Sleeze (Prompt 3 - Mark Cohen)
Aug. 1st, 2006 12:49 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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fic_variationsTitle: Sleaze
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dragonessasmith
Rating: T
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fic_variations Prompt/Claim: Work // Mark Cohen
Spoilers: Act 2
Warnings: Alexi Darling
Count: 1/5
Words: 955
Author's Notes: Not my first idea for this prompt, but I started writing it last night and couldn't stop. That was a nice change. XD And I'm trying to do five 500+ word fics this time.
He wore the only button-up shirt he could find that was clean, a blue one with dark blue vertical stripes. Sadly enough, it was one that he'd borrowed from Benny almost a year ago. A Mark in Benny’s clothing...it wasn’t exactly a comforting thought, but what could he do? With his own pair of black pants and an overcoat from a couple Hanukkah’s ago, he almost looked like he belonged, like he actually was a member of the 'working' class.
The only thing giving him away was his messenger bag. All around him were briefcases, and only briefcases. Nothing else. It was a veritable sea of black and brown leather, and they all had gold little locks. They were all impeccable too, and it sort of bothered him.
A lot of little things were sort of bothering him. He knew, in the back of his mind, that he was just trying to stall. Standing outside of the Newscom building, he couldn't quite bring himself to step inside. There was an overwhelming feeling of dread creeping just over his shoulder-
This was ridiculous. It's just filming. It's what he did every day. It was his life.
His life...
Chopped up into cold, twenty minute segments about nothing. His life, on display for the entire world to pick apart. His life, as seen through the eyes of Joe America, the average person, sandwiched alongside American Idol and the latest sitcom trash. Consumed, digested, and regurgitated between bites of Hamburger Helper and decaffeinated iced tea.
His life was going to become water cooler chit-chat.
His family. His family had seen the riot footage. Was that what they thought about when they thought about him? Riots, Maureen going fucking nuts (as usual), the police storming in...and for that, his father had said mazel tov. Why? Why for thirty seconds of holding his camera above his head had he suddenly earned congratulations, instead of the thousand times before then that he’d picked up a camera and tried to show his family the world as he saw it?
Because he knows there must have been a paycheck involved, the cynical part of his brain answered promptly.
Because he knows you sold it, you put it on display, so you must have seen something worthwhile there, the other part added. Something there that you were proud of.
He was talking to himself. Dear God, he was having a conversation with different parts of his brain. His mother had said that only crazy people lived in ‘The City.’ Aaaand now not only was he talking to himself, he was quoting his mother.
He was giving himself a headache. And he felt a little nauseous.
Roger was right, he sighed, turning away from the harsh exterior of the Newscom building and heading down the block again. He was a coward.
He stopped after only a couple steps. It wasn’t just his life. It was Roger’s, and Collins, and Mimi and Angel’s lives too. It was a steady paycheck, which meant steadily eating, steadily having a lot of things they didn’t have now. And it wasn’t like he had to stay with Buzzline forever. Maybe he could get a reputation, get a better job, start having the freedom to work on his own schedule. And it wasn’t like he had to give up filming his own stuff. He’d just be doing extra. Like when he filmed events at the community center in high school.
Those thoughts got him inside and into the elevator, but once again he froze, this time right outside her office door. Her secretary was looking at him funny.
“I said you could go right in Honey.”
“I-I know.” He managed to stammer out, glancing over at her. She was overly tan, almost orange, probably in her forties, and sort of skinny. He almost smacked himself as he started wondering if this had been her dream job when she was eight years old, answering phones for a third-rate talk show host. Was this her last ditch effort to break into television? “I just...need a minute.”
The only other person who’d called him Honey since he’d moved to New York City had been Angel. The contrast almost sent him running for the exit again, but it was too late as the office door was thrown open, and Alexi Darling was throwing her arms around his neck.
“Mark Cohen!”
“Alexi! I, hi. I-”
“Marky! So good to see you!” She dragged him inside, nearly throwing him into a chair in front of her desk. “Sit, sit! I was just talking with my producers about your fabulous camera work. They want me to offer you a contract, ASAP!”
“Uh, really? That’s great. I, um, wanted to ask-”
“It’s all here already, in black and white. I marked off everywhere you need to sign. Do you need a pen?” Suddenly she was holding at least five, in a variety of colors and shapes.
“I actually wanted to-”
“Oh, shrewd Mr. Cohen.” She grinned, showing all her teeth, and it hurt his lips just looking at her. “Go ahead, take it home, read it over. Have your lawyer look over it if you want. I highlighted the interesting parts, pay, vacation, benefits, all that stuff.”
Benefits? The last job he’d had with benefits was when he’d been schlepping for a used book store on Fifth almost six years ago, and that was just a thirty percent discount. As for having his ‘lawyer’ look it over...maybe Joanne would look at it with him. Maybe..
“Thanks. Um, I actually wanted to-”
“Yes?”
“...thank you. For, um, for considering me.”
She smiled that huge smile as he got up to leave.
“Not a problem Marky. Not a problem at all.”
Author:
dragonessasmithRating: T
fic_variations Prompt/Claim: Work // Mark CohenSpoilers: Act 2
Warnings: Alexi Darling
Count: 1/5
Words: 955
Author's Notes: Not my first idea for this prompt, but I started writing it last night and couldn't stop. That was a nice change. XD And I'm trying to do five 500+ word fics this time.
