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Godfrey Gao for Jmen  Magazine

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kingsley.:

The carnival has divided the town into two, if even in silent ways. One side optimistic enough - or naive enough, Kingsley would argue - to believe that neon lights and spinning carts is enough to support Maurice. The others, left with a bitter laugh at the sight. At the blatant distraction set up here, under the guise of ‘charity’. The thief, of course, aligned himself with the latter. Who would he be if he didn’t know little tricks like this? 

Yet he’s here, for as indifferent as he may be, he isn’t cruel. Someone’s father has gone missing, after all ( someone he knows well, but nevermind that ). That, he at least has an inkling of understanding of, even if his own circumstances came with an uglier twist. And then came the cold splash –

On another night, he’d be slightly annoyed at his now soaked shirt. But Kings’ gaze lands on none other than the congressman, and he’s quick to rearrange his features into a smile and an apologetic laugh to match ( fake, fake, fake ). “Oh no, don’t worry. You can keep your reputation pristine for free. I won’t tell the press you’re this clumsy,” he jests. Quite the contrary, really. He imagines there’s more benefits to being on Lincoln’s good books. So he cocks his head, a polite curiosity to his tone as he asks, “So how’s your night been, anyway? Feeling inspired?” Hopeful, cheery – whatever it is this carnival aims to achieve, he has no clue.

Nothing goes on in this town without Lincoln knowing, it’s the beauty of being one of the most powerful men there. Whether it’s his politician side or the other, nothing and no one escapes his attention. He fancies himself a god and a king, ruling and watching people scatter themselves around in ways that screamed desperation to him. If he thinks hard enough, he can remember a time where he was like one of those ants, moving in a beeline to prove himself worthy of where he was now.

And Kingsley is no different. Lincoln knows of his reputation, a thief, a con artist, a man who was certainly skilled with both his hands and his words. But what did a god need with a common thief like him? One that didn’t even steal for a greater reason, no less. Kingsley didn’t take for the sake of achieving things, he did so for wealth and to a man that had everything, it was laughable.

“However can I repay you for sparing my hard-earned good character?” He asks, jokingly as he peers at the boy before him. He’s teasing, of course, he knows that Kingsley isn’t in a position to ask him of anything. Lincoln, however, is. The thought to spare him is fleeting, especially when he asks him a probing question that he finds more entertaining than anything. “A little lackluster, if we’re being honest. I can be honest with you, right?” He lets him take the bait for a moment, craning his head one way as he watches him curiously. “Actually... I need something taken care of for me. How about a small exercise in trust?”

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markus.:

“No need, no fuss,” Markus replied, knowing that man had far more dollar bills to offer than a dry cleaning expense. If anything, the bartender could acknowledge that the politician had, and would, contribute to his monthly rent. The extra cash warranted to stay quiet wasn’t anything new at this point. 

But despite the transactions, silence screamed louder than words. 

Knowing eye contact, respectful nods, hands accepting bribes. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Markus knew the drill, he had trained his mind to constantly follow it. Behave a certain way to lose the attention of the Creator. Make people think twice about interacting with him – the madman that conducted secret tea parties during his free time. 

Would you dare to join? Or flee like the rest? 

People were always a fun gamble. So he couldn’t help but grin, gesturing to other’s glass, riddling, “ – is it half full or half empty?” 

After his many silent, but meaningful interactions with Markus, Lincoln knew that the man was dependable. Even so, he couldn’t trust him father than he could throw him and he always kept their conversations respectful but distant at best. He had his own business and Markus had his tea parties, whatever that meant, and those two separate worlds had never had a reason to collide.

Looking down at the spilled cup of water, the man truly took a moment to consider the other’s words. He was cynical, yes, often times trusting no one but himself. He only offered minor details to plans, orders that made no sense to the individual but worked cohesively anyways. On the other hand, everything was an opportunity to gain ground, to keep clawing his way to the top.

The question was: was Markus a stepping stone or a crumbling foothold?

“Half full, of course.” He answered with ease, a glint of something mischievous in his eyes. “What about you?”

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megara.:

“Jesus Christ- yeah you better.” Meg scowled at her now wet t-shirt, the breeze not helping her as a chill went through her. She was in the mood to get her own drink, knowing she was mostly here to wonder what kind of bounty Maurice could possibly have on his head for someone to make him disappear. But also, she liked the candy and greasy carnival food. It seemed nice of the town to dedicate the festival for Maurice this year, but Meg wondered if it was a ploy to just keep everyone fat, happy, and dumb. 

For all she knew, Maurice did to Belle what Meg’s father did to her, and that was depressing but at least then it’d be known he was alive. It was kind of funny, how a kooky man dedicating his life for his kid and his inventions decided to abandon them both one night. But that was inappropriate, and she was trying to be nicer. Who knows how many enemies she might’ve made, but she’s hoping she’d made enough friends to be concerned for her if she ever disappeared. Cue Lincoln crashing into her, water on her new shirt and a scowl on her face.

He would not be someone she’d miss.

