[And so the letter does eventually arrive. Jason's drawn on his uncle's practice of mealy-mouthed financial strongarming, although he doesn't expect Marco to respond. It's not about the money so much as being a pest, finding something to do with all those dead hours of boredom.]
Mr. Evangelisti,
Given the pervasive distress nearly a year later and the impending statute of limitations on claims, I've considered filing civil suit against you for damages and the week of wage's lost before I revived after the time you drowned me in Lake Dala the incident we both remember dam well. I want you to know I decided against following that claim, out of the goodness of my heart. Unlike some people I could mention here, I was raised with good manners and the sense to let bygones be bygones, especially if you are inclined to provide a sum.
You're very welcome, -J.C.IV
Addendum, as of 09/01/XXXX: I sent this and it was returned to me with a notice that you didn't work at the labs anymore. Naturally, I did some digging. You can't blame feline instinct. If you would like to clear up any misconceptions, you know exactly where I can be found, although I'm taking the next week from work. I'd hate to have to tell customers that you're completely off your rocker and offing your assistants, although that looks like it may be my lot in life. Chore that it is.
Fine. If Jason is taking the next week off work, then Marco will just pay him a visit whenever he's back. The goal of this visit, which he begins executing as soon as he arrives, is as follows:
To walk directly towards Jason, glare him right in the eye, place his hands on the counter and say...]
I'm not paying you.
[That isn't exactly the main reason why he felt he had to see Jason in person, though.]
[He doesn't look well - the week he took off was for extensive surgery, and he's pale and sickly and gaunt - but he has the same shit-eating smile when he greets Marco, the same sly, obnoxious grin that shows that he isn't actually enjoying himself aside from how much Marco clearly isn't either. There's no intrinsic joy in this, just a little sadism.
I've done no such thing. I sent you a letter saying I wasn't going to get any more tangled in your life. I reckon that's the exact opposite of harassment. [He starts wiping down the counter.] Is it a lie, then? Do my sources need correcting?
Oh, for God's sake. Literally. [He folds his arms, the washcloth dangling over one elbow.] The Fog God's followers are so stupid and disorganized if you gave them a rifle and a target they'd still manage to blow their own brains out. You did Foggy Dearest a favor.
[He pauses for a second, then grins again.]
In fact, the only group more disorganized is the Fourth God's, which would explain why you haven't had much traction lately. Fourth's fault, I reckon, for hiring loonies.
And what'll they do? Drown me? [And then Jason does get serious. He flicks the washcloth almost in time with the way the tip of his barbed tail twitches at the end.]
Look, I don't give a damn about this god war business. But if you're going to insist on ripping up people who follow the Fog God, you're heading for trouble. Even I know better than to hold a person's religion against them.
Yes. [Jason's face takes on a harshness to match Marco's.] I'd hate to see anything happen to you, and that's why I wanted to see you in the flesh and see for myself if you're as crack-brained as everyone's saying.
But since you're here and talking about justified murders, I may as well tell you -- I don't worry myself with what my coworkers believe or what gods they get tied up in, but I don't care if they're delivering homemade Christmas cakes to the Fog God, you don't touch them.
[Marco's expression falters, his gaze slipping down to his hands. After all this time, he still doesn't quite get Jason, or how genuine his concerns might be when everything else about him is so awful.]
... Who's been saying that? That I'm... "crack-brained"?
[Perhaps not the most important thing to get out of what Jason said, but to him, it's a significant concern.]
[Jason buckles down on that marble-carved curtness.]
Why do you want to know? Are you in need of some lives to snuff out at the lake? Do you think they're committing treachery against the Fourth God for stating this piece?
Not until you answer me with what you want to do with that information.
[To make his response all the more obnoxious, Jason leans back and starts to pick at his nails, cleaning them of anything caught in their cat-like hooks.]
[Jason doesn't immediately say anything. He lets the awkward silence of the cafe, the few patrons at this hour stunned briefly and then returning clumsily to their conversations, speak for him.]
[The realisation of what he just did makes Marco's cheeks flush. His gaze shifts from Jason's face to the paling knuckles of his own clenched fists; that's the closest thing to an apology that he feels like conceding.]
Why-- [He stops, clears his throat, makes sure he keeps his voice down.] Why not? Because I'm "crazy"? Is that it?
That's exactly it. If you were in your right head, wouldn't you hesitate a smidge before revealing your source to someone accused of murdering someone in the name of a bogus deity?
