Posts by MALACHI

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; border: 0px transparent; width: 490px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9px; color: #000000;]There was something sinister in the depths of fire; something lurked inside, dark and twisted. The flames flickering low in the hearth of the Hades' cabin was an example of this theory; the jagged fiery tongues lapped at the wooden spires and consumed them with more zeal than any other flame the male had laid eyes on, as though the pyre was itself possessed by a devil of Tartarus. The son of Bia supposed it went without saying why the Hades' cabin fire was so brilliant, so lively. After all, the building's ruling god was the keeper of the underworld. It got pretty hot down there.

Malachi was perched on one of the couches in the lounge area of the cabin, knees pulled tight to his chest and arms wrapped around them. He sat in the warmth of the fire, musing, while everything outside was forced to endure the last bitter kisses of a longstanding winter. The flames inside the stone fireplace cast a warm glow over the sitting room; everything in the fire's light was graced with a lulling amber tone. It was comfortably balmy in that room. The man had always enjoyed heat. He enjoyed watching the crackling embers even more; observing the rise and fall of an empire of gold, fiery towers leaping towards the chimney, aggressively snapping and lashing out from it's base of cinder and wood, the tiny firefly embers drifting around with nonchalance and then burning out as fast as they were breaking free of their hearts.
It was a mesmerizing dance.
But it was one that Mal had grown tired of watching.

With a sigh, the male unfurled from the sofa and quietly picked his way across the wooden floorboards of the lounge, his steps all but soundless except for the gentle scuffing of his toes when they met the plush carpet of the hallway. He crossed the walk and came to the front door's foyer, simply to look out the windows and observe another, more violent flame: the hellfire bowl that adorned the Hades' cabin porch in a pair. Malachi stood there in the entryway for a bit, mulling over the flickering blue pyre and the cold outside, the warmth at his back and the cool wood floor underfoot. A sigh whisked from his lungs and he slipped into his boots and the trench coat hanging on the far wall. He always kept his jacket and shoes at the front door, although the cabin president chided him each and every day for it; why couldn't he keep his belongings in his own damned room? Why? Malachi shrugged the thought off with a lighthearted and almost smug smirk, then reached for the handle of the door: the large slab of dark wood and iron opened and closed after him with an easy click, and his heels hit the stone patio with a crunch. A cold wind greeted him at the door, stark in contrast to the warmth of the lounge. He shivered, steeled himself, and stepped out onto the campus.

It was early in the morning, the sun just setting the line of the horizon ablaze, the tops of trees and MOUNTAIN PEAKS GLOWING WITH MORNING LIGHT. Too early for his fellow half-bloods to be milling around the grounds with no aim or purpose in life. Pfft. Malachi wasn't bitter.
He contented himself in the lonely air of the morning, slung his hands in his jacket, and listened as the snow crunched beneath his feet. His darkened gaze drifted like the gentle breeze of snow flurries around him; first his eyes were on the Poseidon Cabin, remarking on the near-frozen waterfall that streamed like curtains from the discolored copper roof. Then his attention turned to the center of camp, the pines and firs and aspen trees shivering frigidly in the early day, seemingly begging for the warm promise of sun that inched it's way towards the dusty-blue sky. Speaking of the sky, his gaze then traveled upwards, glaring towards cornflower cloud, a pale canvas for the sunlight to bleed rods of gold upon. Finally, Malachi found himself standing before the stables, the heady scent of straw filling his lungs and the warmth resonating from the tattered red barn engulfing him, inviting him to come inside. How could he resist?

The demigod tugged his long black coat closer to his body and in a few long strides came to the barn doors. The scent was familiar. Malachi always did like horses, and though he wasn't exactly skilled atop a mount, he entertained riding lessons quite often. He enjoyed the easy movements of a steed, the expanding and disbanding of the creature's ribcage below his legs, the calm and collected nature of the beasts. Of all animals, Malachi felt best suited with the equine. Animals didn't often enjoy his company; he was too tall, too quiet, too heavy-handed. At least, that's what he had learned. There was always the random kitten that enjoyed tangling itself up in his long locks of hair, but that hardly counted because kittens were kittens. Horses, on the other hand, seemed comfortable beneath his direction. He even felt as though he could better control the amount of force and power he used in his actions when he was with them; it trained him to be gentler, softer, and overall it was a therapeutic experience.
The barn door closed behind him and he was left wandering the halls of the stables, greeted by sleepy whinnies and nickering. Malachi breathed a sigh as he came to a stall with the name Beelzebub engraved on the plaque on the door. The horse inside the stall was a large bay gelding with white stockings and a blaze from his nose to his forehead. Malachi gazed upon the name for a moment, remembering tales of the daemon of gluttony, before he extended a hand to the steed.
The horse tossed his head at the demigod before stepping over and blowing against the male's palm, his velvet-soft muzzle brushing against his skin. What an... interesting name, but such a sweet horse. "Bee," Mal muttered, far more satisfied with the nickname than the formal name. Hmm.

