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[abrightboy]

 This is Bright. Leave a message.

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after Flint's post, before flood

[lone_horse]

I saw your comments about the fight I had with Hands-san.

I'd like to hear your thoughts.

[ He doesn't sound angry or defensive. He sounds like he wants to hear what he has to say, that he's willing to listen.]

[abrightboy]

I honestly don’t think it was the problem, if it solved something between you and stayed between you. I really think Roman’s conduct was the problem and, honestly, he probably deserved a spanking from a pirate. You don’t run around a very multicultural ship assuming honour doesn’t matter to anyone or that a wound to honour isn’t the same as a wound to an arm, but the people around Roman seem intent on insisting that he’s the victim here and my point to James was only that violence leads to more violence. If we are going to have a set of prescribed rules, who’s going to prescribe them? Realistically, they could only come from the Admiral. And they won’t, but even if they did? If we have a set of prescribed punishments, who will prescribe those? If we can’t even set out rules, I don’t think we’ll agree on prescribed punishments. The system James is describing had something we don’t: one captain. What are we going to do? Elect a President Warden and a Warden Ruling Council? When I got here, I was appalled that there weren’t set rules of conduct, too, but in any group of We The People, no laws were ever written without someone in charge of it. This place has even less structure in many ways than the Wild West. I think it’s astounding that more people don’t get stabbed. I think it’s astounding that I haven’t been stabbed. I mean, I’ve been stabbed, but, like, here on the ship. I keep trying to get pirates and cowboys to talk about how toxic masculinity influences their reactions to things.

a few hours after she gets the scotch

[pitofguilt]

[ Damn right she's sharing it with him. Having seen his meds, she figures a little kindness is good for him. Also, she stole from him that one time, so she feels compelled to share with him what he's given her freely.

Knock knock, buddy. ]

[abrightboy]

Nat! How are you after… all that?

[You know. The flood. He steps aside and lets her in.]

Come in. What can I do for you?

[greatoldjohn]

Malcolm?

If I was interested in going to counseling... would that be allowed?

[abrightboy]

...Of course it's allowed; anyone can come to counselling. When do you want to come by?

TLV - a few days after the age warp flood

[conning]

Neal is in the counseling offices when Malcolm gets there. More specifically, he’s outside of Malcolm’s office, his back against the wall next to the door and George Famous wearing a harness and leash curled up in his lap. He’s wearing jeans and a black sweater and his hair is a little too long for his tastes, but he hasn’t bothered to find out where to get it cut. He can do it himself. He just hasn’t bothered with that, either.

[abrightboy]

“Neal!” Malcolm greets with enthusiasm as he arrives for his shift. “How are you doing?”

AH - post-December raid on the church

[conning]

Neal straggles into the apartment as dawn wriggles it’s fingers against the horizon, worn out and exhausted and worried sick at the fact that he hasn’t been able to find Malcolm. His phone hasn’t been reliable lately, he hasn’t missed any calls or texts, but he doesn’t know if that’s true or if he just didn’t get them.

Either way he goes straight for their shared room, looking worse for wear but mostly uninjured.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm is on his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. There’s still dry blood on his suit. There’s still dried blood on his hands. He doesn’t seem to notice Neal opening the door.

tlv - gradumotion flood, day 2, post-admiral-convo

[conning]

Neal comes back to his apartment, frowning at the phone in his hands that serves as his own Warden device now. At least he knows where Malcolm is, knows he's safe in this chaos.

Still, he feels better when he lays actual eyes on the other man. He's still too convinced that somehow these location pings can be faked. He managed it with the anklet, even if that's not the same as an interdimensional magic whatever.

"Hey." A pause. There's no smooth lead-in to this that he can see. "I asked the Admiral to--to cure your night terrors. He said yes."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm just looks at him. What Neal said to him was like 'I asked the Admiral to cure your nose' or 'I asked the Admiral to cure your breathing'. It's been part of his functioning for so long, it's like it's part of him. A frustrating, annoying, sometimes debilitating part of him.

