bohemian_mark | Recent Entries

Looking back years later, Mark would never know why he had decided to do a series on Battery Park during different times of day. He almost didn't go that morning, but waking up early, he caught a strange quality of the light through the clouds, and hopped on his bike.

People were, as always, milling about below the Trade Centre towers. Suits on cellphones complained at their brokers, their wives, or whoever was on the other end of the line. Other people wandered around, on the way to their jobs in other parts of the city. Turning his camera upward, he framed a shot. However, after about a minute, something caught his eye. A... plane, flying in at a very wrong angle.

September eleventh, eight forty-five AM, eastern standard time. Filming in Battery Park, a plane is flying a bit too low… oh fuck.... Mark fell silent as the plane crashed into the side of one of the Trade Centre buildings. Oh my god. The plane just flew into the building. Holy fuck. Mark kept his camera running as people jumped out of windows, ran out of the building, and some brave souls ran -into- the building. About fifteen minutes later, on a pan-up to the smoke pouring out of the building, something else caught his trained eye.

Oh my god. He couldn't move his camera as a -second- plane crashed into the other tower. What in the fuck is going on here? In an instant, however, his manner changed, from directorial curiosity to human panic. Throwing his camera in his bag, he pulls out his cellphone. Dead. Slamming it back into his pocket, he took off at a run toward the buildings. Whatever the fuck just happened was not good. And he was going to do something about it.

The lobby of the building is mosty uninteresting. A stairway is the first thing seen, to the right a bank of mailboxes, to the left an outer office, with Mark's office to the rear of that. Behind the stairs is a hallway leading to other offices. As always a pile of boxes lie in front of the mailboxes. Watch your step!

The lobby of the building is, as it always is, quite busy. Directly in front of the door is a staircase leading upstairs. If one were to look straight up, one could see all the way to the top of the stairwell, and possibly even the door to the Loft.

To the right is a bank of mailboxes, with a few cardboard boxes addressed to various people sitting underneath.

To the left are two doors, one to a front office, where a desk sits empty of people, but full of papers, and a computer. Behind that desk is a shut door with a sign on it: Mark Cohen, Vice President in Charge of Everything.

The second door, were it to be opened, leads to a row of offices with various names on the doors: Adam Hawking, Jon Larson, and Joanne Jefferson. On the last door, someone added a post-it: Ali too!

All in all, it is a scene of lovely Bohemian Chaos.

( Polltime! )

If you woke up and I was in bed with you, what would be your first thought?

Speeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak!
Mark? Pick up, damnit. You're not answering your cell, and I don't think you're in Vegas... Fine. I'll talk to your world-famous machine. Five's your lucky number, man. We got five again. Picture, Adaptation, Editing, Kyle, and Jill. I'm calling Quin to get the press releases out. You're probably... out. Why am I not surprised? Anyway, Congrats. And you might want ear plugs for when Kyle finds out.

---

"California dreamin' on such a winter's daaaaaaaay!"

"Don't you ever get tired of that song?"

"Don't you ever read the paper?"

"I got it for papier mache this morning. I'm trying to make...."

"Read it for once. Front of the entertainment section."

"... Five Osrics. Big deal."

"Did you see what they were in?"

"Picture, no director, huh, adaptation, editing, costuming, and... wait... eeeeeeeeee!"

"That's why you need to read the paper. I'm going to...."

"... Is that Kyle squealing?"

"Likely. That's why I'm going to go to the Life."

"I'm coming with you. Windows're going to be rattling in a bit."

"Good idea. Perhaps we can figure out where the hell Mark and Jon got to."

"Vegas?"

"Around here, you never know."

United Nations General Assembly, December 1, 1999

Ladies and gentlemen of the United Nations... I have to apologise first and foremost. I'm not a speaker, never have been. I spend my life behind the camera, not in front of a podium. So, if I sound rough, unpolished, or if I drop my notes and totally forget my speech, please forgive me. I also apologise in advance to the translators. I'm hard to understand in English, let alone Chinese. Or whatever language you all speak.