He left Beelzebub in his stall and continued to wander the halls, greeting a few randomly (totally not random) chosen horses (that he may or may not have rode in lessons pfft no favoring here) as he went; nodding to a few satyr stable boys.
The morning was shaping up to be pleasant enough.
That's when he remembered: it was an important someone's birthday.
March Thirteenth.
Today.

Malachi inhaled a breath and quickly retraced his steps back to the entrance of the barn. What was he doing? He had chores to do, outings to plan. Kali's birthday only swung around once a year; it was an important date and gods damn if wasn't going to make it special.
He exited the barn, shivered in the winter air - again - and let his gaze drift-- again.
Would she be in her cabin? Probably not. She was a morning person.
Perhaps in the pasture? No, why would she? Uta was never kept in the stables, let alone the pasture.
Where could she be?
One of the problems of being a member of a demigod camp with so many other demigods and no PA system was finding a specific someone was a tad challenging. He supposed he could go to Psyche and ask for one of the copper owl robotics to retrieve the daughter of Khione, maybe? No. That was too formal. Not to mention too social.
Malachi sighed and stalked out into the camp once again, figuring he'd just stumble upon (hopefully not literally) the girl whenever he did.

[hr][/fancypost][size=6px][c] lion[/size]

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; border: 0px transparent; width: 490px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9px; color: #000000;]Malachi was one of the very few people exempt of practice sessions... Or, at least that's what the demigod often told himself: after seven years of stick fighting sessions and several hundred hours of hand-to-hand combat, the son of Bia felt as though he'd basically mastered everything that the Hill could teach him in the light of battle. So logically, he hadn't shown up to training.
So far as the lanky adult knew, the morning had been uneventful, the sun sliding from daybreak towards noon without any turmoil. It was a regular day at camp, no outsider worldly peril to face, no monsters penetrating the borders (gods forbid that ever happen again); just an easy afternoon. And Malachi, being more of a hermit, was okay with that. Who wanted a myriad of things in your face, twenty-four/seven? No, thanks.

The male has been in his room for most of the morning, meditating of course. Common practice, most of the campers had gotten used to seeing him with crossed legs and closed eyes. Or he figured they had. What did that matter though? Ugh, he was getting caught up in familiar musings once again. The twnety-one-year old rushed a sigh from his lips and decided that it was time to dismiss the wayward thoughts and clam breaths; time to go discreetly check up on the happenings outside of the Hades cabin.
If you knew the son of Bia, you had most likely caught on by now that the Aurum would frequently and efficiently walk his rounds about the campus, like a loyal guard dog tasked with border patrol. It was a self-acclaimed task, yes, but one he dutifully completed usually once a day. Really, what else would he be doing? He was a big boy now, he'd been around the camp for years. He knew the faces, though often he couldn't put a name to them, he knew the staff, knew the motions and schedules. And he was well-known around the area. Who better to keep an eye on things than he?

Probably the other vigils, you idiot. It was their job, after all.

Malachi rolled his eyes at all of these parading thoughts, and while they had been crossing the roads in his brain, he had hardly noticed that he had too exuberantly jumped up from the floor of his room, left the dorm, wandered the hall and was now casually strolling down the stairs. He also failed to notice the female person with bright, fiery hair that had just ran into him. If it hadn't been for her cussing him out, he would have kept walking. Such was the problem with thinking.
He stumbled a couple steps away from her and recollected his bearings, let her do the same. "Excuse me," he cleared his throat, pushed his hair from his eyes, blinked unappreciatively at the young woman with dark brown optics and a foul mood. Whose fault was this little traffic jam? Probably hers. But he wasn't about to jump on her for a silly thing like running straight into him; she seemed like she had enough going on as it was.
He stepped to the side, opening the stairwell to her, and gallantly motioned to them with both arms in a more-sarcastic-than-he-meant-it-to-be flourish. Oops. Oh, well. Annoyance was a stubborn thing.
[hr][/fancypost][size=6px][c] lion[/size]

