fuckitybye | 021 - malcolm is a maudlin drunk.

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021 - malcolm is a maudlin drunk.

[Audio. Malcolm's Glaswegian accent has thickened considerably.]

What's the fucking point, yeah? Bein' a useless cunt out here in the fucking ... arse-end of the fucking universe, not a fucking friend in sight and your family gone and fucking ... superheroes and things'll rip your fucking throat out and ... this is supposed to help?

Fuck this cack-brained shit in the ear with a fucking screwdriver.

[Click. Audio off. He'll respond to anyone who feels like hassling him via journal, but some time later, anyone wandering up on deck will find Malcolm standing at the railing staring morosely off into the distance. In his left hand he clutches his useless Blackberry and this photograph. Feel free to come spam Malcolm and, if you dare, ask him about the photograph. Also, sorry for spamming with Malc posts this morning. Done now.]

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[You don't get away that easily, Malcolm! Iroh sets his arms on the railing, leaning comfortably.]

In a while, perhaps. What's wrong?

Everything's fucking wrong, and if you can't see that, you're stupider than you fucking look.

[Iroh chuckles. The wall of zen is unbreakable.]

'Wrong' is fleeting. Most things can be made right again, with time. You do better than many, even to notice that something is amiss. [He nods towards the picture.] Who is the young lady?

[He shuffles the photo behind the Blackberry. Too late, of course. Then, mumbled:]

I didn't go home for my fucking birthday.

Edited 2010-06-11 15:42 (UTC)

[He frowns a bit. Serious business, this.]

I am sorry, my friend. But the Admiral can be quite malleable with these things. You might be able to return in good time, when you leave. [He pats Malcolm's shoulder.]

[He kind of starts a little at the shoulder pat. People are usually too afraid to touch Malcolm, much less give a comforting pat. And then, continuing in the talking-at vein, he keeps going.]

She called me, yeah? It's your fiftieth fucking birthday, she said, at least come home and have a nice dinner. Told her I didn't care whose fucking birthday it was. Spent the evening trying to unfuck that Murray-Mannion debacle. And Tom sent me a fucking cake. Know what it had on it? [He barely waits for a response.] "Happy Birthday C-Star-N-T." Fucker.

[Incidentally, Iroh might notice that Malcolm sports a wedding band on his left hand, from which Conclusions May Be Drawn.]

Edited 2010-06-11 16:23 (UTC)

[Iroh is all about fearless comforting pats! He's noticed the ring, too, but as far as he's aware it's just jewellery. Culture is hard.]

Ahh, I see. [He folds his hands on the railing.] I have had my fair share of regrets....events that passed me by before I could truly recognise how important they were. Sometimes that is the way of things - sometimes we cannot know what we value until we look back at its loss and feel deep grief.

[Long, slightly bemused, drunken stare.]

You always fucking like this?

[Serene smile. Really the only difference between drunk Iroh and sober Iroh is that sober Iroh tends to leave people alone when they look as miserable as Malcolm does.]

Not always. Usually. I was a different man when I was younger.

Yeah, well, weren't we fucking all.

[Another morose glance at the photograph.]

This is why I don't fuckin' drink. Slows me down and gets me fucking ... [with remarkable venom for a drunk man] thinking.

There's nothing wrong with slowing down and thinking, sometimes.

[Malcolm just doesn't quite have it in him at the moment to really let loose on Iroh, who gets a decidely below-par:]

Says you. Zen bastard.

[For that you get a smile and another shoulder pat.]

If you never stop to think about the past, my friend, you will stumble into making the same mistakes - time and time again, without even knowing it. Introspection is a powerful thing. Just...try not to fixate on what you cannot change.

Aye, well ... thanks, Confucius.

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021 - malcolm is a maudlin drunk.

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