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[He did not turn on the phone on purpose, that was for damn sure. It seems, from the way it hit the wall, that it was accidentally kicked, the sound of terrified breathing in the background.

It didn't sound like an adult, that was for sure, little feet clomping around the phone for a solid moment. Running maybe?

Then, up it went, the screen pointed directly down at a pair of little, very worn looking leather shoes, glimpses of shortpants seen every now and again along with a white tipped, frantically flicking tail.]

... Mom?

[The dead silence didn't seem to help.]

MOM? Rose? Esther? Anyone?!

... MOM!

[Well that's definitely not a twenty eight year old adult, he doesn't even sound like he's reached puberty yet. The phone is flipped around, finally, the wide eyed face of a panicking kitten there instead.

NO CLUE what he's looking at, shaking the phone in both little hands in frustration]

[[OOC: WILL BE REPLYING to this with the journal

minimordi!]]

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....

[There's something crinkling in the background, it sounds like packaging plastic. A box of food of some sort]

We need more food in the pantry.

[Interesting word choice]

We do, eh? Well, anything you'd like in particular? Just in case your diet might lie outside the norm.

[Clearly he's not the only person in here, and whoever was in here has a taste for tea with no sugar, rice crackers and-

A clunk as what sounds like a thick and full glass bottle hits the ground]

... Something other than vodka and tea cakes.

[Look, Viktor likes what Viktor likes, and adult Mordecai likes what adult Mordecai likes. Clearly, someone hasn't gone shopping yet this week]

[Hopefully it didn't break.]

Ahehe, easy enough. All right, I'll pick up a few things; let me know when you're ready for instructions about coordinates.

[Meanwhile he'll be looking up the full meaning of "kosher".]

[The clink and thump suggests not, seems like he gently kicked it with the very toe of his shoe]

Alright... How do you get coordinates on this? I don't see any compass anywhere.

Oh, the technology's more intrinsic than that. You see that picture of a globe, on the bottom of the pane? Press that, and it'll broadcast your location to my device in turn. I can handle things from there.

No allergies, I hope?

That's it? How do I know if it even works?

[because he'll be at your house later, you little jackass]

Fine, I've pressed it.

No, but it has to be kosher.

[Darn, that's tricky. If he's as catty as he looks, he'll be largely carnivorous, and meat from there has to be slaughtered by a shochet. He's not sure if Pan's has anyone so certified. He'll just have to hope he likes every other part of the food pyramid.]

'Tis a matter of faith; but you'll know soon if I arrive, eh? Thank you.

[He's glad Mordecai seems calmer, at any rate. While he's picking out groceries, he'll try and think of something that'll keep him blathering.]

So, if it's not too personal... are you experiencing money troubles?

[The only reason Mordecai would turn down a vegetable is because while he's a very well spoken child, he's still a child. And vegetables are gross.

The question causes him to pick at the ill fitting, worn sweater he has on, his nose wrinkling as he fusses with the shirt collar beneath it in an attempt to neaten it up]

No...

[Personal questions aren't really doing it for him, it seems. He almost asks him about his father. What else does he remember Mordecai being interested in...]

I can tell from your diction that you're a reader. What have you been interested in so far?

Friedrich Nietzsche.

[Gracious how depressing]

I was in the middle of Beyond Good and Evil.

[That earns a snicker. Certainly explains a few things.]

Quite the severe author! All that stuff about the world being God's murderers, and so on.

[He'll try blathering about the author himself, multi-tasking as he finishes up the errand. Just to see if he bores the young ~~man~~ cat or not.]

Certainly lends weight to his claim that "all ideas are bloody ideas to me"; whether a thought really endowed itself in a man, or he held it lightly. Like the giant ear in Thus Spake...

The truth is severe.

[Oooooof. Yeah that's Mordecai, thirteen and up. He does listen however, knees pulled against his chest, phone propped atop them, his head resting on his hands.]

I haven't read Thus Spoke Zarathustra yet. I didn't get all the way through it, Rose found it and colored in half the pages.

Ahaha. Sounds like a lovely girl; hard to say who might've made better use of the book. Yes, a happy Easter to you as well. Forgive me for any sabbath breaking, won't you?

[That last line is for the checkout girl he's just inconvenienced. Placing all the groceries in the usual place, he heads out.]

Almost finished now. Say, you might enjoy this. Watch for something on your device; when you receive a picture in the shape of an envelope, press it.

[There appears an Inky attachment.]

It's a game; here are the rules: each row and column of cells must have the numbers one through nine in them. No repetitions. As to which numbers go where, well, each clump of cells will be lined and signified with an operation. So, for example, the two that have "/2" must be something like two and four, or four and eight. Multi-cell operations repeat the process, so the "x320" group must all multiply each other. Satisfy every condition, and the puzzle is solved. See if you can't figure it by the time I arrive.