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; border: 0px transparent; width: 490px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9px; color: #000000;]It had taken an aggravating amount of time to pick his way around the shelves of the medic bay. Cots were somehow always in the way (and managed to clip his waist more than once), while all of the useful housed items were in a multitude of places and at odd angles; either pushed to the walls or stationed at seemingly random parts of the room, near beds or standing completely alone and blocking any sane means of travel throughout the room. How did the Apollonians and other healers manage this maze? Cleanly as it might be, the organizational skills of the centre were clearly lacking. The male had to meander around for at least fifteen minutes, scuffling and bumbling through the choppy paths; even after finding a tall, oak wood stand that hosted a promising stash of intricately placed bottles and bags of various drugs and medicinal herbs, it took him another five minutes to successfully claim necessary items. Seriously, how many drugs did the Hill really need? They were half-bloods, wasn't ambrosia as much was was necessary?
The son of Bia had been flat out on a hospital bed often enough to know the answer to that query was no.

"It was Drake,"
Turning back to Hadley, he found the girl with her knees to her chest and her face between them.
What? It was Drake? Moody little wind-flower? Malachi's obsidian eyes narrowed as he quietly padded over to Cybele's daughter. He didn't know much about the redhead's relationship with the swordsman, but from the looks of this afternoon, it clearly wasn't a friendly one. He felt sorry for the son of Aeolus; the kid was probably in worse shape than Hadley, since it appeared that she had obviously got a few hits in. Guess that explained why the femme just looked worse for wear and extremely battered; Drake had probably been fighting her by way of defense rather than offense, using his annoying gusts of wind and angry gales; wherever that dumbass walked it seemed that a mini-tornado followed. Always screwing with the breezes and weather itself. Annoying.
"Well," Malachi sighed, "sucks to be him." He tried to catch her brooding eyes, tried to show some glimmer of recourse. But she was tucked between her knees and glaring down at the pristine tiled floor. Mhm. Oh, well. He lifted the girl's bruised and bloodied hand in his own, observing the dried, red ochre beads that stained her knuckles. He made quick work of cleaning them, dipping a rag in the antiseptic alcohol and gently wiping it across her skin. It was going well, insofar as the demigoddess had only struggled a bit, but when he reached for the scrape grazing the side of her head, she jerked away, glaring and preparing to aim verbal barbs, he was sure. An exasperated breath fled Malachi's lungs as he plopped down on the cot; the alcohol fell to it's side, spilling onto the vinyl mattress. "What are you going to do, just let it get infected?" The words came out more aggravated (and more protective) than he had expected or anticipated them to. But whatever. He shook his head, mumbling under his breath. No use in arguing with her at this point. He reached for the clear bottle of golden liquid and the small cup he had snatched from one of the sinks; pouring maybe half the contents of the small bottle into the even smaller glass, he handed it to his younger companion (aka accidentally thrust it in her direction). The fluid sloshed around before she took it from him, and while she downed the sweet, succulent drink, he replaced the bottles and cloth and other things he'd grabbed in their rightful homes.
A few nurses were bustling around by then, restocking a few of the shelves, cleaning, tending to patients that were housed in the bay across the hall, et cetera. Basically, they were moving around the cluttered room with more grace than Malachi could ever hope for. They shot a few glances in the pair's direction but were either too busy to care or just didn't care in the first place. A few curt nods between them and then Mal was headed back over to Hadley. Perched on the side of the bed once again, he mused, "We should get out of here for a while." The girl's look of confusion or annoyance or both prompted an explanation: "Out of camp, out of the Hill. Head down to St. Helens for the afternoon. Just... get away. What do you think?"