[This isn't getting him anywhere. He doesn't know why he thought it would; it's Jason Compson, after all. He just wishes he could know what's making everyone think he's got some kind of problem, what's clouding his mind and making his code go severely off-track, what's going on.
He turns to leave, and that's exactly what he's going to do unless Jason has anything else to say to him.]
[Jason doesn't. His curiosity has been satisfied - the rumor verified, his ability to pick up on Marco's erratic behavior vindicated. But he doesn't feel happy about it. An uneasiness settles into his stomach, and he frowns at the door after Marco. Then he tries to suppress it and goes back to cleaning up the counter.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Mr. Evangelisti,
Given the pervasive distress nearly a year later and the impending statute of limitations on claims, I've considered filing civil suit against you for damages and the week of wage's lost before I revived after
the time you drowned me in Lake Dalathe incident we both remember dam well. I want you to know I decided against following that claim, out of the goodness of my heart. Unlike some people I could mention here, I was raised with good manners and the sense to let bygones be bygones, especially if you are inclined to provide a sum.You're very welcome,
-J.C.IV
Addendum, as of 09/01/XXXX: I sent this and it was returned to me with a notice that you didn't work at the labs anymore. Naturally, I did some digging. You can't blame feline instinct. If you would like to clear up any misconceptions, you know exactly where I can be found, although I'm taking the next week from work. I'd hate to have to tell customers that you're completely off your rocker and offing your assistants, although that looks like it may be my lot in life. Chore that it is.
[Teal deer, he wants gossip and money.]
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Fine. If Jason is taking the next week off work, then Marco will just pay him a visit whenever he's back. The goal of this visit, which he begins executing as soon as he arrives, is as follows:
To walk directly towards Jason, glare him right in the eye, place his hands on the counter and say...]
I'm not paying you.
[That isn't exactly the main reason why he felt he had to see Jason in person, though.]
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[He doesn't look well - the week he took off was for extensive surgery, and he's pale and sickly and gaunt - but he has the same shit-eating smile when he greets Marco, the same sly, obnoxious grin that shows that he isn't actually enjoying himself aside from how much Marco clearly isn't either. There's no intrinsic joy in this, just a little sadism.
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Look... I don't have time for this, to be quite honest. Stop telling people... lies about me, and... and stop harassing me. Okay?
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Who told you I'm... "off my rocker"?
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[Jason glances over his shoulders to make sure no one else is listening in, but the store's fairly quiet today.]
One look at you can tell me you're off your rocker. As for who told me you tore up a secretary... [He makes a shrugging gesture.] Is it true?
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[Marco glares into Jason's eyes as if that could possibly help him know what's giving him that impression.]
... She was offering to arm other followers of the Fog God. She's dangerous.
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[He pauses for a second, then grins again.]
In fact, the only group more disorganized is the Fourth God's, which would explain why you haven't had much traction lately. Fourth's fault, I reckon, for hiring loonies.
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Eventually, he settles for shaking his head and saying,] You are going to make the wrong people mad some day, Jason.
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Look, I don't give a damn about this god war business. But if you're going to insist on ripping up people who follow the Fog God, you're heading for trouble. Even I know better than to hold a person's religion against them.
[You know. Unless they're Jewish.]
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Are you sure about that?
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But since you're here and talking about justified murders, I may as well tell you -- I don't worry myself with what my coworkers believe or what gods they get tied up in, but I don't care if they're delivering homemade Christmas cakes to the Fog God, you don't touch them.
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... Who's been saying that? That I'm... "crack-brained"?
[Perhaps not the most important thing to get out of what Jason said, but to him, it's a significant concern.]
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Why do you want to know? Are you in need of some lives to snuff out at the lake? Do you think they're committing treachery against the Fourth God for stating this piece?
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Just... answer my question!
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[To make his response all the more obnoxious, Jason leans back and starts to pick at his nails, cleaning them of anything caught in their cat-like hooks.]
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[He may have just raised his voice a little more than what would be appropriate for a public place.]
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Fine. Then I don't believe you.
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Why-- [He stops, clears his throat, makes sure he keeps his voice down.] Why not? Because I'm "crazy"? Is that it?
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[This isn't getting him anywhere. He doesn't know why he thought it would; it's Jason Compson, after all. He just wishes he could know what's making everyone think he's got some kind of problem, what's clouding his mind and making his code go severely off-track, what's going on.
He turns to leave, and that's exactly what he's going to do unless Jason has anything else to say to him.]
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