I was asked to come and speak today on the subject of AIDS and HIV infections. In preparing this speech, I've realized how hard it is to speak at length about something which is such a pervasive part of my life. How can I explain how deeply this disease has affected me, without sounding like a broken record or an old, dead film plot? Perhaps this, like any good film or plot, should start at the beginning.

Almost twenty years ago, a disease was discovered in Africa, unlike anything seen before. It attacked someone's immune system, killing them sometimes with a simple cold. As time went on, the disease spread, until today millions of people are living with it, and millions of people have died. Even today, with research and treatments which slow the spread of the virus, there is no cure, and in some ways, we are no closer to the cure.

What does this matter, some people ask? AIDS touches everyone, whether you realize it or not. It cannot be relegated as a 'gay man's disease' or just another problem in the poorer parts of the world. Most of the infected people across the world have become infected through no fault of their own, through a blood transfusion, birth, or a sexual partner who swears they're clean. A pandemic touches everyone, no matter economic status or sexuality.

I urge you, the leaders of the world to do something about this. Don't sit back and watch millions of people die. Go back to your countries, research this disease, come up with ideas, medicines, a cure. Above all, however, educate the people of the world to what's going on. AIDS is not something which should be pushed under the rug. People, beloved people are dying, while the world sits back, twiddles its thumbs and watches. To the people who are doing something, I thank you. Everyone touched by this disease thanks you.

So, let me finish with the words of one much smarter and more confident than I. Actual Reality: Act up, fight AIDS. Thank you all for your time.

"What's the next one? Across the field?"

"Oh, come on. Around the building, over the fence, across the field."

"That's nothing. Try up the tree, underneath that arch, across the parking lot and under the car."

"Child's play. Through the building, across the street, underneath the awning... nothing but shot."

"I knew there was a reason I hired you."

"Of course. I stunned you with my great wit."

"No. You scare me with your wit. You stun me with your shots."

"Bang. You're dead. I kill you with my lens. I forgot to set it on stun."

"Oh, woe and angst. I'll have Roger write a song about it."

"Do it. He'll probably get a grammy."

"I could do the music vid for it."

"Nah. I'd do it better. You're in love with him."

"Am not, but I think you are."

"Are you kidding? I value my balls. Mimi would rip them off."

"And Sara wouldn't do something similar to me?"

"Point. Now are we going to get this thing filmed or not?"

"I don't know. You're the boss here."

"Point. So I, as the boss, think we need a lunch break."

"I'm not objecting to that one."

Filmmaker geekery.

Sleeping beside Sara is amazingly comforting. Perhaps that's why it takes him a few moments to realize that he's not really there. Or at least, a part of him isn't there.

Sitting up, he looks around, and realizes he's in his bedroom. Not the Loft, not even the bar, but his room back in Scarsdale, with all of its film posters and quiet chaos. Across the room, tidying the dresser is an elderdly lady in a flowered skirt and headscarf. She turns around, and smiles at Mark, speaking, as she always did, in Yiddish. "I was wondering when you would finally wake up, my Moishe."

"Grandma? What're you..." He blinks at the use of his Jewish name,

"I've always been there when you needed me, haven't I?" She smiled at him, shuffling over and sitting beside him in the bed. "I hear you've found yourself a girl. A shiksa."

"Er, yeah." Mark turns a bit red, looking beside him, and realizing that Sara's sleeping there. He takes her hand gently, making sure he doesn't wake her. "She's everything to me."

"I can tell. It's in your eyes, Moishe. How is your father taking it?"

"I haven't told them yet. I... don't know how." Mark sighs, shaking his head a bit.

"Just tell them. If they can't see you're probably the happiest you've ever been, they have more problems than even I can fix."

"Grandma, how did Mom end up the way she is when you're so reasonable?" Mark laughs a bit, shaking his head.

His laugh is cut off by a sharp look from his grandmother. "There's a lot behind my reasonableness, Moishe, don't you ever forget that. I've been through more than even you can know. Esther tries, bless her heart, but she can't see outside of the little world she's created for herself. You and I both know there's more than that. You've known that since you were just a wee thing."

