*I might start every note with the message "I'm not dead" just in case :)))
Anyway, here i am with another chapter (kept you waiting, huh?)
But ye, enjoy and let me know what you think and expect. Peace out and Deus vult.*
The view from above made it easy for him to spot the gentle figure, Robin's cheerful appearance like a touch of white on a gloomy canvas. She looked up, waving his way as he slid down, coming to a halt right in front of her, hands in his pockets.
'Gotta farm some aura, my guy.'
She beamed a gentle smile, holding her palms together.
"Mister Handsome, I'm glad to see you. I didn't get to say my thanks to you for what happened back then," she said softly, looking at the now grown arm with a bit of confusion, then a touch of relief.
"I'm never living that one down, am I?" he laughed, crossing his arms. She looked at his right arm, a touch of worry and something else in her gaze.
"Is it... ok? I don't recall much of what had happened in the battle, but I remember how hurt you were, Mark."
He brought it up, twirling it a little for show, but he didn't change its shape.
"Works like a charm. It's fine, really. I'm just glad it ended well."
She gave a light nod, and he could nearly see the subtle weight fall off her shoulders.
"In that case, Mark, what brings you here? I don't think you'd come here for leisure."
Sharp lady, she was. Through the story, she had been shown as a gentle bird, seen through the lens of Sunday's own perception—flawed and incomplete. In truth, Mark knew bits of her plight and the strength she possessed, shown best when her brother fell. Thinking of Sunday gave him a headache, so he wondered slightly about where he'd show up. For the time being, however, his focus shifted to the lady in front of him.
"Heh, always on the lookout for troublemakers like me. Well, the thing is fairly simple: I need some help selling a million bottles of Soulglad. Thing is, I kinda won 'em at a contest, something you might be familiar with."
She gave a light nod, smiling softly in her usual manner. She gave it some thought, her index tapping softly against her chin.
"I might be able to help you with that, Mark. I happen to know just the right person."
Mark made a show of rubbing his brow, despite there being no sweat there.
"Phew. Saved me the struggle of trying to sell them without a permit or to figure out another way," he chuckled, but the joke earned him a playfully raised brow and a challenging glint.
"Surely the Dream's Saviour doesn't think to promote negative behavior and commit tax evasion, right?"
"Me?!" he asked in the most exaggerated manner, slapping his palm to his chest, throwing his head back. "My, to think I'd be accused of such vile acts that go BEYOND my integrity as a person. Truly, Miss Robin, you consider me a rebellious man."
The soft sound of her laughter meant he's done a decent enough job with his tiny act.
"Oh, Mark, you're just..."
Robin caught her breath, calming down—even if the corners of her mouth were a touch more upright than her usual smile.
"I find it rather fascinating how you can switch between moods. I see the man who fought back then against a nightmare, and then you come and act like a drama queen for no reason."
Mark gave a shrug, shaking his head as the memories of his past actions came to him. It wasn't just the memories of this world, but also those of a world he'd probably never return to. He's gotten over it, or so he told himself. Still, the memories lingered, coming to the surface in the worst possible moment. In everyone he saw, bits of the people he's loved managed to crawl out and greet him, shaping themselves as memories.
"Heh, it's who I am," he replied, his gaze a little lost, the hint of longing gone as quickly as it appeared.
"Anyway, thank you for the help, Robin. I owe you."
"It's alright, Mark. Consider it a debt paid. Just make your way to the Clockie Statue, and they'll find you themselves."
With a nod, he slid away, taking moving away before closing his eyes, focusing on one point, then he appeared right there, by a Space Anchor. The statue was close, so he dashed over and waited. At some point, a group of people in suits came by, and so he discussed the terms, filled in some paperwork, and it was done.
The rest of the work was done quickly, with the bottles being taken away. He checked his bank account on the mobile app, and his eyes went wide. The amount was substantial, enough for him to go on with the second phase of the plan.
'Damn, this is enough money to last me a good shit ton of time. Still, I have another idea in mind, one to make even more.'
Thus, Mark tried figuring out his next step on the list, straining his mind to figure out what and how. His in-game information did little to help, since he didn't want to work with anyone related to the IPC for more than those stupid taxes he would have not paid, but his actions could affect others, so he chose to pipe down.
His brain kept wobbling side by side, until it recalled the good ole source of information that had probably grown way past what he knew: THE INTERNET.
'Let me look up some stuff here and there then see how it goes.'
With familiar agility, his fingers slid along the screen, typing in the things he wished to know. Results appeared in a flash, and in that moment he realized just how advanced society had become. Things that would've taken way longer back home were completed in hours, done by machines of insane capabilities or humans—human-like beings—that performed so fast Mark felt slow in comparison even with the boosts of energy from the Stellarons.
'I'll be damned... I guess this will be done faster than expected, but first...'
The streets became a blur in his peripheral view, sights set on one specific place, where a certain doctor can help with dreams.
The large eye stared at Mark as he approached, still for a while until it figured out who he was.
"What a pleasant surprise! The Saviour of the Dream, right at my store. To what do I owe this visit?" asked Dr. Edward, the figure having been of decent use to the plotline.
"Well, I pretty much need some help with getting bits of certain memories. I need them in detail, and I'm willing to pay a decent amount, ya know? Would be even better if somehow it could be turned to video footage, or at least an interaction with it."
The giant eye stared at him, humming with a voice whose origin left Mark wondering.
