Fugue State

a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity

summer event: june 10th - August 31st
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 Let's Tessellate, @Sarah/Adie
Jul 6 2018, 03:23 AM
72
posts
50 shifter therapist
wolf
Learning to trust, more than expression, believe in me now, believe in intention.
Furore
heteroflexible
dating// shipped with Adie Byrne
Mal

awards

bringing sexy back
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
His heart beat so hard it raced twenty miles a second. Fuck. While it wasn’t at all too fast considering how fast, saaaaay, a Japanese bullet train could rush, was that its name?, it was relatively fast when it came to a human heart. Or an… inhuman heart. Did the usual metaphors apply? Mal, amidst his hurried packing, actually had to take a break and figure the conundrum out; surely they still applied, he did have a human heart-- his species might have been different as of a few hundred weeks back, but in terms of its function, its color and its shape it was exactly as the rest’s. But that would mean, all the things considered, that even the fae were human.

Malcolm let this surreal thought of the monster shapeshifters briiiefly entertain his attention before heaving out a deep exhale, his hands down by either side of his bag.

He was packing. Right. He’d been packing for a while. Right. It was-- he didn’t have to look at the calendar. He didn’t have to think the thought. The date was somewhere in the back of his head, burned there with everything singing and hot like he were cattle, now sporting its amazing new brand, to be recognized by anyone he thought it fit to wag his bum at--

That was a great thought, actually.

But it was there, the number, the date, not the cow’s ass, and Malcolm stood up, his hands trembling, his entire body as well.

Annie wasn’t home. Tossed at her mom and her other grandparents, surprise! You get to spend more time with them for a lovely week! So excited she’d been. Suspicious but really happy.

Happy. Happy. Happy.

Malcolm wandered into the bathroom, and there gripped the porcelain edges of the sink for support. He didn’t trust himself to have the strength to break them off. He normally had it. Untested, unconfirmed. Promised. Now lacking. It would require too much energy. He didn’t have the ability to look into his own reflection-- he was bent low, even as though in shame, frozen on the spot and lacking of every ability to be confident, and to be brave. His own reflection, although not yet glimpsed, haunted him so vividly he already feared the very presence of the mirror even though he was successfully not looking into it.

It took him a lot of power to wash his face and move on from the bathroom.

He was numb all over to the point he barely experienced the cool of the water on his features.

May 9th

It was a bit later in the afternoon when the doorbell rang. Someone was at the door. Mal, despite having heard it, first thought it had sounded like an echo of a doorbell being rung, not the bell itself. It had been a bit too faint. A bit too distant, and hard to capture. Like a memory of a past event just now recovered. When it rang again, in the center of his living room, he froze solid for a moment. It was so silent without Her that he actually forgot that he had Her. There was no Annie, there were no drawings, there was no noise off the TV, blaring. There was nothing. His mind erased Her and told him he had nobody. The doorbell was ringing.

Malcolm couldn’t move.

Suddenly, the biggest feat in the world at the present was one that required him to go over to the door and answer it. He stood stuck on the spot, unwilling, incapable, his throat tight, his skin cooler, and numb, and his eyes focused on a dead point ahead, all of the familiar shapes of his home blurring, melding together into a pot of nothingness. He heard everything like they were hands knocked on some metallic box from the inside of it. He heard the painful, the manifold slamming of his heartbeat, the only thing that was real along with that deep, distracting tension it was spreading. He heard the repeated knocks, the vibrating of his phone, the repeated reminders he had a guest who wasn’t taking no for an answer, and he shoved himself away from the bond just in time when his panic spiked and he realized, but did not embrace, he would have to answer the door.

Such an impossible task, and he only had the energy to hit the crouch and never, ever get up again.

He trudged so slowly to the door he was sure it took forever. He both feared the guest likely having gone, and the repercussions of seeing a void in place of a person, and wasn’t sure he felt anything at all.

If he blinked he saw the couch and imagine himself sprawled there, all tall.

He opened the door.

“Adie,” he said, managing a half amiable face. It felt stuck. Frozen. Hard to navigate into expressions.

Eventually, he just gave up.

He slumped against the door frame, and gave her a flat, bad smile.

“What’re you doing here? I thought you had a shift?”

--------------------
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Jul 6 2018, 09:28 PM
274
posts
57 Shifter Bartender & DJ
Wolf
You were sharp as a knife to get me. You were a wolf in the night to fetch me back. The wishes I’ve made are too vicious to tell. The devil, already he knows me so well.
Furore Pack
Bisexual
dating // shipped (Malcolm)
Adie / Ads

awards

whiskey wolf
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PST | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
She was grappling with things when the door finally opened, the sort of juggling that slipped a phone back into her pocket while not dropping the myriad of things she held in her hands. A ring of the bell, a knock several minutes later, a call and a text and the deafening silence on the other side of the door finally swung open to spit forth the man she was here to see. “Hey~” it slipped from her tongue in such a warm mention that it might as well have been half melted chocolate, all gooey and pliable and rich across the tongue. Phone finally stuck where she needed it and she’d swing her peeked gaze around to him in full, the glance before was a half attempt to not be one of those people too wrapped up in the moment to greet after minutes left standing.

Hey.

His face was oddly wrought but she thought nothing of it, not really.

The day had been long and busy for her, and she could only imagine the same for a man who had a career that wasn’t as simple as walking miles a day and serving drunk people more drinks. His days were always a bit of a baffling as to how he ever retained enough energy to do much of anything, what with work and the nugget that was currently not around. An assessment she knew of even without the blaring lack of noise that was usually abound in his home.

“What?”

Her nose scrunched a bit as she said this, chin tilting a bit in a skeptical moment as she looked him over in a need to make sure he wasn’t dying. Like perhaps he’d lost too much blood, his arm hacked off and he’d likely retort it was only flesh wound as he forgot, again, the reason she was here. He looked fine though, everything where it need be and still too tall and features sharp, though his eyes were only half as much then as they usually were. Her smile subdued beneath a bit of worry as she shifted the bag her arm was looped through the handles of. “Don’t tell me you're busy again,” it gusted from her throat as she finally stepped forward, the soft collapse of her shoulders huffed her breath as lips pressed to the crook of his own.

“We had a dinner date tonight,”

Reminded with the soft insinuated rise of her brows as her eyes lapsed past him to glance over the inside of his home before returning. The smile on her face never faltered, deepening as she settled back on his face. Lids hooding and the whole of her everything contented and warm. “Remember? You’ve been so distracted lately— we rescheduled a few days ago. You really ought to take it easier on yourself, babe,” her tut was soft as she shifted a bit, the concern there was the soft and prodding sort, just before her smile turned puckish and her eyes sparkled with everything mischievous.

“It’s fine if you are busy though, no need to go to dinner,” the bag on her arm was lifted a little as her shoulders bounced softly, playfully. “I brought dinner to you. Had a feeling,” though she’d not been sure, the fact that they’d missed each other for a handful of days now and she’d not take the chance of showing up and being offered another apology after a night packed with more work and errands the likes of which a man already overly busy, seemed to find a particular need to flog himself with all anew.

It was only then, as the excitement faded a bit, the surprise revealed, that she studied his face in full. The forced smile that contained nothing sunshiny and warm. He looked too robotic then and though she’d not frown, her smile would slip a bit, evening and smoothing itself out a bit as she watched him lean there like he’d worn himself so thin he couldn’t stand without the support of a literal house.

“You feeling okay?”

A question laced with concern as her lips thinned in a pursed, encouraging smile that was after the truth.

--------------------
user posted image
Jul 7 2018, 01:53 AM
72
posts
50 shifter therapist
wolf
Learning to trust, more than expression, believe in me now, believe in intention.
Furore
heteroflexible
dating// shipped with Adie Byrne
Mal

awards

bringing sexy back
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
When she mentioned a dinner date, his heart froze. Sheer panic bled through his veins, horrific, and as cold as some kind of new, bio-engineered poison that picked off its victims one by another by simply making them forget how to move the spot. He doubted he could. With unnatural fear, he watched her where she was, almost like her mention of a dinner date was the modern day equivalent of a war brewing on the horizon; she was his call to arms, even if it meant he’d never be coming back home. Mal ducked his head-- and blinked.

