Mark was used to Roger simply losing himself in his music. It was how he coped and most of the time, he was content to let the younger man do so. He just wanted him to heal. Not physically, obviously. Other than taking the medication that attempted to keep the disease at bay, there wasn't much else they could do about that. But mentally. Emotionally. Mark was desperate for him to heal the parts that had died when April had taken the coward's way out. For a damn long time, Mark was afraid Roger might consider doing the same, and he didn't know if he could handle that.
But this wasn't New York and they weren't doing odd jobs and playing random gigs to try and make a few bucks for a meal. They were, apparently, a part of the end of the world. For better or for worse. Didn't he think that required some answers? Investigative work, now that's where Mark needed to be. Nothing like Buzzline, of course. Something more serious, more sincere.
"So it's just an object? A literal one or a figurative one?" Before he knew it, he was on his feet and pacing. "Is everyone in this city brought in by that thing? How many people are involved?" What he really wanted was a scarf, one of the longer ones so he could fiddle with the ends like he usually did when he was anxious. Stupid seal couldn't even take him from a place where he was in more comfortable clothes? "And... Hey, wait. What do we do here? I mean, does everyone live here? Just get brought here with absolutely nothing? Doesn't really seem fair, does it."