.... Maybe that's what having a period is like, he briefly muses.

Then he blinks.

"What?"

Before the Flood

[therebedragons]

((After port and the whole Izzy situation, and after his fallout with Kiryu.))

Flint hates this but there have been some things weighing on his mind and he doesn't really have anyone else to turn to at this point. Malcolm's persistence has paid off even if he's far from fully trusting any of this or him. However, the things bothering him feel like Malcolm's point of expertise so ... here he is. Begrudgingly.

There's a knock, whether the door is opened or closed.

"Got a minute?" Okay, probably more than a minute. A lot has happened since last they talked.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks up, sees him, smiles.

"Come in," he offers, gesturing to the chair across from him. "You can shut the door if you want."

TLV - 3 days before end of Gradumotion flood

[conning]

Neal gasps awake. For a few seconds after he's conscious, it still feels like he can feel the pressure of every molecule of open space, every stitch of cloth sliding against his skin. His whole body is alight, arousal fading in waves, and he bunches his blankets up around himself as he sits up a little to try and get more air into his lungs.

Very, very quietly, he mumbles, "Holy shit."

He's breathing (and sweating) like he ran a marathon.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm’s insomnia has never been entirely tied to his night terrors and, even in their absence, he still has trouble. So he’s awake, laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

Then he hears Neal stirring. He sits up at the epithet.

“Are you okay?”

[ployboy]

Actually screw that, Tim is absolutely going to march up to the house one night in February. Some time after Rue left for their getaway, some time before he and Urianger have learned they're utterly helpless as far as keeping the apartment goes.

It's not even midnight yet.

But Tim thinks better of knocking (there's a B1 crudely drawn on the front door and he almost can't believe how cool that is) and he doesn't want to bother-- Neal or Malcolm with a call if they're actually asleep. Or. Like. Busy. Or whatever.

So it's not even midnight and Tim's stepping through a second-story window.

Because of course he is.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm's insomnia still acts up and he's in the kitchen making tea when he hears noise upstairs. He heads up, cracking open the door of Tim's room, smiling when he sees him.

"I thought that was you. Want a hot chocolate?"

after neal vanishes

[cactusy]

your inmate ok?

[abrightboy]

I don’t know. Have you seen him?

Therapy Session

[empathicfault]

It's the third or fourth session with Malcolm, and Will has backed off considerably on the invasive questioning, instead letting Malcolm handle that end of their professional relationship.

So far, so good. He's talked about the Great Red Dragon, gone into how Jack pulled him out of a 'good' life with good people in it, talked about Molly and Walter. He has mentioned that Hannibal 'escaped' with no details on how. In fact, he might be dodging the Hannibal topic too much, but- he doesn't trust himself talking about it with Malcolm. Not yet.

For today's session, Will comes in looking pale and sweaty, frequently rubbing at his eyes. He has plans for how he wants to direct the conversation this time, but he'd just have to see if he gets there. When Malcolm comes out of his office to fetch him from the waiting room, Will just gives a tired little wave and hauls himself up to his feet. "G'morning. How do you look so chipper all the time?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm grins.

“Yoga, coffee, a heavy regimen of sedatives to dial the mania down to ‘chipper’: basically, I’m a morning person. Can I get you a coffee?” he offers.

[cactusy]

[Shaw is quiet for a moment, after taking a seat on the couch in Malcolm's office. She closes her eyes, breathes in, and then opens them, making eye contact.]

No major concerns this week. I think I'm doing a little better, actually.

[abrightboy]

[He smiles a little at that declaration, opening his notebook.]

Better in what way?

private;

[ukan]

You remember that post I made, asking people's opinions on wardens?

Re: private;

[abrightboy]

I do.

AH: A Puzzling Evolution - I (closed to Malcolm)

[conning]

Neal focuses a little too intently on getting some kind of result in that stupid game after several failures. He's seen other people get crab or weasel, and while he'd like something better, he's grudgingly satisfied to get the latter. It's how he spends the first twenty-some minutes of the day at the museum, losing track of Malcolm who's gone off with someone to look at another exhibit after they came inside.