“Oh, yeah, I remember,” he lied, trying to blink a few more times as did anyone trying to recall-- there was nothing. He swore she was lying, such was the whisper of something mean and new in his head; it had never made appearance when she was here. But she would not have lied. He must have promised this some time ago, and then told her he’d be busy, and now she was here to pick him up and shove him into the setting regardless of how his present willingness to touch anything social left him with a deep, horrible dread where his heart was.

Don’t make me do this.

He looked up at her with a tense, and heavy smile.

The relief in his chest was almost visible. But it was not physical.

He believed he felt a semblance of it, even though the presence of her bag with dinner was everything traumatic, and conducive to feeding his guilt. And right now, it expanded. It grew large, and weary, abusing this black, and fertile soil of his dark thoughts, until it was booming back at him his own warped convictions-- you are disappointing, you are doing this to her, you reject her now and she never comes back. But it also said, you let her in and she’ll know. She will know. She will see. See what?

That you are nothing.


Malcolm’s heart trumpeted to some kind of a marching song of twenty people with a casket carried upon their shoulders. He kept his smile tense, and his attention half on her.

It was slipping. It kept slipping. Her face was something awful, powerful, and charming, but to him its powers were now dead, as was the memory of the pills he’d forgotten to take as he always did when this time of the year rolled around. What was she doing here? He both forgot and latched onto the understanding for it fed him heavy, ugly guilt. His heart beat so loud now she’d never stopped it. Or she had, and on its own accord it had resumed its usual path of thumps, although--

… Why?

He blinked.

He tensed, almost predictably, at her question, and just as predictably answered--

“Yeah.” His faint smile didn’t reach his face. He moved off the threshold a bit, and stood tall and lean in the doorway-- it felt like he was naked, and she attacked him. At once, Malcolm missed the comfort of the doorway; it had felt cold at first, and everything cold was too cold. It was too real, and too personal. But now, he was stood without the support of anything, and he craved, stupidly and lustfully, on a wall for himself to lean on despite existing in the jungle of them in every direction. Right here within his reach and yet not for him. It was a sure mockery, he believed, to be faced with all his pillars of support that would first feel cool when he leaned against them, but then slowly warm up, and feel calm, and even, and predictable unlike his mind.

It was a mockery to face them, without the ability to lean on them again lest she suspected something strange.

He didn’t last.

Forcing a faint, and weak chuckle, his eyes hooding although out of no warmth, Mal leaned against his, his, and his door frame once more, supportive-- cold. It had gone a bit cold. But it was still warmer from his lean before.

He wished he had tried the opposite door frame.

Managing to look at her, he told her, his smile weak but present, “Love, it’ll have to wait. I appreciate you being here, but I really can’t tonight. I’m sorry,” he said, trying to cock his head--

Why did it, too, feel like so much of a feat?

Malcolm wanted to stretch his lips into a smile.

His face was numb.

Blurs returned and took over his world.

Adie became a vague, frightening smudge that pitifully softened his eyes. He felt he was looking at her with a longing he couldn’t title.

“I’m leaving for a week or so, I won’t be gone long. I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I’ll be in contact with you all along. I have some family related business to take care of. I’ll talk to you then, okay?

“We’ll do the dinner date then.”

When he moved himself from his spot, and reached her neck with his hand, so often that he liked to cup and succeeding even here, and when his lips brushed over her cheek and stayed, Malcolm felt his gaze turn gentle, and again, he froze.

He both had the desire to hug her.

And not the actual strength to move his arms. Limp, and weak, and heavy, they would not have been forced to the motion, although the urge in him to somehow attempt grew stronger the more he inhaled her scent.

It was so lovely. He was sure if he ever departed--

Malcolm withdrew himself from her, his tone as deep, and mellow as usual.

“I’ll be sure to take care of myself, my wonderful greasy buttered oven-baked potato,” he promised, brushing his hand below her chin. And added, just when his eyes managed to hood, although the emotion behind them wasn’t the familiar, and comfortable warmth--

“With a lot of cheese on top and a side of barbecue sauce.”

She was that kind of potato.

--------------------
user posted image
Jul 7 2018, 09:52 PM
274
posts
57 Shifter Bartender & DJ
Wolf
You were sharp as a knife to get me. You were a wolf in the night to fetch me back. The wishes I’ve made are too vicious to tell. The devil, already he knows me so well.
Furore Pack
Bisexual
dating // shipped (Malcolm)
Adie / Ads

awards

whiskey wolf
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PST | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
He was feeling okay, that seemed to be the most pertinent and important information he’d stated thus far. Not his remembering but rather that he wasn’t falling down some deep dark hole somewhere, or so stated the calm and tone. His features didn’t agree and it was there that her doubt over his conviction to this end was a things slipping. A man who didn’t believe himself. He’d not have lied to her, she was sure of that, so it had to be something else, something she’d not yet taken into account but would need to or else this moment wouldn’t end with her walking through the door and them sat down at a table to discuss the going ons of the past few days of his busy and hers, an overlapping issue that had stuck them to the only communication they’d know for days.

Adeline was certainly tired of staring at her phone like it was anything adequate to actual human contact.

The bleating of his heart would furrow her brows a bit and tick her chin to the side ever so slightly in an almost bird-like curiosity.

He was okay.

It was a note repeated in her mind as he moved and loomed, a towering form but only for a moment before he leaned himself back against the frame of the door. Sure his movement was to be followed by a step back and a sweeping hand inward to see their evening started, when ti came to not that at all, her face would cast itself over in a worry that was deeper than she maybe wanted it to be then. Honest all the while, but nothing she was particularly fond of as it rested there.

It shouldn’t have shocked her when it came, not as much as it did anyway, though she would have smoothed over the slight panic in her mind with a gentle and calm tone that he was simply busy. This wasn’t the beginning of the end, calm down, things are fine he’d just busy. Would have had he not moved to clarify then, her eyes flickering over his features as worry turned to something softly wounded. Nothing she’d see hurled at him in an offense deep or resounding so much as it dipped her chin in a nod and cast her eyes to the ground for a moment. Studied the air between them, lips pursing and her mind reeling—

The sort that grabbed onto anything and everything that looked like a hold, foot or hand, it didn’t matter which or in what direction they took her—

Decidedly downward and in a manner spiraling and slow.

A deep breath, silent and only slightly expanding to her person, would see her shoulders back and her chin returned to its previous location as her eyes lapsed over his person once more. The smile on her face felt forced, though it was still warm, the same warmth that yet clung to her eyes even as she noted the luster in his own wasn’t there. Devoid and dull and he looked a man lost in himself for a moment.

“Okay, we’ll try again when you get back,” it sounded half as hopeful as she wanted it to. But it was still some semblance of it as it creased the sides of her eyes with laugh lines just before they gentled and hooded quietly beneath the breach of his hand to her neck and lips to her cheek. When his voice came again it was familiar and calm, her insides all twisting and twirling before she quieted them. No use in everything knotting around itself when she’d see herself off in only a few minutes—

“Please do,”

It was warm as her hand found his own and squeezed fingers around its side. It felt as listless as his person did in that moment but still she’d not question it as she withdrew and shifted the handles of her bag a bit. The plastic container that was unearthed was handed to in an insistence that wouldn’t take no for an answer. “At least eat this,” her chin dipped in the same insistence as she left him with his half. Even if they’d not eat it together, he should at least eat.

The container warmed hand would find his cheek then, cupping as thumb wandered over the cusp of his cheek—

“I’ll see you soon, muffin, take care of yourself~”

Lips against his own and she was off, her hand lingering until she was too far and it needed to tug itself from his person and see her swiveled the right way ‘round. Her mind was not an easy or friendly place on the way home, neither would it be that evening, or the following day. The moments she spent hovered over her phone were contented and happy, their strings of text seemed nothing particularly off, though it was that they were there at all that stick a pin in her thoughts, only to see them returned once they contact ceased. And into every in between her mind would wander. Cruel for days, until it finally turned introspective and thoughtful. Nothing she’d be likely to mention when he returned and his smile was just as sunny as it’d been before he’d left. Not a star in the sky blue of his eyes out of place.

