#also we’re never ‘finished’ w build mart

[literaphobe]

watched the all things mcc video bc foolish is reacting to it and it’s so funny chat was fairly negative when the buildmart play came up 😭 how do you even do highlights of buildmart anyway there’s no obvious “wow that was skilled movement, wow they got a ton of kills there” like, watching that it’s not obviously more skilled gameplay than anyone else idk (sorry not to send more buildmart neg after we finished w that topic)

like i mean i don’t have an issue w yellow’s build mart being one of the highlights like yeah they were efficient and fast etc etc it doesn’t mean that build mart is as ‘noob friendly’ as they claim and the fact that so many of the new players hated it speaks to the fact that changes could be made to this game, not that people who are good at it have no skill - u can praise quick crafting, you can praise good communication and fast block placement, AND you can also admit that being bad at this game does not mean a player lacks those skills because there’s so many processes that go into it

[ewankoseyo]

my person || mark imagine

A/N: This request has been sitting in my inbox for about two weeks, so apologies to the anon who sent this and I hope you enjoy this one! Prequel/sequel to the “your song” drabble I did, so check it out if you haven’t yet! Also the reasoning behind “Build Me Up Buttercup” being “your song” may also be loosely based off of real life (if you really want the story behind that, lmk lol)

“I’m so in love with your Mark “your song” story, could you do a continuation? Like, the reader goes on a drive with him and then they start talking about their relationship and what happened within the months of not talking to each other? And pls make it fluffy I love fluffy Mark. If not, it’s totally fine! Thank you!!”

“You staying up tonight?”

That text is how it always starts. Before you know it, you’re pulling up in Mark’s car to the nearby mart to buy snacks and energy drinks for another all-nighter.

“You know, if you started sooner, you wouldn’t have to cram a whole semester’s worth of material into one night,” Mark teased as he held the door open for you.

“Hey, it’s not might fault I got the professor from hell who expects us to live, breath, and eat o-chem,” you jabbed back. “You’re the one who decided to study for his final at the last minute.”

“Because I had no choice. I had two other projects due this week and I had to handle logistics for the club’s fundraising event,” Mark gave you an unamused look. “You can walk home if you want.”

“Touché, Mr. I’m-in-a-competitive-major-AND-the-backbone-of-this-club,” you resigned, giving him a light shove. Whenever you’d make fun of him, Mark had to have the last word by reminding you that you were always mooching off of him for rides. “Stop messing around and get some snacks. I have a paper to submit before 11:59.”

“You’re lucky I don’t charge you for gas.” He stuck his tongue out at you before walking off to the nearest aisle of unhealthy goods.

Mark already had some chips, a couple packs of ramen, and three cans of coffee in his basket when he heard a familiar tune play in the overhead speakers. Right on cue, he heard rushed footsteps coming from behind him.

“It’s like they know we’re here!” You tossed some snacks into his basket before dancing in place to the song.

“This song is haunting us,” he joked, bopping his head along as he scanned the shelves for more food. You sidled up next to Mark and held out your hand.

“Dance with me.”

He rolled your eyes and gently shoved you away. “You’re wasting time! I thought you had a paper due?”

“You’re no fun,” you frowned before continuing to sing. “Why do you build me up, buttercup baby...”

“No, I’m just more responsible,” he bantered. “Is this everything?” You nodded, taking the basket from him as you sang along.

It seemed like many students had the same idea of staying up late to study, as there was a bit of a line at the only checkout stand open. Ever since coursework in your respective majors had picked up in the middle of the semester, this became a regular occurrence for you and your best friend. You would text Mark asking if he was planning to stay up late to get work done. After picking you up to grab snacks with him, Mark would take you back to his studio for a busy night. You had stayed over at his place so many times, you kept extra toiletries and clothes there. Tonight was no different.

Mark softly sang along to the tune as he walked over to join the queue, following your animated form.

“I need you, more than anyone darling, you know that I have from the start...”

Mark, deciding to play along just once, pretended to hold up a microphone to your lips and looked at you expectantly for you to sing. You shot him a grin as you happily obliged.

“So build me up, buttercup, don’t break my heart...”

You giggled at the silliness of the situation as you finished your part, averting your attention to the line shortening in front of you. As you quietly waited for your turn, you couldn’t help but feel a pair of eyes on you. You glanced back at Mark, who stared back down at you shamelessly, a small smile playing on his lips. 

“What?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at him suspiciously. Mark was usually one to shy away from any kind of attention, but at that moment, it was as if he was subtly begging you for it.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, his smile casually turning into a smirk. “I was just thinking about something.”

“About what?”

“About how I’d be nothing without you,” Mark replied simply before glancing in front of you. “Oh, there’s space now.” Disregarding your stunned expression, he moved in front of you and began loading out contents from your basket onto the conveyor belt. 

“Wha...” You silently stood there dumbfounded as Mark paid for the snacks. He took the bags from the cashier and was about to start leaving when he noticed you weren’t following him. 

