Tyler would recognize that bag anywhere, that slump of shoulders even if he hadn't spotted Zuckerberg by face first. He'd spent time after more than one class - wasted time, more accurately - waiting around, having learned Mark's schedule for the sheer purpose of tracking him down for a conversation that wasn't going to be able to use their e-mail accounts as intermediaries. And yet, somehow, his every move had been anticipated, the timing would be off in one way or another. The closest either of them had gotten was when Cam had tried to chase him down at the quad, but they'd since given up on that particular approach.
Now, it seems, there's nothing really in his way except several trees, and Zuckerberg looks ready to tip over under the weight of that bag. He has the advantage, if the odds are in his favor. Time's helped him to cool down since Henley, but not by much, and there's tension reigning in his jaw as he shifts, moving to follow even as he watches Mark start to walk away. It's not going to happen the way it has in the past. He's not going to let himself be ignored. "Mark." He's walking a little faster, squaring his shoulders, preparing for something. "Mark Zuckerberg."
There are some things in life you can't outrun. I'm not about to say that Winklevii the Angry is one of them. I'm no track runner, but I know how to use terrain to my advantage- kind of one of the first things you learn to do when you're that geeky kid in high school and the majority of jocks tower over you by age twelve. But there's a bigger picture than, you know, trying to outrun the backseat driver twin whenever we come within fifty feet of one another. That picture being that I probably, at some point, need to have the same talk with him that I did with the civil one. Cameron.
Besides, I'm in no rush to spend the rest of my days on this rock running. So I slow to a stop. Fine.
Won't make any promises if he decides to deck me, though.
Carefully lowering the laptop bag to the ground and nudging it away with the point of his shoe, Mark stuffs both hands into his pockets, watching as the young man walks over, a pretty impressive presence to him. The kind that would part a crowd at first chance.
"Hey," he replies, like this encounter is nothing at all.
For a second, he's half-convinced that Zuckerberg's going to actually take off from right where he stands, even if there's something of a disadvantage given the shifting sand and the lack of friction it provides on the boardwalk path. He'd sooner bite it than successfully make his getaway, especially in those sandals. Then again, Tyler's shoes aren't faring much better on this path, but he manages to overcompensate for any potential yields in balance by leaning forward slightly, countering the occasional shuffle of his feet over the path.
"Heard you were here," he replies, by way of greeting. It strikes him then, as he looks down (and down) to where Mark stands, calmly looking up at him, that face of his an infuriatingly impassive mask, that all of the things he's been itching to say since he first figured out they were being jerked around, every spur-of-the-moment insult and argument that had popped into his head over the course of those months - none of it comes to mind now as he looks down at him, mouth setting into a firm line.
I don't get it. I don't understand. Granted, this is better than getting decked right in the face, but there is very little in the world that is more infuriating than having someone kind of dangle a pointless factoid over your head, leaving you to try and figure out where he plans on going from there. This could be a threat. Not that a threat to my life or well-being means very much on the island. What do I have going for me? Bank account's nonexistent, and I'm just scrawny enough that it'd be like picking on Peter Parker before he was bitten by the spider, no pleasure to be earned from that. (No offense, Petey.)
But hey, I figure I'll bite just once. What harm could it really do?
"Your brother told you?" Mark shrugs, arching a brow for just half a second, before it drops again. Almost in challenge, though not quite caring- or daring, perhaps- to take it all the way. Any pleasantries that Mark might have otherwise offered seem pointless now. No need to show him the Compound, no need to tell him everything about the island (though make no mistake, Mark would, if it was necessary). Thank god for small blessings.
"But yes, I'm here, even in the present tense. So. What now?"
Ultimately, it's not going to serve him if he resorts to decking the kid in the face right here and now. There are legal means to an end, none of which can be pursued here - and Tyler's only starting to realize the irony in their current situation, not necessarily just for himself and his brother but for Zuckerberg too, stranded without a means of access to his property - stolen or not: the idea, the concept, the company, all of it is ultimately unreachable from this place, if he has to venture a guess, and even as he stands in this space, he can feel his rising anger begin to dissipate, clearing away like a fog lifting.
"He might've," Tyler adds, though it doesn't do him much good to be elusive, cryptic in any way. "So you've spoken with him already. I'm sure he's told you what our terms are - or were, more accurately."
"Terms," Mark repeats without missing a beat, brow furrowing in light confusion. Maybe Cameron and him have worked out a general truce, sure. A way, most of the rules of which are unspoken and unshared, for the two of them to live together on the island without interrupting the other's life. way of, if not forgiving, then at least forgetting while dwelling did nothing to help either of them. Something about terms, however, draws him straight back into the deposition room, to talks of a settlement, and the very thought digs under Mark's skin in a way more than unpleasant.
"I didn't think that we had anything codefied, and I guess even if we did, I figured that you'd have your opinion to add if you ever did arrive on the island, so why don't we just..." He shrugs his shoulders, and although his tone carries an unmistakable hint of sarcasm, it's still more defeated than confrontational. "Hash it all out again. Refresh my memory."
Now, it seems, there's nothing really in his way except several trees, and Zuckerberg looks ready to tip over under the weight of that bag. He has the advantage, if the odds are in his favor. Time's helped him to cool down since Henley, but not by much, and there's tension reigning in his jaw as he shifts, moving to follow even as he watches Mark start to walk away. It's not going to happen the way it has in the past. He's not going to let himself be ignored. "Mark." He's walking a little faster, squaring his shoulders, preparing for something. "Mark Zuckerberg."
Reply
Besides, I'm in no rush to spend the rest of my days on this rock running. So I slow to a stop. Fine.
Won't make any promises if he decides to deck me, though.
Carefully lowering the laptop bag to the ground and nudging it away with the point of his shoe, Mark stuffs both hands into his pockets, watching as the young man walks over, a pretty impressive presence to him. The kind that would part a crowd at first chance.
"Hey," he replies, like this encounter is nothing at all.
Reply
"Heard you were here," he replies, by way of greeting. It strikes him then, as he looks down (and down) to where Mark stands, calmly looking up at him, that face of his an infuriatingly impassive mask, that all of the things he's been itching to say since he first figured out they were being jerked around, every spur-of-the-moment insult and argument that had popped into his head over the course of those months - none of it comes to mind now as he looks down at him, mouth setting into a firm line.
Reply
But hey, I figure I'll bite just once. What harm could it really do?
"Your brother told you?" Mark shrugs, arching a brow for just half a second, before it drops again. Almost in challenge, though not quite caring- or daring, perhaps- to take it all the way. Any pleasantries that Mark might have otherwise offered seem pointless now. No need to show him the Compound, no need to tell him everything about the island (though make no mistake, Mark would, if it was necessary). Thank god for small blessings.
"But yes, I'm here, even in the present tense. So. What now?"
Reply
"He might've," Tyler adds, though it doesn't do him much good to be elusive, cryptic in any way. "So you've spoken with him already. I'm sure he's told you what our terms are - or were, more accurately."
Reply
"I didn't think that we had anything codefied, and I guess even if we did, I figured that you'd have your opinion to add if you ever did arrive on the island, so why don't we just..." He shrugs his shoulders, and although his tone carries an unmistakable hint of sarcasm, it's still more defeated than confrontational. "Hash it all out again. Refresh my memory."
Reply
Leave a comment