And there it surfaces again, one of the things that Mark's always had to deal with in Eduardo, how often the other man bemoans his own situation. Like having to sit through an hour-long dinner with Sean Parker, founder of Napster no less, is the greatest imposition on an afternoon he would otherwise probably be spending attending HRSCA events (which, when stripped of all the pomp and circumstance the students try to lend them, are nothing more than gatherings with the Kong's or Yenching's awful Chinese food, the only salvageable parts of which are the fortune cookies, which aren't Chinese in the first place). Like having his shares diluted should matter all that much when the portion Mark left him with still amounts to a whole lot more than the money Eduardo put into the company in the first place, millions outweighing thousands— making what was almost solely a business decision into a personal slight. Like Mark arriving wherever this place is should be so much of a big deal when all that Eduardo has to do is tell him longitude, latitude, and point out a phone.
It's not like Mark's asking him to stay.
Then again, given how much Mark feels like he's practically going through a divorce settlement and fighting for the custody of a (brain)child, maybe that's something Eduardo wants. Proof that their metaphorical marriage meant something.
Mark hates metaphors.
"No, that would probably be my mother," Mark replies with a slightly exasperated tone before he snaps his laptop shut and stands up, offering his same direct look and a slight shrug. He wonders if he looks as defeated as he feels right now. "Look, a place with running water and electricity, with cable television, is bound to have a telephone. A telephone is bound to solve our problems. Gets me out of your hair and returns me home in one fell long-distance swing. I can have them... wire your money over or whatever." He waves his hand in a fluttering, dismissive motion.
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Date: 2011-05-15 05:55 am (UTC)It's not like Mark's asking him to stay.
Then again, given how much Mark feels like he's practically going through a divorce settlement and fighting for the custody of a (brain)child, maybe that's something Eduardo wants. Proof that their metaphorical marriage meant something.
Mark hates metaphors.
"No, that would probably be my mother," Mark replies with a slightly exasperated tone before he snaps his laptop shut and stands up, offering his same direct look and a slight shrug. He wonders if he looks as defeated as he feels right now. "Look, a place with running water and electricity, with cable television, is bound to have a telephone. A telephone is bound to solve our problems. Gets me out of your hair and returns me home in one fell long-distance swing. I can have them... wire your money over or whatever." He waves his hand in a fluttering, dismissive motion.