“Hurry up, fool,” he playfully scolded, smirking at your frozen form. “Didn’t you say you had a paper due before midnight?” You shook yourself out of your thoughts and gave him another shove in response, not quite trusting your voice at that moment. You rushed out of the store before him, giving yourself some time for the winter air to bring your inflamed cheeks back to normal body temperature. 

“Nothing without you?” What on earth was he talking about?

Mark never brought those words up again the rest of that night. They plagued you, distracting you from your word document and forcing your attention back to the boy splayed out on his bed and reading in front of you. He’d look up and respond to your gaze with a smile, teasingly pointing to your laptop as if silently scolding you to keep working, before returning to his textbook. 

He never brought those words up ever again.

——

You found him leaning against the front of his car with his hands in his pockets, staring off into the distance. With the way his hair was done up and his outfit was a far cry from his usual hoodies and soccer pants, you wondered where he could have come from at this hour. 

“Mark?” The boy immediately shot up from his relaxed position when he heard his name, hurriedly straightening himself out before looking at you. As you walked closer to him and got a better look at Mark’s face, you found his expression unreadable. 

He couldn’t read yours either.

“H-hi.”

“Hi.” You both stood there a few feet apart, silently staring at one another and waiting for the other to say something. Awkwardly clearing his throat, Mark took the initiative. 

“Oh, uh, you should get in, it’s kind of cold,” he rushed over to the passenger side and opened the door for you. You nodded a silent thanks before getting into the car. The two of you remained quiet as Mark slid into the driver’s seat, the ignition starting up being the only sound permeating the air. He hummed softly as he drove through the neighborhood. You stared at the buildings passing by, shooting furtive glances at the boy next to you. 

“How have you been?” You asked hesitantly. It had almost come out as a whisper.

“Okay,” Mark replied, his tone as undecipherable as his expression. He kept his attention on the road before him. “How are you? Did you finish your research paper?”

“Yeah, got it done under an hour. Like I said I would.” 

“I see.” Resume silence. Mark made a left turn out of the neighborhood. As he drove along the waterfront, you knew exactly where he was going. Night drives with Mark usually took you to a mountain overlooking the city. Whenever school and your impending futures became too much to bear, you two would end up there to clear your heads.  

“Saw that y—” 

“Haven’t—” 

“No, you,” you both said simultaneously. You laughed awkwardly. Perhaps you made a mistake in replying to his text?

You shook your head. “I was just going to say that it’s been awhile since I ventured out of the city, is all. What were you going to say?” 

Mark glanced over at you. “Oh, I was going to say...I saw, uh, that you were listening to some music.” He mentally slapped himself for making this situation weirder than it already was. “You were listening to the song.” 

 “You were listening to it too...” you mentioned quietly, staring out the window. “Is that why...?”

“Yes,” Mark nodded solemnly. “It came up in the playlist, and I, um, I guess I just thought of you.”

“Oh.” After pulling into the familiar destination, Mark parked the car and switched the engine off. It was now completely silent as you both gazed out the window at the city lights below. Could he hear how rapidly your heart was beating in your chest? 

Because Mark was pretty sure you could hear his. 

“I was thinking about you too.”

Mark unbuckled his seat belt and turned in his seat to look at you properly. “You were?”

You nodded, shifting yourself to face him. As your eyes scanned over him, you almost wanted to cry. Mark was real. He wasn’t just a a tagged guest feature in a mutual friend’s Instagram post or a memory that Snapchat used to remind you of how happy you were a year ago. Your old best friend, your person, was sitting right in front of you, giving you the softest look—just as he used to do.

But for some reason, it felt like he was lightyears away. 

“Was that the first time you’ve thought of me? Ever since—”

“Why did you leave me?” Mark cuts you off suddenly. 

“I’m sorry?” Did you hear that correctly?

His hands fumbled around in his lap. “You think I didn’t notice how you blocked me on every social media platform? I’m surprised you didn’t block my number. I only knew you didn’t delete your accounts because I once saw Jackson tagging you in a picture he was posting.” He shook his head and sighed at the thought. “You disappeared, I only heard about you when a friend mentioned you. So...why’d you basically delete me from your life?”

You looked at him in disbelief. “I deleted you from my life?” Mark nearly jumped from the sudden volume increase in your voice. It was sharp as a knife, cutting through him with every word. “You think I wanted to ignore you?”

“W-why else wou—”

“Do you know how much it hurt me to see you happy with all of our friends and still be doing well after we stopped talking?” Tears welled up in your eyes and you began to feel yourself choking up on your words, but you continued. You didn’t realize until then how much the hurt had been eating away inside of you for so long. Once you were started, you couldn’t stop. “I was dying on the inside every single day because I couldn’t talk to you, but you seemed perfectly fine with everything. It was as if...you weren’t affected at all.” You quickly wiped the tears away with your sleeve. “So that’s why I blocked you. It hurt too much to see you doing fine when I was already hurting.”

