Such a liar made of innumerable lies. Well, that’s a bonus point for the paradox convulsion of tipsy thoughts and suffices to lure a snort from Michael’s nose. Just the prelude to a trail of laughter, whereas comments never follow despite it being characteristic for him to drop at least one in response to such stupidity. No, thanks to the Bloody Mary he’s almost emptied at this point, he keeps giggling even when Malcolm grabs his hand to guide it out of his vicinity. Back to Michael, where it sinks into his lap after he lets his arm slither off that backrest. Head up again, amusement subsiding.
It’s true all the same, that he’d be likely on earth regardless of whether humanity needs a clean slate or not — Satan’s whims are as unpredictable as God’s. Like maker, like creation.
But Michael may not be so keen on resorting to drastic, apocalyptic means if the world wasn’t beyond fucked and visibly on the brink to a total collapse. Things might be different. Exhaling a sigh, he leans toward the table to put his glass there. Ere he slumps back into the lounge’s ridiculously broad couch and spreads both arms over the backrest now, which has one hand back near Malcolm. Although this time resting behind his white haired head sans contact.
❛ That’s no valid excuse and you know that. ❜ Every word is uttered with deliberate slowness, otherwise his heavy tongue would wash away half the syllables in an attempt to follow the mind’s pace. ❛ All people have plans, even if it’s only so much as seeing the next day. ❜ An idle shrug rolls his shoulders, his lips purse, and he realizes he’s pinned his gaze to the empty glass since he’s sat it atop the table. So he turns his head to glance over at the warlock instead. Brows arched upward, his already half-lidded eyes must look even smaller.
❛ Why should I put my plans on hold for you? What makes your individual future special? ❜ Slowly, a grin creeps to his lips and he crinkles his nose in a grimace of near juvenile glee. ❛ Come on, Comicbook! You can tell me. I’m not going to judge you. ❜ Not while floating in a blissful haze.
humour was the point of Malcolm’s previous commentary and characterization of Michael as a lying liar ; thank you for noticing! the laughter itself? met with a satisfied, albeit lazy smile of his own, and a significant amount of restraint necessary to keep him from reaching out and patting that blonde head. instead, the warlock spends the next few moments observing Michael as he pins his attention on the discarded glass (traces of red still licking at its edges, like some looming premonition), gaze lazily dropping to his mouth as he speaks, watching plush lips form words. with distinct interest. then, after several moments, the prickling feeling of being observed tugs his gaze back up, to meet half-lidded gaze.
apparently, however, he takes a great deal of mock-offense to the spoken suggestion . .. .albeit with a significant delay. “ most people don’t plan to see the next day, Michael. they just assume they will, as if it were their right and not a privilege. ” memory soaks-through the last words, colouring it in bitterness ( most people are fools. and so was he, once upon a time. a fool basking in the warm sunshine of naïveté and inexperience, perceiving the world through a soft, rose-tinted veil, distorting it to his fancy and his wishes. believing everything to be beautiful, as light as his own heart. sunshine itself seemed to be born to smile down upon them him. )
lips press in a thin line, disapproval made clear within the shake of Malcolm’s head, sending the world spinning violently on its axis, pupils widening to impossibly dark pools, outlined in amethyst. it’s an intoxicating, lightweight feeling. the universe blurring at the edges, no longer definite, no longer resolute. a blur of colour and indefinite shapes. ( he chuckles, both elated and embittered, all at once, and, in an exhale, allows his head to drop once more against the backrest – and if Michael chose not to move his arm? he surrenders the right of complaining at being used as a makeshift pillow. )
“ do I look as if I care about your judgement…? did I ever? ” it’s simple rhetoric, a statement of fact rather than a challenge. he simply… doesn’t care. about Michael’s judgement. about anyone’s. he had stopped caring about judgement when at a crossroads, more than a century ago. ( even before that, he’s had reservations. )
I make my individual future special. because it’s a future he has built with his own hands; and that is what makes it ( him, this ) so dangerous. nitroglycerin.
the way Michael is looking at him now seems much akin to a child pressed against the window of a candy store, full of glee. unfortunately, Malcolm has always been the sort of man whose business and natural inclination ( own nature ) was to keep secrets… secret.
not a valid excuse?
it is to him. the work, devotion, exertion of decades.
“ maybe I want to find myself a cute girlfriend — there is always hope. settle down, live an old-school Hollywood romance; we’re in L.A., after all. anything is possible. ”
