“Just fucking nothing, Petey, that shit’s magic,” Mark gushes. “I felt–calm, you know? Like all of me just… relaxed. I get so, you know–” he hunches up his shoulders in a mockery of his own usual anxious posture. “It just went away. Even my hands weren’t shaking.” He holds up his right hand. There’s no tremor there, not this early in the day, but by 4pm Mark will be gripping his mouse with white knuckles to hide it.
From the fic, “On Waffle Parties” by EightMinutestoSunrise. What if the Waffle Parties are tailored to the desires of each refiner’s outie? Mark S. gets a Waffle Party and everything hurts. Broke my freaking heart, and I had to draw it as I had pictured it.
Severance-themed manicure I made for myself this week! Waffle party, fingertrap, Mark’s badge, scary numbers, and Lumon logo hand drawn with Posca acrylic pens. It was a bonus getting to show them off at an Apple TV event today too
Lumon requires company clothing for all severed workers. As with everything they do, there is a process. Mark Scout gets fitted.
1731 words, angst at a remove. Set just prior to Mark undergoing Severance.
-
Alice glanced up at the clock above the front door of the shop. She checked her list of appointments at her desk, nodding to herself as she finished her last swig of coffee. Yes. Her 10:15 should be arriving any moment now.
She waited at the register near the front door, smoothing the front of her sleek gray pencil skirt. She considered her selection of men’s clothing options, running through the possibilities and wondering what sort of apparel the man might favor. Sometimes the appointments were given with high levels of detail, other times, she was merely given a name. She almost preferred the latter. She could daydream much more effectively without pesky details in the way.
Five minutes later, though, she had lost interest in hypotheticals. The gentleman was late. Grumbling quietly, she wondered if she should go put on another pot of coffee.
A knock came at the front door just as she had decided to brew another pot. Relieved, she turned back to the register and buzzed the man in with the blue button on the desk.
“Mr. Mark Scout?” Alice asked politely as he swung the door open. A shaft of sunlight from outside bathed him momentarily in gold before he closed the door. Alice blinked, both at the sudden sunlight and the quick return to muted fluorescence.
“Uh, yeah.” He pulled an official Lumon appointment card out of his pocket, and she winced, taking in his outfit. His black suit hung off his narrow frame, ill-fitting and clearly unlaundered since the last time it had been worn. Oh, dear. There was work to be done here.
“Just fucking nothing, Petey, that shit’s magic,” Mark gushes. “I felt–calm, you know? Like all of me just… relaxed. I get so, you know–” he hunches up his shoulders in a mockery of his own usual anxious posture. “It just went away. Even my hands weren’t shaking.” He holds up his right hand. There’s no tremor there, not this early in the day, but by 4pm Mark will be gripping his mouse with white knuckles to hide it.
From the fic, “On Waffle Parties” by EightMinutestoSunrise. What if the Waffle Parties are tailored to the desires of each refiner’s outie? Mark S. gets a Waffle Party and everything hurts. Broke my freaking heart, and I had to draw it as I had pictured it.
Severance-themed manicure I made for myself this week! Waffle party, fingertrap, Mark’s badge, scary numbers, and Lumon logo hand drawn with Posca acrylic pens. It was a bonus getting to show them off at an Apple TV event today too