“Mr. Gucci himself is going to smite you for getting water on his precious muslin fabrics.” She deadpanned, making it clear that she was not wearing such an expensive shirt and had no idea what muslin even meant. “What are you doing here, aren’t these beneath you?” Just the man she wanted to see on her night off. 

If it had been anyone else, Lincoln would have easily shifted into the apologetic and empathetic man he was in front of the town, but Meg was someone he could relatively be himself around. After all, they were bound by secrets and a precarious balance of things that a congressman and a bondswoman should not have had in common. Her words bounced off of him easily, only prompting a smug smile to curl at the edges of his lips. More often than not, he found her attitude towards him entertaining and somewhat endearing and tonight was certainly no exception.

“I’d like to see him try to smite me, I’m sure you’d find that amusing.” He replied breezily, moving to take off his blazer. Draping it across her shoulders, Lincoln rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and grimaced slightly at the water stain. It wasn’t entirely an act of kindness on his part, but he wasn’t entirely self-absorbed to see the shiver that she had tried to hide. Rolling his eyes at her, he waved off whatever refusal she was going to muster up at his act of chivalry. “Your shirt is wet and it’s getting colder, just return it to me tomorrow.”

Pressing his lips together, he shrugged. Why exactly was he still here? He wasn’t entirely sure. “Just because an event is beneath me doesn’t mean that I’m not going to show my face for the good of the public. Besides, I have to pay my respects.” He sighed, as though it were obvious. “Why are you here?”

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alice.:

Munching on what had to be the singularly most over-priced and underwhelming hot dog in the history of man, Alice meandered around the fair, weaving in and out between trucks, stalls and games. Main business conducted, all that seemed to be left to do was to play. But really, was the line between work and pleasure that thin? If you weren’t doing what you loved, were you truly living at all? Drifting in her mind, Alice barely noticed the presence of other bodies, let alone when one collided into her. 

That was, of course, until the chill of water hit her.

Swallowing down the last of her hot dog, she half-heartedly dabbed her shirt with a napkin, only then glancing up too see who had walked into her. Lincoln. Any tension in her body evaporated, Alice waving away his words with a lofty hand. “Shit, you think this is expensive enough to be dry-cleaned?”  Chuckling to herself, she offered him a spare napkin - his suit on the other hand, was pricey. Even if he hadn’t been her mentor, she would have known that from appearances alone. “It’s a good job we’re not plagued by so-called ‘fake news’ - “ Alice inverted her fingers into sarcastic quote marks “- here in Hermosa isn’t it? Otherwise they’d be saying that you tried to drown me…probably in vodka.”

For a sheer moment, Lincoln could not remember where he had seen her before. It was clear to him that she knew who he was, held a certain sort of familiarity for him that didn’t just verge on knowing who her congressman was. A flicker of recognition tugged in his mind, raking through his brain to place the face with the name that he was sure he knew. After all, what kind of a man would he be if he didn’t know the names of his constituents in a town as big and small as Hermosa? A good man would know, even if he never claimed to be one, but the role he often played was of that: a good man with a good heart.

It was almost laughable how easily they all played into his hands.

“Alice,” he greeted warmly, finally connecting the dots. “I think that I owe you at least dry cleaning and a meal for dumping my water all over you.” Even so, he graciously took the napkins she offered and began to dab at his own shirt. As annoyed as he was, Lincoln was more than glad that it was only water and not something that would stain his clothes too much. Her words prompted a laugh from him, meticulous in how real it sounded as he finally pulled his attention away from his clothes and back to the girl before him. “Now they’ll only accuse me of being clumsy and add in something about how I don’t care about my voters as long as I have a drink in my hand, when in reality, I was just thirsty.” He pouted for a mere moment, sighing sadly. “Help me protect my reputation when they ask you for an interview, will you?”

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Date: June 15th Location: Food Truck Alley, pre-earthquake Status: OPEN

Dedicating the summer carnival to a man who had allegedly disappeared seemed a little misplaced for Lincoln’s taste, the blatant encouragement to have fun and carry own everyone’s merry ways in the face of danger was almost laughable. But who was he to say anything against the well-intentioned townspeople of Hermosa? Moreover, who would he be if he didn’t show up to the event itself and show his face as well as his support for the poor man? Sympathy was a curious thing, one that he often found lacking in himself, but a part of him did feel a vague tug at his emotions at the thought of losing his mother the same way.

He had every intention of leaving early, but with the way everyone greeted him and stopped to speak to him, he found himself more occupied than not. Though mildly irritated at the constant conversations, he knew better than to let himself show it and answered each question with a practiced sort of precision that could only be associated with a politician. Life was a competition to see who could claw their way to the top the fastest and he would make sure he’d be the one to do just that. 

He’d stopped for a drink at some food truck he’d forget the name of five minutes later, water in hand as he spun a little too quickly. Colliding into someone, he managed to both spill some of his drink on his immaculate suit and them as well as accidentally elbowing someone in his haste. Almost immediately, he began to run damage control. The last thing he needed was to lose his temper over something so little. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve made sure no one was behind me.” His words were sticky sweet, filled with faux regret as he moved to grab napkins. “It’s just water, but I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”

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