Mark stared back at you cluelessly. “I’m sorry, but I’m a bit confused,” he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Why couldn’t you talk to me in the first place? I mean, it was like one day we were the best of friends and then the next, you became a ghost.”

You stared at him in bewilderment. Did he really not understand where you were coming from? Had you been experiencing this whole situation differently than him?

"Do you even realize how this all started?” He slowly shook his head and you sighed before continuing. “Everything was going fine until I felt like you were starting to act weird with me.”

Realization began to dawn on him. “I wasn’t being weird, but you were just—”

“Just listen to me, you’re doing it again!” You cried out, pointing at him accusingly. “Suddenly, I felt like things were different between us. You didn’t approach me like you would and whenever I’d try to talk to you, you’d give me short answers and brush me off. I would ask if you wanted to grab food and you’d say you had work to do, but then I would see you eating with another friend. When I’d text asking you if you were mad at me or if we were okay, you would just say you weren’t mad and that there was nothing going on. 

So I took your word for it and thought things were fine. I tried to approach and talk to you whenever I’d see you, but I noticed you were still kind of standoffish with me. I couldn’t exactly ask you about it in person because you were always surrounded by everyone.”

“You texted asking to meet with me,” Mark recalled aloud, nodding slowly.

“Yeah, and I told you in person how I felt. I told you that I noticed things were different. I told you that I felt too intimidated to reach out and talk to you first in person because I was afraid of you brushing me off in front of everyone. I even apologized if I did anything to hurt you and begged to for us to talk it out. And then do you remember what you said back?” You asked bitterly, continuing before he could try to answer. “You told me that you didn’t understand where this was all coming from. You were so certain that you weren’t acting any different and that you didn’t have a problem with me. You said that this was just my problem, not yours. That you were just living your life, and that if I was going to keep making a big deal out of something that shouldn’t be, you were going to leave because you didn’t need to put up with anymore of my BS.” 

Mark stared at his lap and shook his head regretfully. “Yes, I remember.” 

“I was really trying to talk to you in a way that didn’t made it sound like I was blaming you, because you had voiced to me before how you hated feeling attacked. I stressed to you that this was all how I felt,” you explained shakily. “Then all you had to say was that it was just my problem. Do you have any idea how awful that was for me? You made me feel guilty for feeling. You made me feel like my emotions were invalid. You made me feel like I was going crazy.”

“I-I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

You rolled your eyes amid the tears at the lame apology. “I couldn’t pretend everything was fine and talk to you normally after that without feeling afraid of your response, and you obviously weren’t going to approach me first, so that’s how we stopped talking.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly at your realization. “It sounds like you had a lot of time to think about this.”

“Yeah, well, thinking is all you can do when you don’t have anyone to talk to about this,” you sighed dejectedly, sniffling a bit. “Everyone worships you, Mark—how smart you are, how talented you are, how quietly snarky you are. You never ask for attention, but they’re more than happy to give it to you. You’ve got them all in the palm of your hand without even trying. If I were to explain to anyone else how I felt, they would think I was crazy too.”

Silence filled the air once again, besides your attempt to suppress your hiccups, as you both let your words simmer. You had been over all of this before, only this time it seemed like Mark was actually listening to you rather than passing off your words as nonsense. Whatever happened next, the ball was in Mark’s court. 

"I freaked out,” Mark finally admitted.

“What?”

“Did you ever hear what everyone was saying? About us?” He looked almost embarrassed as he asked. 

You had an idea of what he was getting at but decided to press on. “What were they saying..?”

Mark sighed, anxiously running a hand through his neat hair. “How...they thought I liked you. Like liked you. How they thought we were already together. How they all apparently shipped us together. Freshmen from the club who I barely talked to kept coming up to me asking when we were going to be a thing. One even told me that they all secretly called us mom and dad.”

“Oh.” You stared out at the city lights wistfully, suddenly feeling small under Mark’s gaze. You had heard it all before. Even when you two would just be sitting next to each other, people would shoot you a knowing look without Mark noticing. You had secretly enjoyed all the talk, believing that if everyone else saw the chemistry between you guys, maybe Mark soon would too. You should have known better, Mark was talking about these rumors as if they were a bad thing to believe. “But you never cared what people said about you, truth or rumor. Why were you so stressed over that rumor?” 

“Because it wasn’t a rumor,” he replied effortlessly. Just like you, once started, Mark couldn’t be stopped. Without a word, he gently took one of your hands from your lap and laced your fingers through his. You had forced Mark to hold your hand before—“That guy just can’t take the hint that I’m not into him. Mark, hold my hand and pretend we’re together!”—but he had never initiated. Actually, he rarely initiated skinship with you, but you were also the only one he let cling onto him like a leech. “You know me, I’m not one to talk about my feelings. If everyone else catches onto them, it becomes a whole ordeal.” His other hand came up to your face and he gently caressed the tears away with his thumb. You made no move to shy away from his touch. “I’m supposed to be the guy who just focuses on doing well in his major and on leading our club. Whoever I liked, if there was anyone I liked, would just be a mystery for everyone to gossip about behind my back and I was fine with that.”

