Mime Spent Apart

Part 7

The job the mime had been given was simple. He had to go to a gathering of people and pretend to be the person that he had talked to on the phone. It turned out that the people they were 'meeting' with were actually people that had only talked to his client within an internet chat room so did not know anything about them aside from what they had told them themselves. The mime himself did not know a lot about his client, aside from being reasonably sure that it was a female. Obviously they would be pretending to be male in the chat room. Obviously.

He loaded up his computer and went to his email, where he found the transcripts of all the chats his client had ever had in this chat room. He skimmed through the first couple. It appeared to be a place where people who were working on books gathered to swap ideas and encourage each other. Why would 'she' need to hide herself from them? In any case, it was not his place to question, only to perform the job, which he charged top dollar for. She called herself "Kusa" in the chat. It seemed that she was one of the people moderating the group, though on occasion there were privileges randomly handed out if the other moderators were feeling generous or silly.

When he was reading through the chats he noticed that not much of any consequence was actually discussed, it was mostly a random mix of general pop culture tidbits and passing on of youtube videos of things that were popular six or seven years before. Sometimes plots were brought up but not that often. He gathered that the person he would be 'playing' was a reasonably fast writer but not as fast as a couple of others in the group. He made a note of the particularly fast ones as it was sure to come up in conversation. Once he had done this, he resumed reading, this time making notes of any personality traits that came through strongly of the person he was meant to be 'playing'.

The main one appeared to be a general passive-aggressiveness. He wondered if his client was actually aware of this and whether he should downplay it in actual face to face event. Usually when people had that trait, they were surprised to have it pointed out to them. In fact, in his experience, they became quite hostile. He decided to have the very slightest twinge of it be there, but not so much that it would actually get on anyone's nerves. People were typically a bit different online to how they were in real life regardless, and having only the printed word to express yourself with tended to leave a lot of things open to interpretation where otherwise body language would have smoothed over misunderstandings or unintended aggression.

Another thing he picked up was a slight patronizing tone to those who were more than two years younger or who had not been writing for as long. This one he found interesting but not too hard to decide what to do about at the actual event. He would go completely the other way and be extra friendly to the young and new people. It was a subconscious predatory technique but one the client would be completely aware of and be happy to have replicated, though for totally different reasons in her head. He saw a fair amount of intelligence being displayed and also a hint of social awkwardness which likely would be ten-fold in actual company. Now he thought about it, it would probably be much more than that. Possibly enough anxiety to hire a professional 'place taker' to do the job? No, there must be a further motive than that. Nevertheless, not his place. As he continued to read through the chat transcripts a weird pattern seemed to be emerging that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He knew he would figure it out eventually so he put it aside before it drove him crazy and started noting down key phrases that were repeated a lot by his client. After that, he started making notes of anytime she... or rather, "Kusa" mentioned buying or wearing particular pieces or clothing and what level of affection they had for them.

He jumped ahead to recent chats where the people in the room were talking about the upcoming catch up to see if Kusa had said they were going to do anything specific. Sure enough they talked about baking cookies for the event. Cookies? He guessed he could go get a mix from the supermarket or something. It would be easy enough to just say he decided he couldn't be bothered or just didn't have enough time in the end but it didn't seem in the character of Kusa to do that. He would just have to work out what sort of cookies to arrange once he had his complete character profile. He opened his drawer and pulled out a lime green highlighter, a black pen, a red pen and a gold paint pen. He then told his computer to print out all the chat logs. He knew it would take a while, even on his laser printer so he went over to his kitchen and got himself an apple. By instinct, he flicked it up and over his wrist and caught it again in a deft motion. He then flicked it up onto the back of his hand and lifted his arm slightly so it rolled back. As it approached his elbow, he bent his arm and twisted it slightly so the apple was caught on the crook. He then smartly snapped his arm out and caught the apple on his shoulder, at the side of his head. He let it roll around to the other side much like a basketball player and then guided it down his other arm, caught it, threw it into the air and grabbed another apple from his fruit bowl and began juggling them with one hand. He grabbed a third and fourth apple with his other hand and threw them in the air to join his current play. He continued in this manner, occasionally passing an apple under a leg until he got bored and caught one in his mouth, then let the other three drop onto his right arm and roll back into the fruit bowl.

He took a big bite out of the apple that was left and strolled back over to his printer and watched it spit the pages into the tray as it printed them. This was still going to take a while. He thought about doing some more juggling but decided instead to lie back down on his chair and keep eating his apple. The apple tasted quite tart, but delicious. There was a good amount of moisture in it. The mime had access to a shopping service that specially picked out fresh fruit and vegetables for his enjoyment, going to the best suppliers and then checking the quality of the produce that was on offer. SO far he had not once been disappointed. He took another big bite and enjoyed slowly chewing it and feeling the juice of the apple flow over his tongue and down his throat. He was really going to enjoy the next two weeks, was really going to allow himself to bask in what he had done. A flash of the shadow illuminated by the fire hit his memory but he shunned it to the side yet again. The mere fact it was so much clearer this time told him that it was plain paranoia.

For lack of something else to do, he began to systematically crack his knuckles. He started on his left hand with the little finger. Gripping it tightly with his right fist, he gave it a sharp pull and a slight twist. CRACK! It gave a satisfying report and seemed to limber up slightly. Of course, the mime knew this was a myth, having merely dispensed on the liquid between his joints for a time and that it was actually more likely to cause him problems later on. However he found it an enjoyable distraction. He moved on the ring finger. CRACK! He smiled. Now the second finger. He tightened his fist around the finger and made to make the movement when a knock at the door made him jump. The piece of apple he was chewing bounced back in his mouth and lodged in his windpipe. He felt his air flow being taken away from him, reached his hands up to his throat and tried desperately to massage the offending piece of fruit up and out into his mouth. No luck. He rushed around his apartment looking for a way to get the piece out. All his chairs were quite modern in design and so did not have the solid back required to perform the heimlich on himself. Curses. He heard the bang at the door begin again, this time more insistent. Should he risk opening the door? Who even knew he lived here? If this was retribution he could be in a lot of trouble.

He could feel an immense pressure in his head building and the world around his began darkening. Surely it could be no more trouble than what he was in now. He rushed to the door and unlatched it. He opened it to see a huge, hairy man with a broken nose who immediately punched him in the stomach. The piece of apple dislodged and the mime by automatic reaction spat it out into the man's eye then allowed him a large gasp of breath to regain his composure.

"I'm....huuuuuuuuuu.... sorry..." The mime said, rushing to the kitchen and gettting some paper towel to bring back to the stranger, who was examining his fingers after wiping away the piece of apple. The man took it from him and wiped his face and hand. "Don't mention it." He growled.

The mime went back to the kitchen and got himself a glass of water, which he drank in slow measured gulps. Each swallow caused him pain. "Phew. I'm really sorry about that. I was eating an apple and I started choking."

He walked back over to the man. "Anyway, I don't believe we've met. My name is Fred. How did you know to do that when you saw me choking?"

"I didn't know you were choking." The man growled in return and his fist, a blur, pile-drove into the mime's eye-socket.