--------------------
user posted image
Jul 8 2018, 08:22 AM
72
posts
50 shifter therapist
wolf
Learning to trust, more than expression, believe in me now, believe in intention.
Furore
heteroflexible
dating// shipped with Adie Byrne
Mal

awards

bringing sexy back
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
When a few weeks passed, the situation seemed to repeat itself. It was the 7th of July, and Malcolm was packing again. In his mind, enough time had passed since the last case he’d had a semblance of respite. His mood had bettered, he remembered his pills again, and when he put himself on the usual routine, the deep, stabby roots of depression seemed to hibernate for a few moments. But a single look at the calendar erased the semi-success of every psychiatric invention.

Malcolm didn’t even need to check.

He felt it deep in his bones way before the day dared to roll by. His ex was hit up, her parents examined for the interest to take the little peanut again. Annie was talked to, and by now, she was beginning to notice her dad’s uber willingness to let her let some steam off with people who’d let her do anything she wanted. Brownies at ten pm? What a splendid idea! An ice-cream parfait for dinner? Daddy might have said no, but daddy wasn’t here. The beloved girl returned from every such a week with a day worth of stories, chattering to him nonstop wherever he walked and only asking that he sometimes chirp back with uh-huh, and oh?, and uh-huh!, in repeats until she passed out from exhaustion. Feeding her any solid food when she was like that was a hard try. She wouldn’t stop, and already, the thought of what many great adventures she’d have to share with him once this round was over was beginning to function as some silver lining on a quickly darkening horizon. Malcolm could barely hang onto it. When a few hours passed, he realized he’d been staring dumbly at his bag.

He was packed.

He had enough to last him another half a week again-- the trip, for a change, would have to be a bit shorter, accounting for his workload. Annie was again gone already, had been for a day or so, and the home as before had a strange stench of silence; there were no loco Spanish telenovelas blaring in the background, filling his home with passionate Spanish-- he was hearing no no, señona, or no, señor!, as the two main love interests quarreled between each other often about wording, or their abundance of emotion. Outside of himself, there was nothing.

When the knock to the door came, it felt like an “again”. For a moment, Malcolm was frozen solid. His state of numb, so deep-seated, made him genuinely believe he had never really existed without it. The memories of sweet, calm times were none. The thought of a future in which he recovered did not exist-- for all he was aware of, he’d never particularly understand this love for life that he sometimes saw in people.

His vision was so dark and askew he didn’t even want to answer the door. There was nothing out here in the world for him.

At the moment.

He answered it, after all.

He passed by his phone on the nightstand somewhere, glimpsing its sender-- Adie-- and his heart sank, with added fear. When he opened the door.

Of course it was her.

Blonde-haired and worried, she stood exactly where he never let her stand for too long a moment, but where he had left her once, and he tried a weak, and tired smile.

“Adie.”

He leaned against his door frame, as he believed he had once before. The memory of it was so distant he wasn’t sure it had happened.

He tried conversation.

“Let me guess, I forgot about our date again.”

This would make it date sixty, if he was counting correctly. But the second one or so he was necessarily canceling. Immediately, Malcolm wanted vomit this utterly believable story why today wasn’t working out, and what had interfered with their plans.

He had neither the energy, nor enough manipulative ability in him.

Therefore, he just fixed her with a tame, horribly lacking smile, something dead and staring in his eyes, and his mind so lost in himself, that he forgot to safely remove from the bond. He was as emotionally naked in front of her as he had been physically before.

Although, to his dismay, not yet sexually.

“I’m sorry, can we reschedule?” he asked, “I’m leaving on another family thing again.”

You’d not have moved him from his safe spot against the door frame even if you begged.

--------------------
user posted image
Jul 9 2018, 03:48 AM
274
posts
57 Shifter Bartender & DJ
Wolf
You were sharp as a knife to get me. You were a wolf in the night to fetch me back. The wishes I’ve made are too vicious to tell. The devil, already he knows me so well.
Furore Pack
Bisexual
dating // shipped (Malcolm)
Adie / Ads

awards

whiskey wolf
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PST | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
It was almost out of her head when it happened again. Adie wasn’t so sure it registered at first, the few points where they had to reschedule due to conflicts, while not unusual otherwise, became too frequent to ignore when they came this time. Much like they did the last. Still, it’d take her pair or a trio of times before she realized, and with it came the sinking feeling in her gut. The unknown thing she’d not talked about with him the last time he’d come home and had seemed to drag himself out of, it felt too far away when she finally remembered, not so suddenly blinded by or awestruck over the blinding shine of the stars in his eyes. Felt too far in the past to drag up, a dark spot that hadn’t caused chaos but had buried a penchant for worry in the pit of her, some oak tree seed that would take a hundred years to grow virile and sprawling across the sky.

In reality, it’d take weeks.

When the day came that she’d sat and waited in a chair for some span of time that seemed like an eternity before the tea on her table was cold and lidded and tucked into her palm as she pushed out of the little cafe, was the day it’d grown so big and green that the sun was obscured for good. Cast a dark spot over the ground wherever she walked—

In that moment it was to her car and then from car to his door.

It would have been easier to simply text him and get together in the morning, but the stubborn tenacity in the center of her was too warm and riled to let it be. And so she stood herself there, tea in hand and her shoulders square with the door. There was a determination in her that would see her steadfast, until the point he opened the door and everything strong and worried began to melt. It was annoying power of his, this ability to see her rendered into nothing exciting; a puddle of a person.

It was his lean that would stay her gaze at her feet as she gathered her defenses around her, they were all shaped like concern for nothing of her own, but rather his. Lips pursed and she’d flick her gaze up, the offered smile just below was warm but soft, a quiet thing that still hooded her eyes a bit and marred her features in a need to be supportive, but also worried, and strong in this sense. A woman on a mission and she’d not so easily back down.

She hoped she looked the part.

“Hey,”

Adeline didn’t feel she sounded it but her lips quirked a little deeper, it was almost disappointment though she’s stop it before it turned him too overly apologetic of a problem she wasn’t positive of its name. What did you name the stranger you’d only met the one time and in passing?

“Yeah,”

She sounded something pale, but still herself, that warm thing that wasn’t really here nor there. The stern defiance of concern edging itself in even as she chased it out and away. Did so until he mentioned leaving, a note that dug her heels in and tipped her chin a little higher than before. Mal felt all raw and jagged edges, a manner that only sliced and festered wounds bleeding as her mind brushed by his in a curiosity over his state then. It was so oddly wrong for a man built on highs and laughter, to be so low and dark and devoid of the shine that usually wore him better than he did his clothes.

“Sure,” her chin dipped then, eyes glancing to her tea in a needing for support before she a soft breath filled her lungs and lips parted in another ask—

“Actually, can we talk?” Her free hand was twisted ‘round to glance at her watch quickly though she knew well what time it was as she’d stared at her phone for a good long year before leaving the cafe. “Leaving in the morning again? You’ve got plenty of time if so,” decided then, with a soft encouraging smile and the sharp shimmer of determination in her eyes. It’d see her shoulder leaned against the same side of the door frame his own did as she studied his dull and tired features. Close and she’d hover without any regard for personal space—

“I’m worried, and we need too… and I’d rather not be placated on your doorstep again,” soft and a tad cheeky, her smile was when it split in half and peeked her teeth through— “I'm also pretty sure I’m your family too, soooooo, humor me?” Her chin tilted then, her insinuation was soft and playful as she waited. A wait that would only wait for so long before she found a way to climb through his window and confront him mid-sleep. She would. An expert sort of cat burglar, that didn’t burglar and wasn’t a cat, but would pin him down with a metric ton of worry, beneath layers of sheets he’d not escape even if his life—

Well, she’d not kill him with concern, but she’d fucking sit on him until he talked to her.

