Ice Cream’s _Severance_ thread for torturing Mark

[Lady Blessington]

Hiiiii I heard this actor do a relatively realistic (vs absurdist lol) fake sneeze and immediately wanted to spell it and then this fic happened in which the only thing that happens is that this character sneezes soooo enjoy?
 

——

THE SNEEZE

The thing is, Mark has never sneezed before.  He knows what this is, though, knows what to do.  

He’s in the bathroom, lathering his hands.  His nose tickles.  He scrunches it and sniffs.  He looks in the mirror and wiggles it.  The itch gets stronger, a warm fizzy glow.  

Mark sucks in air.  His lungs do, on their own.  His nose pulses, a giant lightning rod.  He waits and then deflates, and his nose drips.  He hurries up and rinses off his hands.

His fingers leave the paper towel damp.  He blows his nose.  Hot jelly crackles through.  He rubs and snuffles clean, and that feels good, but he’s still just as bothered as before.

In the mirror he’s panting, his nose flushed.  He looks disheveled, warm, and out of breath.  The urgent tingly feeling gathers, builds.  His pulse is beating bright up in his nose.

Mark gasps and hisses breath out through his lips.  They’re open, wet, and now air rushes in.  His eyes screw shut.  He yelps a helpless “HAH——…” and sighs in hot frustration, sniffles hard.

Mark draws a finger underneath his nose, passes it back and forth.  His nostrils flare.  Air floods his lungs.  He’s huge, like a balloon.  “HAAH——…”  He deflates, and the cycle repeats. 

He pulls in air, freezes.  “HH-HAAAH——…”  Again.  The sweet throb in his nose intensifies. It concentrates, condenses, and he’s gone.  “HAH-TCHYAH!  HASHSHHSH!  H-HH-hah-HAH-HAAA-TCHCHHOOOH!”

The quiet is profound.  The paper’s soaked.  He swaps it for a fresh one with no squelch.  He blows his nose until it gurgles clear.  He takes a cool, sweet breath and lets it out.

How did his hair get messed up?  Collar loosed?  His lips are glossy like he’s kissed someone.  He splashes water on his heated face and dries it, sets his tie straight, settles down.  

His airway’s clear.  He isn’t feeling sick.  His eyes look lively.  His nose is still pink.  He strokes his forehead, takes another breath, and takes his secret back onto the floor.

——

END

[Lady Blessington]

This was written in honour of the Sneezing While Hiding tag.

——

THE MAPPERS

(For @jano but she knows!)

 

They stand shoulder to shoulder, looking in.  The room is packed with shelves of…

“Watering cans?  That’s weird,” says Mark.

“I love them,” Helly blurts.  “Like, what the fuck, but look at all these shapes.  Look at the colours.  That one’s made of clay.  Just when I thought I couldn’t be surprised.”

Mark steps inside to take a closer look.  The air changes and his nose gives a twitch.  He likes a purple can and picks it up, and dust floats off it up into his face.

“HA–TCHOO!”  Mark almost drops the watering can.  He fumbles, puts it back onto the shelf, where it kicks up a bigger cloud of dust.  His nose starts flooding.  “Ahhh… Jesus… ACHCHHOOOO!”

“Gesundheit!  Could you maybe keep it down?”

“What do you beadd?  I caahhh… aaah-HA–HUH-HUDDDGGSHH!”

“Gesundheit!  Mark, these walls may well have ears.”  They look over their shoulders, then lock eyes.  Helly’s are clear and bright with urgency.  Mark’s eyes are bloodshot, watering like his nose.

“You’re right,” he sniffs, and pinches his nostrils.  “XXSHT-hoo!  I’b sorry.  HSSHH!”  He cups his nose.

“Listen to me.  Your nose doesn’t like dust.  It’s not your fault.  But focus now, okay?  We’ve lived our whole lives in this dumb basement.  We’re going to get out, aren’t we?  So don’t sneeze.”

Mark nods and gasps and squeezes his eyes shut.  A tremor shakes him but no sound comes out.

“Was that a sneeze?  Fuck yeah!  Sneeze just like that.”

“AUH-xxgt!  God.  Sorry.”  Mark has gone bright red.  He presses on his upper lip and gasps.  

“Okay,” Helly says, grabbing his free hand.  “You’re doing great.  Just think un-sneezy thoughts.”

Mark stumbles along blindly in her wake.  He jerks and shudders with near-silent sneezes, back through the bright halls of their known world.  

They burst in through the doors of MDR.  Mark’s soggy tie is pressed up to his nose.  “HUH—SHSHHHEEE!” he shouts, and Dylan scoots away.

“Plague monkey!” Dylan yells back.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…”

“ASHHHSHH!  ATTCHCHHHH!  AAAT—CHHCHOOOOO!”  

“It was just dust…”

“Oh God…”  Mark struggles free of his neck tie, then folds it over, gives his nose a honk.  He wobbles to the bathroom.