Her answer was clear as they pranced from the infirmary, across the yard, and to the Main Hall's garage; here was where the Hill's few lonely and old vehicles sat, tremendously underused and unappreciated. His favorite pick-up was older than the one sedan (nicknamed Old Alberta by a few of the younger campers, for absolutely no reason at all), but they were both at least twenty years outdated; rust adorned the fenders, bumpers and lower sides of the body, while the paint jobs were chipping in places and one of the taillights was smashed in. Despite their condition, Malachi found some weird pleasure in saying that he was allowed and able to drive the neglected automobiles.
Hadley interjected that she was driving, but her statement was more fiction than fact seeing that he had the keys. "Nope, you're not." He jingled the ring in his fingers, rolled his eyes, nudged her aside from the pickup's left-side door, and climbed up onto the driver's seat; then waited for Hadley to grumble, probably cuss him out, then round the truck and clamber up into the passenger's seat. A smirk graced his thin lips as he inserted the key into the ignition, clicked the button to the garage door opener which was tucked into the sun viser, put the archaic car into reverse and then carefully backed out of the building. Gravel crunched beneath the tires, the breaks screeched bloody murder when he halted the truck to let a few kids pass the dirt walks. Then they were driving down the winding south entrance, headed for St. Helens and a more relaxed afternoon.

"You know," the male breathed the words softly, careful to only peacefully disturb the silence that had fallen between them as they drove for a few dozen minutes. "I don't think I get out enough." He glanced over to the redheaded girl sitting across from him on the old leather bench seat that squeaked whenever either of them moved. Weak sunlight was pouring in through her side of the window, gracing the silhouette of her hair with what looked like fire. Even without currently feeling anything towards the sentiment but appreciation, Malachi recognized that the demigoddes was so, so beautiful; you didn't even have to like Hadley to realize that. but he liked hadley Even the bruises on her temple seemed charming, as if personifying her personality in discolored marks across her alabaster skin. She didn't have to do anything but sit there, didn't have to make a sound apart from her rhythmic breaths. Malachi was one for observing anyway.
Now wasn't the time for musings, though. He was driving, so he turned his black eyes back to the makeshift dirt road, swished his untamed locks from his face and kept his mouth shut, opting to not break the silence between them again unless she asked.

***

ooc | okay so a bit of a time skip there. you can make her prance to the park or whatever bc that's more like her than it is mal. cx she can go run around on the playground equipment and then he can sit down on one of the swings and then she can waddle over and sit on the other next to him? should the park be empty or with a few kids peppering it? wHAT DAY IS IT AHH D8
btw i'm squealing bc i love these two so fukin much jAIME DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND
WAHT AM I SAYING OF COURSE YOU DO *squeaks & jumps around with you*

[hr][/fancypost][size=6px][c] lion[/size]

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; border: 0px transparent; width: 490px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9px; color: #000000;]"And I can't remember the last time I spent an entire night in my own bed." For some reason that idea pained him, so much so that his eyes narrowed as a cringe ghosted past him. He could take it to mean a myriad of things, and it probably did; was she always sneaking out, was she always clubbing at night, was she drinking and doing drugs in her room, was she sleeping with someone else, did she get any rest at all? The male didn't know why but all of these thoughts suddenly plagued his mind with worry. Why did he care? Hadley was was her own person, who made her own decisions. If she didn't want to sleep in her bed, that was her choice. It was probably uncomfortable compared to all the other places she most likely had been, anyway.

Still, Malachi couldn't help but wonder what the fiery haired girl did when she wasn't taking hits or shots, which was a widely known fact about the daughter of Cybele. He shot a glance in the female's direction, curious eyes quickly taking in the little details of her being once more, storing them away for later analysis. He breathed a sigh, turned back to the road, and was suddenly struck with the reality that he didn't know where the fuck they were going. Why were they even here? Why was he driving a demigoddess minor around in a town he hardly knew himself, in a beaten old pick-up? Why Hadley? It was a curious string of events that he appeared to just now be actually considering. What was he thinking taking her out like this? People could draw the wrong conclusion, or assume something, or...

He was worrying again. Settle down, he chided himself, letting his hands relax on the steering wheel, letting his back sink into the leather seat. Where could they go? Malachi wasn't the kind of man to be struck by a sense of wanderlust: he knew what he wanted and where he as going. Usually. Excluding right now, but he wasn't thinking clearly. Perhaps he'd gotten too much of a whiff of ambrosia. That was surely the case.
He turned the wheel and the tires followed suit, towards the left, rounding the end of a block. The street ahead looked familiar to him, so he let the truck sail down the suburban road, passing little brick houses and gas stations and too-small convenience stores. Willow trees ringed a small pond, and as soon as his eyes glimpsed the body of water, he recalled this area. There was an old, run-down park nearby. It would be perfect for the stressed-out male and the girl that was living life too fast.