--------------------
user posted image
Jul 9 2018, 10:34 AM
72
posts
50 shifter therapist
wolf
Learning to trust, more than expression, believe in me now, believe in intention.
Furore
heteroflexible
dating// shipped with Adie Byrne
Mal

awards

bringing sexy back
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
She sounded a bit like herself, a bit like an outdated version of herself, a bit like something pale, and copied, a half-successful replica that stared you in the face and though you found its corners shabby, its length and depth and width an inch off each, it was the only thing you needed: she was off. And she was off because of him. Troubled as well as she should be, all things considered, she faced him as some harrowing echo of his own state, at once filling Malcolm with guilt. He both wished he hadn’t noticed, and thought that a good slap in the face was sometimes necessary. He blinked.

Sure.

She wanted to talk.

There wasn’t much of a reaction in him-- sure, dread sank in the pit of his stomach, and the hollow on his inside yawned as wide as a broad toothless mouth. But he blinked at her, almost defeated, not about to argue that logic, not about to try to amass the necessary energy. He just stared, even with a facsimile of surprise as her position mirrored his and in her behavior Malcolm continued to find eerie, uncanny resemblances with his person. He gave a nod. He thought it was a nod.

“Alright.”

He still didn’t move. Just ducked his head, missing her grin, standing stuck on his spot like he also didn’t happen to have the energy necessary to perform that simple act. He stood, indeed in the defeat of his person against the much taller, even towering enemy of depression, until with the face of resignation and softness he looked at her--

“Well, that’s all fair,” he’d begin, mustering a faint smile, before nodding behind himself, motioning for her to walk in so he could close the door behind her.

Even she’d note it, he was certain. The silence. Without Annie, it seemed like every bit of life in this home was gone; there was no TV, no radio, no silly pop songs singing about the same sort of desperate teenage love that continued to move the younger and wandering in every nation-- in fact, it could be said that the air itself was stale. While it did look like he had opened the window at least a couple of times since Annie left for her trip, and the air itself didn’t smell any worse than you should expect of the city variety-- the atmosphere to it, however, that stale idleness of these usually lively surroundings, the pervasive silence that was unlike anything that this place had ever known, made it feel like the once goddess guardian that had presided over this home had died, and with it so had its life. Malcolm moved to close the door behind her, stood silently on the spot for a moment, before he said, “Come” in a soft voice, beginning to lead her away to the kitchen. Although his smile was nothing strong, it betrayed a distant motion of fondness that was married to her.

Malcolm would take them to the kitchen, or specifically through it into the living room area and there he’d sit himself down, with a shudder.

The eerie, long quiet of his home was so strong, it sounded, in his ears at least, as a very special kind of noise. On the couch Malcolm exhaled a long, heavy sigh, silent for a moment. He waited to be joined by her. When she did, or once she had, he turned a smile at her, crooked, and at least something that tried to be a bit more than its current pathetic self. It failed, and dwindled freely into a state of nothingness. Malcolm, with his soft defeat, just hung his head.

“I suppose I owe you an explanation.” Nothing in him even considered he should tell her. A detail too private, surely it belonged to just him, and Malcolm briefly argued with this stupid part of himself, emerging, five seconds later, victorious after a quick shout of oh, fuck you. Apparently, abuse of self-depreciation was the only way to deal with its fire; with one of your own. Malcolm briefly let the depression exist for him, taking deep, long breaths in the meantime that not a single one of them prepared him for what he was about to do.

His willingness, or rather the lack of it to talk was so obvious that Adie would need to wait for an honestly long few moments before he spoke. His hands slapped his knees, then cupped them, and he said---

“You… are family.” It didn’t sound like he believed it, but neither like he disbelieved. He was just staying something to experience its echo. He did, living in it briefly, and then he looked at Adie.

“I’m… Geoffrey Frederick Lestrange, my firstborn son with my first wife, died on July 9, exactly too many years ago. Which, if you have checked the calendar… you know it’s in two days.” His slow tone came to a stop, and Malcolm just helplessly squeezed his knees, looking somewhere on the floor. He said--

“And… I was… going to go visit his grave.”

He punctuated that with a nod. His throat went suddenly dry.

“And I, uh, was visiting Rupert’s grave just recently, Rupert Benedict Lestrange, the penchant for overtly complicated names is mine, who died on May 13--”

His tone felt rushed, wet from the tears that were pushing at his eyes, though not a single one of them would be Conan the Barbarian to breach the walls of his emotional abstinence and spill over. Malcolm took a long, ragged breath--

“So… yeah.”

He nodded, again. His throat was tight so visibly it was a wonder he had managed to get the words out to begin with.

"That's it, Adie," he finished, turning at her a defeated, soft look.

--------------------
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Jul 9 2018, 08:49 PM
274
posts
57 Shifter Bartender & DJ
Wolf
You were sharp as a knife to get me. You were a wolf in the night to fetch me back. The wishes I’ve made are too vicious to tell. The devil, already he knows me so well.
Furore Pack
Bisexual
dating // shipped (Malcolm)
Adie / Ads

awards

whiskey wolf
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PST | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
Agreeing, and she’d duck herself in with every note that he felt and seemed a man defeated by logic. A man defeated by anything and everything in this moment. A man fragile where she’d never have described him as such before this moment. He was so tall and full of smiles and while he had every penchant for the dark and despair, something she knew of him as they’d spoken of it before this point, he’d never once appeared as anything fragile or delicate in her eyes. He was simply a man who had his faults, just as she did hers, but who wasn’t a slave to their weight as some people often were with their demons.

His house was so quiet she was sure you could have heard a pin drop, a musty sort of air, though not because of the air at all, but rather hearkening to its museum whisper quiet noise where it was so often full of as much life and clattering sound as the pack house so often was. It was odd and in a sense that it felt devastating while it clutched her chest and moved her feet to fall in line with his own. Through the kitchen ad into the living room where he’d sit, looking as uncomfortable as he had looming in his doorway.

Adeline sat beside, her side pressed against the back of the couch and a leg tucked under the other in a bent manner that offered him her whole attention. He likely didn’t want it then, but he had it all the same. Empathetic and pinned to this company she chose to keep. A family she’d so readily chosen just the same as they had her.

There was every want to touch, to soothe where he seemed so very off and out of place in his own skin. It was nothing she’d allow of herself then, the moment made of porcelain freshly glued together and it needed time to cure before the threat of crumbling to shards once more under the pressure of a hand become nonexistent. A temple leaned against her palm and she waited, patiently and quietly as Malcolm settled better into that defeat that hung him like a towel on a rack and without any real regard for himself as anything but this. A defeated man who clung to that like it was all he had to keep him afloat in this moment.

Even as he spoke, she’d not move to prod, simply sat, watched and listened.

To the tone of his voice as well as his words, where he deigned to look and what he did with his hands. The depth of the air in his lungs and if he winced or not while taking them. The furrow of his brows and the way he interacted with the silence that wrapped readily around him like a cloak ill-fitted and off. Not make for his person but worn in order to keep the chill of life out.

When he began it was under the notion of her warm supportive smile, encouraging, to prod him along and not see him falter without the needed support of his favored door frame. What came was nothing she expected, and while her smile didn’t fall, it would lessen itself and falter a bit beneath the need for a sad and empathetic response. There was no real preparation given on how to deal with something like this, she’d never lost a child, a brother and family members yes, but a child was different. It was so incredibly personal and a piece of yourself.

Immediately she felt unqualified to support, not a feeling that would stick around long before it was shoved to the side in a needed and defiant act that saw her bettered and stronger in the face of this needed defeat of life.

He didn’t need a specific brand of it, Mal simply needed support.

She’d let him finish before her hand cupped one of his own, her tea set on a table like a happless bystander in the midst of something they couldn’t even begin to understand. A squeeze and the other would move to place itself between his shoulders in a soothing motion that shifted it back and forth, gently and with only enough pressure to be there and present.