“Mark, why couldn’t you just tell me how you felt?” You asked, disappointment laced in your voice. “We’re best friends, we tell each other everything.”

“Exactly, you’re my best friend.” Mark drew his hands away from you and looked back down at them in his lap shamefully. You instantly missed his hand holding yours. “I thought I was really good at hiding my feelings. If everyone else was able to see them, that probably meant that you did too. And I,” He sighed, sparing you a glance. “I was afraid of what would happen if you did, so I tried not to be so obvious.”

“So that’s why you became distant with me?”

He nodded. “I figured that if I was, no one would suspect a thing. You wouldn’t suspect a thing. How was I going to risk our friendship by you knowing how I really felt?”

“Well you pretty much destroyed our friendship when you stopped talking to me, so you really had nothing to lose,” you pointed out almost bitterly.

“I deserve that,” he replied sadly, pursing his lips as he looked at you. “And more. You think I’ve been doing okay all this time? The truth is that I’ve been a mess. I didn’t know what was going on with you. If I didn’t see you in Jackson’s photo or Bambam’s story, you could have been dead for all I knew. I couldn’t ask anyone about you without them being suspicious of how I felt or asking me why we weren’t together as much as before, so I kept quiet.” 

“But I saw you hanging out with everyone else, you seemed so happy,” you shook your head in disbelief, widening your eyes at that boy before you. “And you were always so busy with your classes and the club, I really thought that I was getting in your way.”

Mark gave you a sad smile, his eyes softening as he gazed into yours. “When have you ever listened to me when I was being distant and stubborn? When I was being me? You were always the persistent in our friendship.”

“With the way you were acting strange and not approaching me, I thought you needed space from me.”

“No, I realized I was being stupid. I needed my person. I needed you,” he said softly. “I’ve been nothing without you.”

“Mark...” He gently cupped your face as he noticed your tears beginning to resurface. He kissed your forehead before placing his against yours. 

“I’m so sorry for hurting you,” Mark whispered, his voice heavy with regret. “You didn’t deserve to suffer just because I was being immature and didn’t know how to handle my feelings. I didn’t reach out to you tonight expecting anything from you, I just had to see you again if even for only a second.”

“Did you suffer without me?” 

“Every single day.”

“Then we’re even,” you replied softly before pressing your lips against his. You clung onto his blazer to pull him closer to you, subconsciously afraid he would vanish into thin air if you weren’t holding onto him for dear life. He cradled your neck with one hand and caressed your cheek with the other, gently taking your bottom lip between his lips.

Your lips were soft and sweet. You tasted like vanilla and sunshine amid pockets of pain and sadness and regret. You tasted like home.

Mark tasted like he'd been longing to go home.

Pulling away for air, you gazed into each others’ eyes, tears of happiness respectfully making their appearance as you both laughed at one another. Gently, albeit clumsily, Mark picked you up over the middle console and placed you on his lap, earning a giggle from you. You buried yourself in his chest and inhaled the scent you had missed for too long as Mark held you tight.

“Don’t leave me ever again.”

“Then don’t send me way ever again,” you shot back, looking up at him and grinning. 

He kissed your forehead once again before placing his chin on top your head and holding you tighter. As you updated him on what you’ve been up to in the last couple of months, Mark silently promised himself to not let you go, because he was truly nothing without you.

——

[regretsdelusionstoughluck]

PART 3

WEDNESDAY MORNING

While Damon was online looking for odd jobs he noticed an add for dancers needed. He’s had a stripper license since he was 19 and used this as a means for extra money when not deployed. He sent this to Oliver in an email prior to calling him on his way to the pharmacy.

“Morning”

“Check out the email”

As he pulled out his iPad, he saw the email

“What the fuck is this?”

“Strippin....you already do way more,  plus a bachelorette party would get you a killing. I used to dance at a few of them when I was home”

“Got anything else?”

“Banquets, I know a lot of companies. I can send you a list of catering companies you could do work for. What you got going on right now?”

“Laying on the couch, going into the office”

[Really? That’s the best you got? What part of “I want out of this life do you not understand?]

While he wasn’t thrilled about it, he took some time to think about t and he realized that bachelorette parties are for the entertainment value and he did keep his body in shape. However, didn’t want his current situation to mirror that of “The Players Club”.

Oliver got up from the couch to fix himself an omelette while continuing to talk. “Yo, I got you on speaker phone, doing some stuff in the kitchen”

“Man, remember when we were young and we would see vacationers out here, we vowed that one day it would be us taking trips with our families?”

“I do, and when I look at where I’m at, I think to myself “What the actual fuck?”

[We were lied to. In 2008, when we were in high school, we were told to go to college. That it was the ticket to a successful life. What they didn’t tell us is that the economy would tank. They didn’t go cover any alternatives. They never went over the cost of living and the fact that people here are working three jobs. I should have seen this with my own parents. Dad worked for the state and then worked as a janitor in the evenings. Mom still works as a financial aid officer at a state college. The preparation sucked. What the fuck am I gonna use creative writing for? Why was that in school?]