The truck squealed to a stop by the curb as he put it in brake, pulled the keys from the ignition and listened to the engine sputter out and die. This vehicle was not long for this world, a sad thought indeed. Then again, he mused, maybe if one of the cars dies, we can finally convince Psyche's stingy ass to buy something new.

The redhead had already hopped from her side of the truck, but Malachi took a moment to survey the rusty playground before getting out to look at everything up close. He rested his hands on the top of the steering wheel and bent his tall frame to look out the steering wheel, glancing up at the newly-budding trees and the overgrown grass; everything was in worse shape than it had been the last time he'd been here, which had been years ago, but for some reason that made it all so much more charming. N, wait, he was probably still high or something off of the ambrosia fumes. Yep.

The car door slammed jarringly as he left the vehicle sitting at the curb and tucked the keys into the rear pocket of his jeans. Hadley was already exploring, but the male didn't mind. Watching her was becoming a new hobby of his, it seemed. While she ran around the old jungle gym, scaling the stairs and jumping up under the tiny castle-like awning over the slide, Malachi strode over to the swings. His fingers gently graced the chains and he let himself fall into the cracked leather hanging seat. His legs were too long to actually utilize the thing, but he settled for folding his ankles over each other and simply swaying, forward and back, a calm, soothing motion. There was the hint of a breeze in the air, springtime chill, that made the air just cold enough to pull his grey jacket closer to his stomach, hands tucked in the kangaroo pocket.
Just them Hadley seemed to remember that he existed, turned to him and took up residence on the swing beside him, a childlike look of wonder possessing her soft facial features. Her little confession violently tore a curious grin from his lips, his eyes crinkling with mischief. "You did ballet?" He didn't snicker, didn't roll his eyes, like she must have expected him to do because a rare blush tainted her cheeks pink now. He just grinned. "You weren't supposed to know that," Gods, what was he gonna do, blackmail her? She should have known that wasn't his line of work. "Forgive me for being completely and utterly incapable of picturing you in a leotard and tutu, of all things." Okay, okay. Now he was snickering. Sorry, not sorry. He just couldn't compile the images of pink tutus and spicy, red-headed Hadley together. Did not compute.

He watched with skeptical eyes as the girl swung a bit and then jumped off; he was still trying to imagine her clad in a velvet pink leotard and lacy shoes and white tights, but the image just wasn't coming to him. Luckily a new thought spared him from his odd and compulsive profiling of the girl. Did he dance? Malachi straightened up, scuffing his shoes on the dusty gravel ground, running a hand through his hair. "Mhm," he grunted, standing.

He watched her for a moment, studying her eyes as they glared up at him with a chaotic mix of vulnerability and hesitation and tension and other things he didn't have time to put a name to, because he was walking back to the truck, pulling the keys from his pocket, and slipping into the passenger's seat again.
The truck's radio was as old and outdated as the vehicle itself was, but it would have to do. He scanned through a few stations and static, turning the dial quickly until the feed finally settled on some odd station that seemed to be zen and classical rolled into one. The son of Bia shrugged out of his hoodie, lying the jacket on the front seat, turned the stereo up loud enough to hear it in the park, and strode back over to a disgruntled and very confused looking Hadley.

"I haven't danced in years," he answered under his breath, his voice hushed to a nearly inaudible whisper as he slowly, as gently as he could took her hands in his own and drew her close. If his heart wasn't rapidly pounding out his chest, he'd be surprised. He wasn't good at things like this, and physical contact was always iffy where the demigod was concerned. His eyes avoided her gaze for the most part, as he fumbled to get in some sort of position similar to how the man looks in a ballroom dance pair. He was going to fail miserably at this and probably step on her toes or drop her or something stupid like that, he just knew it. "Mhm," he mumbled again, letting his right hand left on her waist while he brought hers into the air with his own, waiting for her to settle comfortably near him before he made the first move. Once she did, even if it took a while, he made painfully awkward, slow shuffling movements, stepping back and letting her follow, stepping to the side as she did the same, et cetera.
It wasn't so bad. "I don't remember the first thing about this sort of thing, okay?" He warned with a crooked grin, letting his dark eyes find her own. He sighed lightly, his breath lifting stray strands of fiery hair from her cheek, and watched her as they moved in chaotic synchronization. It actually wasn't bad at all. It was nice. Slow, calm, tender. He found himself wondering about her, once again. How many moments like this did the girl have?

