"Superman!" Mark stopped on a dime, and grinned brightly. Okay, fine. At heart, he was still all of about ten. No child raised in the seventies and eighties couldn't be impressed by superheroes. If he was told He-Man was there, he'd have done a little happy dance, whether Roger mocked him mercilessly or not. And Han and Leia? Mark was a closet sci-fi nerd. His longing to make films stemmed from the first time he'd seen Return of the Jedi and his beloved scarf was an idea kidnapped from Tom Baker. This was unreal. "And Star Wars, too? Any Star Trek? I swear, if I run into Captain Kirke..."
Right. Wait, no. Serious time. Hell. Literal hell, being unleashed, etcetera and so on. Not to mention getting by. "Care packages are good. Hopefully with clothes." He nodded down to the one suit he'd owned, which was now, apparently, the only thing at all he owned. Nope, not weird at all. He was just glad that, funeral or not, he'd refused to wear dress shoes. Mostly because his only pair was still at his Mom and Dad's house and there was no way he was going there and explaining anything that had happened in the last year or five.
And he did know that they arrived with what they had. He nodded to the camera on the table, probably outdated and pathetic in comparison to what they had in 2011. He'd definitely have to get work somewhere and save up for a new one. A coffee shop or deli or something so he could pick up stories from the customers, maybe.
Right. Distracted again. "So is everyone here fictional, then? I mean, there can't possibly be a whole city in the US with characters from movies and musicals and the like just wandering around and no one knows about it!" Because that wouldn't be any weirder than being a fictional character in the first place? Hardly.