sixthiterationlogs | [OTA - MINGLE] Town Hall meeting

WHO: Mark Watney
WHERE: Town Hall
WHEN: 10 Dec 2017, sundown
OPEN TO: All, mingle
WARNINGS: N/A

Since that tense standoff in front of the peach trees, Kira and I have been waiting to see whether the promises in the letter he'd received would come to fruition. I'd actually left the stolen papers out there longer than I'd intended, not wanting to disrupt the process further if I hadn't already ruined it by catching him in the act. Now that he's confirmed to me the arrival of what, for most people here, would probably be a collection of true treasures, I can't put off the inevitable. We need to let everyone know what's happened, and find out if we're alone in being targets.

Because this morning, I received a "mission" of my own, in the form of a box filled with 3 vacuum-packed, single servings of ground coffee. Speaking of treasure.

Before the breakfast rush, I made a note on the blackboard in the Inn's front room, the writing big and bold enough that nobody should miss it:

VILLAGE MEETING TONIGHT, TOWN HALL, SUNDOWN

Fortunately, there's little enough to entertain a person in this place that plenty of people show. Kira's in the front row with his "gifts," presumably ready to back me up despite not seeming to like me much yet. I guess I can't blame him, although I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss the rapport I had with Old Him.

"Hey, everyone," I call out, waving to get the small crowd's attention. "I asked everybody here tonight because we've had a development that I think we all need to know about. Kira here—" I pause, pointing. "Not too long ago, he got a letter. It asked him to steal something of value from someone and take it to the peach trees over on the East Side. It said if he did that, he would be rewarded. When he tried to get rid of the letter, another copy would always turn up. So, he did it. And putting aside that dubiousness for a moment, the reward was delivered. He found some items from his home that couldn't have gotten here without intervention from our hosts. Today, I actually got a box of coffee with a note asking me to take a portion and pass it on. Like a game or a chain letter. The note I got was threatening — If I don't do as asked, it says there will be a punishment. So."

I pull in a deep breath and spread my hands. "I know there's only so much we can realistically do about all of this, but has anybody else gotten anything like this?"

[If you want to thread with Mark directly, please say so in your subject line and let me know. Otherwise, this is a MINGLE and folks can jump around at will. Have at!]

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"At least I'm here," he echoes, following sigh subsumed into a snort, a gritty sound delivered through his teeth. Not quite a sneer, but there's an edge to the stretch of skin under his eyes, when they narrow and he gently shakes his head. Tongue to eyetooth, he huffs another breath to break the contact. "That's some great phrasing."

It begs consideration of the alternative, which he has avoided until--putting on this coat, finding his cards in the pocket. Until holding Chiyo's face in his hand. The alternative is snow-choked Manhattan and gunfire, but it's also the possibility of seeing her again.

"Maybe you should assign me some community service. Keep me sane."

"Yeah, I meant here," I shoot back with a motion to the room. "At this meeting, telling people shit that could be important to them. That's community service. Not everybody would have done it. But if you want more to do, there's plenty."

Particularly with winter bearing down on us.

"I mean, I'd definitely like something more hands-on than being a cautionary tale." Not going to the meeting hadn't even occurred to him: the meeting was about him. His shitty actions, his reward for them. Is it even a service, showing off what you can get for a theft that didn't even have real consequences for either party? He's going to have to find a way to lock up his house, or at least the important shit in the piles of junk.

"Was I very--" he purses his lips, considering the question. It's such a fucking trip, having to ask people what he was like. The past, the roads not taken--those aren't for him to know even with his powers. "Was I big on community service, before?"

It's part of a larger question, and one he might have to pose to more people: how different is he now?

I hesitate, tipping my head to the side. "Yeah, actually. To be honest, I don't know exactly all the things you did, but you kept busy. I'm pretty sure you helped out in the Inn kitchen most days, and you'd help with the fields. Maybe livestock? I feel like you inherited a goat at some point, but I might be thinking of someone else. One of the big things you did was essentially set up a welcome station in one of the houses with a girl who used to be here, Veronica. You guys made maps and put together little packets of useful items for new folks."

Well, that explains the goat that keeps bleating at him like he's personally responsible for its being in the pen, every time he wanders into sight. "You know, I didn't have a single pet back home. I didn't even babysit other people's pets." It's the thing he's found hardest to believe, even with a dog crawling into his bed regularly and a bird all but living on his shoulder.

At least he likes birds.

"I...found some of those, when I moved into that house." They'd tipped the scale the other way, with the journal: things in his handwriting, things he thinks he would say. Over time, he stops being glad for all the people who don't know him, and wishes--he could talk to this Veronica, or the person who left him a goat. Talking to Bodhi always seems to upset the man, and he seems--easily upset.

"It's like--I believe you. It all sounds like things I could do, but I feel fake at the same time. Like I might be myself wrong at people, and I want to care how they feel, but I also want tell everyone to fuck off." By the time he acts, it's in spite of it all, and he's just tired, and he's standing around telling Mark how much he wants to tell everyone to fuck off. For all he knows, he's getting this wrong too.

"To be honest, you were always sort of a 'fuck off' kind of person, I think you'd just been here long enough that you got slightly less irritated with everyone," I reply, and then smile. "But only slightly."

I pull in a slow breath and shrug. "I wish I had an answer for you, but I think the only answer is time, to be honest. I don't blame you for feeling awkward or like you're an impostor. I don't think anybody would blame you for that. I guess the only advice I'd have is to find things that work for you, not for that other you. You're obviously a different person, you've had different experiences. You don't have to be him. People will get over it."

"That might be the most comforting thing I've heard." In the midst of all the we were friends, the projects, the guiding people in from the fountain--he'd just wanted to hear this. He could be an asshole, trying to figure it all out. He could fuck up.

Considering Mark is somewhere between sidelong and turning his head to do it, gaze slanting with his eyebrows. Instead of crossing his arms, he shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his over-sized coat. It's had a wash, but it almost makes him look like he's been here a year--he hadn't taken it off until someone took it off him, face down in the snow.

"Have you gotten over it?"

"Do I have a choice?" I ask with a huff of laughter, and then shake my head, wanting to make sure he knows I'm teasing.

"Yeah, I mean... I considered you a friend, but I didn't know everything about you and couldn't have laid any kind of claim to you. And really, as your friend, what else can I do if I really want to help you through the shittiness of the situation?" I can't speak for anybody else, but I really hope I'm less self-involved than that.

What strikes me but I don't mention is that it could be worse. There's a benefit to the tragedy of Kira having lost so many of his close friends before he himself up and disappeared. The people pressing on him are greatly diminished.

"Did we not just go over the merits of telling people to fuck off," he answers, and he's only teasing in part. He's done enough that Mark really should have--maybe the only thing going for him is that his bullshit had some experimental merit. For Mark, and the powers that be.

Rolling in his lips, he keeps looking at Mark past the impossible blur of his own eyebrows. The strain on his eyes is worth the face: he's not letting that sentiment touch him. Not a bit.

"If you go saying things like that, I'm going to have to start reciprocating all this help." When he sighs, he looks back out at the crowd, gaze leveling.

"Oh yeah, heaven fucking forbid," I say with a laugh. I know better; this Kira may be coming from a different place in his life, but my experience tells me that you're either the sort of person who is inclined to pitch in or not. He's never struck me as somebody looking for a free ride.

"Come by the house after breakfast tomorrow if you really want to help out," I add. "We'll find you something that's not too annoying."

[OTA - MINGLE] Town Hall meeting

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