tuesday. With disappearances being so common, he wondered why the brewery wasn't looking into it. Then again, the receptionist was an incompetent who couldn't even remember Cheswick's or his name.
It broke routine, but Mark skipped his lunch break again to visit the brewery records for Cheswick's home address. As he scoured the shelves of chests, he noticed Gian_Perfect and one of his female coworkers hastily departing from behind some shelves. Mark caught a flash of skin from the woman and they both looked flushed... and satisfied. They smelled of sweat and sex.
Mark didn't comment and hid his presence until they left. "Unprofessional." He spat before finding Cheswick's address and jotting it down. He'd visit it on the weekend.
Friday.
There was an unwelcome surprise at work.
Not just Cheswick being absent again and nobody noticing or caring about it but Mark, but Gian_Perfect was getting promoted to Vice President of the Brawfire Brewery.
Apparently, he had come up with a revolutionary idea to recycle potion bottles from customers in exchange for a discount on further purchases.
In other words, it was Cheswick's idea that he pitched over a dozen time to Mr. Brawfire without success. Here, coming out of Gian's mouth, it was worthy of a promotion.
Mark felt bile rise in his throat as he watched Gian shake hands with Mr. Brawfire and accept the adulation of his peers. It couldn't have happened to someone more charming. A bright, happy face for the brewery.
Mark recalled how Gian was messing around with a coworker the day prior. He didn't deserve that promotion.
In a rare occurrence, Mark used a vacation day with the excuse of not feeling well and departed the brewery early. He couldn't stand to be there right now. Not with Gian being praised for an idea that was ignored coming from Cheswick.
With his schedule free, Mark decided now was the best time to check in on Cheswick. With his address in hand, he hurried along the docks.
AN: By now, you probably realize how Chapters are going to be structured. Teal and Mark swap stories each week. Teal will be the odd Chapters, Mark will be the evens.
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