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@malcolmcalloway
For once, I’m not lying. Yuri Pleskun’s a model, and Marcia Walters goes to Westwood. If you ask around, some might say she’s an urban myth. Like Bloody Mary.
Is she like, an actual student or does this school have its own Moaning Myrtle?
It’s nice to meet you. Sorry if that offended you at all, I definitely did not mean it in any negative fashion. I mean, we could hang out. I just can’t go certain places, y’know?
Actually, I don’t really know. Why can’t you go certain places?
“She was a good cook, and that was her only winning quality.” The chuckle oozed from her like an old wound, then silence took her for a long moment. It didn’t bother her to hear that others had the home-life Ren lacked … instead she found the corners of her lips upturning in the slightest for the way he described his mothers. It was warming in the least, and though she generally avoided that entire sensation it was welcome now, to know that people knew love, knew what it was to be wanted. “Look at you, hoarding an extra mother away from us needy folk,” it was obvious that she was joking, her shoulders shook slightly for it, “I’m dug into a lot of different kinds of holes, Malcolm. Mal … how about Mal? It’s so formal being called full names, I really hate it myself.” Those connotations went back to her mother. The few times she shared the reason why she preferred Ren people laughed, she laughed too. Yet people still called and referenced her as Renée. “So you’ll sexually yell at me for frustrating you with my words. That, in and of itself, sounds sexual.”
Malcolm shrugged but Ren had hit the nail on the head. Sometimes Malcolm did feel like he was hoarding his moms, like a mistake had been made, like he shouldn’t have gotten that lucky and someone was going to come snatch it away from him. “You say that now, but if they meet you they’ll probably try to subtly mother you too. It’s a real problem, I can’t ever bring anyone home they just try to adopt them.” The nickname was nice though. No one ever tried to give him nicknames. “I like Mal. Malcolm always felt really pretentious to me honestly,” he said, and laughed before taking another couple sips of his coffee so he could try and say his next sentence without chuckling. “That sounds like some really intense phone sex, but you’d have to give me your number first if you want to see if you actually can.” Malcolm took another victory sip. Nailed that one.
Kurtis made a face when the wadded up paper towel hit him, and he picked it up from the floor after it bounced off his cheek and threw it in the nearest trash. “Yes, very happy, thank you.” He said, honest scencerity in his voice. “Oh– it’s the 1987 Hawkeye and Mockingbird. From the Solo Avengers series. Volume one.”
Malcolm just blinked at him for a moment before saying, “And you just... carry around thirty year old comic books with you all the time?”
“Mmn, Eleanor disliked her life when she realized it wasn’t a fairytale, so she packed her Chanel bags and left the house when I was fourteen. I was upset because she was supposed to make Lemon Chicken for dinner, and she didn’t have the gall to do it before she left.” Finger mindlessly traced over the straw and more fully now, Ren leaned back, resting herself against the back window and enjoying the streak of heat that shot through her skin for the contact of it. “Two moms, hm? Are they nice?” She had no problems talking about her dysfunction – it was just a known factor that she had no love in her bones for either parent. Less known than that was the desire to appease to her father, who hadn’t the foggiest idea she existed most days. Ren had raised herself. “You’ve permission to yell at me when it becomes too daunting to deal with. I think it’s amusing when people yell. To see how mad they are and at what they’re mad at … you know. Yelling is musical, too. It’s also sexual, but odd to think of when it’s a parent yelling. Then it’s not sexual.”
Malcolm couldn’t help but snort and covered his mouth immediately with the hand that wasn’t holding his coffee to smother it. “Sorry,” he said hurriedly. “Sorry, it’s just- Lemon Chicken? Really?” But then a fond, almost goofy smile crossed his face and he nodded. “Yeah, they are. Sometimes I still wonder how me and my brother managed to luck out as well as we did. It always sound corny when I say it, but they really are the best parents in the world. All those Number 1 Mom mugs other kids get their moms are liars.” He stopped there, not wanting to seem like he was bragging since Ren didn’t appear to have the best relationship with her parents. But he kind of was bragging. He laughed again. “You kind of dug yourself into a word hole there, didn’t you? I wouldn’t yell at you if I didn’t understand you though. Mostly I’d just be mad at myself for not getting it, you know? So maybe we can keep the yelling thing strictly in the sexual bracket.”
“Rickard Morely, this coasts best defense attorney … actively keeping the scum of society on our streets since he passed the bar in his twenties. Also known as the one who donated a chromosome to my existence: my father.” She sneered slightly at the mention of his genetic position as parent. After another sip of coffee the sneer disappeared and she leaned back on the hood, bracing her weight, “Then I’m doing a damn good job at my station, aren’t I? And the next question comes to – do you find it amusing, or is it irritating? Most people find the charm of the speech to be alluring at first but get tired. It’s not a game, at the least, it’s how I speak. Unless you give me reason not to.”