“I’m so sorry,”

It felt lacking and inadequate as well, when it came. Every second guess over words was had then as she struggled to find something like strength in a feeble notion of secondhand sorrow. Nibbling on her lower lip a moment and the hand between his shoulders slipped over the cusp of it to squeeze there as well. Her chin rested on the back of her hand a moment. “Are you going alone?” Whispered and quiet against the silence that surrounded them. “Annie’s obviously not going, but…,” did he go with his ex? Did he go with some other family member she didn’t know about that supported him in this?

“You shouldn’t,” she understood the need to grieve, even long years after, she’d done so with Cody as well but she’d rarely gone alone. Imagining trying to accomplish such a feat seemed impossible. “You shouldn’t go alone, love,” corrected gently in case the notion got itself mixed around that he shouldn’t go at all, a wrong assumption she’d not have the likes of which hovering about to cloud the air unneedfully.

Straightening a bit, a hand still cupping his own and the other reached to grasp loose, warm hold of his nape as lips danced lightly over the cusp of his cheek. They’d not rest there before her forehead pressed lightly to his own. Her smile reappeared then, soft and gentle.

“I’ll go, if you need someone... and if you want,”

It felt a bit like overstepping, though their tens of dates in the past wanted to toss this notion out as ridiculous, it was still a subject that was a bit touchy in her mind. This seemed not enough to see her hesitate in her asking though. Fearlessly presented as a possibility that’d shirk her schedule for a few days and without a thought otherwise.

The world could wait a few days for her.

--------------------
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Jul 10 2018, 12:22 PM
72
posts
50 shifter therapist
wolf
Learning to trust, more than expression, believe in me now, believe in intention.
Furore
heteroflexible
dating// shipped with Adie Byrne
Mal

awards

bringing sexy back
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
I’m so sorry. Literally the worst thing she could have said.

… Naturally right after the hundred other literally the worst things she could have said but, still, somewhere on a scale of shit things to say, I’m so sorry was one of the most… accepted… given, and reasonable reactions that still did nothing to erase his pain. Still, it was sweet and honest from her. He crooked her a smile, distracted, even weirded out by her hand between his shoulder-blades and without ado, and not even bothering to pretend he didn’t understand himself, Mal knew what it meant. He kept it to himself, not in the mood and certainly not about to be any time soon. He just blinked at her, before looking away, down and with a frown.

Was he going alone? Could he ever not go alone?

He asked this into his own thoughts but was not expecting an answer. Instead, he readily embraced the silence, chancing her a glance he understood to read as soft. And weak. He was weak. He was being weak and maybe, that something lupine in him whispered, had she been levels more dominant and the world more unforgiving, she’d have taken advantage of it in lunging for his neck and ripping it right before he could exit with a gasp-- could, but of course she would not, and of course his National Geographic impression simmered down like a pot of water. For a moment, he was emptily sifting through his four favorite dramatic narrators he had used to listen to as a background noise when his gray days turned for the worse. He was listening to each and every of them for comfort, for the semblance of it, for an iota worth a pound of shit since it did nothing, ultimately, to the black center of his mood that would have whispered to him, as it already had a minute ago---

Nothing matters.

He turned his head at her to show attention-- he would frown, however, like he had another secret to tell. This one would be all the worse. His heart skipped a beat for no reason.

Managing a grimace of grief and gratitude, he tested his lips by smiling at her, and he told her--

“I couldn’t possibly ask that of you…” But she’d suggested it herself, and Mal looked away briefly with a sigh, ever so oddly, rarely immune to every breath of soft and warm she was right now, but the cold, windy grip of his mood cracked around the edges. Malcolm blinked, slowly.

“Alright,” he said, without an actual ado. He looked at her. He tried an expression of warmth. A grimace instead, it was a weak contortion that at least confessed his effort to look better. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he confessed to her, in a whispering tone. He ducked his head, placing his other hand atop the one she was keeping on him, like she were pinning it, and although both knew her touch would be loose and permit that it worm free of her, he neither had the capacity, nor the passion for it. His hand, whether he ultimately hated hers above it, or whether he didn’t being unimportant, would lie there while his other squeezed hers atop it, and he’d move the one on the bottom. And held her hands in his, talking.

“But obviously it’s not a good idea if I go alone.” He gave her a soft look. “I’ll do well with company. I’m only disappointed it’s not going to be a happy trip, A. Don’t expect tears, but I don’t think I’m breaking out in a single smile,” he carefully promised, his tone carrying a hint of concern. He leaned his head against hers, frozen, and awkward in this simple expression and feeling both burdened by their physical contact, and so wounded by it, like an animal in its corner, though the gentle hand that approached was after all going through the thick black of his mood, and it clad it in the same color, too. It was black that reached out to him, black, poisonous, wrong, and Malcolm only flatly reminded himself-- no, none of it was true. This was Adie. His girlfriend. They’d been dating for a while. It was finally getting to the stage where he felt they were stable.

They--- they weren’t just-- they weren’t just. They didn’t just exist in some version of Hollywood love, shallow, and based on shared values such as a white picket fence and two and a half children. They weren’t just lustful teens either, their hands becoming possessed by all the spirits of repressed teenagers that had never gotten ass or tit before they were long out of their teens for it to alter their high school experience.

They weren’t-- fucking, and caught in the trap of each other’s body, fresh twenties only now understanding that everything they’d ever suspected of relationships had been incorrect. Early teachings turned out to be a deck of lies, and so many years down the line relationships were different, they formed differently and also had a foundation that was nothing alike to anything that was sold in the movies now.

There was a stability to them, at least Malcolm felt that, a stability and a feeling of permanency that made him exhale against Adie eventually, taking a few seconds of weakness and defeat before-- he fought this. He frowned. And he fought this. Every throb of his dark thoughts, every suggestion he was better off alone, or that everyone else was.

Ever better than with the burden of his person.

He thought this when he inhaled the air between them, and consciously summoned her into his thoughts. He welcomed her into his blood, oxygen mixed with the print of her person, he let her sink deep into his blood and let be its driving force-- he let her influence him, and brighten his world. He willed his single star into the dark, dark sky of his mind and he told himself just one was enough.

He talked.

“You’ll need to pack, baby.” He really was mostly whispering. “You won’t need much. We’ll be gone four days. Maybe five, if our schedules permit it. I usually take a full week off.”

He felt like he was confessing, indeed, such big truths. His tone was tame.

“We’ll share the room. Of course. But… it’ll have to be a hotel or motel room, Ads. I’m sorry about that. It’s a basic trip at its foundation.”

When he croaked that, it felt like some hard truth he had just admitted.

--------------------
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Jul 10 2018, 10:43 PM
274
posts
57 Shifter Bartender & DJ
Wolf
You were sharp as a knife to get me. You were a wolf in the night to fetch me back. The wishes I’ve made are too vicious to tell. The devil, already he knows me so well.
Furore Pack
Bisexual
dating // shipped (Malcolm)
Adie / Ads

awards

whiskey wolf
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PST | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
Mal agreed and with it came the sad truth of the matter, a truth that was so much that it permeated everything, a thought she’d give light to after the silence had settled around them once more. It felt needed, the soft few breaths between his words and hers, as if she needed to appear to think it over and somewhat deeply at that. “Not everything can be happy all the time,” her smile was supportive as the warm of her cheek rested itself on the cusp of his shoulder, eyes on the pile of their hands that rested on his thigh as they sat in the very real and permanent moment that smelled of the familiar grief she knew and had never really loved at all.

He’d not really wanted her to go, and to that she understood well enough, just as he’d understood once upon a time when they’d sat upon this very couch and she’d spilled her terrible past out like a child often did their glass of milk across a table, she’d also not wanted to. It’d been needed. Just as this was. These hard moments made the easier moments all the more real. Gave light to a smile where otherwise it might have been presumed it’d been hiding something behind itself. The dark was need for the light to exist at all, and while Malcolm had his darker moments, ones she knew of as he medicated for them, they’d not been a shared existence between the pair of them, not yet.

It wasn’t meant to be a fun little vacation that would see them rushed off to the nearest bar where they’d get too drunk and wind up married by morning—

Adeline knew how grief worked and she didn’t expect him to talk through it with a genuine and carefree smile upon his face. She’d have been no good to him if he had, the moment wouldn’t have permeated much of him if that were the case.