Mark sighs. "I miss you, Grandma. I wish you could be there..."

"Oh, I'll be there, alright. I wouldn't miss it for anything." She smiles at him. "I'm proud of you, my boy. I always knew you'd make it, but you'd have to take your own way to get there."

Mark blinks for a moment, then, seemingly out of the blue, changes the subject. "I met him, you know. Schindler. He was fascinating. Said I have your eyes."

Her eyes sparkle for a moment, paled by memory. "That's something he would say. I got him thrown in jail, after all. He was the most amazing man..."

"I know, Grandma. He was probably the most amazing man I've ever spoken to." Mark smiles thoughtfully. "He knew what was right." And really, that's about the biggest compliment Mark can give.

"He did, Moishe, he really did." She pauses and stands. "Take care of your girl. I want to see great-grandchildren one of these days, and you know I'll be stubborn until I get them."

"Oh, I know. You and Angel..."

"Your Angel is amazing. Too bad, really. That would have been lovely as well...." Before she could say any more, Mark woke up, not in Scarsdale, but in his own bed, beside Sara, whose hand he was still holding. The grin on his face probably isn't going to go away for a while.

Strange, after all of the glee of the past few days, coming back to the Loft seems almost an anti-climax. Sliding the door open, Mark peered in. Roger was on the couch, the Fender out, and atypically for usual, no notebook in evidence. The guitar's tune finally reached Mark, and he facepalms as he recognizes Musetta's Waltz. He stepped into the room, eying Roger. "Uh, Roger? You alright?"

Looking up from his guitar, Roger shrugged. "Yeah, sure. I'm alright."

"No. You're not. What's going on?" Mark crossed his arms. "You're in 'sit on my ass and angst' mode."

"Perhaps it's because my so-called best friend doesn't tell me anything." He picks up the guitar again, and goes back to Musetta's Waltz.

"What the fuck do you mean, I don't tell you anything?"

"You got engaged. And didn't tell me. I had to hear it from Val in the music studio. She said that you'd told Adam, who told Bee in a meeting who told...."

"Shut up, Roger. I only told Adam because he asked me. Actually, it was a bad rumour that actually got right for once. God, Roger, I would have told you first if I could." Mark flailed for a moment, before Roger found his voice.

"So you're saying that everyone downstairs actually knew something before you did? Now that should be put in the newspapers." He cracked a smile. "Alright. I forgive you. Hard not to with you grinning that much." Relaxing, Roger put his arms behind his head. "So, when's this whole shin-dig going to happen?"

"Hell if I know." Mark sighed, relaxing. "I don't know anything. Hell, I haven't even figured out how it'll work."

Shrugging, Roger picked up the guitar again. "Well, I'm sure it'll work out somehow."

"You're going to be a part of it, you know."

"Damn. I was so hoping to get out of it." Roger smirked.

"Well, I do need a wedding singer, you know." Mark ducked as a pillow flew at him from the couch. "Alright, alright, I'll get someone else." He pauses. "I don't know what the ceremony's going to be, Jewish or otherwise, but I want you as my best man, Roger."

"What? Not Angel?" Roger couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"No. Even if that were possible, Roger, you're.... uh. You're my brother. And, well, that's just what I want, alright?"

A long moment passed, before Roger nodded. "Yeah. Uh, same goes for you, you know? Brothers and all that."

"Yeah." Another moment passed before Roger picked up his guitar and plunked a bit of the wedding march.

"God, man. I never thought I'd see the day you were married. Hell, I didn't think anyone would -take- you."

Mark facepalmed, throwing a pillow back at Roger. "I never thought you'd see it either. God, I still don't know why Sara..."

"Oh, just shut up about that, will you? She sees you for the person that you can't see yourself as. And you'd better run with that or I'll kick your ass."

Smirking, Mark put his camera bag down. "I'd like to see you try."