Oh, so that was the warning sign he’d come across earlier. And now here he was trampling all over it again like a new born elephant who really hated signs. God, he needed to work on his metaphors. “Yeah, I’m not such a big fan of defense attorneys myself. Or fathers. Which is why I opted for two moms instead,” he said, keeping his tone light. Sometimes he still had dreams about Mr. Webber’s lawyer questioning Bill except in this version Malcolm hopped across the barrier and punched him in his stupid, fat head. “I like it. How you talk, I mean. I’m not promising I wont get frustrated ever, but if you explain it to me enough, I’ll get whatever you’re saying eventually.”
I don’t know what that is supposed to mean.. but I really love helping people. it makes me feel better.
Yeah, I can see that. The last time I volunteered was when I was seven and in the boy scouts and that ended with a war vet cussing me out in Russian.
There was a small tinge of shame for having shut Sloane out over the past few weeks. It was not impossible for Ren to burn bridges with the people she connected to, despite how many cables they latched onto her and hooked into her skin. The apparent importance of Oliver Wyatt had been surprising and when he up-and-disappeared Ren felt personally offended. It was more painful – no, it was actually painful in comparison to when her mother left. It terrified her, and so here she was, attempting to reclaim her throne as Heffes’ Enigma, pushing away everyone when they got remotely close. Sloane managed to find a way in. Ren was sure it would be the only one. “I did not read a lot of poetry as a child,” Ren shrugged, slipping the tip of the straw into her mouth for her drink before she swallowed and continued, “I just had a lot of time to listen to the way people spoke. Rickard is a rhythmic man, he uses music in his cases. Not … physical music, but it’s in his tone. Like he’s amused, like he’s a Jabberwocky spitting fire with tone and tempo. Why?”
Malcom stared up at the sky and shook his head, endeared but slightly exasperated as well. He felt like Ren should have given him a translator or a cipher before they started talking, just so he could make sense of everything she was saying. “Because of stuff like that. A Jabberwocky spitting fire with tone and tempo? No one talks like that, Ren. People have to sit down and think before stuff like that comes to them. Or at least I do. Maybe I’m just stupider than most,” he said, sliding his eyes over to see if any of this was offending her. She was his ride back to school after all. “Also, who’s Rickard? This is the second time you mentioned him and I still have no idea who he is.”
Just Bible Club and Invisible Children…I might go do some volunteering or something after school though.
Wow, could you tone it down a little bit? Your bleeding heart is is getting stains in the carpet.
“I…” Bill paused, actually stopping to think about it instead of just repeating what he’d been told so many times. That it was /different/ . “No,” he finally admitted, “but I’m not some victim, okay? I had a say.”
Malcolm made an annoyed sound and threw his arms up in exasperation before turning back to Bill. “Look, you get to define whether you’re a victim or not, that’s you’re right. But don’t pretend like this wasn’t what it was. He manipulated you. He didn’t care if you had a say.”
“You’re terrible at science. I’m not even going to name all the other examples I have of you being wrong. I wouldn’t want to damage your ego.” Bill sighed again, running his hand through his hair, one of his few nervous habits. “It’s still… different than you think it is, okay? You see this whole thing in black and white when it’s not.”
“Oh don’t give me that shades of gray shit, Bill,” Malcolm said, angry again. “If it had been me, would you be saying any of this?”
“No, I just… enjoy challenging homework– Wait, didn’t we already discuss this?”
“Uh, maybe? If it’s about homework, I honestly might have forgotten.”
Always. Oh, I was just thinking about where I’m going to go after school..it’s definitely not going to be home.
Seems like there’s a lot of that going around. No clubs or sports to keep you occupied?
“I love when a homework problem actually stumps me.”
“Are you being sarcastic? Your statement doesn’t make any sense to me unless you’re being sarcastic.”
What did you say? Sorry, I wasn’t really paying attention..
Well, at least you’re honest. Penny for your thoughts?
“Actually, I wanna protect my comic from your shirt stain, but sure, I can appreciate beauty when I see it.”
Malcolm sighed heavily and got up, flouncing off to the bathroom and coming back a minute later to throw a wadded up paper towel at the guy’s face playfully. “There, are you happy? What issue is that anyway?”
Oh my gosh, I thought you were someone else from behind. I’m, hum, my name is Therese….
Don’t worry about it, I get mistaken for someone else all the time. I’m Malcolm, it’s nice to meet you Therese.