He gives his fiancé a sheepish look when he finally makes it to their rendezvous in one of the normal-seeming areas of the museum. He hadn't meant to get so fixated.

It’s some time after that - not long at all - that Neal starts to feel wrong. Like his bones are sliding underneath skin and muscle tissue, moving when they aren’t meant to move. It hurts. It’s a full-bodied ache that makes him feel nauseated and makes his head pound.

He touches Malcolm’s sleeve lightly to get his attention. “Can we go to a bathroom?”

Which is when he realizes, startled blue eyes now flecked brown and getting rapidly browner, they’re looking each other square in the face. Neal glances down to make sure Malcolm isn’t standing on an unseen step, then looks back up. “Something’s wrong.”

He does everything in his power to sound calm.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm, as they walk, thinks - out of the corner of his eye - that Neal's slouching. Then Neal touches his arm and he looks at him properly.

"...Or a hospital?" he suggests, but he's following him to the bathroom already. "ADI's infirmary, maybe. Or..." He frowns faintly. "Was anything happening where you were when I was gone?"

Private | Voice

[neverwaitslong]

Are you alright after the breach? Will is asking for you, if you're up for it.

Private | Voice

[abrightboy]

Oh. I'm fine. I mean. You kind of know what to expect, so.... [His ears catch up with his mouth.] ...Will's asking for me? Is he okay? [He's already moving, despite not knowing where he's going.] Where is he?

AH: Post-Buffalo Trip

[conning]

Neal is curled on the couch in the living room of their house, now that Gil has gone upstairs to bed. Now that he can stand to be in the open when he's still caught in this shape. Almost five feet from nose to tail-tip, but still unmistakably, entirely an animal. The ADI's glamour fizzes and sputters over him, apparently not recovered from the work it had to do in Buffalo. He watches miserably as one outstretched arm goes from furry and paw-tipped to bare skin and back again, then stays animal as the glamour gives out yet again. The low-grade pain of transformation still simmers through him, but it's ignorable.

He hasn't changed back. Other people have changed back. He hasn't changed back at all.

He doesn't know what to do.

But he knows that there's something he can.

[abrightboy]

That's not even true; he's gotten most of his size back. His cognition. But that probably feels like small consolation to having claws.

Malcolm drops onto the couch beside him.

"Want me to read you something?" he asks, shuffling through the handful of novels he brought down.

Tea and Yoga - Five Days After the Breach

[empathicfault]

Will arrives at Malcolm's door fairly early- although he did check ahead and make sure Malcolm was ready for company. Will's starting to feel like himself again- well, a less ill version of himself. He still wakes up expecting to be in his house in Seattle with Harkin, but that's probably going to be ongoing for a while. At least it's always nice to remember he's no longer in a zombie apocalypse.

He still has a headache, but that's more due to the purple bruise he's sporting on his left eye and the swelling of his nose. But it's easy enough to ignore. He knocks lightly on the door and waits. He's dogless, for once, since he's gotten Winston, but he still looks like he's in a pretty good mood.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm, dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, lets Will into the cabin, teapot on the counter ready for the hot water the kettle is in the process of boiling and two yoga mats on the floor.

There’s a lot to take in in the large open concept space. Four pill bottles and a business card holder of affirmation cards on the kitchen island, headboard restraints on the neatly made bed, display cases of antique weapons and his parakeet, Sunshine, flitting around in her cage chirping at the sudden unusual presence.

“Don’t mind her; she’ll get used to you,” Malcolm tells him, gesturing towards the bird.

The kettle whistles and he moves around the island to take it off the heat and pour it over the herbal concoction in the pot. This morning it’s green tea with jasmine. Some caffeine and a calming aroma.

