A mindless fuck.
That paused Malakai’s movements.
Wryly, and not even a second later, he drawled, “I do detest that expression”, his mind flying to all the porno sites or the modern youth he’d had the displeasure of coming across. Fucking. While it did accurately pin the act itself, it actually grated on him to have it used around him. Such an undignified and low-life expression may have served its purpose around the correct circles, but Malakai didn’t suppose they'd been de-aged and given a few drug abusing friends who stood with them in a circle. They weren’t kids huddling in some alleyway, trying to one man each other in vile and juvenile commentary. But one could only hope that in due time Evan would see the error of this and turn accordingly contrite. Maybe even self-flagellate, although there Malakai worried he’d go too far, self-hating for forever as men of his predisposition for joke romance were wont. Either all in or all out. Malakai could only faintly appreciate the presumed black and white behavior.
Tone wry, and his gaze on Evan, he delicately drawled, “I do appreciate your concern. Alas, in my knowledge, strippers hate the insinuation they’re prostitutes. Do ask her when you meet her.” His brows arched, his body ready to be spun on the spot to remove himself from this offensive moment. He considered said stripper taking all her rage out on Evan, and then almost wanted to toss Evan at her regardless, himself stood in the corner somewhere and taking notes how this stripper behaved. Perhaps a bit of a social experiment was exactly what they all needed?
Malakai contemplated it, and wandered back into the kitchen. Almost. In the doorway he stopped. Leaning over the wall, he watched the silent, dark stove as it heated up the kettle, remembering the times when the stoves were made to show the flickers of the flame as well. They’d been blue with a yellow accent, he remembered, something so artificial he’d often watch them lap at the bottom of every skillet with a child-like, nervous ponder of someone vividly picturing how a single careless use of that could go so terribly wrong. He exhaled, and then leaned back in his upper body, as though to peer back at the ever chatty Evan in the living room.
“Vegan, it’s like you’re hoping to insult me,” he bit, his tone hurried. He made an unimpressed face, and then found himself looking at the man. No to cocoa, huh? Did he also detest avocados? Malakai puckered out his lips, and considered the option. Perhaps he should stuff some dishes down Evan’s throat down and observe his reactions? There was nothing more valuable in the world than intel. Presuming they’d be stuck together for a while, he couldn’t imagine a better way of getting close than repeat shared poisonings. He swore they were innocent. As Malakai liked to think, if he wanted Evander Grier gone, he’d be long gone. Facts of the world.
Watching the kettle, his arms crossed over his chest, he listened to the man talk. The promise was noted, Malakai’s features pulled into an intense, and contemplative frown, the words prompting him to roll his eyes. “I also prefer a lack of jesting, but I don’t see you adjusting to me,” he drawled, turning his head to the side-- “Fret not,”-- and added that then, his tone clipped, but if you looked hard enough, almost assuaging. “No gray matter cheeses here…” And with that he walked to the stove, listening to the black kettle, before glancing up at the cupboards and opening the one with cups. He withdrew two mugs for them, closed the cupboard, and set the mugs on the table, still however needing to walk out onto the main living area where he so very casually answered, his tone flat and nonsensical, “That’s a shifter trapper, it shoots silver coated projectiles, don’t touch it. What tea would you like?”
Almost casually he returned to the kitchen, choosing a rather tame Ceylon flavor for himself, and then rummaging through the cupboards, certain he’d not heard Evan answer him before because Evan had not answered, and such a bother it created, so many teas available for service and yet Evan’s preferences a mystery. It did, however, stimulate Malakai’s brain to work, and holding a nice black container in his hand, he suddenly impassioned with the suspicion Evan like matcha; the bitter, strong flavorful beverage wasn’t for everyone, but its flavor profile almost fit Evan’s teasing, like the black to his white that completed the entire picture. Malakai, holding the ceramic, and small black tea container grinned, and rocked himself on the balls of his heel. Yes, naturally, it had to be green tea.
Proud of himself, he returned the tea back whence he’d grabbed it, since fuck you Evander, this was an expensive privilege. The cupboards, swung open and shut, echoed in a click once more, and Malakai made some odd, thoughtful noise with his lips to entertain his ears, and then watched the kettle.
It occurred to him then.
“Mhm, my previous flatmate was a shifter,” he explained. His grin was gone, but the mood even obviously bettered, more energetic, his tone back to its fast, erratic cadence. He looked at the doorway over his shoulder, as though he expected Evan to stand there, hands on his hips and his gaze one of perhaps well-deserved offense, if Malakai understood people’s common desire not to be killed randomly.
Unable to help it, he grinned again.
“You may rest at ease, Evander, I didn’t construct it thinking of you. It’s correct that once upon a time before you came, I had a most unsavory flatmate who made a habit out of flaunting his otherness. We’d often tussle, encounters which as I’m sure you can imagine always ended in my loss.” He threw his arm out, as though to motion at the space around them, his gaze almost fond. “There.” He pointed at the spot by the kitchen table, hands clasped at his back and his form rocking from the excess energy. “He tripped me and flattened me there where I point. I have to proudly share that kneeing a shifter in his genitalia has the same result as if he were a mere mortal.”
He gave a strong nod at that. Then straightened, as though hoping to defeat the double S of his spine, and contemplated something for a second, his tone growing colder.
“Curiously, he didn’t enjoy that…”
A bit like people and them not enjoying near death. Shrugging, Malakai returned to facing the stove, dismissing, “Well, he was a bit of a killjoy. Sadly, he didn’t stay. I do say sadly. His proneness to violence teased my curiosity about your species. Do tell me, Evander, can you consume avocado?”