"Oh, look, the skinny Jewish boy thinks he can beat my ass." Roger smirked.

"No, the skinny Jewish boy is coming downstairs because he has a meeting." Adam appeared in the door. "It's not a wonder there aren't more rumours about the two of you. Damn you sound like an old married couple."

"Oh, shove it." Mark grabbed his bag again while Roger facepalmed and grabbed his guitar again with a smirk.

"Come home soon, honey!" Roger batted his eyes at Mark.

"Oh, good god." Running out the door behind Adam, Mark smiled to himself. That could have gone worse.

"Did you hear?" "Hear what?" "Mark bought an engagement ring." "No, shit? Damn. I should tell Jon. Adam probably forgot to inform him. "

"Yo, Jon!" "Whut? I'm in the middle of..." "Mark's going to propose." "Really? Hell. I wonder if Kyle knows."

"Kyle!" "Get out of my office, Jon." "Mark's engaged." "No he's not. Adam would've told me." "I don't think Adam knows. I got it from Quin, who got it from Ali, who got it from Roger." "Huh. I guess Roger would know."

"Adam?" "Yes, dear?" "Is Mark engaged?" "... God, I hope not. Well, Sara's awesome, but we need to plan this, and do a press release..." "Adam?" "Yes?" "Shut up. Let him actually be a human for once." "... oh."

"Mark, are you engaged?" "How the hell did you know?" "Kyle heard it from Jon, who heard it from Quin, who got it from Ali, who heard Roger telling someone." "Roger doesn't know. All he knew is that I bought a ring. It just happened last night. God, the rumour around here..." "Well, at least it's right for once." "Shut up."

Letters from a vacation...

On the back of a postcard of a street musician in Paris
Roger!

You'd better take Mimi here sometime. She'd love it. And you would too, I think. There's scads of street musicians, and still a crop of Bohemians in Montmartre. Would have been even better if I knew French. Ended up seeing La Boheme at the Paris Opera, and let me tell you, it was strange. Felt oddly familiar. Anyway, gotta go. Going to Monet's garden.

~Mark

P.S. One word about a certain documentary and the timing of this trip, and I'm slashing your guitar strings in your sleep.

---
The back of a postcard of Giverny, Monet's home

Angel,

I know I won't be able to get this to you till I get to the bar, but I feel like writing it anyway. This place is amazing. I've never been much for flowers and gardens, but the whole damn place is so picturesque that I can't help but love it. Besides, Sara makes for a perfect film subject, and the flowers are gorgeous. You'd love it here. I should get someone to take you to another version of France. Running out of space, gotta go.

~Mark

It had been a wonderful night, all of it. Now, however, it was time to sleep. Or at least attempt to sleep. Sara drifted off fairly soon, but Mark lay there for a while, staring at the cieling and thinking. Somehow, he hadn't realized how damn well Sara fit in her lab. Sure, he knew she loved her work and her lab, but there was something about seeing her where she fit, well, it just felt odd.
(And if it turns out it's over too fast, I'll make every moment last)
He'd tossed around the idea of proposing for about a week or so, but somehow now, he couldn't. There was no way that he could take her away from this, from what she loved. It was her home, her passion, just like New York was his home and his passion.
To being an us for once instead of a them
For a moment, he wondered how the filmmaking market is in Vegas. That thought got caught short by a mental image of Adam's face when he'd hear that he had to explain Mark disappearing. That couldn't work. But love conquers all, doesn't it? He knew, for once, for certain, that he loved her. More than Maureen, more than film, more than anything ever. He didn't want to lose her, but he knew that there would be one day that he'd have to. Bar was like that. One day, he could try to get in the door, and it would be locked to him, his Sara on the other side, forever closed from him. It's one of those things that he knew he just had to live with. Such is the life of a Milliways denzien.
(The greatest thing you'll ever know is just to love and be loved in return.)
As he curled up against Sara's sleeping form, he sighed. No way he was going to get sleep tonight. Too much on his mind.

And when I capture it on film, will it mean that it's the end and I'm alone?