He cut the conversation short to eat his breakfast and get a shower in before work. Afterwards, he ironed a pair of pants and a golf shirt and heaved to the office where the direction informed him and Claudia:

“I have a project for the two of you. Our event is coming up at the mall. You two are going to be drawing outlines to these animal pieces on the construction poet right there. We’re expecting about 200 kids”

“No problem” Oliver said looking at the green construction paper in front of him

“It’ll be a breeze” Claudia assured him as she took a pair of scissors and the elephant trunk and demonstrated. 

“So it’s like build a bear type of think but with other animals but they’re decorating their bags with them. That’s cute”

“Yeah, so are you gonna go to the career fair next week”

“The one at the convention center?”

“Yea, I heard there’s going to be several companies there.”

[Resume-FEMA, fucking, and non-profit]

“I plan on it. Do you know if any government agencies are gonna be there? I couldn’t find a roster anywhere”

“Not sure”

They continued working while talking about goals and aspirations when he noticed an alert on her phone. Knowing the conference due to getting the same alert an hour earlier, he asked her how she knew about it? Somewhat embarrassed, she snapped “What are you doing looking at my phone?!”

“I merely glanced over!” he exclaimed before taking her aside and confessing to being involved in the worlds oldest profession “I hate it. One would think attractive people and pleasure but there’s no real live and frankly it feels like a modern version of slavery. I can’t get a decent date to save my life”

After a moment of silence, she admitted that she was a phone sex operator and that she worked in evenings. “I have a friend who also is in high class escorting”

“High class?”

“Let’s talk about it later? How about we meet for a drink after work? We need to get a bit more of this done.”

Meanwhile, Damon was scouting on the web when his eye caught the attention of a webcam modeling website.

 He though about his current life and how he’d mange to file his taxes. He normally got a 1090 at the end of the year. He also though about the repercussions of this and the thought that the clientele could  be from his local area. He had a flashback to being deployed in Germany where he and some buds where in a night club, partying surrounded by beautiful women. “We are like royalty!”  He thought about a conversation he had with his peer about wanting to serve for eight years and then retire and start college. Little did he know that half way though that time frame that he’d suffer a back injury along w/ PTSD from witnessing the death of a friend at the hands of a grenade.

He applied for work with multiple agencies and thought about how he could sporadically work vs checking in daily. With webcam modeling he could set his own schedule. With that in mind he decided to text Oliver.

“Who was that?”

“My friend Damon”

“So about how long have you with with this company?”

“About six months. I’m trying to start grad school”

They chatted while filing paperwork. They talked about politics, racial issues, economic issues, and the like. Claudia made for good company. She graduated with two degrees. She majored in English Education and Journalism and worked as a teacher’s aide for a period. She was tired of the work with virtually no pay. She responded to an add. Currently she works for a phone sex. One has seen the commercials late at night. She’s one of them. Definitely more conventional than Oliver’s current job. 

As he was getting ready to eat lunch, she Claudia asked him if he wanted to eat while they worked. “Sure” he said as he went to grab his lunch out of his bag. 

“We work with several schools in their special ed departments”

“What do y’all do?”

”We will be finalizing contracts for events mainly. But we do outreach and after school programs on social etiquette and speech practices our goal is to  help those with autism be as integrated into society as possible” Noticing Oliver’s garden salad, she asked him “you health conscious?”

“Yep. Grew up like that. My parent’s rarely fried anything, but they didn’t ban them from the house. My mom was always big on vitamins and drinking plenty of water. I practice that today, to keep things under control. Being a diabetic, I have to watch it.”

Shocked at the revelation she asked him when he was diagnosed. He was diagnosed at 6 years old.

“I’m trying to lose weight, but I find myself emotionally eating more than I should”

Trying to avoid saying anything that could be interpreted as offensive, he simply said that he had his days too, hence the reason he goes to the gym six days/week, doing a combination of cardio and weights. After they finished eating lunch, they cut more construction paper and bagged it. They filed folders away for about an hour when Oliver signed out.”See you tomorrow?”

“You’ll see me in a couple of hours.”

The sun was beaming as Oliver drove home. He rolled down his window and plugged his phone in to have some music playing. He checked the mail and saw the electric bill was in. “Shouldn’t be this much” he said “I’m never home”

He checked his email as well as his escorting profile receiving three request including one overnight stay. Booking these trips back to back, he thought about his weekly check at $8.75/hr at 25 hrs per week along w/ the money from the three client’s that he’d earn. He’d have enough to pay his final payment on his only student loan and to pay his car note.

He kicked off his shoes to give his feet some air and called his mom.

[I’m being nice. This place is a shithole, in fact the only reason my unit isn’t laden with roaches is because I frequently buy those foggers and then I have to open the damn windows and door risking my shit being stolen. Also, Bengal and Boric Acid along the cracks and corners have done wonders.]