But they were a stable and constant thing, felt it at the very least, and just as life worked for everyone, so too would it work for them. Trials and tribulations would be had and in this moment, this is what was needed. A test of support in a time dark, its roots deep enough she couldn’t be sure how long it’d been since they’d seen the sun and then began their slow winding down into the heart of him.

They were a people broken, but it was also this fact alone that allowed them to love the whole of someone else who was just as much so. That allowed them better to see the sun when it was permitted to shine across their thoughts. He knew where her scars lie and what they consisted of, it was only fair that she knew of his too, and in that same vein, they were given the appropriate and welcome task of helping to repair and heal the likes of them. If nothing else, at least support the other while they stumbled through the memories of them.

Adeline’s mouth stretched as she leaned herself back and away from his shoulder, the pale of her blue eyes flickering over his features before her shoulder rose and fell in a quiet jumble of motion. “Law’s my boss, I’m sure he’ll forgive me whatever time I need,” her tone was gentle and soft as it poured from her lungs and saw her nose nuzzled against the shoulder she’d only just vacated. It swathed her senses in the scent of him, everything encompassing and comforting, a warm deep smell that smoothed the smile across her lips into something softer and deeper seated into her features.

“Shh, it’s fine. I lived in my car and on couches for years, I’m sure I’ll survive without all the lavish comforts of a pack house,”

The soft laugh from her throat was quiet, a whispered and warm noise allowed to exist in the air as nothing jarring or slapping to cheeks still too dark and devoid of matching smiles. Good-natured at its core but it was nothing that suffocated the moment in a need for something returned in the other.

The press of lips against temple was firm but soft in its message as she moved to snag her tea from the coffee table, her other hand still held and she’d not see it shook free of him just yet before turning her attention back to the man beside her. His demeanor quiet and low, the sort she’d not known him long beneath and it already seemed such a great travesty of person. It also made him all the more real and relatable, as if the width of his smile was all the more believable not. “I’ll be back in the morning,” promised softly into the air between, eyes watching him as he sat there under the exasperating weight of this wound.

With a lean she both stood and sealed them together in a brief and shifting kiss that saw her bent and hovering a moment, only long enough to bump their foreheads and wiggle her hand free to cup his cheek before she stood.

“See you soon, love~”

Morning would come much too soon and not soon enough, both. Her shift covered by a small and unassuming little witch who was so easily talked into anything it was a miracle he’d not been seen to his final end. Luckily, Adeline supposed, he had Law watching over him for the most part. Shifts covered, dog shuffled off to Ales’ for a few days of fun with his own small dogs, and the promise to check in would see her and her singular bag to the same door she’d stood at, what seemed like only a few hours ago, a pair maybe, or a trio, but stood here not long ago she had. Coffee in hand and she might have been bright-eyes and bushy-tailed had it not been for the looming weight behind this actual trip. Needfully she was softer and quieter when her knuckles rapped against his front door and she stood sipping her coffee, ready and incredibly willing to see a man supported and his dark looming clouds all pushed gently away once more.

--------------------
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Jul 11 2018, 07:41 AM
72
posts
50 shifter therapist
wolf
Learning to trust, more than expression, believe in me now, believe in intention.
Furore
heteroflexible
dating// shipped with Adie Byrne
Mal

awards

bringing sexy back
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
“Get up early.”

When she showed up, it was early morning. Having insisted on seven so they’d catch their flight, and still be a part of the necessary airport experience, he got her to show up as par their agreement, and Mal was quick to herd them into the taxi that was taking them to the airport. His car was staying home and parked, looked after, and at the airport they’d found their wait typical, dragging, but necessary as waiting tended to be, before they boarded their flight to Chicago and at ten am were out the city, and in five hours in their destination. Chicago at this time of the year would be warm, and mostly tame, like early, gentle spring instead of the heats they’d been getting in San Francisco.

They’d take another taxi to their hotel apartment, and reach it, and finally drop their bags at four pm on the same day, opening the door to their hotel room they’d be sharing together and coming in on the view of a double bed for a married pair, and a simple, calm decor that was just generic enough to make the place comfortable. Malcolm just dropped his bag down at the bed, actually freezing next to it, contemplating it silently and performing a strange mental math in his head as he connected, bed, alone time and Adie in the same sentence. The repercussions of their trip out were showing up earlier than he’d figured out. He looked at Adie over his shoulder, and attempted, and managed a terse, sober smile.

“So we’re finally here,” he uselessly announced, swinging towards her, no coat hanging on his person to be shrugged off-- no scarf, no hat. This cooler Chicago weather might have been a gentle surprise after the hot San Francisco, but having grown up here, it felt warm like a home. Malcolm just approached his girlfriend, somehow managing a ghost of a good mood as he looked over her face.

Familiar. Comforting. Mal rested his hands on her shoulders, asking, “How you feeling?” in a gentle whisper. It positioned his tone so low, it was just above dragging. It drawled, and Malcolm himself thought that it hit his skin with goosebumps. He rubbed Adie’s arms, and looked at the bed behind himself.

It looked so compelling and powerful that he tore his gaze from it only with struggle. He walked to their wardrobe.

“We’ll go in tomorrow morning,” he was saying. He sounded like he was trying hard to sound busy. His bag was grabbed, all its content slowly unloaded. Considering the nature of their trip, and how short it was, he didn’t have a ton of things here; the bare basics, enough to simply make the visit and turn back home quickly. And so, even with this task he’d be quickly done, at once going over what he remembered of these trips when he went by himself; he never went to the cemetery early, there was that habit. In fact, it was more of a tradition at this point. But he also didn’t celebrate the night before he went-- he didn’t drink alcohol and when younger, and a smoker, not smoked either. Pleasures were out of questions, like he picked a short case of celibacy to purify his soul. If he somehow hoped it would bring life back to his boys he continued to be wrong. He spun around to face Adie, and sat down on a bed that bounced so well beneath his weight Malcolm shot it a calm, satisfied smile before he looked back at his fellow wolf. He beckoned her to join him, patting the spot next to him.

He waited on her to be there, and when she did, he just smiled at her, and leaned in. Their noses were rubbed at first before the persuasive power of the bed parted his lips and sought out hers. He kissed her, still sort of appropriately for the morose mood of the trip, still not very appropriately, too much tongue and actually lingering. He exhaled when he broke it off, feeling like he could live off this short kiss for a while, and looked at her, with an iota of comfort. Mal was just soft when he spoke.

“Thank you for coming… I suppose I should have planned something for us. There’s a lot of time to spend between now and tomorrow evening, which is when we’ll be done. And then some more before we go home.”

Indeed, too much.

--------------------
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Jul 11 2018, 10:58 PM
274
posts
57 Shifter Bartender & DJ
Wolf
You were sharp as a knife to get me. You were a wolf in the night to fetch me back. The wishes I’ve made are too vicious to tell. The devil, already he knows me so well.
Furore Pack
Bisexual
dating // shipped (Malcolm)
Adie / Ads

awards

whiskey wolf
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PST | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
Flying had never been her favored mode of travel, not that she feared any part of it, but rather that confined to a bullet in the sky with recirculated air and the threat of smelling everyone for the duration of a flight, was never such a grand experience when you had the senses of a wolf. It wasn’t half as bad when the person seated beside you was someone who didn’t mind the uncomfortably close press that was dictated by small seats. Luckily it was a shorter flight, shorter than it could have been before they were dumped into a familiar city that had changed drastically since last she’d been here, but the smell was something that almost comforted as they stepped off the tarmac and into another taxi that saw them ferried to a hotel.

Her bag set in a chair by a quaint little round table that sat a pair of them and her attention was snagged by the tense in Mal’s voice, a soft thing that felt weighted and heavy in the air. Uncertain possibly as he closed the gap between them to cup her shoulders and inquire after her in a manner that split a smile across her face as the loose looping of her arms about his waist shifted hands to his sides. “I’m fine,” genuine and soft, it saw her nose scrunched a bit with the need to laugh that wouldn’t come as her peripheral stacked numbers together.