It had been a long day in Santa Fe. Everyone packing, making sure that all the film's in someone or another's suitcase, Kyle lamenting the poor Troll costumes' fate of being stuck around the cameras as packing material, and Jon losing a couple reels of film no less than four times. Eventually, everyone was on the plane.

---
"God, I never thought I'd be back here." Kyle twirled around a lightpole on eleventh as the entire crew trudged up the street.

"Must you be so excited all the time?" Adam looked over his shoulder.

"Of course. I have to make up for Roger's angst, and the stick up your ass."

Joanne just cracked up.

---

Before going in, Aly hugged her apartment door. "Missed you, luv."

Eric snickered, going into the room next door.

From another room, a voice called out. "I think it missed you too. Just watch out. I have an ant infestation."

"Maaaaaaaaaaaark!"

---

Finally, Mark and Roger got to their room, Roger collapsing on the couch, as Mark put things on his desk. Pulling out his guitar, Roger started to tune.

With a smirk, Mark pulled out his camera.

First shot Roger, tuning the Fender guitar he just got off of the plane.

Roger looked up. "This won't tune."

So we hear. He's just coming back from two months in Santa Fe.

"Are you talkin' to me?"

Not at all.

Mark put down his camera, and went over to the fire escape, opening the window, and leaning over the rail, grinning at the people on the street. Without even thinking, he calls out to no one in particular: "We're back, New York City!"

It was just another day. Mark rolled out of bed, muttered none-too-cheerfully about the lack-of-warm-body beside him, took a shower, and then grabbed his helmet, leaving the hotel and jumping on his bike. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into what, well, what should have been his set. Instead, he was greeted by a pile of what once were costumes, strewn out over the ground, along with sticking plaster, some film ends, some of what once was set, and ironically, right in the middle of where most of the set was, the huge paper-mache Osric, that was mainly a set-prop piece that they hadn't even gotten to use yet, almost un-touched. If the scene wasn't so saddeningly infuriating, it might be oddly ironic.
(Some who succeeded, and some who suffered in vain.)
Sighing, and fighting back some of the emotion in his voice, Mark phones Adam, who comes barrelling down the street in the old truck he'd borrowed from a cousin in Taos for the shoot. Swearing, Adam phoned just about everyone in the crew, who all came, pale-faced, and stunned. A couple of the girls were even sniffling. No matter how hard he tried, Mark couldn't find his voice. It was Roger who pulled himself up straight, and took charge for once. "Alright, guys. We have to get this cleaned up, and move on. Jon, you know what good film looks like. Figure out what's right and what's wrong. Kyle, get an assessment of the costumes. Adam, get pictures of everything, and don't let people clean up just yet. I'll take care of Mark." Good to his word, Roger leads Mark to the side of the mess that was the set, and just looked at him.
(People who worked, and suffered, and struggled for fame.)
Mark looked up for the first time since he saw the chaos. "Roger, I..."

"Dont' even go there, man. You can't fucking shut down now. You have to show them that you're bigger than that. Go get Sara. She does this stuff all the time. I'll get a hold of Joanne." Roger looks at Mark, and a smile crosses his face. "Hell, man. You put up with -me- for months. You can do this." After an awkward moment, Roger hugs Mark tightly.

Breathing, and clinging to his friend for a moment, Mark finally nods and pulls back. "Right. I gotta go get Sara. I'll be back as soon as I can." He shuffled off with an almost defeated look on his face.

Turning back to the crew, who were watching their director go, Roger snapped. "What're you all looking at? Get back to what you were doing. Mark needs us all right now." Everyone scattered, off to do their own thing, but the sullen expression never left anyone's face. This wasn't just a set trashing. This was personal.

A knock came on Roger's door, softly. "Mark, man, you know you can just come in." Roger shook his head. Only Mark could make a knock sound as timid as that.

Mark walks in, and leans on the wall across from the bed Roger's sprawled on with his guitar. "Hey. Uh, where's Mimi?"