He looked up and realized that it was time to meet Claudia. He traded in his work outfit for a pair or black cargo shorts, a zero-nineteen tank top from K-Mart, and a pair of flip-flops and headed out. He got in the truck, turned the air on and arrived to the bar 20 minutes later. Locating Claudia at a table in the bar area we walked in to meet her when the waiter took their drink order.

[She’s a pharmacy tech and she still needs to be a lady of the evening by night? I’m fucked-literally and figuratively]

She advised him to update his profile to include massages and casual dates at a lower rate. While they were talking, A woman walks up, dark skin, about 5′9, in her mid 20s. She spotted Claudia and walked in the sit next to her.

“Hey chick!”

“Hey!”

“Hello, I’m Aya, how are your doing?” she said as she reached out to shake Oliver’s hand

“Oliver, I’m good. How about you?”

“So this is the guy? He’s cute”

“He’s taken”

“Actually I’m very available”

After ordering a drink, she begin to explain to Oliver how she got into her current part time job.  “I started off escorting however a client of mine introduced me to a coworker of his that owned a matchmaking service. I showed up to a mixer I went out on one date. I never saw the guy again afterwards. That said, he did mention to me that he had utilized services where one would rent a dates for events. I eventually branched off and begin advertising on craigslist and the like.”

“So do you still...….you  know?”

“Sporadically, but that’ll cost extra.”

Later that night, he decided to update his profile w/ additional services offered. He decided to try out a couple of speed dating events himself. He might even snap a client or two.  Perhaps, he’d been looking in the wrong places, maybe it was time for more upscale social functions. His current evening work was not a glamorous job and frankly it was quite dangerous. 

[Prostitution can be traced back as far as biblical times. Not a new profession and it’s a profession that’s always been available for the money. Sometimes, we use it to pay off a loan or some sort of debt. For others, it’s the love of sex. Some just like the temporary luxury that comes with being one’s bitch. Me? I’d like nothing more than to settle down. I know there’s a way. It may take a while to find it, but I refuse to have THIS be my stop.]

STORY SYNOPSIS

CHARACTERS

PART 4 TO FOLLOW

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 14

Table of Contents Go to first. Go to previous. Go to next.

Updated 2019.01.29. Minor name tweaks.

Pretty hard surveillance tw on this one, ah. And you get a cookie if you can spot the historical conspiracy reference.

Melancholy locked the pharmacy's front door behind himself, then wheeled to the back and took the elevator to the second floor. As he exited the car, Angel came from the break room about the same time, and stopped him in the lounge area.

"Ah, Sir!" It paused, genuinely confused. "Did you just come from downstairs? I was just thinking I needed to check on you. How did your little rooftop rendezvous go with your chums, ha ha!"

"--About that." 'Choly chewed at his lip and eyed his Handy-bot. He favored pushing past it in the belief it would follow. "I know it's a bit early, but could I bother you for a bit of dinner? Really, anything will do."

"Good that you're open to variety," Angel replied, right behind him as expected, "for we haven't got it. I'm afraid all we have left is Halloween candy, a few boxes of Instamash, and BlamCo Mac. Really, we should consider replenishing our pantry next you feel up to it. Perhaps a trip to the grocer's is in order, hm? You did outfit me with this dandy harness, and update my hydraulics, so that I might facilitate that kind of endeavor, after all." It held up two boxes, a red and gold square one and a thin flat teal one. "Would you rather the potatoes or the macaronis?"

"Mm. The macaronis."

While it put back the square box and commenced preparation of the other, it hummed a jaunty vaguely-British tune which its owner couldn't quite place. 'Choly set down his syringer and hood on the table, and with a lump in his throat, he watched the robot.

"Angel, I've been giving it some thought. About how Defense Intelligence Agency gifted me with you when I first came over. I... I know the DIA used you to spy on me. That it wasn't just nationalization effort to adjust me to culture and language. I also know the DIA fell with the rest of the government. We can talk more openly now, don't you think? Being honest with you is going to help us both help each other. Sure, the mandatory name change didn’t fool anybody: everyone still all thought I was a Russian spy or something. But really? They approached me, offered me the position at Deenwood. Part of transplanting key Asian experts into the US military, best I can tell. What can I say? I get bribed easily with promise of access to big toys. But really. All I was hiding was chem trafficking. Lots and lots of chem trafficking."

"I know, Sir."

"--Hawthorne and I--" The chemist cringed and glazed over. "Wait, what?"

"I know all about you and Mister Hawthorne's business practices. I didn't report any of that because it's not what I was programmed to identify and report. They cared only how you handled confidential information. My objections to your proclivities have always wholly been in my interest of preserving your health and quality of life, Sir." It stopped a moment to let the saucepan boil on the hot plate, but readily resumed stirring it as needed. "I am still transmitting this to proper authorities, mind."

The inability to process Angel's response elicited a strange smile.

"Yes, of course. You're likely transmitting to skeletons, but I understand."