While she was perfectly capable of keeping hands to herself and treated this whole trip as it’d been meant to be, she wasn’t immune to the thoughts she assumed had caused the slightly discomfort in Mal then. Nothing that had been taken into account well enough before they arrived. A single bed, and the absence of a child that so often stood as wall, cute and precious and vivacious as she was, also a wall of every one of those descriptions as well. A wall that saw them separated and apart in case one got the cheeky need to reach out and linger a touch where it wasn’t appropriate to—

“Pretty sure I should be asking you that,”

Hummed softly as he saw himself parted and in the mood to settle, something she’d do later as she elected to stand and watch him like perhaps one of his motions might falter and he’d need her to swoop in and help. Fretful but soft yet. The hovering mother in a sense that saw her lips stretched a bit as he finally saw fit to seat himself and call her over in a pat. She’d have been lying if she claimed not to notice the spring in the bed as he sat, but it saw nothing in her hesitate before she tucked herself into the space beside him, her sitting much like it’d been the night before; sideways and with a foot tucked beneath a knee while one hung over the edge. It better aligned the pair of them—

For conversation, of course.

It’d prove to be an easier slotting of their lips as well, something that squeezed her chest in their meeting and hummed her softly, a quiet whisper of noise as they were pressed, lingered, and eventually pulled apart like velcro ripped from its partner. The smell of him permeated the air between them and saw her eyes hooded low and warm as they were left to stare at one another for a moment, as if they need determine then and there whether this was appropriate in the space they’d given one another.

“Of course,” breathed, a soft note that pressed a hand to cup Mal’s cheek, thumb sweeping gently over its cusp in a loving, reverent shifting of itself. As if she’d ever consider not joining, a ridiculous notion that saw her smile softened and her gaze felled to the space where her other hand rested in its brace against the pale patterned comforter. “Well,” the moment unruined, a hand to a cheek and it beckoned a kiss that was brushed and quick, almost playful as it needed to be to not see them lingered once more—

Quick and she’d twist her wrist as her hand slipped from his cheek, to peer at her watch.

“One day at a time? You’ve not eaten have— of course not, I’ve been with you all day,” it was an odd notion, the whole day of two busy people, spent together as if it were nothing out of the ordinary at all. “I can grab something, if you’d rather stay. I know of a few places not far,” it occurred to her then that she’d not spoken much of this place, this place that had been his home and hers as well, for a short while anyway.

Tucking her hand to her bent leg and she leaned a little against it as she spoke, her tone soft and conversational. “I don’t know if I mentioned… but I did live here, for a decade or so, it’s where I met Evan actually. And my first pack. My aunt still lives here, though I’ve not seen her in forever,” a shoulder shrugged then, the woman hadn’t been her favorite, nor her least. It was also where she’d met the ill-fated man who’d she’d later watch die at the hands of a friend, but that was neither here nor there and certainly nothing that needed weigh down the moment anymore than it was at current.

“It’s almost like home,”

Her tone was wistful then, soft and whispered, eyes on the floor somewhere for a moment before they slid back to hood gently under the weighted comfort that Mal always posed to the whole of her.

“Point being, there is some amazing pizza around and we shouldn’t waste that opportunity,”

--------------------
user posted image
Jul 12 2018, 11:55 AM
72
posts
50 shifter therapist
wolf
Learning to trust, more than expression, believe in me now, believe in intention.
Furore
heteroflexible
dating// shipped with Adie Byrne
Mal

awards

bringing sexy back
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
Mal smiled sort of humbly at that. Yes, yes, it would make sense if she was the one asking that, but polite conversation, common sense and all that-- he didn’t remember any of them ruling out reciprocation. In fact, neither effectively forbade the opposite use thereof, which was to say making the first move-- and so he had, and so he did, and he preened randomly, sticking his chest out and making a face that suggested, without saying it, nuh-huh you can-not maaake mee~

And she could not, whatever she was intended to make him, or rather not make him do. She would not. But here they were and he looked at her, all smitten and soft as she cupped his cheek and it felt warm. Even all too warm. He had the sudden urge to nest-- literally; to build a fort of pillows and the bed sheets until it looked nothing like just a casual home. Dedication. It tended to twist things above the usual level. But this wasn’t about that, and so Malcolm moved on, and so would her hand eventually, away. He blinked-- grimaced, but couldn’t deny it. A, she was right, she’d been with him the whole day and had picked up on his lack of eating. B. The last food he remembered shoveling in had been quick oats early in the morning, supplying with for roughly four hundred calories worth of energy before his body began reaching for the reserves. That was hours ago.

He settled back, aware of his mistake-- of course, the thought of food wasn’t really welcome, and neither was the one of Adie leaving, alone. It wasn’t about a lack of trust in her ability-- he didn’t trust the city, as well as he knew it. Enough he admitted he didn’t always know it. But he knew its treachery, he knew that however she had once lived here, it would try to pale the memory with the claimed new form of itself; upgraded and changed, all its similarities leveled with the past.

He was sure he trusted her. He wasn’t sure he didn’t find these streets cruel. He moved to stand up then--

“We go together,” he informed her, warm. And he’d tug her with at first to confirm his decision, they were in this together, and together deserved equal dedication-- before relaxing their joined hands between them, and smiling at her, saying, “Duh, I was born in Chicago. I know of all the places.”

But eventually, he didn’t order pizza. When they did go out, tackling this young night, they did so with a hint of a bettered mood on his end, like all this talk of pizza had gotten him hungry with a list of all his favorite places. But they got there, a lovely restaurant definitely busy at this time of the day but still they were seated at a table for two, handed over the menus and preemptively asked if they wanted anything to drink.

Water. For him. He’d end up ordering a salad. With chicken. But still just a salad. He’d poke his Parmesan shavings around, take a stab at the chicken and then mostly wolf it down as the disapproving and worried attention of his girlfriend had him decide then. He’d eat it. He ate it. And though dessert didn’t get him going, at least he’d eaten something. He apologized to Adie, eventually

I’m sorry, I just can’t and I’m not feeling it now. Give me until tomorrow evening.

And when they went to bed, his previous worry that the bed bounced too well wasn’t even a million miles away. They slept, his mind heavy, his thoughts busy-- between leaving the hotel room and until tomorrow morning, Malcolm was nothing if not a live feed from some place tragic.

In the morning, they wouldn’t begin that early. At least, when Malcolm was around at 6 am already, it was only for himself. In his PJ bottoms he walked from the bed to the window, peeking through its blinds before trudging back to the bed, and diverting for a moment to use the bathroom. He was out a few moments later, his hands dried, his frame tired, but his mind so busy he could only keep awake at this point. Back on the bed, making it bounce, he noticed Adie was awake, and gently Mal covered himself again, before brushing his hand over Adie’s cheek and soothing, “Sh, go back to sleep. I’m restless. But we still have hours.”

Until ten, which was when he wanted to go there; at ten-ish he’d take the train to the cemetery, the same train he’d used to get on when he was younger, when this was his home, when he already, sort of, due to what happened, hated it here. The same train even if from a different stop to waste this purposeful forty-minute long journey until they got off at the appropriate stop, and walked ten more minutes into the heart of the city streets to locate the cemetery.

Great, gray, and sprawling, and accordingly depressive.

His children’s tombstones would be there, close to each other. And if Adie just went to sleep as guided, eventually, they'd both get up; he already up, the breakfast, his at least, left cold-- he had twenty excuses why it wasn't needed--, and the mentioned journey taken--

So that at 11.44 they could walk through the gates of the cemetery, and trudge up its dirt, somber paths along graveyards of men and children alike.

