*I feel like I was on crack writing this one. Peace out tho, and Deus vult. I hope you lot enjoy.*
Days passed peacefully from that point, a temporary respite that Mark enjoyed to the fullest. He got to learn how they ended up with Sunday on the team, an event he didn't need to interfere with to fix back into place. Since Fugue was no longer in the scene, her identity as Tingyun having been preserved, her being in Penacony was no longer a given. Instead, the group went out looking for Mark and ended up stumbling over Sunday.
In the middle of his inquiries about who messed with his memory and how they managed to avoid being burnt, that was perhaps the single silver lining. Questions kept lingering, flooding his mind like crazy. Mark couldn't pinpoint the source, and yet in-depth dissection of the idea ended up causing a headache—the familiar kind that dangled an answer down the line as part of the future.
It didn't ease his mind, however, so he chose to do the most obvious thing: keep the Fire of Will burning around his entire mind all day every day, even in sleep. It took him a while to get that going unconsciously with that level of intensity, but it was achievable, nonetheless. Just like that, a couple of weeks went by, with Christmas passing.
The one thing he expected least was the amount of money MarkCraft was bringing in. He had a team handle it for the most part, his word being needed for collabs or what not—things that were growing more and more to an unexpected scale. Money was coming in at such a rate that the first time he checked the balance, he began running around the Express while grinning like an idiot from ear to ear.
Given how much freedom he had at that point, Mark found some time for shenanigans. Pestering Herta for a while with countless taunts like, 'Is the mighty genius Herta unable to make such a thing?' or 'I guess I'll have to ask someone smarter for it,' led to her developing the silliest thing he wanted: a device that could play songs based on the ones he remembers.
It worked relatively simply on the outside: place a couple of sensors on your temples, press some buttons, focus on the memories of the song, and it could 'download' the melodies from one's mind. He didn't bother listening to the long explanation Herta was offering, instead thanking her and bolting away to use it.
He was somewhat skeptical about things that interacted with the memory, but he trusted Herta—and the equipment itself didn't work with one's memories like Memokeepers do. It relied on brain waves and other scientific, physically prone concepts that would've probably propelled his world a good hundred years into the future at the very least.
Thus, Mark holed up in his room, recalling every song possible and downloading them with enthusiasm. It was another window into the life he's left behind. Everything brought emotions that had a melancholic nuance to them, yet acceptance blossomed amidst them. He was no longer home, he had no way to go back, and everyone had been left behind.
'I can only pray that everyone is safe... God, I'm sure they're alright, right? They can get over me no longer being around... I'm sure they can...'
A heavy sigh left his lips, settling in the air before the quiet claimed it. Mark's fingers kept moving over the strange box-shaped device, the sensors pressed to his head. From within, a cable connected to his laptop, and from the laptop, one went to the phone. He obviously needed more on his phone, not just the few tracks that had been saved there.
"Well, with this I think I have most of them down, especially the ones I did vibe to a lot. Which one should I go with?"
The selection was...broad, to say the least. However, considering the circumstances of his wealth having shot through the roof like ten times at once, the choice hovered in the direction of vibe and half-bragging.
'I'm doing it for the lolz, and I think the others are out at the moment except Pom-Pom. Yeah, I'm grabbing the portable speaker, and I'm blasting this one in full. Lemme get my stash of custom-made physical credits I got specifically for this purpose...and boy was the conversation with the IPC fun...hehe...'
Despite his attempts to get away from them, banking services were still something heavily under their influence, so while he did avoid taxes by selling the game on his own storefront and not on some market they controlled, he still had to keep the cash in their banks.
Brushing it all aside, he selected a track: A Boogie Wit Da Hoodie—Drowning. He was grinning from ear to ear while putting a pair of sunglasses on, grabbing the speaker in one hand and the bag with the credits in another. He walked out of his room, all the way to the Party Car, where Pom-Pom was cleaning the floor.
"Ah, there's the conductor. Here, put these on," said Mark, wasting no time in sliding a pair of sunglasses on Pom-Pom's face.
How did they sit on? Rubber in specific points that would create enough friction with Pom-Pom's fur to keep them steady. Specifically commissioned, one thing was clear—Mark had been planning it for a while.
The poor conductor was—obviously—confused. The broom fell from his tiny hands, but Mark caught it and propped it against a nearby chair.
"Mark? What's this? What?"
The poor guy had no time to talk. Mark just slid a couple of physical credits in his hat, placing them like accessories.
"Today we vibe together, Pom-Pom. Here, grab a stash of these things and toss some of them around for funsies. No need to worry; I'll gather them up when we're done. Just dance as you see fit."
Pulled randomly in the current that was Mark, Pom-Pom just chose to tag along and see what and how. Mark simply put the speaker down on the bar, tossing Shush some credits too.
"Here, Shush. Just vibe along."
With that, the filler episode was about to start. Everything was in motion, so Mark hit play. The song boomed louder than expected, with the beat building up slowly. The plan was simple: just dance as you see fit and toss credits left and right. Simple swaying turned to twirls and hand movements thrown around, credits flying like crazy.
Pom-Pom gave in and mimicked Mark, slowly getting into it. Even Shush moved behind the bar with some more swagger.
Was it cringe? Hella. Was it fun? Hell yeah. Still, it was just the three of them doing their shenanigans, so Mark had no issue jumping on the bar and dancing along, his steps light as credits kept flying.
'This sure is fricking nice when you're chilling on a mountain of money. Hell, I'll have to set other things in motion down the line, but for the time being I'll just flex a bit.'
