Voicemail (IC Contact Post) OLD - at capcha

[abrightboy]

 This is Bright. Leave a message.

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[tinstar]

[Carried over from here]

"Probably never have been safer, if we're honest." It was hard to beat a wall of cowboy, but he was warmed by the idea that he and Doc had successuflly done the apparently impossible. Sleep next to an unrestrained Malcolm without injury or shame and not make him feel worse for it. Just a couple of fist dimpled undershirts. That, they could handle.

Raylan watched the way Malcolm's eyes darted back and forth, and he hated that he didn't have any other answers that would help. That was normally his job. Answers man, in one form or another. "You're probably workin' on fears of this place getting you. Gettin' us. Not an unreasable concern.. But he's gone now. For now."

The question that followed was not the one that he expected, though he probably should have, and he kept his eyes on the faint shapes of Malcolm's next to his. "I'm sure. We got to drinkin' and I can't even remember what prompted Doc to come up and ask Neal to move.. Probably space.. It was just easier to lay down here than go anywhere else... I told him to lay down. Way we were talkin', left alone in the dark wasn't gonna be good news."

He wouldn't admit to what he'd wanted to do or push or.. None of it was relevent. Doc had said no and he'd respect it.

"Really. It's okay."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, then pressed a hand to Raylan's chest impulsively, firmly enough to still his tremor.

He swallowed hard.

"They've proven they can take us any time they want. It's not... unreasonable to fear the shadowy hand. I know that. I just... had enough horror movie action going on in my head without their help," he joked weakly.

Aug 5-- action

[ployboy]

Tim figures he could make the jump. It's a muggy sort of humid that reminds him of Gotham City nights, and the urge to be out (by the docks, learning how these gangs move) is almost unbearable. But he's in through the gate before security gets on his case for missing curfew, and casing out any weak links (hah) in the perimeter fence is an activity that will have to wait another day. Tim slinks into the proper air conditioning of the apartment building, and with summer-wet hair sticking to his neck and a light shiver, he pushes open the door to good ol' B1.

Late night, he expects to be met by a familiar and hollow nothingness. Malcolm's up, though, and that throws him off his, uh, groove.

Tim freezes for a second, like his brain's gone and needed the reboot-- he's not a kid who needs permission to be out, he reminds himself, and Tim follows up with a weak and polite smile. "'sup?"

...smooth.

"Can't sleep?"

...somehow not any better of an opener.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm’s making tea when Tim comes in. Insomnia is his old friend as well but they’re not used to each other’s rhythms yet. Malcolm had assumed Tim was in his room as usual.

“It’s eluding me tonight.”

Gil being spilled from the skin of a slaughtered seal haunts his night terrors as well.

“Tea?”

voice - sept uhhh WHICHEVER SATURDAY BEFORE NEAL COMES OVER, i'm too tired to look at a calendar

[conning]

[ He is not disappointed that Malcolm hasn't gotten in touch with him. Maybe he didn't notice the note. Maybe it got put through the wash.

Regardless, it's... He's not disappointed, okay? And he's not taking matters into his own hands.

ANYWAY, RING RING RING 867-5309 OR SOMETHING.]

[abrightboy]

[He recognizes the number that comes up. He’s read the note enough times that he has it memorized.

What? That’s not weird.

Be cool, he tells himself. Be cool.

Oh. Neal’s supposed to come over tomorrow.


Maybe he’s calling to cancel. Malcolm takes a breath, in and out, then presses connect.]

This is Bright.

another Saturday but this time in October

[ployboy]

Tim has a plan. It's one he has all the confidence in the world in. It's quick (relatively), efficient, and painless (relatively). There's really not much of it to dislike and Tim isn't nervous about moving forward with said plan.

He's just... nervous. Y'know? But even with all the growing grogginess in the air he's nothing but an expert: he double, triple checked that everything would go off without a hitch. There's his backpack slung on the ground. Mer is in her room, having One Of Those Days. Malcolm had stepped out and Tim had assumed that he had the time to execute his crime and flee the scene unscathed.

