As Markus responded, Max slumped back in his seat, giving the guy a wide eyed 'what the fuck' stare. He was trying to comprehend the conversation he was stuck in, the clear sign that the guy wasn't listening. That hadn't been close to what Max had actually said, but he was starting to get it. Markus had no fucking idea what he wanted. He'd started the conversation like he was digging and wanted to get to the bottom of things, but when confronted, he said he wasn't. Then he said he was. It was about answers, and then it wasn’t. The constant vacillation of someone who didn’t know up from down. Was that what he meant when he kept going on about grief?
Beyond that, if Markus couldn’t admit it was answers he was looking for, was he just in it for the magic? He kept failing to react to Max telling him to get out there and get something tangible done, failing to realise that so much of this wasn’t in any book. What was he looking for? A miraculous 'Monsters 101'? He seemed to be ignoring the actual wealth of information he had in front of him. How many times did Max have to say 'go to the Exchange' before the man took him seriously?
Still, the man seemed hung up on her words going beyond her death, wanting to have her say, her apology. He’d repeated that point twice in the conversation, and Max's lips thinned out at the circular conversation points. He’d accomplished this. Max had read it. He appreciated that, but it didn't change jack shit of the current reality. What did the guy want? The satisfaction of seeing another dude cry over his dead sister?
“Bro. Are you listening to me? I'm telling you how to get answers,” Max said, leaning against the bar, elbow holding him up. He was frowning now, wondering what part of 'go do something' was hard to grasp. “C'mon, man. Listen. Take this–” Max pointed at the pile, finding it irresponsible that Markus was holding onto it, showing it to him, a fireman, and not to the guys neck deep in the case, “–to the Exchange. Talk to them, crawl up their ass, I don't care. They’re the guys who know, for real, what’s up. The bona fide experts.”
Beyond that, if Markus couldn’t admit it was answers he was looking for, was he just in it for the magic? He kept failing to react to Max telling him to get out there and get something tangible done, failing to realise that so much of this wasn’t in any book. What was he looking for? A miraculous 'Monsters 101'? He seemed to be ignoring the actual wealth of information he had in front of him. How many times did Max have to say 'go to the Exchange' before the man took him seriously?
Still, the man seemed hung up on her words going beyond her death, wanting to have her say, her apology. He’d repeated that point twice in the conversation, and Max's lips thinned out at the circular conversation points. He’d accomplished this. Max had read it. He appreciated that, but it didn't change jack shit of the current reality. What did the guy want? The satisfaction of seeing another dude cry over his dead sister?
“Bro. Are you listening to me? I'm telling you how to get answers,” Max said, leaning against the bar, elbow holding him up. He was frowning now, wondering what part of 'go do something' was hard to grasp. “C'mon, man. Listen. Take this–” Max pointed at the pile, finding it irresponsible that Markus was holding onto it, showing it to him, a fireman, and not to the guys neck deep in the case, “–to the Exchange. Talk to them, crawl up their ass, I don't care. They’re the guys who know, for real, what’s up. The bona fide experts.”