Roger sat up, shrugging. "I think she went out with a couple of the cast girls to get a drink at the restaurant. Don't worry, man. She's out for a while if you need to talk." There's something on Mark's face that worries Roger at the moment. "Get your ass over here and tell me what's going on."

Sighing, Mark wandered over, and sat on the edge of the bed. "It's actually not me for once, Roger. It's, uh, well, something about you."

He stared at the blonde man for a moment, then just raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. "Alright, so what'd I do to you this time?"

"No, Roger. It's not what you did, it's who I..." He pauses, taking a deep breath. "April's at the bar. I was talking to her the other day. Hell, I don't even know if I should be telling you this or not, but it's probably better to mention it than to just let it hang in the air."

Roger's breath caught in his throat, and he gaped quietly at his roommate. "You've talked to April? How is she? How much've you told her?" So many things crossed his mind, the withdrawal, the pain, the months of trying to write, punctuated by Mark's attempts at pulling him out of it all.

"I've told her what's happened since the film came out. But not much before it. And, well, she's doing well." He pauses. "She wants to come here, Roger. She wants to see you, and Mimi, and the set and things." He pauses, a pregnant question hanging in the air.

"I... I don't even know what to say, Mark. Hell, in some ways, I still love her. I don't know what the hell'd I do if I had to choose between them." He pauses, and then a smirk crosses his face. "But then again... if I didn't have to choose..."

"God, Roger. I didn't need to be thinking that mental picture." Mark facepalms, shaking his head.

"Come on, man. You can't tell me that you haven't thought of Maureen and Sara together. It would be hot, gotta admit that."

"They'd get along like oil and water, Roger, you know that. Sara'd punch Maureen in the face... but come to think of it, that might be... no. I'm not thinking like that."

Roger snorts loudly, cracking up at his friend. "Yes you are, man. Give in to your dirty side. Hell, you've lived with us here for long enough, I think you can handle a few dirty thoughts."

Mark shook his head, face serious for a moment. "Roger, I shouldn't be thinking of your girlfriend and ex-girlfriend like that."

"Hell, Mark. They're hot. I know that. You know that. I know you'd die before you put the moves on anyone I was with, so think all you want, man."

Mark just shook his head. "Still, Roger. I'd feel guilty." He already feels guilty enough for slightly crushing on Angel.

"Don't worry about it, man. Seriously. Come on, let's go get a drink. I think we're both thinking too much. And you're turning into a workaholic on me." Roger smirked.

"I am not! I'm just caught up in what I'm doing. Roger, please smack me if I ever become too caught up in...." Mark was cut off by Roger, smacking him upside of the head.

"You are too caught up in it, Mark. Now just shut up and come on. We should go get smashed, and forget that film and music, and strange bars and ex-girlfriends exist." Roger got up from the bed, and pulled Mark to his feet. "Move it, filmboy. You might have a few Oscars collecting dust, but you're still my annoying roommate."

Mark snorted, shaking his head. "And you might be a huge rock star, but you're still the lump on the couch who calls himself my roommate."

They walked out the door together, laughing, almost as if the past few years were just a blur of possibility.

"Did anyone remember that pile of extra film?" ... "There are actually film stores in Santa Fe, you know."

"Crap, Mimi, I forgot my extra strings upstairs. I'll be right back." ... "Roger, honey, they're right here."

"Aly, you really don't need ten of those, we're only going to be gone for two months, not two years." ... "I like to be prepared."

"Where the hell did I put my liscence?" ... "Try your wallet." ... "Oh, yeah. Duh."

"Fuck, Jon, that was my foot you dropped that camera on." ... "Is the camera alright?" ... "Fuck you too."

"God, Kyle, enough with the glitter already." ... "But it makes me happy, and it makes us sparkly." ... "We're bohemians, not Holy Wood starlets." ... "So?"

"Joanne did you get the...." ... "Yes." ... "You didn't even let me say what I was asking." ... "I don't care. I have it. Whatever it is, it's on the list." ... "Do you have your list?" ... "Is that supposed to be a joke?" ... "Never mind."