"I can help you with that, but it will cost you, even if I were to add a discount for an important figure such as yourself."
Mark chuckled, shaking his head slightly.
"No funky deals. I pay in full, and I keep the rights to the material. It's my mind, after all."
"Very well then," replied the doctor, his tone calm and professional, though of an odd frequency. "Describe your dream, and for precision, I will need access to those memories, just a few fragments to construct better footage."
Mark gave a light nod, closing his eyes, going on to describe what he wanted, using as much detail as possible to paint the story with accuracy, rather than whimsy. He kept blabbering on and on, repeating some things while picturing them, feeling the bits of those memories being touched slightly, just enough for one to get a good idea.
"I must admit," said Dr. Edward, the large eyeball looking right at Mark. "This was a rather technical dream. I'm rather curious of what it is that you wish to do with it, since instead of selling your dreams, you chose to keep it."
"Well, a man's gotta have some plans here and there. I'll come by when it's over, and yeah, let me pay some extra for 'priority queue', because I'm done waiting."
Mark's credits went down once more as the payment was done, the dent in his budget barely visible.
"In that case, my good sir, it should be done in a couple of hours. Please return by nine p.m. and you can pick up your dream bubble."
"It was a pleasure doing business," said Mark, bowing slightly before walking away, thinking on and on about the rest. He kept typing away on his phone, stuck to it like he had been inside the white cube back then.
Part of him still couldn't believe he was alive, yet the air in his lungs said it all.
'Funny how life can go every possible way. One day you fight eldritch horrors, the next you just relax and make a ton of money due to a stroke of luck. Well, I'll put it to good use. After all, the thing I have in mind might just be what the people want. If the games we were shown in HSR, which were kinda branded as new, are actually what type of games they have... then my addition might just work.'
Mark chuckled to himself, walking to the Express while thinking of having to keep an eye out, just in case his memories of the future would return and bring about news of what to do next. He knew that it had to do with Penacony, but the flashes were too far away for him to make out.
'I'll handle it when it comes down to it. For now, time to go relax.'
The Astral Express was in the same spot, so Mark simply helped himself on. There was something special about being there, on board of the vehicle of legend. He loved it, in his own way, despite the mixed memories tied to it. It had once been a symbol of freedom and adventure, and now... it remains the same, but defined with shadows as well—squabbles, feelings going haywire. Still, it was wonderful.
"Oh, Mark," said a soft voice, the pair of golden eyes shining softly in the light. "You're finally back. I was wondering where you went off to."
He smiled softly, looking at Himeko with what little normalcy he could muster, trying to keep his emotions to himself. The sweetest smile was hers; that's what he knew deep down.
"You'd have missed me?" he chuckled, teasing as nothing more than a way to keep up the facade. In a few strides, he was there, sitting by her side. "Got any more coffee to spare for a tired guy?"
The soft chuckle left her silky lips as she fetched him a cup, the brew looking darker than usual.
"It's a bit stronger than usual, something new that I tried. I hope you can stomach it, since the others were too scared to even smell it."
He took the cup with a nod, letting out the usual words of thanks before taking a sip. The dark concoction traveled across his tongue, leaving bitter destruction in its wake. Her expecting gaze met his briefly, and Mark fell in love with the taste.
"It's good. I like a good cup of strong coffee, can't deny that."
His stomach, however, threw a nasty fit that luckily bore no sound. It was an internal battle, one he'd forcefully halted with a bolt of energy to the guts.
"I'm glad someone shares my taste. It means a lot to me... having a partner who indulges in my hobby."
Mark could almost swear that he saw a hint of something in her gaze, the way her eyes were holding his like time itself chose to hold its breath just for the moment to prolong, a second of pleasure turned into an eternity of damnation for his heart. It was gone with a beat of his heart.
"What can I say? It's good to have others by your side."
Her lips curled up a touch more as she shifted closer.
"You know, Mark... I can't help it but point out how you love doing everything alone. It's not exactly fair to say one thing then do the total opposite, is it?"
He closed his eyes, letting out a strained huff.
"Call me a hypocrite, which sometimes I am, but I know when and where to do things with others."
"Is that why you always go off alone, Mark? Is that why you never ask someone for help unless it's a dead end you're in?"
He had to agree, against his own wishes, that she sort of had him cornered. Telling reasons would hurt and cause more chaos, so instead he chose silence and a slow, deliberate sip of the coffee.
"I gotta admit, Himeko, that you do make a compelling point. However... I don't care," he replied calmly, shrugging. She didn't take it well, but quickly realized how he spoke in jest.
"Figures. The lone wolf, that's how you love to act."
Her fingers wrapped gently around his biceps, dragging his attention her way in full.
"Mark... I know that things were rough, tense... but don't hurt yourself just to uphold some stupid idea. We're here, alright? We're here for you."
How could he speak his mind and tell her all the worries that wrapped themselves around his logic? He needed power, needed to face all alone. That was the idiotic path he's chosen at some point. His issues, emotional ones, he'd ask for help with. Anything he'd ask for help with unless it were an annoyance for the others... all but one thing, his biggest worry: battle.
That was supposed to be his domain, all thanks to his own, unwritten law that governed his soul.
"I'll try, Himeko," he punctuated with another sip from the coffee cup, dropping the topic as silence settled in.
She sat by his side, both of them alone on the soft, plush couch. His elbow found its way to her side, nudging it softly. She did the same in turn, stirring muffled chuckles from both as they basked in the relaxing atmosphere.