It wasn't even my book, it was the neighbors. I had to work a few extra hours to replace it.

[Sour as hell. He listened to the instructions, tapping on said envelope icon when it appeared, his head cocking as the grid appears on the screen.]

And how am I to write upon this glass without a china marker?

How am I to write upon this glass at all? I'm not going to scribble all over this all willy nilly.

[That's worrying.]

Suppose little sisters aren't the most commodious siblings, eh? Were you, ah, apprenticing under someone?

[He sure hopes so. But given what he's heard so far, the circumstances sounded more desperate than that.]

Perish the thought. You've been bold enough to explore your pantry; surely there's nothing too mischievous in getting common amenities from a strange house. If you really can't procure pen and paper, I'll bring some myself.

No, I'm a fully established bookkeeper. It's not a difficult task in the slightest, and I'm far better at it than anyone else in the pool ha- bank.

[THE BANK AT WHICH HE DEFINITELY WORKS. He coughs]

It doesn't seem as if this apartment is wanting for pens and paper. I'm... Sure they won't mind if I just borrow a pen.

[And write on this discarded receipt for vodka]

Pool Hall!?

[Sorry Morde, he's into words and those two are far too different to account for a slip of the tongue. He's delved into his fair share of hives of scum and villainy, so he's not totally ignorant of what goes on there. Given the year Morde admitted to coming from, that would place his youthful days in about...1914, or so? Child labor laws should've been in effect at the time.]

How you managed to be a fully established anything is beyond me. Does your mother know you do that?

[DISAPPROVING WOULD-BE AUTHORITY FIGURE MODE. Naturally, his optimism clouds the fact that such laws weren't enforced much.]

[Mordecai's slip originated from one single hiccup in his usual denial pattern: the person on the other end simply didn't fit the description of anyone he'd consider needing to lie to about that, on a subconcious level.

Oh sure logic dictated he ought fib, no one would have approved of his career choice, but an alien looking face in an alien world didn't immediately merit lying.

So the panic that only followed for a moment was squashed beneath cold, hard truth, one that he was just prior, lamenting:]

No. And she won't. Since father died, we've only had mother to depend on for paying rent and feeding and clothing us. I'm the... I'm the man in the house now. It's my duty to pay the bills.

Mother doesn't ask, and I will not tell her.

[No sooner does he chastise than he immediately regrets it. Riven as Mordecai is by space and time, it's not as though the drama's especially relevant. And even if it was, in a day or week or so it likely wouldn't be so much as a memory. So why...well, he should probably smooth things out, at least. Lord knows moral guilt could find better timing than present panic.]

Oh, I'm...very sorry to hear that. And I'm...sorry for raising my voice.

[He trudges along with a slower gait.]

What an awful burden for a young man.

[And heaven knew that Mordecai, raised by a religious family, had most certainly heard more than enough lectures on morals, even if he wasn't often the target of them, specifically.

If his own mother couldn't convince him that the gambling dens weren't worth the money, chances are Ted wouldn't either.

In stark contrast to the short tempered, violent creature he'd grow into, Mordecai's voice remains remarkably even. If anything, almost eerily so]

It is hardly uncommon. New York is a filthy, squalid, cramped place, I'm surprised we're all not dead from some miserable, wasting disease.

[Little cracks and pieces of what would become the neurotic adult he'd grow into]

We won't be there forever, at the very least. I've already begun working on a ten year long plan. I won't be living there when I'm twenty, and my mother and sisters won't be there either.

We'll never have to worry about expenses ever again.

Aheh, count your blessings...

[At least his current residence sounds like a step up. This certainly explains why finances captivated him. Why he's seemingly less sane as an adult is still unclear; wouldn't age smooth out sensitivities?]

A good intention.

[He says, restraining from finishing the epigram. It didn't sound like this plan of his would lead anywhere good. And, more disconcertingly, what did Mordecai live for now when he was parted from his family? Viktor? People, Ted's found, are very good at hiding their ennui in Genessia, as the latter's stripped them of all context. "He", quoth Nieztche, "who has a why to live can bear almost any how." Was he just biding time?]

A time horizon as long as yourself, eh? What does it involve?

[If he's anything like Ted was as a kid, he'd be all too happy to share his grand designs.]

Edited 2018-04-03 05:08 (UTC)

I'm still gathering statistics, there's a lot of numbers and situations to be taken into consideration still.

But what it comes down to is entirely elementary. To be basic, mere work ethic with a spin added, taken from the idea of capitalism.