The scene:

The boy actually tamed his hair for once, has on dark wash jeans and a... plain white shirt, the button-up type? and his half-beat up offbrand chucks. But he can't feel like he has the plan all put together if he's all boyish, so.... the solution is: Malcolm can and does dress up. And he's never mistaken for boyish. And... he and Tim are about the same damn height. So. It's not hard to fit one of the man's more smart-casual jackets over his shoulders. Just to test the fit.

That's when the door to Malcolm's room opens (whodathunk), and Tim just about jumps out of his damn skin.

Busted.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm is absently dropping his keys on the bedside table before he even notices Tim there. It's the movement of the other man startling that startles him.

Special Agent Malcolm Bright never could clear a room worth a damn.

A hand on his chest as he recovers from the intial surprise, he frowns faintly.

"Tim? ...Did you nee..." A beat. "Is that my jacket?"

[text]

[bossyboiler]

This is Kate. We need to talk.

[abrightboy]

What can I do for you?

action (cw mention of drugs/addiction)

[cacophonish]

After seeing Jack's post, reading a detailed recounting of a nightmare that still plays out some nights as he sleeps, Jeff kind of wants to cry.

Which is stupid. He shouldn't cry. He needs to stop being such a fucking baby. Instead, Jeff just kind of punches his pillow a few times (because anger's, like, manly and acceptable), but it's half-hearted and doesn't make him feel any better.

He checks his phone again. Tim's still leaving him on read, and he doesn't know if the guy's hurt or pissed at him or what. He should probably leave him alone and give him his space, instead of being clingy and annoying.

That resolution doesn't last too long. He's out of coke (apparently his dealer's dealing with supply chain issues or some bullshit), and he's not in the mood to drink, and he definitely doesn't want to go out and busk while the memories of getting stabbed to death out in public are so fresh on his mind.

So he puts on something clean and grabs the promised leftover stuffing from last night's escapades (haphazardly wrapped in foil), and heads on over to the ADI apartment complex, making a beeline for B1.

He looks utterly miserable as he knocks on the door. But if his eyes look a little red and his cheeks and nose look a little flushed, he'll just say it's because of the cold weather, and not because he's being a big emotional baby who might've had some sniffles somewhere between Point A and Point B. He's fine. He's an adult.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm is still sitting on the couch where Tim left him, staring at his phone, trying to decide whether he should reach out to Jeff or let him have space. He’s the one that caused the pain. Does he have the right to go looking to commiserate about it being dragged into the light?

He gets up and absently walks to the door, assuming Tim forgot his keys or something, but the world comes back into sudden focus as he sees Jeff standing there.

“Oh. Hi. Um…” He steps back. “Come in. I was… thinking about calling you.”

text, Dec 3

[ployboy]

[It's literary just this link:]

__?__

[abrightboy]

Do you think it will work for my kind of nightmares?

Backdated to the early morning of November 1st

[conning]

He doesn't remember much about last night. He remembers going out for a walk, trying to surround himself with the normality of a small-town America Halloween evening. Even if that itself felt strange, it was a familiar kind of strange. Somewhere along the way, though, he remembers a strange giddiness stealing over him. He remembers hearing a song, and the heady euphoria that swept through him. He remembers getting lost in it, drinking, kissing, dancing, laughing, with the kind of wild abandon that he's never had in his life.

Eventually he ended up in a tangle of sheets and legs and several participants in some hotel room, from which he emerged in the morning hung over and achey and a little confused. He can't say he regrets the previous night--the air-light ecstatic joy of it is like a hangover of a different kind--but he does regret whatever he drank and the fact that he didn't have water with it.

He makes it to the apartments, lets himself in the front gate, and has to stop to lean against one of the buildings for a moment, groaning a little. His body isn't as forgiving at 37 as it was at 21.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm is heading out for morning coffee and, while he’s always kind of hoping he’ll run into Neal on this trip, he’s not expecting it here and he stops short.

“Oh. Hi. Are… you all right?”

A MISFIRE: set at some vague point

[cacophonish]

han solo but only when he's wearing a parka
janice the muppet
tim curry as frank n furter (obviously) and the big red devil dude in legend

[abrightboy]

What about them?