He had an odd inclination to take it upon himself and make sure she had a handful more of memories like this. If that was their slowly blossoming friendship could offer, Malachi was content with it.

[hr][/fancypost][size=6px][c] lion[/size]

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; border: 0px transparent; width: 490px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9px; color: #000000;]ooc | SCREAMS JAIME LOOK I DID A THING SCREAMING i'm insanely rusty bARE WITH ME

Something serene had come over Bia's son in those last few moments of their entanglement, a sentiment which Malachi was unfamiliar with when unforced; he was usually steeling himself to keep his composure, to keep his volatile energy in check, to remain impalpable. His patience and contentment in this moment wasn't by his own hand, and he was enjoying the hell out of that realization. Was this what slow-dancing was always like, he wondered? Or was it the suddenly easy company of the demigoddess beside him keeping his cool visage genuine?

He didn't know for certain, but for once he was alright with an unanswered question. He was simply enjoying the present, living life in the moment, totally and entirely encompassed in a feeling of contentment and shy affection. But then she was pulling away, pushing him away, abruptly enthralled in something scuttling around in the dirt.

Malachi watched with subtle admiration and scrutiny as the young red-haired woman scooped up a small, fuzzy black insect into her pale, bruised hands. Never before had it been more glaringly obvious who Hadley was the offspring of than in that moment, where her eyes lit up like black starlight as they observed the little caterpillar and swept it away to the safety of the grass. Hadley, your Nature-goddess blood is showing. A crooked grin ghosted across the demigod's jaws as he watched the girl settle down beside her newfound company, completely forgetting about his existence, once again. But he was content, still, to simply watch her. She was fascinating: her hair fell over her shoulders in a waterfall of fiery red as her dark, dusky eyes kept intense watch on the young, soon-to-be butterfly. Her shoulders inclined, her cheeks pink against the early-spring breeze, her legs folded, her spindly frame gracefully arched until she leaned back in the young blades of grass. Weak sunlight spilled down over her gentle figure perched in the newly-born lawn; the picturesque scene was in violent contrast with her personality, but if he hadn't known her, Malachi would have easily confused her for a forest nymph.

It wasn't until his steps carried him to sit beside her that she remembered he was still alive, and a quick apology darted from her soft lips. He shook his head once, his dark locks swaying in the motion as they cascaded down to his chest. "Don't be; that was unbelievably cute." He flashed an easy smile in her direction, still content to watch her and her new fluffy friend, but her next question took him by surprise and his happy face plummeted to the ground. Wait. Did he hear her right?
Why was she asking? Was she normally this intrusive? That wasn't usually a subject broached at a time like this, was it? Things had been going fine, hadn't they? Why did she need to know?

He felt himself bristling, getting unrealistically defensive as bitter, painful, violent memories and heartache threatened to crawl out from the confines of his carefully locked brain. No, no. No. He released a pent up breath, keeping a proverbial choke-hold on the toxic recollections, once again finding himself forcing his calm. His right hand rushed to the small dermal piercing at his collarbone and he curled the silver bead between his index finger and thumb anxiously, desperately trying to find something other than the question at hand to focus on. The car radio was still playing, queer zen music softly flooding from the open windows.

The male realized an intimidating silence had fallen between them in the time it had taken him to recollect his thoughts, but by the time he finally spoke, he managed to keep his voice from shaking, unlike his unoccupied hand. "You ask as if I'm some sort of male prostitute or something," he mused jokingly, attempting a light air and failing. "Singular, not plural. Girlfriend." The last word was unintentionally aggressive, dripping from his lips like poison. He gave himself another moment before muttering softly, "And no; no boyfriends. I don't do dicks."

His eyes fluttered up to the girl, before falling to the ground below and he absentmindedly started picking at the stone he was perched on. What was he supposed to do now? Was she going to ask more questions? Was she really so curious? Why? Malachi could feel a headache blossoming at back of his skull, sending tremors down his spine and making him stiff.

"I... broke... my one and only girlfriend."

He had no fucking clue why he said it. Why in the fuck did he say that? Whatever the reason, those few words came rushing out, uninhibited and without permission, vulnerable and forced. His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard: "She died because of me."

There was a sudden and uneasy tension that crackled to life in the space between the two half-bloods for a moment that seemed like forever, and the son of Bia resolved himself to one thing: they were never doing this again.

[hr][/fancypost][size=6px][c] lion[/size]