AN: Week 6 of this story. Still Consistently updated. Good. Good.

RISES IN THE EAST

[Mark]

"Bruno! Hey!"

A dark-skinned man turned slowly at being addressed, the potion work he'd been doing momentarily forgotten. "...uh, only employees are allowed on the production floor, so-"

"Very funny." Mark chuckled in what he hoped was a natural way. "I work here. Remember?"

Bruno squinted his eyes. "Mmmmmatt?"

"Mark."

"Mark. Right, right." Bruno tapped his forehead. "Won't ever forget it. So, what do you need?"

"Just hoping to strike up a conversation." Mark slid down to sit beside Bruno, a weak smile plastered on his face. "How about all this work, huh? Crazy."

"Pays the bills." Bruno shrugged, getting back into his work. He thought that was the end of the conversation, but Mark wasn't leaving. "Er, did your seat get moved, or...?"

"No, no. I still sit over there." He pointed away. "I've just, uh, been asking around if anyone wanted to get together. Kind of like a work social, you know?"

"A work social?" Bruno questioned. "Is it mandatory?"

"No, it's just for fun. Just some time to hang out, just for us workers. We can go out to eat or visit the beach."

"The beach? For a work social? That sounds like it'd be exposing a lot of skin." Bruno said suspiciously. "How many people are coming to this thing?"

"I've asked around..." Mark said evasively. "No definites yet, but a few said they might come. So what do you say? You in?"

Bruno's eyes darted. "Suuuuure."

"Great!" Mark pounced on the word, jotting something down in a book. "We can figure out what we're gonna do and when - just think up ideas and we can meet to discuss with everyone else that joins us."

"Sure, yeah. Sounds fine." Bruno nodded, just trying to get rid of Mark. "Can we talk later? I've got a lot of work to do."

"Oh, of course! I don't want to be a pest." Mark backed off. "If you like, we can meet up on the weekend to talk."

"Sure. Sure. Let me, uh, just give you my address." He told him an address which Mark jotted down eagerly. After that, the two parted and Mark went back to his seat.

Yes. I got an assent! He thought to himself. That's one yes, and twelve maybes... and fifty-eight nos.

Ever since what Gian_Perfect had said, Mark's been taking more notice of the people around him. Before, he had disregarded the friendly interactions of large groups as frivolous lollygagging designed to escape work. A hard worker had to keep his nose to the grindstone and not be distracted by such pleasantries. But after seeing Cheswick's funeral and witnessing Gian's influence, Mark had learned that social interactions are necessary. Not just to get ahead, but to feel needed when you're around and missed when you're gone. Mark didn't want to be thought of as useless or nonexistent.

He didn't want an empty funeral.

So far, the only way he could think to be remembered was to first establish social connections with others. He felt awkward and out of place, but he pushed down the burning feeling in his face and went from person to person, inviting them to a social event he was planning. He'd seen Gian do something similar at times, and the girls and friends he surrounded himself with seemed to appreciate it. Mark figured it was worth a try.

The whole rest of the day he used whatever free time he could spare to invite people to the work social. Most of them refused or disregarded Mark (Gian burst into laughter when he saw what Mark was attempting), but he was able to get at least three more yeses before his shift ended. That brought the total up to four yeses, which exceeded his expectations. He smiled genuinely as he jotted down the three new addresses.

Maybe it wasn't too late to forge connections.

It was when he was packing up his stuff and heading to his second job at the resort that he overheard something that made his heart drop like a rock.

"Hey, Bruno. What was that weirdo talking to you about?"

"You saw that? Guy comes out of nowhere and acts like we're buddies. Didn't even know him that well."

Mark, cruelly good at not being noticed, went unnoticed in the corner of the room as his co-workers talked about what a creep he was.

"He wanted to talk later but forget that. I want to hang out with my own friends, thank you."

"I saw him go up to Milly as well. She told me she just said yes to get rid of him. Gave him a fake address and everything."

"I did the same." Bruno chuckled. "Like hell I'm giving a random guy my address. Especially with all the disappearances happening. You never know if a guy like Matt could be the one behind it."

"It's always the quiet, forgettable guys." Another nodded. "The ones you hardly notice."

Mark felt his spirits sink, his hands slackening.

"Co-workers don't gotta be friends. Didn't he get the memo?" Bruno said aloud. "Plus, I figured nobody else would show. What's a guy like that know about partying? Couldn't even call it a party! Called it a work social. Ha!"

"Lame!"

"What a loser!"

Mark slipped out of the room unnoticed and trudged through crowds of people to his second job. When he got there, he threw himself into his work and tried to banish what those people said from his mind.

After work, he went to check out the four addresses he'd been given. He knew it was dangerous to break curfew with the disappearances still going on, and he knew it would be more soul-crushing to learn all the addresses he got were fake, but he had to be sure. He had to know if at least one person was willing to connect.

The first address didn't exist. The second was for a vacant lot on the peninsula. The third was for a boathouse, the fourth for a fish shack on the docks.

They were all fake.

Mark stuffed the book full of fake addresses in the trash, his eyes misting over with tears as he ran home. His chest hurt, unused to exerting himself, but he ran all the way home only to find himself locked out due to curfew. He banged on the door for hours but received no answer from the landlord who could sleep through a hurricane.

Exhausted and defeated, Mark slumped against the door and huddled for warmth as the cold night and the ocean breeze chilled him to the bone. He silently sobbed to himself, alone and unwanted.

After his last disastrous result, Mark tried inviting people from his second job instead. There was a smaller staff at the resort, so maybe someone would feel more of a connection to him and agree to hang out. He even offered to buy, a luxury he couldn't regularly afford to do. Only when he offered free food did people accept, but the conversations were always awkward and forced. Neither Mark nor the person he invited knew what to talk about aside from work. Most of the time, they just ate in silence and said goodbye.

Mark realized he couldn't make connections because he didn't really have any hobbies aside from accounting, budgeting, and working diligently. He followed a routine to and from work and carried over vacation days each year. He was frugal and painstakingly balanced his own paltry earnings, juggling rent and food and amenities. Those weren't the kinds of things you could bond with people over - rather they were real life skills for tax-abiding citizens to follow. Mark was no adventurer. Even his alchemy experience boiled down to doing the same thing over and over until he knew the recipes by heart.

He only footed the bill on three or four occasions before dropping the approach. He couldn't afford it on his salary, and it was less than useless in making befriending opportunities.

He came to see himself as a different type of person. One unable to connect with others through an incompatibility of interests. He had no real interests, so he was of no real interest.

The next couple of days Mark spent doing his work routine, he felt like a ghost, flitting to places just to earn money and exist, yet without all the enjoyment of truly being alive. He was a hollow shell. Empty. And there were others like him, like Cheswick, that had a similar existence. Background characters that were alone but made up the bulk of the workforce. Their presence was most noteworthy as filler. Like the empty spaces used when double-spacing an essay to make it meet the page count, or the vast, dark matter of space that made up the space between the stars.

Mark was dark matter. He was there, but he wasn't there. He lived an unfulfilling life just working, without any recognition - the one thing he craved.

Once he acknowledged that fact, every day felt heavier and hollower. What was the point in paying rent? He only did it to have a place close to work, and he only went to work to make money for food and to pay rent. His reason for working was existing, but just existing wasn't working. He had no passions. He was just living day to day, stuck there, living an unfulfilling life. Nobody remembered him. Nobody needed him. Nobody would miss him.

What... was even the point in sticking around?

He gave a melancholic chuckle.

"I think... I'm just a nuisance to everyone."

Maybe the world didn't need MarkAble.

AN: Low moments are hard to write.