Dec 18 is the day for a surprise party- it's a surprise for everyone involved

[ployboy]

So they... cleared the air. Basically. It'd been all sorts of painful. As peeling the bandaid, long overdue, tends to be. Tim's not in an especially better mood. Lieutenant Arroyo being B1's live-in supervisor has him behaving himself, though. He's docile for the most part, choosing to lick his wounds by claiming one half of the living room couch as His during the days. Sometimes sleeping like the dead, oftentimes just willing himself to not lose (what's left of) his mind due to lack of stimulus-- adrenaline, hurt, self flagellation-- and no, bailing roommates out of jail doesn't freaking count.

He's not talking about that.

He needs a... hair tie. Before he loses what's left of his mind. Tim could use a haircut; he can hear Alfred berating him for it. Good thing one of the roommates... had to have a stash of those things, right?

He schemes and waits until Arroyo is out and Malcolm's preoccupied and who knows what Meredith is up to.

He doesn't want to think about it.

He needs a hair tie. So.

With the coast clear, he slips into Meredith's room. An invasion of privacy, he's aware. He doesn't... really care that much; what she won't know won't hurt her. He takes stock. Of this, of that. He always returns items where they should be. Everything faces the same direction it had before he picked it up. He's good at snooping.

...until he lets out a squawk, a planner in a drawer tucked back in its corner. Tim shoves one (1) black hair tie up his forearm and slips right out. Like a shadow.

Nobody saw anything. Right? Right?

Anyway. Priorities.

That means:

"Hey, Malcolm!"

As he sits on an arm of the couch back in the living room, like there's nothing in the world that's the matter.

He has absolutely no idea what to do. For once... it's showing on his face.

"Can you come here for a sec?"

[abrightboy]

“Listen,” Malcolm says, walking out into the livingroom, “if it’s infected again, you have to….” He stops when he sees Tim’s face. That’s not it. Oh. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

text; un: looselystrung

[henchgal]

So. I had an interesting day at work today.

un: bright

[abrightboy]

by what definition of 'interesting'?

Continued from https://apocalypsehowcomm.dreamwidth.org/35252.html?thread=4725172#cmt4725172

[henchgal]

Maybe you're not supposed to get in touch. Maybe you just leave me alone. Take care of Tim. He needs it.

[abrightboy]

He says you need it. Do you both not really need me? Because if you’re being serious instead of difficult, I can cut it out and leave you both alone. Not sure what I did to deserve that, though.

slides in here before i forget

[oldbookshop]

This is Aziraphale.
I hope I'm not disturbing you.
It can wait if you're busy.

[ Local angel finally feels secure enough in his capacity to parse a voicemail message from a phone being answered, bravely moving onward to the next modern communication step. Which is inherently easier because there are less voices. ]

text

[abrightboy]

You're not disturbing me at all. What can I do for you?

[bossyboiler]

[ Sometime following this...]

I'm a horrible person and I need someone to talk to. Guess what, you're it.

[abrightboy]

Did you terrorize another mime?

[If that sounds like a joke, it’s not.]

backdated to shortly after neal gets attacked in March >.>

[conning]

His stomach hurts. It's easier to focus on the sharp reality of the throbbing pain than it is to focus on the fact that he's in a strange place with strange people who have entirely too much information about him. Strange people who look at him with the kind of concern he's unused to seeing. Who treat him with the kind of care he directs at others.

Strange people who are Malcolm. He's thinking about Malcolm.

Malcolm, who's in the kitchen of B1 making them both tea while Neal sits on the couch.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm doesn't know what to do besides make tea.

He picks up the cup and saucer. His hands is shaking, so it clatters. He puts it down. Picks it up with the other hand. Brings it out to Neal. Sets it down on the coffee table with a soft smile like it's normal to bring one thing in one hand at a time. Comes back with creamer. Comes back again with a pot of tea. Comes back one more time with another cup.

"Could you do the honours?" he suggests, gesturing to the teapot.

It might be better if Neal pours.

action » Well Read TDM prompt

[welladjustedwhitly]

Ainsley did not sign up for a library card prior to the book fair. Ainsley has never read a Philip K. Dick book in her life. But someone probably has, and Ainsley has an inkling that someone is her brother. He has weird interests. PKD is weird, which is basically the extent of her knowledge of the author.

