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Mark was almost pleasant as he walked about the nunnery, offering friendly greetings and a smile to the nuns as he passed out of the church. In truth, he was extremely worried...he'd been helping the nuns during Miner's Day for as long as he could remember. It made him feel good, putting a smile on their faces, made him feel useful to Storybrooke and to himself. 

His spirits weren't exactly lifted, however, when he found out that he would have to sell one *thousand* candles by tonight. However, Mark masked his worry and concern with an air of confidence and reassurance, praying to God that he would accomplish what seemed to him as so insurmountable a task.

The nun's helped him set up the candle booth in the hubbub of Miner's Day, stacking box after box of candles behind the stand to the point it looked like an indomitable wall. Mark sighed deeply, scratching the top of his head as he could only look behind him and see just how many candles he would have to sell...

Swallowing his fear once again, he mustered as much volume he could to his voice, reading off a pre-written advertisement from a small piece of paper: "Buy your Miner’s Day candles here! Handmade by Storybrooke’s very own nuns! Light your way to a good cause!" His calls did little to attract any attention, the most he was receiving being slight surprise that he was attending a booth. 

Mark continued this process for what seemed like hours, reaching absolutely nowhere. Candles were almost old news by now, with electric lights and such - no one was interested anymore. Mark could do little but stand there, dejected, hoping someone would either take pity on him, or just put him out of his misery.

Mark left the stall after about half an hour to take a walk, clear his head. He had no worry about shoplifters - who the hell would run around stealing candles? He kept his pace slow and stiff, keeping both hands in his jacket pockets to preserve them from the still somewhat-chilly weather. 

As Mark walked past the dunk tank and bakery stall (noticing Henry Carlyle as the quite-displeased victim), his eyes landed on Mason, who seemed to be lost - choosing to stay somewhere familiar instead of running off into the still-heavy crowds. 

Mark felt an...instictive compulsion to check on the boy, blaming it on his fireman training. He approached the timid boy, squatting down to get on eye level. 

"Hello Mason! Didn't think I'd see you here." He greeted friendlily, smiling softly. "You remember me, don't you?" He asked inquisitively. 

Mason nodded his head hastily, responding with a simple, "Mark." 

"That's right!' Mark replied in an encouraging tone. "Now then," he began, his voice turning slightly more serious - but not overly so. "You look lost...do you need me to help you find someone?" He asked, eyes locked with Mason's. 

"I can't find my mom." The boy replied, chewing on his bottom lip by habit. 

"Oh, I see." Mark replied empathetically before rising to his full height. He extened a single hand out from his pocket for Mason to take. "Come now, let's see if you and I can find her, eh?" He offered warmly. 

Mason seemed to think on this proposal for a moment, as if weighing whether he'd want to stay where he was or not. But eventually, his own previous interaction with Mark, coupled with wanting to find Regina all the sooner won him over, and he took Mark's hand in his before the two of them went off on their search.