Malcolm Bright (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
abrightboy) wrote2030-04-30 04:28 pm
abrightboy) wrote2030-04-30 04:28 pm
Entry tags:
Voicemail (IC Contact Post) OLD - at capcha
This is Bright. Leave a message.
[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."
"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."
Edited 2021-01-26 03:11 (UTC)
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.
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.
[ 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.]
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.]
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.
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.
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.
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.
Edited 2021-11-28 18:16 (UTC)
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.
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.
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
janice the muppet
tim curry as frank n furter (obviously) and the big red devil dude in legend
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?"
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?"
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. ]
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. ]
[ Sometime following this...]
I'm a horrible person and I need someone to talk to. Guess what, you're it.
I'm a horrible person and I need someone to talk to. Guess what, you're it.
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.
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.
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."
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."
[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."
Malcolm had spotted Jeff and followed him, lingering in the shadows, watching. Once Katie drifted off, Malcolm stepped into the light.
"You tricked her."
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.
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.
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.
He's still kind of lying against the door when he knocks.
Edited 2022-10-15 17:23 (UTC)
So what was this excerise you were doing with Misty?
Indulge me in a perspective check?
Indulge me in a perspective check?
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.
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.
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.
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.
Page 1 of 4