"What in a fuzzy heck did I just sit on?" ... "First, learn to swear, Emma. Second, that was my lightmeter." ... "Ow. No wonder it hurt." ... "At least it wasn't my..." ... "Can it."

"Is that a film pen in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" ... "I think I'll go with the film pen." ... "Damn." ... "Oh, come on. We're going to a film set, not a pick-up joint." ... "Can't hurt a girl for trying."

"Come on guys, chill! We'll all be just fine." ... "Easy for you to say, Mark. You're getting laid." ... "My sex life has nothing at all to do with my calm, enthusuasm, or anything inbetween." ... "Yeah, right." ... "Come on, Adam. Let's just get everyone in the damn plane."

Cause anywhere you go after New York would be... a pleasure cruise.

"Roger, you got a few minutes?" Mark leaned on the doorjamb to his room, watching his roommate on the couch. For once, it was almost peaceful in the Loft.

Roger's expression was surprised, a hint of concern actually crossing his face, as he put down his notebook. "'Course I have time for you, man. What's going on? I haven't seen you this confused in ages."

Leaving the doorframe, Mark flopped in his chair. "I don't know. I think I just messed up really fucking badly. But for once, it's something that, as much as I don't want to admit it, I want."
(Love's just one of those things. When you learn what it is, you just can't let it go, no matter what happens. It's worth it.)
Roger just stared at Mark, slightly open-mouthed as the filmmaker explained, in rather painfully flail-y detail was had happened the night before in the Bar. Eventually, as Mark finished the story, Roger finally found his voice. "First, man, Maureen's rubbed off on you a bit too damn much for my taste, and next time I see her, I'm liable to tell her so. Second, you have to make a choice. You say this girl's from the future, and Vegas? Think about it. It's gonna be hard. Then again, Angel and Collins seem to make it work, and Angel's rather dead."
(And it really is wonderful meeting so many different people here. Finding family, in many ways.)
"It's different, Roger. I can talk to her. Hell, I can talk to her more than I think I've been able to talk to just about anyone. There's just something about her, something I can't explain. It's a connection, something I can't exactly explain. I'm comfortable with her, I can actually let myself be myself around her. I don't care if she knows the shit I've done, or the shit that's happened to me." Mark sighs. "I don't want to mess things up for her. Hell, she was dating someone. And I shouldn't have kissed her back, I should have just said something...."
(Beginnings are strange sometimes. Especially when you don't realize it's the beginning of anything.)
"Shut up for once, Mark, and listen to yourself." Roger cut Mark off, eyeing his roommate harshly. "You're basically telling me that this girl's the best thing that's ever happened to you, perhaps even better than getting that damned camera, and then in the same breath, you say that you should have pushed her away? These things don't happen twice. It's only damn luck that got Mimi back for me. Hell, I don't deserve her, the amount of times that I've pushed her away." Roger sighed, and put a hand on Mark's shoulder. "You're too selfless. Do something for yourself for once, man. You keep saying that you feel like the witness, that you feel disjointed from the world. Take the opportunity, Mark. And know that if she hurts you, I'll kick her ass, proto-cop or not."
(Neither of us expected anything. Found so much more.)
"You know, Roger, when you're right, you're really damn fucking right." Mark reached over and hugged his roommate tightly.

"Hey. someone has to kick your ass sometimes. I've just been doing it for the longest. Chin up, man. And I'm proud of you. Go see where the hell Maureen is now. I think you have a situation to get in order." Roger grinned at Mark, one of his few true bright smiles.

Mark hugged Roger again, then got up and went over to the fridge. Perhaps this wasn't as bad as it all seemed. Or perhaps it was going to be worse, and explode even more in his face. Things had a tendancy of doing that.

[OOC: Whitetext from Mark and Sara's first thread.]

It was late by the time Mark got back to the Loft. He'd had perhaps a few too many drinks with Sara, and then finished the bottle off by himself. Shuffling into the room, he found Roger on the couch.