Behind him, Shush was cleaning the bar while swaying along, and Pom-Pom was strangely getting into it more and more, even tossing credits and making it rain.
The song did come to the inevitable end, finding Mark on the edge of the bar, sunglasses slightly askew. Pom-Pom was still moving around, humming the song while swaying.
"Well, that was quite the show."
Mark's head shot to the door, finding none other than Himeko and Welt watching, with Himeko holding her phone up. Mark closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it flow with his words.
"How much have you re-?"
"Enough," she replied, her smile teasing. Even Welt was laughing at her side, trying to hide his amused expression.
"Welt, I know you're NOT laughing right now, not after THE INCIDENT..."
Their eyes met, and Welt locked in, going serious all of a sudden. Himeko could only raise a brow, wondering what they were talking about.
"It's nothing," added Welt, sensing the curiosity radiating off of her.
"Yep...nothing..." added Mark, sketching a smile. He leapt off the bar and began gathering the credits, tossing them back into a bag. Pom-Pom kept the glasses on, checking himself in the mirror.
"So, where were you guys?" he asked, sliding the glasses down before hooking them to the front of his t-shirt.
"We were dealing with some errands, mostly administrative tasks regarding our owned shares," clarified Welt, rubbing his temples as memories of the meeting came back to him.
As if on cue, Shush began blending some drinks—a method as old as time when it came to alleviating pain. Three glasses clinked in a row, the amber liquid sloshing in the half-empty bottle as it flew through the air, followed by some ice cubes. It was a pretty fun display of mechanical skill, followed by the usual.
"How about worrying about how one 'shares' a cold drink?"
Mark actually let out a chuckle at that one, leaning back against the bar with a sigh. The bag and speaker would have to wait, so he placed them aside. Himeko just shook her head at the dry joke, while Welt didn't seem to be taking it that much better.
"Thanks, Shush," came a quick grateful line from Mark before he took a swig and relaxed.
To the side, Himeko fiddled slightly with the speaker, turning it from one side to the other until the power button came into sight. She didn't waste time, shuffling through the songs before it landed on a specific melody Mark began jamming to—because why not? He did make a fool of himself in front of them, so he might as well go all the way once more.
"Bad Romance, I love this one."
Welt didn't bother much, instead unwinding from the long meeting. He drank slowly, enjoying the drink with a touch more refinement than Mark, who just downed it for the slight burn and jolt it brought.
"Bad Romance? Why doesn't it surprise me?" murmured Himeko, watching Mark from the corner of her eye as he sang along in a half-whisper-half-mumble, moving one hand along to the beat.
Pom-Pom was still rocking the new style, swaying from one side to another as he kept cleaning the floor. The little guy was thorough, perhaps finding joy in his daily tasks—something everyone could learn from.
Mid painful attempt at singing in a somewhat tone-deaf manner, Mark made the mistake of looking to the side. He had the little slip-up from a while back still fresh on his mind, and seeing Himeko eye him right as he was singing that damning song tossed him into a silent moment of contemplation. The melody went on, but his lips stopped and pressed together as his brain pushed itself to calculate.
"Somethin' on my face?" he asked, a default answer tossed out like code handling an error.
The smile on her face widened just a tiny bit, noticeable to a trained eye.
Luckily for him or not, Mark did have a keen eye polished both by combat and his body's strange healing stage back in Penacony.
"Nothing. I'm just watching you enjoy yourself. It's pleasant... seeing you open up as the days go by."
She set her glass down, walking closer and sitting in the spot where Welt had been just a moment ago.
'Where the hell did he go now when I could use some backup? Welt, I'm SO praying I have that photo of you in an idol costume...'
It wasn't like Mark hadn't spent time alone with her, the two of them engaging in random conversation and topics that didn't really go deep into emotional territory but still kept them entertained.
"Most of the time you just act by yourself, moving from one place to another with purpose and recklessness. It's that mystery that makes you seem distant, and yet it all vanishes the second you're left alone or find yourself in the company of people you're comfortable with."
She wasn't wrong; that much he handed to her. The nearly empty glass swayed in his palm, the ice clattering softly against it. He sat down, one shoulder propped back on the bar, while he looked at her from the side. Their eyes met, but instead of a furtive glance, there was just the quiet warmth of her questioning gaze and his own perpetually tired, closed-off one.
"You're not wrong," he admitted, the words somewhat heavy. "I feel like we've had a few moments, like two of them, that stemmed from the same subject. Still, things change with time. I do feel more at home on the Express now than I used to—that much is a given."
Her smile warmed his heart with every breath that left his lungs.
"In that case, I'm happy. Every step taken forward, every bit of emotion you show... it's special. You deserve a place where you can be yourself."
Before the wetness of his eyes could be noticed, Mark finished his drink.
"Heh, everyone's emotions are special. I don't fancy myself as more important. If others smile, I'll smile too even if I'm in my little corner."
He stood up, yanking the bag filled with credits on his shoulder.
"Now please excuse me, but I have to put this stash away for another random little party. Oh, and if March and Stelle happen to see that video, at least show the good angles."
Himeko let out a soft laugh, twirling a strand of red hair around her index.
"I'll make sure to do so. It was, after all, a rather interesting view. I don't think they'll mind the energy—but maybe they will feel excluded. Get ready to be pestered."
It was all just a moment of life, a tiny window into the daily relationship they shared. Mark enjoyed each moment, treasuring them more than he showed. Himeko did notice, paying attention to things that others may overlook. Few had ever paid that much attention to him, so it felt... strange in a pleasant way.
'I better keep those flames around my mind burning more and more. There's a reason I fear my mind deteriorating. If I lose my memories, I may lose who I am.'