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

[inhumandog.livejournal.com]

No. It doesn't help. No point in trying.

Nothing helps.

Billy is an INCREDIBLY DUMB DRUNK. Sorry Malc :c

[my-freeze-ray.livejournal.com]

[IN AN INCREDIBLY THICK FAKE SCOTTISH ACCENT:]

Why is the barge so fuck fuck shit? All the walls-- the walls are made of cunt!

[Brief descent into giggling, then he recovers to LOUDLY DECLARE:]

AHHHM MALCOLM!

[AND THEN THE COMEDY OF HIS WORDS BECOMES TOO MUCH FOR HIM AND COMPLETELY UNCONTROLLABLE LAUGHTER SETS IN.]

[Spam]

[grand-lotus.livejournal.com]

[Yeah, being drunk just makes Iroh MORE aggressively nice. Who could've guessed. And there's someone on the deck who looks unhappy - let's go and be friends with him! He waves.]

Hello there!

[accountsettled.livejournal.com]

My Dearest Majesty,

I do have a most sincere message for you. Once. Once, sir, I did arrest thee. You were playing golf and did not see us coming for you.

You should have seen it, your Highness, you should have seen it coming.

For what tyrant is not held to his people's account? Even by the authority of a sword.

'Twas, indeed, a wonderful day, when I arrested you in Oxford. I shall laugh and laugh and laugh and oh, was that your head falling from the scaffold?

Poor, tragic tyrant. Such a tale of woe.

Yours,
Colonel Edward Sexby,
Parliamentary Army,
Year of Our Lord 1658 (not 1665. Never 1665)

[christ-onabike.livejournal.com]

...That was creative.

[Action Spamalamadingdong]

[doeswhatido.livejournal.com]

[[Malcolm, do you hear those footsteps behind you? Of course not—they're rather inaudible, after all.

So it might be a little surprising when 47 turns up a few feet away, looking out at the view. He doesn't turn to Malcolm as he speaks.]]

What is it you see?

[some-kinda-hero.livejournal.com]

I'm your friend. Or...at least, I thought I was.