AH: 1 week post-buffalo

[conning]

Neal is giving up on anything else changing back. His eyes are his eyes again, not a hint of animal brown. There's no extra hair anywhere. On the plus side, his sensitivity to smells is still significantly better than it was pre-pine marten. (He's learned, in the past week, what he actually was--he googled until he found out.)

But he still has a few too many sharp teeth.

And he's still two inches shorter than Malcolm.

And now he's got all of his favorite clothes in a pile on the bed, and he's staring at them with a perhaps inappropriate degree of intensity.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm stands in the doorway for a long moment before he speaks up.

"What is it?"

text; vaguely April 1st or 2nd

[cactusy]

how badly did that breach kick your ass?

Text

[abrightboy]

You’re awake! It wasn’t bad. Raylan looked after me. He was my brother. Are you okay? Do you need anything? Like tea or scotch or chicken soup? Coffee? Scrambled eggs?

text

[cactusy]

what do you need to hear to not be weird at me

are there any magic words

text

[abrightboy]

[He's surprised to hear from her, but he doesn't want to mess it up again.]

Based on feedback, I'm not sure 'not weird' is really my thing. But I'll try.

text

[empathicfault]

Hi, Malcolm. I've got a couple of things I wanted to ask about:

1. Do you think you would mind writing up some information about my empathy condition on my inmate ledger? Or I could write it and you could post it? At least then I might not surprise wardens with it.

2. Do you know if there's a chance that we could get an area added to the Barge, if enough people petitioned for it?

text

[abrightboy]

Hey!

1. I'd be happy to. Why don't you tell me what you want it to say so I make sure people know what it is that will make the situation easier for you.

2. I think that the chances are better if a compelling argument can be made as to why it would benefit our mission, rather than a volume of people asking for it. The Admiral is trying to accomplish something by bringing us here, so I think he will entertain any reasonable ask if we can explain why it would help with that.

shortly after his network post

[inlieuofadad]

Gil catches a cab to Malcolm’s house. Or rather he gets an Uber, since that seems to be the thing the kids call it. He knocks briefly and rings the bell before just unlocking it with his key and poking his head inside.

“Malcolm?”

[abrightboy]

"I'm in the kitchen!" Malcolm calls. Making tea. To go with the cookies. Sugar cookies like he enjoyed nibbling at the fair, except smaller and prettier because Neal. "Do you want green tea or this herbal tea that I'm having?"

AH: Mid-ish April

[conning]

He’s dreaming. His arms are too long, his legs twisted into an unfamiliar shape. Neal’s all-fours run is more of a scramble, his bones creaking and changing shape with each step. His body is wrong, wrong, wrong—

Neal snaps awake in bed next to Malcolm, gasping air into lungs that seem too small for their chest. He reaches desperately, contacts Malcolm’s side with his fingertips, and shifts to cling to the other man like a koala barnacle. Neal nips Malcolm’s arm in a moment of possessive nerves, not fully awake as he snuggles his face against Malcolm’s shoulder.

“Don’t let it take me,” he manages, barely cognizant of his own words. He shivers.

Re: AH: Mid-ish April

[abrightboy]

Malcolm hasn't fallen to his parasomnia yet and when Neal touches him suddenly, bites him, grabs him, he startles awake in time to hear that plea.

"...Are you awake? Neal?"

audio, early May

[empathicfault]

Malcolm? Hey- hey, I need to come see you. I know it's- are you free?

[ It's late and Will sounds terrified. This is not a state he's been in before, here on the Barge. It's not a state he expected to be in again. ]

[abrightboy]

Of course you can. My door will be open. Just. Stay on the line until you get here, okay? Are you all right?

[cactusy]

[Shaw is hanging out on one of the bow-end benches up on the main deck, and she is, for once, what passes for her version of relaxed: her legs are propped up on the railing, and she's cleaning her gun, which is half-disassembled on the bench next to her.

When she spots Malcolm a ways down, she lifts a hand to get his attention.]

[abrightboy]

[He smiles at the gesture and heads over.]

Hey! How are you?

[Not, like, hating him today so that's awesome.]