He checked his watch quickly, gleaning the time. He wasn't late, but he wasn't exactly early, so the frustration that he read in Josh was understandable. Not expected, but understandable. There was something else there too. A feeling... regret? Not quite. It was a bit too newly formed to be regret. Dread, he thought with a slight mental nod. He was dreading doing something that he would regret later, and the anticipation of the regret was fuelling the dread to the point where he was considering not even doing this thing that needed doing. Mark blinked, bringing himself back and nodded, not saying a word.

It wasn't that he didn't like flying. He didn't care for it, sure, like many other people in the world, but he could stand it. He was dreading going up to five thousand feet in the air, being held up merely by drifts of air and speed in a small aluminum container, but he knew that numerically speaking it was safer than his preferred travelling style, by car.He grimaced a bit as he stepped on the plane. At least it wasn't a commercial flight. The dislike that he had for those had little to do with the physics involved in putting a plane in the air, and more to do with the hygenic complications.

He was immediately greeted by one Thomas Wakefield, and out of reflex, he grasped the man's hand. The grip was weak, effete, lacking any conviction. It wasn't actually a pleasure to meet Mr. Vern, just a pleasure to be around him so that information could be gleaned. Mark's eyes didn't meet Mr. Wakefield's, instead studying the cushions of the flight chairs intently. Thankfully, the conversation drifted away from him and he made an attempt to filter out as much of it as possible. He sat down in the far corner and took a deep breath, his backpack with his things placed on his lap. He fiddled idly with the armrest, waiting for them to take off.