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4. I've managed to find a comfy bed with a kindly family or group. (Rented room, free)
3. I scrounged up enough cash to secure a pretty decent outfit. (Purchased; mid-class or slightly against social mores)
4. I've always fancied myself a con man... (High income)
3. I scrounged up enough cash to secure a pretty decent outfit. (Purchased; mid-class or slightly against social mores)
4. I've always fancied myself a con man... (High income)
Muggy, that was the first feeling that hit Marcus as his body lurched forward into a place that wasn't some dark void. Hot and humid and stinky- It wasn't the air of an Ashdown that Marcus knew as he stepped forward from that place that had never been but rather, "City stink." he muttered to himself. He hated it, but he knew it from traveling. It was terrible and clung to you. Took a while to adapt if you didn't get assaulted with it daily.
Blue eyes jerked forward as the roar of a subway took him by surprise, and as people filtered out of the metal cars and shoved him like a fish downstream, the man ended up on the corner of a street he didn't recognize. In a city he didn't know.
If there was something Marcus was good at, it was watching people and learning how to mimic them. When your mind played tricks on you you had to learn to fake being normal. Being thrust into a time, a place where he hadn't a clue what to do? Marcus did what he did back home. He found an unassuming spot, and watched. It was good he did so too, as it became quickly apparent that one thing was going to make his life hell.
His skin wasn't pale enough to pass.
The looked he got from those who saw him were confused, but he knew the downcast of eyes, the quick way the moved as he noticed them meeting their gaze. He was well dressed and groomed, but he was not white. A ball of basic self preservation went thought him. A few young men pointed him in the right direction. Soon enough, Marcus found a place nestled in a corner store. The man was an immigrant, and his speech native. Marcus's own Arabic felt clumsy and broken in comparison. Still, the man was kind, understanding. Most didn't want to hire their types he told him. But if you have the smarts, they'd hear you. Good place to try was a local man- he ran the Mosque just two blocks off.
Mimic people. Smile and nod. Avoid telling truths that went to deep but make up small details to make it more believable. It should have scared him. Should have had more shaken him. Truth was that Marcus was panicking. Frantically trying to think of what to do. What say. His phone would die eventually and it would cause alarm. He kept it off as he found the man the shop owner had described. Marcus kept his story to the point. He'd gotten off a flight and some thugs had stolen his luggage and cards. The embassy wasn't having him, and he needed a place to stay. His money was gone too.
The Imam said he could stay with him for the time being. He'd help him find some temp work.
Blue eyes, the Imam commented, it made him lucky. Some European in his blood would help him find work. He also didn't have the accent, (traveling back and forth his whole life Marcus explained).
The end of the night he was meeting with a local businessman. He needed someone who could run numbers, file paper work. Until Marcus could recover his cards at the Embassy, (they all knew it could take weeks), he'd be paid by the hour. Decent wages. Marcus offered to help at the Mosque on off days. Hakim, the Imam, smiled at him and Marcus felt a small part of his anxiety fade though guilt at his lies weighed him down.
At least he'd be safe for now.
shibrogane
Silverah
