Voicemail (IC Contact Post) OLD - at capcha

[abrightboy]

 This is Bright. Leave a message.

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[ployboy]

Detective, much?

Tim glares at his mug.

Moody, much?

He raises his brows, borderline-- really freaking exasperated, honestly. His alibi is at the ready at least. "Is that not what an 'Apocalypse' is?"

[abrightboy]

“Oh, you mean here. Sorry, I thought you meant where you’re from. So… you don’t have these sleep issues at home?” he surmises.

[ployboy]

The jerk did that on purpose.

Tim frowns.

"I do," he admits like he's fighting against keeping his mouth clamped shut. If just because Not-A-Cop will see past his bullshit anyway. "There's always work to do. It's not a big mystery. Or problem. I appreciate the concern, though."

Spoilers, he does not.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm huffs a light laugh. “Do you appreciate it or is that the nice way of saying you wish I would take it and shove it up my ass?”

[ployboy]

"You said it, not me," he mutters. But the olive branch is recognized and Tim can find it in him to smirk, if only for a second before his expression smooths back into nothingness.

He's made mistakes here. Noted. The worst part being that he always knew how to avoid them but, well, it's... nice. That Malcolm's concerned.

Tim's hand grips the handle of his mug, "I think the tea did help."

It's time for a retreat.

Tim makes to stand. "Thanks," he tries again. Awkwardly, boyishly. Genuinely. Go out on a high note and hide your head in the sand elsewhere. "I'll be in my room."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm nods.

“I’m usually here at this time of night,” he points out. “If you ever want to talk some more.”

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.

i forgot for a moment how annoying html is on a phone

[conning]

"Malcolm, hi."

Neal keeps his voice confident and smooth, falling easily into the lie he thought of to make the call in the first place.

"I was just wondering, with... the dietary restrictions you have, is wine okay? Or something else on the alcoholic spectrum?"

[abrightboy]

He practically sags with relief. He’s not canceling.

“Oh. Wine is fine.” Does he sound too excited? Be cool. “Um. How… have you been?”

[conning]

“Since Thursday?”

The question is briefly, sincerely quizzical, before he remembers Malcolm has been here two months longer than he has.

“Oh, nothing supernatural. Other than… do we call it ‘usual’?”

[abrightboy]

“I… guess.” He huffs a laugh. “It takes some getting used to. How did the Robin Hood thing go?” he asks.

[conning]

"Productively," he says, tone impish. "I'll be able to supplement my wardrobe a bit before the end of the month, tourism being what it is at the moment."

[abrightboy]

“That must be a relief,” Malcolm tells him. He goes into his own room and shuts the door, sitting on the bed, pulling his legs up to sit crosslegged. “I don’t think there’s much hope for mine.”

[conning]

"It'll still be a big step down from Devore, but needs must."

Neal leans on the rail of the roof of his building, looking out at the limited view and missing Paris. Missing New York even more, but that's an ache he's used to by now.

"You consult with the NYPD?"

[abrightboy]

“Lately, yeah. Well. Lately before here,” he quickly amends.

[conning]

Neal stays quiet for long enough to annoy himself with the obvious sentimentality involved in what he wants to ask.

"How is it? New York?" He says it like he's asking after a friend. "For you, I mean."

[abrightboy]

“Well, I’m rich there and most people don’t know who I actually am, so it’s great for me,” he replies in blunt honesty before pausing, then asking “Have you been there?”

[conning]

"Off and on." He manages to keep his tone light. "On for a few years before ending up in Paris again."

[abrightboy]

“Which do you like better?” Malcolm asks softly.

[conning]

"Paris has the Musée d'Orsay, the Paris Modern Art Museum, Rodin's museum, the Louvre. I'm doing some consultation work for the lattermost."

He smiles faintly. "Spent my first winter in a while there. The Hôtel de Ville is even more beautiful at night than I remember it, with the snow and the skating rink out front. Sainte-Chapelle..."

The smile turns a little dreamy. "There is nothing in the world like standing in that cathedral in front of fifty foot stained glass windows, knowing that their maker, the cathedral's builder, everything about who King Louis IX commissioned is completely unknown."

[abrightboy]

“Paris certainly has a lot more history than New York. It sounds romantic, the way you describe it. Even more than its reputation. Is… do you have someone waiting for you there?” he asks carefully.

Maybe Neal just wants a friend. Maybe what Malcolm thought was flirting was just the way he talks.

[conning]

He makes a soft sound that isn’t quite a laugh. “Amis-amants. Nothing serious. I’m mostly there for the history, the art, and the work. There’s plenty of places that want to consult someone with my skill set, not just museums. How about you? Anyone back in New York?”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm laughs. That’s funny.

“I have a parakeet named ‘Sunshine’ that probably misses me.” He pauses a moment. “Do the places that consult you know you used to be a thief?”

[conning]

“That’s why they want me,” he says, amused. “No one can stop a thief like a thief. I got some consultation requests from R&D at a few tech firms and security companies while I was… in the states, but I couldn’t take them at the time.”