He nearly related that Communism had lost, but so had Capitalism. It didn't serve to argue no clear winner when in the nuclear exchange, everyone had lost. His head hurt, between the goings-on with Jared and learning his robot had concealed this level of self-awareness from him from the beginning. In attempting transparency so his activities would come as no surprise, he could have never expected his robot to reciprocate such honesty.

Back when he trafficked chems under the paranoia of crossing the DIA's scrutiny, he'd taught himself enough robotics to defuse what bugging technology he could identify, such that these variably sophisticated sensors transmitted all-clear, where simply disabling them would have drawn attention to any tampering. Yet, even now the remnants of his robotics knowledge would benefit him, to perform maintenance on this stunning testament to the longevity of General Atomics craftsmanship.

Still, the possibility nagged in the back of his head, that Angel's transmissions might ever amount to conflict. He'd discounted the possibility of an existing surviving population, after all. He could get all manner of things wrong, including the radio death of the DIA. He'd have to do something about the bugging equipment, to sate his paranoia. Regardless, it relieved him that his cyclomorphine research had only come up between him and his business partner within the month leading up to the apocalypse. The nature of the chems he had skimmed hadn't stimulated his Handy to rat him out, but provided that it ever determined that any of the military compounds he'd formulated had left the compound...

Worst of all, he understood with horror, was the likelihood he was entirely right about the demise of the Agency. The only thing that had kept him in line after his American conscription was the threat of surveillance. Who now existed in this wasteland save himself compassionate enough to mitigate his moral compass for him? He doubted even he could keep himself from acting out on fantasies any longer, the more he recognized them trickling into mundane waking world. Of any aspect of this creeping reality, that terrified him most: more than the ghouls, more than the mutated insects, more than anything else he had not yet encountered that his imagination could not reliably fabricate. Who had the audacity to grant him self-agency?

Angel, presenting its owner a bowl of creamy reconstituted pasta, startled him from his waking nightmare.

"Bh--hoze--" He found himself frowning as he rapidly and repeatedly retraced his platysmal scar. Angel joined the bowl with a shot glass and the near-empty bottle of whiskey, and he poured himself a glass with his head hung. "Thanks, Angel."

"Sorry to startle you. You were most lost in thought."

"Doesn't change a thing." He favored eating over starting with the liquor for once. After a few bites, he cleared his throat. "So, I suppose I should explain my sudden willing openness. I have a job now. Salaried. I might still pick at the by-commission rooftop sales on the side, if it goes smoothly."

"My stars! What exciting news." Angel's movements seemed lyrical and airy a moment before it shifted to a scattered panic. "When do you start! Oh, oh dear. We've nothing for you to take for lunch! We must--"

"Angel. Angel, it's all right." 'Choly snapped his fingers a few times, then continued eating. "Stay with me. Maybe once I get Jared the information he needs, we can make a trip out of the pharmacy. That way, I can draft a laundry list of what all we need to scavenge for."

"Apologies, Sir. I'm just..." It idled beside him with its tendril-limbs curled up close. "I'm so eager for both of us. You've no idea how elated I am that I can foster vocational habits in you again. Tend to you, like... before. The normality of routine--that's the cement you need to get back to your old self. Ha ha!"

"Mmh. Makes two of us." He washed down the cardboardesque pasty mouthful with half the shot and, with a sigh, absently tapped his spoon in the dish. "I doubt the lab here would be suitable for the scale of distillation he described. Don't much like the idea of that much manure in the pharmacy, anyway. You're fond of reminding me not to bring home my work with me, and I think we can both agree that this building is very much becoming my home now. I don't think you need to remind me to leave that elsewhere."

"I haven't the slightest what you're on about, but manure? Yes, I'm quite glad we're in agreement that it doesn't belong indoors."

"Talking aloud. Imagine it doesn't make much sense. Mm mmh." He finished off the serving and shot glass, and sat back in thought. "I surveyed the assembly plant before I returned, and I think there's a good place there to set up a vat-style rig. Lots of pipes to make use of. Maybe... maybe refining a few water heaters...." With a sniff, he adjusted his glasses and glanced down to his Pip-Boy. "I'm going to get working on my invoice. Thank you for dinner."

"Of course, Mister Carey!" It cleared the table for him.

"I'm going to have to fix that one of these days," 'Choly mumbled to himself as he wandered off in the chair to nurture a Berries-induced engineering conflagration.

Taking stock as he navigated the building, he absently annotated in his Pip-Boy with blind keyless keystrokes, and as he went, he cross-referenced these against a more coherent draft he composed for Jared. In his ramble, he listed off various possible equipment which they could combined into a small-scale substitute for the mechanisms by which to load the crate of empty inhalers he had on hand in the pharmacy lab. To sustain the chem habit Jared sought to cultivate, there would have to be a tacit recycling effort of paraphernalia until they could locate more actuators. Too, he requested minimal opposition from Jared's crew as he toured Lexington, endearing that the city must already belong to the raider boss, or inevitably that it would. Something of this new world civility tickled 'Choly, and he guarded any potential conflict with the raiders by asking permission to scout the Super Duper Mart. Self-serving, he also tacked on a postscript that Jared's crew supply him with large quantities of Abraxo cleaner, to make possible synthesizing fresh Mentats of any variety, and he cited the need to stay sharp for the task at hand. By the end of the evening, he read it all over one more time and transcribed it onto a piece of card stock packaging, then shoved the results in the capsule pipeline.

