Day one saw Mark worried and irritable, pacing, listening to the comm network.
He'd occupied himself by sliding his couch in front of his door and adding a lock or two (there are four now, to be precise. For
some stupid strange reason, noting the numbers pleases him), and waited out the night fairly well. He's skipped meals before. No big deal.
On
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Can we...audio? Please?
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[ She switches and decides that there is no reason not to state the obvious. ]
...You have changed, haven't you?
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[There's a faint scrabbling. He's sweeping the chess pieces together again.]
Twelve hours to go. Almost exactly. I counted.
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Mark? Are you-- are you okay? You don't look real good.
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Phil, are you safe? Staying in your room?
[Had he warned him about events? He can't remember. Can't focus.]
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Is something going on? [You would be quite correct in guessing he doesn't know about events yet.]
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[Guess what, Phil, Mark got bossy during his mansion-stay.]
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