He wore the only button-up shirt he could find that was clean, a blue one with dark blue vertical stripes. Sadly enough, it was one that he'd borrowed from Benny almost a year ago. A Mark in Benny’s clothing...it wasn’t exactly a comforting thought, but what could he do? With his own pair of black pants and an overcoat from a couple Hanukkah’s ago, he almost looked like he belonged, like he actually was a member of the 'working' class.
The only thing giving him away was his messenger bag. All around him were briefcases, and only briefcases. Nothing else. It was a veritable sea of black and brown leather, and they all had gold little locks. They were all impeccable too, and it sort of bothered him.
A lot of little things were sort of bothering him. He knew, in the back of his mind, that he was just trying to stall. Standing outside of the Newscom building, he couldn't quite bring himself to step inside. There was an overwhelming feeling of dread creeping just over his shoulder-
This was ridiculous. It's just filming. It's what he did every day. It was his life.
His life...
Chopped up into cold, twenty minute segments about nothing. His life, on display for the entire world to pick apart. His life, as seen through the eyes of Joe America, the average person, sandwiched alongside American Idol and the latest sitcom trash. Consumed, digested, and regurgitated between bites of Hamburger Helper and decaffeinated iced tea.
His life was going to become water cooler chit-chat.
His family. His family had seen the riot footage. Was that what they thought about when they thought about him? Riots, Maureen going fucking nuts (as usual), the police storming in...and for that, his father had said mazel tov. Why? Why for thirty seconds of holding his camera above his head had he suddenly earned congratulations, instead of the thousand times before then that he’d picked up a camera and tried to show his family the world as he saw it?
Because he knows there must have been a paycheck involved, the cynical part of his brain answered promptly.
Because he knows you sold it, you put it on display, so you must have seen something worthwhile there, the other part added. Something there that you were proud of.
He was talking to himself. Dear God, he was having a conversation with different parts of his brain. His mother had said that only crazy people lived in ‘The City.’ Aaaand now not only was he talking to himself, he was quoting his mother.
He was giving himself a headache. And he felt a little nauseous.
Roger was right, he sighed, turning away from the harsh exterior of the Newscom building and heading down the block again. He was a coward.
He stopped after only a couple steps. It wasn’t just his life. It was Roger’s, and Collins, and Mimi and Angel’s lives too. It was a steady paycheck, which meant steadily eating, steadily having a lot of things they didn’t have now. And it wasn’t like he had to stay with Buzzline forever. Maybe he could get a reputation, get a better job, start having the freedom to work on his own schedule. And it wasn’t like he had to give up filming his own stuff. He’d just be doing extra. Like when he filmed events at the community center in high school.
Those thoughts got him inside and into the elevator, but once again he froze, this time right outside her office door. Her secretary was looking at him funny.
“I said you could go right in Honey.”
“I-I know.” He managed to stammer out, glancing over at her. She was overly tan, almost orange, probably in her forties, and sort of skinny. He almost smacked himself as he started wondering if this had been her dream job when she was eight years old, answering phones for a third-rate talk show host. Was this her last ditch effort to break into television? “I just...need a minute.”
The only other person who’d called him Honey since he’d moved to New York City had been Angel. The contrast almost sent him running for the exit again, but it was too late as the office door was thrown open, and Alexi Darling was throwing her arms around his neck.
“Mark Cohen!”
“Alexi! I, hi. I-”
“Marky! So good to see you!” She dragged him inside, nearly throwing him into a chair in front of her desk. “Sit, sit! I was just talking with my producers about your fabulous camera work. They want me to offer you a contract, ASAP!”
“Uh, really? That’s great. I, um, wanted to ask-”
“It’s all here already, in black and white. I marked off everywhere you need to sign. Do you need a pen?” Suddenly she was holding at least five, in a variety of colors and shapes.
“I actually wanted to-”
“Oh, shrewd Mr. Cohen.” She grinned, showing all her teeth, and it hurt his lips just looking at her. “Go ahead, take it home, read it over. Have your lawyer look over it if you want. I highlighted the interesting parts, pay, vacation, benefits, all that stuff.”
Benefits? The last job he’d had with benefits was when he’d been schlepping for a used book store on Fifth almost six years ago, and that was just a thirty percent discount. As for having his ‘lawyer’ look it over...maybe Joanne would look at it with him. Maybe..
“Thanks. Um, I actually wanted to-”
“Yes?”
“...thank you. For, um, for considering me.”
She smiled that huge smile as he got up to leave.
“Not a problem Marky. Not a problem at all.”
no subject
Date: 2006-08-01 08:36 pm (UTC)And this is fantastic, I 100% approve of this. Not that my approval means much, but I have a good amount of love for your Mark voice. It's pretty much spot on.
*applauds*
(And, weeeee! We have a fandom crossover again! It's been a while!)
no subject
Date: 2006-08-02 08:00 am (UTC)(Expect either four or nine more Mark fics sometime during August, depending on how big the next couple pieces want to get. XD)
no subject
Date: 2006-08-05 04:57 am (UTC)