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(no subject)

Who: Jack Wynand and mirror!Mark Meltzer
Where: Starting in the hallway outside Jack's room, eventually moving on to the door
When: Right now, during the event, with the Bandersnatch running about
Rating: PG? Possible swearing.
Summary: Two men from opposite sides of the looking glass strike a dangerous bargain.
The Story:

Jack is venturing out. Despite the horrifying monster on the loose, he's tired of the packaged fare the closets offer, and he's confident enough in his ability to light fires and hurl furniture items at a distance that he's willing to risk a frumious encounter, just to taste something fresh.

He's well-armed, too, in case fires and telekinesis don't do the trick; he has his wrench, his handgun, and a shotgun slung across his back. He's unmasked--for now, peripheral vision takes precedence over his comfort.

He sets out with purpose, but pauses. Turns back.

He's seen something written on the mirror closest to his room: a chess grid.

It seems an odd time to expect him to play chess, what with a beast that could be upon him at any moment, so rather than make a move, he simply looks into the mirror, frowning faintly.

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"Good."

Another mirror bites the dust. Jack glances behind at the glittering, smoking mess they've made in the hallway, and smiles a little.

"What is it?"

"The broken glass. It's pretty."

He looks--and, well. It is rather impressive.

"I see. Simple pleasures."

"Come on. We've got more to make."

He nods and moves on.

"...I can understand why you wouldn't want to. But if you were to arm me, I could help a bit more directly."

"…the closets, right. It's the same on both sides?" He's looking the mirror up and down, assessing the threat level. Apparently what he comes up with is I could take him, because he opens the next closet he comes across and holds out a crowbar.

"Yes. It's the same."

Reaching for the crowbar, he turns his hand over, shows Jack his wrist--and the mark there.

"Any mirror with one of these is under restrictions. Might come in handy for you."

There. Even trade. Information for a tool.

He hardly seems to notice the statement, as he's staring fixedly at the mark, the image of the broken heart inscribed on mirror-Mark's arm. Finally, he blinks and looks up, meeting the man's eyes briefly, and then looking away.

"Look," he says, pushing his sleeves up and extending the undersides of his own wrists to expose the chains tattooed there, "I'm marked too."

"Ah."

He didn't know about that.
He wonders now if Jack's mirror has them, too.

"Do they hurt?"

"No. I guess they must have once. They're tattoos, they're made with needles. But I don't remember."

Beat.

"Does yours?"

"There weren't any needles involved."

Which is not a lie!

He rolls his sleeves up--the better to work with, and the better to show that there's nothing wrong with him--and hefts the crowbar.

"We should keep moving."

"But does it hurt?"

Mirror-Mark didn't answer the actual, literal question, and Jack is literal-minded enough to notice.

Sigh.

"Not badly."

"Huh."

Punctuated by another smashed mirror.

Well. All right then.

Since his arm--and anything he's holding--just whiffs through the mirrorglass, he winds up prying the frames from the walls instead--always standing at an angle where he can't see his reflection--and occasionally motioning to Jack when they're approaching a camera.

"What if you threw something at the mirror? Would it still go through?"

"Looking to experiment, are you?"

"Why not?"

He watches mirror-Mark curiously, not just about what will happen, but about whether he'll do it.

He shrugs, moves so his back is to Jack, and lobs the crowbar at the mirror he was working on--eyes shut, of course.
It breaks, cracks spidering out from the point of impact.

"Well now."

Edited 2013-05-13 18:58 (UTC)

"So it only goes through if you're holding it."

Interesting.

"Maybe. It might still go through if that's what I wanted. Or it might not. To be contrary."

Wonderland!

"If you want me to try that later, I'll play."

"Okay."

With that settled, he keeps walking, breaking mirrors and cameras as they come across them.

A light fixture or two might get broken into the mix, so the hallway they're following is a sparking, flickering wreck when a low growl sounds from nearby.

Mark stops what he's doing and glances at Jack, wondering if he heard it too.

Jack heard it all right. And he doesn't particularly want to tangle with it.

"Let's move."