fuckitybye

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025

[Private to Bob, Damon, the Sexbys, and anyone else who actually saw him manifest a demon power. The fact that there are no swearwords anywhere in this note should underline his seriousness. Also Paddy? You're not on the list, since he never fessed up to you. Yeah, Malcolm is a bad friend.]
Whatever happened yesterday, it's over and it's between me and Claire now, yeah? I'd really appreciate it if you take any problems you got straight to her and no one else. Much obliged.

[Private to Claire]
Reckon I ought to tell you this before you hear it from anyone else. Yesterday I picked myself up some fucking superpowers—teleporting and shit like that. Before you ask: no, I did not cause any fucking trouble and I didn't go porting into the women's loo or anything; I may be a bastard, but I'm not a pervert, yeah? Anyway, thought you should know.

[Malc's log is still open for backdating or assuming stuff—just lemme know.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Don't know. One minute I'm minding my own fucking business in the library, and the next I'm outside the fucking dining hall like a fucking Tomorrow Person. And no, I didn't notice a single thing before. No fucking ... gamma rays or whatever.

And I reckon I might as well tell you—I put a dent in my wall with this thing. This fucking glowing blue ball or some shit.

[She's trying to digest all of this.]

Do you mind showing me so I can grasp this a little better? Please.

[It is slowly starting to dawn on Malcolm that maybe he ought to have said something to Claire sooner.]

Well... I'd show you if I could still fucking do it. Seems like it's worn off.

Oh. Okay.

[She nestles her hands into her hair, thinks, then talks again.]

What about the hole, then?

Right.

[He picks up the communicator and there's a somewhat seasick-making moment as he carries it across the room over to the spot by the door that he dented with the energy ball. It's at head-height, and isn't so much a hole as a depression a couple of inches deep, as if someone had punched it really, really hard. There's very little visible scorching; just a light film of what might be dust or soot.]

Do you need me to ask the Admiral to fix it?

[Because at this point, it's done and over with. What can she really say or do? No one had alerted her that Malcolm had done harm to anyone...so why make a fuss over nothing?]

[Shrug.]

Just a dent. No big deal or anything.

[He sets the communicator back down.]

It's your room, [chuckles]. Not like you couldn't ask either.

If it comes back or you start to feel sick or something, let me know ASAP, okay?

Shall do. Thanks, love. Got anything else for me?

Just appreciation for not taking advantage of your situation and one proud Warden.

And a reward. Pub, spa, or CES?

...

Well, I'm not much of a drinker and you couldn't fucking pay me to get near the spa, so I'll take the CES.

CES it is. I'll meet you there in an hour, if that works?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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Private. - what's your poison?