Specifically, not only do I fully intend upon being the best in my field, I'll ensure that anyone who could stall or reverse my efforts, or who might otherwise be worthy competition, is either an ally, or summarily subtracted from the equation.

.... I'm pretty sure all I have to do is tell the boss that Little Nicky and Timmy TwoTone are siphoning his good whiskey, for instance. Getting the competition fired seems to be an adequate route.

[It just keeps getting worse. Does that mean that "the boss" recruited other children besides him, or are those just euphemisms? This whole topic seems to be bringing about more morbidity than usual.]

That's...very ruthless.

[And he's very close. Time for lighter fare.]

How's that grid coming along?

A good businessman is ruthless businessman.

I've completed it, it was very easy... But enjoyable. Do you have more? I don't know how long it will be until I find a way to get home, and... I don't want to be bored.

That's speedily done!

[He nearly gasped with astonishment. Certainly much faster than he'd completed it, and that with Ted's full attention.]

My guess is that you'll need endure your captivity no more than a week. Glad you enjoyed that very easy puzzle. Yes, there's more where that came from, and while you'll find no greater admirer of Kierkegaard and his warnings against boredom than I, perhaps we might attend to baser appetites. I come with two pieces of good news.

[Mordecai might hear with his cat ears steps ascending towards his residence. There's also the slight crinkling of grocery bags.]

One: you do not look to be in any kind of prison whatever. Two: I've collation. Have you eaten lately? Would you like to?

The pattern is very simplistic. The wonderful things about numbers is that they are always predictable, so I can't see how, other than increasing the size of the grid, it could become any more complicated than it is now.

[He heard it, eventually. Looking up from the device to move towards the door, grabbing a broom on his way over.

Just in case]

I had a tea cake.

But I may want more food.

Doubtless they are more manageable than siblings. I'm glad you did not help yourself to the other thing.

[Funny as that would've been. After some digging, he produces the simple meal he's prepared on a paper plate: a cheese sandwich, apple slices, milk in a plastic cup, and celery stalks with peanut butter. No bumps on that log, minding the prohibition on grapes.]

I'm afraid I'm one of those who "look wrong", so I've set the things down upon the doorstep.

[He's removed himself five paces to the right of the door, sitting against the wall.]

Now that my terrifying visage is out of the way, the repast is safe to retrieve.

Edited 2018-04-04 01:04 (UTC)

Yes, by a considerable amount.

[He misses Rose you have no idea.]

I dislike alcohol. [Implying he's definitely already tried it, and made up his mind] From what I've seen, drinking is a boorish activity that makes intelligent men idiots, and idiot men useless. And I have no desire to be an idiot.

[There's the sound of little feet by the door, and it cracks open, just enough for him to pop his head and arm out to snag the food.

From what little can be seen, that's a pretty raggedy, oversized sweater he's wearing, the shirt beneath that for a man twice his size.

The food is snagged, and he immediately retreats again, going over the haul]

You're not terrifying.

[A crunch. He's apparently trying the celery]

Just ugly. I don't think that's your fault, if it's of any consolation.

[He can imagine. Ted figures Mordecai's used to seeing that sort of thing at the billiard tables rather than at home.]

Thank goodness the allures of idiocy don't tempt you. I teetotal myself, while noting that many men of genius, like Ben Franklin, poured out libations. "...a constant proof that God loves us, and loves to see us happy."

[Maybe not the right founding father quote to give to a child. His shoulders hitch as he sniggers. Given the source, that might as well be a benediction.]

Magnanimously said; alas, one cannot much help either intellect or aesthetics.

[Though he might help Mordecai's, were he anywhere near observant enough to notice the ill-fitting clothes. He leaves off conversation after that, not wanting to tempt into talking with one's mouth full. He's hopeful that, fastidious as Mordecai is, he won't object to the vittles, relying on his poor upbringing to take whatever's set before him. Once the sounds of munching are complete, he'll look to more pertinent matters.]

How much of the place have you explored thus far?

There is an acute difference between happiness and drunkenness. I'm well aware of how many men come into the pool hall to self medicate their way to this socially fabricated concept of 'contentment'.

Vomiting on the pool table and urinating in the spitoons is not contentment. It is anarchy.

[He's started in on the sandwich now, more or less just inhaling it]

I've explored the bathroom and documented the bedroom and dining room. I've now chosen to remain within the living room-cum-dining room to wait for a normal person to find me.

[He winces and squeezes his forehead. That sounds like a great environment for a child.]

How good of you to lend some order to it.

[He checked the phone again, seeing if anyone else has responded to Mordecai's mewling. None so far; things must be getting really out of hand.]

Mm. Of the effects therein--particularly the vestments--how many people would you say reside?

[Just so he knows whether to expect company.]

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