So here comes a sister, approaching her brother's desk and shoving a list of books at him. "What is this? Everyone has this on their list." she points out the one she means. "Have you read it? Like– in normal life, not...weird fake library list life."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm hasn't gone to the book fair or the library. He's currently building a structure out of paper cups and pencils on his desk, but he looks up when she starts talking, taking the list and looking it over.

"Eye in the Sky? Ages ago. It's about people walking in each other's subconsciouses." He pauses. "Which is uncomfortably like what's happened here a couple of times." He offers her the list back. "How do you know everyone has it on their list?" he asks, half distracted by trying to get one pencil to balance on another that's sticking out of a cup.

Arc 1 ending with Jeff Calhoun

[abrightboy]

[From here.

Malcolm had spotted Jeff and followed him, lingering in the shadows, watching. Once Katie drifted off, Malcolm stepped into the light.

"You tricked her."

[cacophonish]

Jeff hums softly, looking over at Malcolm as he steps into the light. There's a little smile on his face, sharp at the edges, as he waves at his friend.

"I should've done worse," he points out.

TLV post-poisoning;

[conning]

Neal wakes up in the bed in his room on deck five. He groans, curling up under too-small blankets, the familiar scents of the space disorienting in the middle of a pounding headache.

He squints into the room, still feeling high, though not in a good way.

And there's Malcolm, settled against the opposite wall, legs crossed, paging through an advanced algebra notebook that's several grades ahead of anything Danny Brooks should seemingly be working on. It's equal parts filled out and full of drawings.

[abrightboy]

“People don’t usually peg artists for being good at math,” Malcolm says, turning the page. He looks up. “They forget about people like Da Vinci.”

tlv; voice

[ukan]

Malcolm, my name is Lark Tennant. I wanted to talk to you about something that happened recently. A robbery.

voice

[abrightboy]

…Do you mean Misty’s robberies?

TLV - Day 3 of the Exit Wounds Flood/Oct 11th

[conning]

Neal makes it to Malcolm's room mostly by virtue of stubbornness and the fact that he went to the infirmary for what amounts to a physical top-up before making the effort.

He's still kind of lying against the door when he knocks.

[abrightboy]

A croaky voice calls "Hello?" with some effort.

audio

[citizendetective]

Malcolm, hi! How are you doing?

[abrightboy]

Still alive. You?

Audio

[crab_rangoon]

So what was this excerise you were doing with Misty?

Indulge me in a perspective check?

Audio

[abrightboy]

She wanted me to forgive her for robbing me, but her remorse wasn’t based in the harm she’d done people, only in the harm she’d done herself. I asked her to put herself in the shoes of each person she robbed and look at what she did from their perspective.

audio

[goingtobeunwell]

Good evening; this is Francis Crozier.

Did you accept the third position for the Counseling Office? I daresay, it'd be a relief to have someone who actually practices in this field.

audio

[abrightboy]

…I did accept it, yeah. I’m, um. I’ve never been a practising counsellor at home. I have the training and I’ve been in therapy most of my life, so I hope I can help, but my career in my world was as a forensic psychologist. I profiled criminals for law enforcement.

AH - morning after nightmare event ends??

[conning]

Neal wakes up.

He knows for dead certain he's awake, which is a nice change. He knows he's awake, and he's curled up against Malcolm, who's stirring in his sleep.

He's awake.

But there's something from the dreams still in his head.

He can feel the pressure of Malcolm's restless sleep. The fear, the anxiety, a heady cocktail that makes him feel simultaneously sick and euphoric. But it's not just Malcolm, either. He can feel the faintest impressions all around them, sparks of giddy, awful feelings, things he shouldn't be able to sense while awake.

But he can.

[abrightboy]

He wakes up screaming, bolting upright, out of Neal's grasp, reaching for... nothing. For something that isn't there. Some kind of purchase.

But soft sunlight is filtering in the bedroom window and there's warmth near him. Neal. Neal is near him.

He blinks against the tears he didn't realize he was shedding and reaches for him.

[text] during the thanksgiving feast on the 24th

[bossyboiler]

Are you really just going to sit there and let him hit you with potatoes? Get up and move!

[abrightboy]

We're talking about it; stop distracting me.