021 - malcolm is a maudlin drunk.

[fuckitybye]

[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.]

Comments

[christ-onabike.livejournal.com]

Well, you fucking were. Don't come to fucking work today, if you're as pissed as you sound.

[fuckitybye]

The fuck is this shit anyway? I've barely touched a fucking drop since I got here. I don't fucking drink half the time. I don't have the fucking time.

...it's the fucking flood, innit?

[christ-onabike.livejournal.com]

...fuck if I know, mate. Fuck if I know. I bet it is the flood. Even so, don't come to fucking work, I'm not letting you near a knife.

[fuckitybye]

Ta. Wouldn't want myself near a fucking knife. Might ... [mumble grumble incomprehensible blargh.]

[christ-onabike.livejournal.com]

...yeah, it's probably fucking sensible. You ought to get some fucking tea, mate.

[fuckitybye]

Aye. Tea. Yeah, that'll ... yeah.

[christ-onabike.livejournal.com]

Try and sober up, at least.

[fuckitybye]

Gonna do my level best, believe me. Christ.