"Damn, Mark, I'd think you had another girlfriend if I didn't know better. Why're you out so later?"

"I got pulled into a magical RPG of sorts, where my group killed, in order, a mutant smurf, a pack of herpes-harpies, some green gooey ugly thing, a really freaky doll, a pack of film-skeletons, and a dragon, and then I got stuck in a cage and made to fight a gazebo. Oh, and did I mention that I had boobs for most of this?"

Roger just stared at Mark. "...You are laying off the LSD. There is a reason that you shouldn't do that shit, man."

"It wasn't a bad trip, Roger. Well, it felt like it, but it wasn't. It's just fucking Milliways."

"Right. That place is really really fucking strange. Just don't go bringing home Buffy as your girlfriend or something."

"I don't know Buffy. Faith's my friend, though. Angel adopted her sorta." Mark deadpans, shrugging.

".... Go to bed, Mark." As Mark shuffled off to his room, Roger watched him idly. There was an odd confident set to Mark's shoulders, despite what was obviously a large need for sleep. Roger shrugged it off, standing up and going to his own bedroom. It was probabably just post-trip confidence or something. God knows he's known that feeling. Besides. Who the hell can understand Mark anyway.

"Jon, have you seen Mark today? He was supposed to be here and give us an update of what the hell's going on." Adam sighed dramatically, and put his head in his hands. It was getting annoying that he had to run all the staff meetings when most of the time, the head of the studio was late. Then again, most of the staff was too.

Jon just shrugged. "Why the hell're you asking me? I'm the new one around here. Ask Roger, or Mimi, or Joanne, or call Collins. Or perhaps just go...."

Before he could finish his sentance, the door slammed open, and Mark ran in grinning like a mad fiend. "Alright, guys. Unless you have a project that's almost done, or can't wait, your arses are all mine."

"But I like my arse, Mark. And besides. Maureen would probably not.... oh, who the hell am I kidding. She'd probably think it's hot." Kyle of the costume department smirked for a moment, leaning back in her chair.

Picking her head up from the table, Val, one of the new singers raised an eyebrow. "Hell, I'm just here for the doughnuts. I'm not even into this film thing, there was no one around the studio when Adam came in."

"Alright, everyone just shut up for a moment." Mark jumped up on the conference table, still grinning. "Today For You is going to start what I hope will be a joint project among everyone. The biggest film we've yet worked on. Moving Pictures."

Everyone stared at him for a moment, and knowing smiles cracked across the faces of about half the people at the table. Mark went on cheerfully. "I just got the letter this morning that I and Today For You have the rights to do it. Upstairs in the film room, there's a pile of copies of the book for anyone who doesn't know what it is, or doesn't own a copy. I know I need to get more, but for now, please share. You guys need to get to know the book, get to love the book, the style, the wordings, the feeling of Discworld. I'm going to start casting as soon as possible. Adam, rally the PR people, and start getting the word out. Everyone else, rally your departments, and get me lists of who's interested in working on this. I won't turn down anyone in the company. In fact, I want to work with you guys before anyone else, frankly, because I know and love you all. Right. So, to work everyone."

Mark jumped down off of the table, and scurried out of the room, leaving chaos, and excited conversation in his wake.

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Mark Cohen

September 2008

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Connection in an Isolating Age

Living in America at the end of the Millenium

Recent Entries

9/11/2001: The beginnings.

Late July 2000

Early July, 2000 Today For You Building

OOC: Phillicon poll

OOC: Memeage!

OOM: January 2000

Actual Reality, Act Up, Fight AIDS

Mark's in love with his work

OOM: The way that she died

OOM: The filmmaker cannot see, and the songwriter cannot hear

OOM: I should tell you...

OOM: I don't get these postcards.

OOM: Your hair in the moonlight...

OOM: But you'd miss New York before you could unpack.

OOC: Tho' merry ain't in my vocabulary

OOM: Use your camera to spar, use your guitar

I'm leaving now for Santa Fe...

OOM: She's got a new man? Well, no.