Irving stares.  “What’s this?” he frets.  “Helly, what’s wrong with Mark?”

“He breathed some dust in.  It was no big deal.  He must just have a really sensitive nose.”

Loud, desperate sneezes shake the bathroom door.  They all look at it.

“Hey, boss?  You okay?”

They all hear water running, then see Mark.  His hair is wet like he’s just washed his face.  He crams a wad of paper to his nose, convulses in a tight sneeze, and then blows.

“It’s fide,” he says.  “This happedds all the tibe.”

“It does?”

“I beadd, it ddever has before, but it just feels fabbiliar.  I’ll be fide.”

“Where is this dust?” asks Dylan.  “Where’d you go?”

Helly and Mark exchange a careful look.  

“Out mapping,” Helly says.  “We’re mappers now.”

“Kier’s beard!” cries Irving.

“Called it,” Dylan nods.

Mark snuffles and collapses in his chair.  “Subbhow, a roob that’s full of waterigg cadds is part of Lubodd’s pladd to rudd the world.”

“And they are very dusty,” Helly adds, and points to a blank outskirt on the map.  

——

END

[Lady Blessington]

This is a not very sneezy account of a very sneezy timeframe.

——

THE HEAD COLD

Here’s Mark: pajamas on.  Got a head cold.  It’s such a bad cold work’s turned him away.  Alexa brings him soup because she’s nice.  She’s so, so nice.  She’ll never stay with him.

He kicks her out so he can blow his nose, and so that he can drink the way he wants.  The way he wants is hot toddies.  A lot.  A pot of them, so that is what he makes.

His bed is not as lonely in the day.  He sinks back and looks at the cloudy sky.  He snorts his way through a whole Kleenex box and passes out.  It’s eleven a.m.

Early evening he sits up with a start.  He can’t stay here.  He can’t be in this room.  He brushes his teeth.  He does not get sick.  He goes downstairs and turns on the TV.

It’s after hours now and he phones work.  He lets them hear the wreckage in his throat.  His message says he’s still too ill to work.  He’s not working tomorrow, so he drinks.

Devon is here.  Her hand is on his face.  It’s daylight and she’s used his hidden key.  She looks sad.  Worried?  Mark’s hot with regret.  He’s docile while she takes his temperature.

Alexa’s back, with flowers.  Just, so nice.  They’re tiny, purple.  She picked them outside.  She asks him how he’s feeling.  He’s the worst.  Devon’s still here.  The three of them sip tea.

Mark sneezes the itch right out of his nose.  He coughs and mucus crackles to his mouth.  He sweats through his pajamas and his sheets.  Then he wakes up, showers, and goes to work.

——

END

Edited January 4, 2023 by ice_cream_though

[jano]

5 hours ago, ice_cream_though said:

Sneezing While Hiding tag.

Such a great sneeze scenario, and I love that this thread is a thing now 

I love the first one recounting his inner self's first experience of a sneeze. With the setting of Mark's world there's so many delightful first time scenarios he can encounter. Not like the company would let him know of his outer self's list of specific allergens, which makes plenty of ways for him to encounter them in the wild 

 

[Lady Blessington]

11 hours ago, jano said:

Not like the company would let him know of his outer self's list of specific allergens, which makes plenty of ways for him to encounter them in the wild 

I like where your head is!

Thanks for the moral support!

[Lady Blessington]

FOUR SNEEZES

Mark opens up his pencil sharpener and tips the contents out into the bin.  Wood dust drifts up into his blameless nose.  “DZHZHHH–hah!”  The shavings scatter.  “Pardon me!”

…

Mr. Milchick walks past with a bouquet.  “Mark S,” he smiles.  “Hello, sir,” Mark replies.  A sudden itch quivers along Mark’s nose.  “HAT–CHHOOO!”  

“Kier bless you,” drifts back down the hall.

…

Mark’s wires cross after the baby goats.  Blood rushes from his brain down to his nose.  “HH– ugh… hh-hH-HH-HEH—... oh God… GUTCHCHHH–aayyy!”

“Whoa, Mark!  Gesundheit!  God, are you okay?”

…

Ms. Cobel frowns at the thermometer while Mark S. blows his nose embarrassedly.  “Oh dear,” she says.  “You’ve got a temperature.  Let not weakness live in your veins, Mark S.”

He nods vigorously.  His face contorts.  “PPKHHH!  HASHHSH!  ATCHH-ooh!  Ah–HAH–hah–TCHCHOOOO!”

——

END

[Lady Blessington]

@jano did some gorgeous brain storming around this premise. 

___

OPTICS & DESIGN

He sneezes on the way to O&D.  The napkin in his pocket’s slick and damp.  He blows his nose, dries off as best he can, loses that napkin first waste bin he sees.

Another sneeze sneaks up and steals his breath.  He shouts it to his palm, and then he’s stuck.  He rounds the corner into O&D and mumbles through his hand, “The restroom, please?”