--------------------
user posted image
Jul 12 2018, 11:43 PM
274
posts
57 Shifter Bartender & DJ
Wolf
You were sharp as a knife to get me. You were a wolf in the night to fetch me back. The wishes I’ve made are too vicious to tell. The devil, already he knows me so well.
Furore Pack
Bisexual
dating // shipped (Malcolm)
Adie / Ads

awards

whiskey wolf
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PST | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
The night was a heavy thing, between a plane ride and the stress of the reason they were here as it bounced about in her head all day, sometimes stronger and more taxing than others, and the weight of the actual pizza she’d none too shamelessly devoured with a promise to Mal’s eventual apology that it was perfectly fine. She’d clearly eaten for the both of them. Between it all there was little in her mind beyond sleep by the time she finally snuggled herself under the too many and too heavy blankets of the bed that was, oddly and she’d be remiss if she didn’t view it as such, occupied by not only her—

Perhaps her mind wandered, but it’d not linger long at all before sleep cascaded down over the whole of her and whisked her easily off into a slumber that wouldn’t wake until too early and a good bit of hours later. An eye cracked and she watched the man as he sat himself. He looked heavy and burdened right before he noticed her and she attempted a smile. It was ways too sleepy and looked as much, still sweet and warm, but also, sleepy. When he finally settled it’d see her lips nuzzled against his shoulder in a languid kiss just before sleep grasped hold of her once more and yanked her down into its warm embrace.

The curl of her knuckles resting against the side of his neck felt like comfort in her mind, saw her off into slumber quicker still as the warmth of him seeped in.

Another few hours and she’d finally wake with a yawn and a stretch and a handful of minutes of quiet, sleep-riddled, conversation before they poured themselves out of bed to ready for the day.

What did you even wear to visit a cemetery?

Adeline had never worn anything out of the ordinary when she’d visited Cody, who wasn’t even home at the time. It felt more pertinent this time, though certainly funeral attire was nothing she’d see herself slipped into. No dress was wiggled into and no heels to precariously wander the grass in. All the same and however sensible she was when she wandered from the bathroom after her quick shower and she still looked more fussy than she did on any other given day. Fingers slipping the last button closed on her shirt so she was presentable and it’d take them little more than a few more minutes before they were out the door and on a train.

Breakfast was nothing she’d stomach well, already well into the fretting, they’d both pick at their food before they were shuffled into seats with the whole of the city a blur in the window to either side.

Adeline missed the trains, though Frisco was fine with its ferry and it’s buses, the train had been a staple of her life for all her formative years that its complete absence now was something almost sad. Not nearly as sad as would be what stretched on beyond the giant wrought iron gates of the cemetery they’d eventually stand before.

"Ready?"

Her smile was warm and soft, upstanding and supportive as fingers squeezed between his own.

It felt a bit like entering heaven, at least in her mind, if heaven were nothing but a expansive place of sad cloyed over in bitter sweet memories. Their journey had been mostly quiet and she’d not push even now, as her hand tucked itself into his own and her feet followed along behind as they wandered the well maintained paths between rows and rows of loved ones. Her mind softly morose but her eyes wandered, flickering over headstones to read a few per row, focusing on the bigger and more elaborate of them, or every one they passed that was adorned with a lamb or an angel, most denoting the presence of a child.

It saw her chest squeezed and her brows furrowed in downcast cant of sorrow.

Most were fairly large, the cemetery old and long standing, though a few rested flat enough to the ground they could simply mowed over, the few she could glimpse along the way said little more than the person’s name. Though it wasn’t the time, she wondered after a few of them as they passed her by. Who they were, these few people among the towering marble pedestals.

Her feet slowed just as Mal’s did, her mind having wandered to a Cindy who had nothing but her name, beside a Joshua and between them a cute little slightly raised set of intertwined gold rings. Snapping around forward and Adie’s eyes flicked to Mal then, fingers squeezing gently in support that was easily shaken if he found the need to carry on down the fated aisle by himself first. She was here as support, not someone meant to hover where they weren't needed, but to be there if and when they were.

--------------------
user posted image
Jul 13 2018, 09:55 AM
72
posts
50 shifter therapist
wolf
Learning to trust, more than expression, believe in me now, believe in intention.
Furore
heteroflexible
dating// shipped with Adie Byrne
Mal

awards

bringing sexy back
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
Ready?

No.

It wasn’t any different of a tombstone, in terms of the others. One here and the other elsewhere, Mal would stop them at the foot of the grave that housed his firstborn son: Geoffrey. Dead at a rather tender age, though no more tender than the one of his other son when he died, here lay Geoffrey Frederick Lestrange, a boy of a mouthful of a name affectionately called by his family: Eddie, or Johnny.

Rupert Benedict Lestrange had been called Ben. Benny. Though Malcolm wanted to believe he was just randomly remembering this, he knew it wasn’t the case. His mind went suddenly down everything random and trivia about his two sons he remembered. From their names, a given, and their size and weight when they came into this world, to Johnny’s first word and first I-love-you-dad. First every everything, kept in a catalogue in his head. Mal remained stood in front of the grave of his firstborn, his hand in hers before it squeezed her, half-tight, and let go. His arm dangled by his side, limp and non-alive.

Malcolm clenched his hands.

Crossing himself, he collected his scattered, dead breath, looking mildly out of his depth and nervous. At once, however, he was coming down to kneel at his boy’s tombstone, brushing over it to get its surface smooth and unstained, and he released a sound like a sigh.

He forgot about Adie with seemingly relative ease.

“Hey, my boy,” greeted, “it's dad again.”

Kneeling down, and the tombstone swept clean, Malcolm began reaching in his pockets, taking out a few somethings that he just laid down on the grave.

Toy soldiers.

The green ones, molded to look ready to shoot, motionless and plastic so that taking out someone’s eyes with one was a concern of effort. Malcolm arranged three in a triangle formation, aiming off to the right at something, nobody there. When Malcolm reached for more things inside his pockets, the fourth would be of a ranger on their reeling horse, its hooves kicking ferociously at the air in a most action-packed figurine that Malcolm could imagine. It got even his blood flowing, making him feel super young again, of that sweet, tender age of five where everything was games. When he smiled, he looked like he was in the state of missing.

“So I don’t know if you remember,” he spoke, “but you and I, when things were good we used to play with your little army. We would sit down, deciding which country we were, and what we were in war over.

“Last time, it was because school buses should be a pretty blue, but they’re not.”


Mal fixed the toy soldiers. It would turn out they weren’t aiming at the horse-- but past it, past him and his rider and at the presumably imagined yellow bus somewhere where their still eyes were. Familiar, but disappointing until it was repainted blue at the call of one-two-three. Mal smiled, calmly, and bitterly.

“We used to play it together… I remember, the case of the blue bus was the fiercest battle I ever fought in. You weren’t merciful. In fact, the total opposite.”

Malcolm chuckled.

“You were a ruthless and merciless king who punished me greatly for all the soldiers that I slayed over the course of our two hour war, but I think you weren’t quite decided on if you wanted it to go down in history as the shortest war, or the longest.”

He smiled, warm.

“Either way… I thought Adie would want to see. I thought you’d want them with you.”

He stood up, slowly, his eyes on the toys.

“Your four special musketeers… I thought I’d show them to Adie.”

And again, Malcolm reached out for Adie’s hand.

“Adie,” he called, his voice soft, “this is my son, Geoffrey. He doesn’t say much. Never mind it. Big G, this is my girlfriend, Adie. She talks a lot.”

Proud like, Malcolm rocked on the balls of his feet, and said, “Yup. So…” He looked at Adie, and waited.

And made a face--

“He really doesn’t say a lot,” he said, apologetic, “in fact, it could be said he just doesn't talk. The problem with talking to the dead. They don’t really talk back. Which is more of a blessing, really.” He looked back at the grave, affectionately.

“Mind you, pretty sure if my boy could talk--”

--he hiccoughed. It split his lips into a defensive smile. It looked wide. Malcolm just rubbed it, feeling like the corners of his lips burned him, and he talked, a tremble in his voice--

“--well, I’m sure he would say a lot, maybe that he’d wanted his toys back a while ago but dad was dumb and couldn’t let go of them. It’s just toys.”

His hand shifted to cover his mouth. He blocked any sound. Breathing or talking or even whispering, he’d permit no sound to come out his lips and he clenched his jaw, visibly, looking at the grave, all red-eyed, and silent.

When he broke out into a sob, it came from the pit of his stomach and rocked all throughout his body.

--------------------
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