#malcolm ; thread

[ofimaginarybeings-archive]

@detectivepowell​ - cont’d

“ okay, I believe you. “ he says, hands lifting some as though surrendering to the way that Dani goes off on him. she does that a lot it seems. especially when she’s close to something that she doesn’t want touched on. “ but the question remains, doesn’t it? whether I believe you or not. do you think I do? that was a pretty poor performance if you were trying to persuade me. “

[ofimaginarybeings-archive]

@astormofagirl​

he avoids her eyes the moment that he comes into the room. his mother had passed him downstairs telling him that she would be right back and to wait for her. it wasn’t entirely unusual, she did always rush about. but now he knew why she’d been fluttering about. his mother did seem to always have a few cards up her expensive sleeves. she had a soft spot for Eve and while Malcolm did indeed like her things were far from easy. especially after the last time that they’d seen one another.

“ I’m guessing that my mother orchestrated this. “ he says with something of a drawn smile as he averts his gaze from hers. she’s by herself, papers everywhere. he remembers what Ainsley had said about their mother’s trial and how Eve had offered to represent her. “ she told me to wait for her but I’m guessing that - “ a moment as he finally finds it within himself to look up at her. it strikes something in his chest as he takes down a hard swallow. “ - she really wanted me to talk to you. “

[ofimaginarybeings-archive]

@tothedevilsshow​

he remembers Francis because of that one time they had been sitting at the campus coffee shop with little to say to one another save for the good taste of the cappuccino set before them. maybe it was a bit more than that. maybe it was also the fact that Francis was one of his only friends. although he really hadn’t been, had he? given that he hadn’t spoken to him in what felt like forever. Francis went on to become one of the biggest men in the city and Malcolm had done his thing, losing his mind, getting his career - no longer friends but a speck on one another’s memory. everything becomes specks although that statement isn’t entirely true given that some things remain far too permanent.

but now those plans were getting interrupted. those huge plans that said that Francis was a man of wealth and success. he was a man now with a growing shadow passing over his head. the crime was heavy, the murder whispered loudly in the air and Malcolm heard every bit of it. the papers said it all. golden boy was accused of murder and all signs that were pointing to him refused to point elsewhere. why should they? it was clean cut, in and out, no need for in depth investigation - so Gil said.

only there was a problem. Malcolm couldn’t see it, he couldn’t read it. Francis was stone cold serious now after hours of anxiousness and doubt. but now he sat there as if frozen. they were not in the precinct. no they were in Francis’ glitzy penthouse, with new york rolling brightly on and on through the floor length windows before them. it was nice. it was supposed to feel like home. this was the kind of place that his mother would have enjoyed. but he felt more stranger here than anything else.

“ this place is amazing. look at this view. “ he exclaims, gesturing towards the windows as he watches the lights glitter about before he turns his gaze to Francis once more. he looks stoic, but it’s all in those eyes of his. he’s drained and maybe even broken in a million little pieces. his father was killed, he was being accused and Malcolm feels the sorrow that echoes loudly from his chest to his own. friends may not always last forever but there were some smaller parts of connection that remained. “ you’ve made it. “ he says,, clapping his hands together before taking down a small breath. “ really made it. “ his eyes turn downcast briefly then. “ tell me everything...everything that happened to you. what happened to your father... “