Irving jumps up from his perch at Burt’s side and takes Mark’s elbow, gently steering him.  Mark sniffles helplessly and thanks the man, who tactfully asks no questions, waits outside.

When he emerges he says, “Thank you, Irv.”  His voice seems to come out of a deep cave.  His nose is red and raw around the edge.  “Oh dear,” says Irving.  “Mark, you’ve caught a cold.”

There are some comfy chairs in O&D.  Somehow Mark finds himself settled in one.  “Irving,” he croaks, “I’m here to walk you back.”  He sneezes in a paper towel, yawns.

Irving and Burt are in the other chairs, on either side of him, with mugs of tea.  “Here,” Irving says, “it’s from Burt’s private stash.”  Mark turns to Burt, whose eyes are twinkling.

“I hope you won’t find this impertinent.  These are much softer than our paper towels.”  Burt passes Mark blue microfibre cloths and gestures to the tea.  “Please.  Camomile.”

Mark’s face is hot.  “I can’t… this is so kind.  Irv, Milchick’s going to be looking for us.  We shh… DSHSHH—heee!  DISH—SHSHOO!  We should get back.  Excuse me, both of you.”  He blows his nose.

“Gesundheit!  And Gesundheit!  Goodness me.  Best wait a moment here and catch our breath before we go, and drink this fragrant tea.”  Irving claps Mark’s shoulder solicitously.

Mark blinks around at all the displayed art.  A landscape catches his eye and he sighs.  Burt feels Mark’s forehead, then squeezes his knee.  “You’ll be all right, son.”

Then Mark knows he will.

——

END

[Lady Blessington]

CALL THE UNION

“Hey, Irv, looks like your reign of terror’s done.”

“Mark!  Welcome back.  What was for dinner, hmm?”

“D’you miss me, boss?  Kidding!  No, you did not.”

Mark blushes, embarrassed and softly pleased.  

He starts to greet them but no sound comes out.  He swallows, clears his throat, and tries again.  All he can manage is a raspy squeak.

Dylan tenses.  “So laryngitis, huh?”

“Oh, shit,” says Helly.  “Do you feel okay?”

Mark holds his throat and then sneezes three times.  Afterwards he’s exhausted and sits down.  Irv pats his back while Helly feels his face.  He looks at them with giant sad brown eyes, like he’s a pony with a broken leg.

“Your nose looks burnt.  It’s like you’ve got rug burn, but only on your nose.  God, his poor nose.  They’ll send him home, right?  He’s not better yet.”

All of the others shrug.

“Seriously?”

“He’s likely not contagious anymore.  The outie makes the choice.  What can we do?”

“Call the union.  Kidding!  No, we cannot.”

Mark unearths a napkin and honks his nose.  He snuffles, puts his head down on his desk.

“Oh, boss man,” Helly says, squeezing his neck.  “Okay, fuckers,” she calls out.  “Back to work.”

——

END

Edited January 24, 2023 by ice_cream_though

[Lady Blessington]

Hiyeeeee here is some love for Outie Mark! I probably should have started this thread in the Drabble area 😂 💛

…

He’s got a pillow and a Kleenex box. His hair’s in zero G. He stumbles in.

“Hey, look,” smiles Devon. “This guy. Still alive.”

“Technically,” Mark sniffles, then has to sit.

She pats his back and feels his head. “Buddy…”

He curls up in the sun and falls asleep.

…

He makes a funny face, blurts out a sneeze. “Ugh,” he breathes. “Nope. Still there.” He grinds his nose.

“Drink from a glass of water upside down.”

“That’s for hiiih— hiccups ATCH—hoo!” He blinks, stunned.

…

The sun’s moved to the far side of the house. Mark rouses and takes stock of his debris. He picks the least used tissue, blows his nose, and stuffs the rest into the empty box.

He gasps, then rubs his warm, fluttering nose. “HHTSHh! Aghh,” he sighs, sniffling, cleaning up. 

“In here,” calls Devon from the other room.

He finds her and sits down. “I’m like… so sick.”

…

She fortifies him with a comforter and an ice pack and takes his temperature. He closes his eyes in the sunset pink.

“Honey. You little furnace,” Devon reads.

…

“He’d want you to have it,” Devon tells Mark, handing him one of Ricken’s handkerchiefs. “He’s always trying to convert people.”

“Unh?— Heuh?—-“ Mark spits, “Hah!— HATCHH—egk! Oh God.” He positions the fabric for a blow, then crackles, gurgles, squeaks, and gets some air.

“Has he converted you?” Mark manages.

She lifts her palms. “It’s really soft though, right?”

…

“You’re sure it’s not going to be too scary?”

“Fuck you,” laughs Mark, tucked up in the spare bed.

“He’s laughing,” Devon nods at him. “Welcome.” She opens Treasure Island and begins.

…

END

Edited August 8, 2023 by ice_cream_though