He sank into his seat at Eleanor's desk and slumped his head along his outstretched arms. He popped a few painkillers in his mouth and chewed them mindlessly, and washed it down with the stale coffee he'd forgotten on the desk at some point. The familiar post-Berries headache crawled across his skull, but he hardly cursed it. The brain was just like a muscle in some regards, after all--running a marathon is a very different thing for someone who's prepared at length for it as opposed to someone who dashes from start to finish without even stretching beforehand. The habit would return. He'd gladly nurse it.

As he started to drift off, radio static echoed in Eleanor's office. Bewildered, he squinted and rubbed at his head as he pushed the button on the intercom.

"Chemist--" The caller was Jared. "You expect me to read this novel when you've got a working comm?"

'Choly grunted and resumed leaning on the desk. He hadn't expected Jared to come himself.

"I can hear your awful face paint loud and clear." He stiffened, double checking whether the button was depressed for automatic two-way chat, or if he'd simply held it a moment to check the caller. He swallowed hard and pushed the button again, hoping Jared hadn't heard that. "Sorry. I have more than a bit of a headache right now. And this is the first I knew that restoring power to the building had also restored the intercom."

"Fuck you're longwinded." Jared paused at length. "It's always the quiet ones. Ugh."

"Apologies. I was just trying to be thorough. Operating on the presumption that our correspondences over the invoice would all be written word, I just figured that a comprehensive list of everything that came to mind would limit how much time got wasted. I'm guessing you've had a chance to look it over?"

"Yeah, I got it. Flattery will get you everywhere in my town. You have the most unnervingly good handwriting I've ever seen, but I still can't believe I'm reading this right. You want in the SDM? You really are crazy. I'm not wasting warm bodies on that, but far be it for me to turn down the proposition of you spreading around any profit to be had of your confidence that you can manage it. Try not to die before we even get started. And get me some Sugar Bombs while you're at it."

Even Jared thought it a terrible plan to try to scavenge the grocer's for food reserves. 'Choly would have to think things through for certain, and he hid his anxiety over it behind a tiny chuckle.

"Heh, I can do that. What... about the other things I mentioned?"

"You've gone from asking for cash to asking for a metric fuckton of soap. That's marginally more sane than most of the things you've said today, but even that's pushing it. We're going in the right direction. Yeah, I've got a lead on where to load up on Abraxo, but remember. I'm only interested in Mentats as far as they're helpful to distilling my Jet. My project takes priority over any of your unrelated fun, and don't forget it." Jared snorted. "Still, you're going to have to let me try some of these infamous Berries you won't shut up about."

"Oh, for certain." 'Choly rubbed at his temples, his voice strained. "I swear by them. Only way I got through my military contract."

When Jared had nothing to say for a little too long, 'Choly realized that had been entirely the wrong thing to say.

"You a fuckin Brotherhood defector? That takes balls."

"Oh, I, no. The actual military. I'm a Pharm Corps chemist. Nine years, eight months, for Anchorage."

That had been an even worse thing to say.

"--I grow impatient with this conversation, chemist. Give me a few days to gather up what you've requested. Answer your damn comm when I come knocking." Jared snarled. "You're really starting to piss me off. If you're gonna get high like this all the time, at least journal your trips so they're useful to more than just you, all right?"

This time, 'Choly remained silent for a bit. Had he heard the raider right?

"You... want a transcript of my high?" 'Choly licked his lips and held in a breath as he stared at his Pip-Boy. "I... I can absolutely do that. You're in luck that that's... already an habituation of mine."

"All right. Now that, I like to hear. Expect to share. Both... experience and goods. Heh." At first, 'Choly had thought that was the end of it, but then Jared came back with somewhat sarcastic enthusiasm. "Let me know how your grocery trip goes."

"For certain."

When the intercom stayed idle for several minutes, relief oozed out of him, and he slouched back in the chair with a groan. He removed his glasses and dug his fingers into his eyelids. He could appreciate that Jared was on board with his plan, and that the raider was willing to accommodate interests that ran in direct tangent to the grand scheme. But, this conversation also solidified the contract into something tangible and unable to ignore. The chemist had a job again. Responsibilities. Someone he had to answer to. On the other hand, this also meant more of the building worked than he thought previous. If he intended to set foot outside the pharmacy, he was going to have to throw together a sign for the intercom, so that anyone who came calling would know he wasn't just blowing them off.

In the mean time, he took to the couch in Eleanor's office and passed out halfway through disrobing.

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