This place, wherever it is, doesn't offer that many answers. Glimpses Mark's had of the outer setting hint that he might be somewhere in the tropics, with balmy weather and appropriate flora, the lack of strong humidity suggesting that there's some kind of coast nearby. But that doesn't tell him much. Narrows him down to an entire band of the Earth, and one that Mark doesn't really have any attachment to, although the arrival of Eduardo in specific makes Mark wonder if he's somehow made his way over to Brazil. He doesn't know the difference between it or any other tropical place well enough to know better, and at least this is a guess with some reasoning behind it. But why the corner of his lip quirks up for a moment isn't because he may be in Eduardo's home turf or that the pickings in clothing must be thin at best (unless there is in fact, some sort of themed party going on nearby, but if he can't hear the music from here then it's a poor party even by Harvard's standards, and that's saying something; he's been to BU's equivalent before). Instead, it's the fact that with Eduardo's entrance, Mark can suddenly glean a lot more answers. A matter of show, not tell.
Eduardo looks surprised. Probably not the one to bring Mark here.
Eduardo looks confused. Could be so caught up in emotion that he forgot the hearing. Could be suffering some impossible memory loss brought on by a crazy Zuckerberg fanatic, or Sean Parker, or even an ex-girlfriend, although that sounds a little too much the stuff of soap operas. And the favorite theory yet, impossible though it may seem, is that some kind of tear in the space-time continuum has thrown Mark into another line of reality entirely, one where Eduardo's pain and anguish has not led him to lawyers, but instead the Caribbean. (Of this, Mark would approve. But it's a little too fantastical. Too good to be true.)
Eduardo looks angry. Facebook is a still a thing.
On the bright side, Eduardo's words also suggest that he knows where the both of them are, and Mark trusts in the fact that his best friend, former or otherwise, will let him in on the scoop sooner or later no matter how mad he is. He's Wardo, after all. So Mark turns away, looking at his computer screen and trying to find a wireless connection again. No dice.
All of this happens in the span of a couple of seconds. The human brain is, after all, a faster processor than any computer server can ever be, even if there are usually enough distractions to make the opposite seem true.
"A few minutes," he replies in earnest, then looking down at the clock on his screen. "Seven, to be exact."
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Eduardo looks surprised. Probably not the one to bring Mark here.
Eduardo looks confused. Could be so caught up in emotion that he forgot the hearing. Could be suffering some impossible memory loss brought on by a crazy Zuckerberg fanatic, or Sean Parker, or even an ex-girlfriend, although that sounds a little too much the stuff of soap operas. And the favorite theory yet, impossible though it may seem, is that some kind of tear in the space-time continuum has thrown Mark into another line of reality entirely, one where Eduardo's pain and anguish has not led him to lawyers, but instead the Caribbean. (Of this, Mark would approve. But it's a little too fantastical. Too good to be true.)
Eduardo looks angry. Facebook is a still a thing.
On the bright side, Eduardo's words also suggest that he knows where the both of them are, and Mark trusts in the fact that his best friend, former or otherwise, will let him in on the scoop sooner or later no matter how mad he is. He's Wardo, after all. So Mark turns away, looking at his computer screen and trying to find a wireless connection again. No dice.
All of this happens in the span of a couple of seconds. The human brain is, after all, a faster processor than any computer server can ever be, even if there are usually enough distractions to make the opposite seem true.
"A few minutes," he replies in earnest, then looking down at the clock on his screen. "Seven, to be exact."