lvcid
Elder Member
malcolm.
“Is that Reggie?”
Malcolm was slumped on the floor behind the counter at Cloud 9, back against the wall as he hummed an annoyingly persistent Christmas song that’d been stuck in the back of his mind for nearly a week now, and it was barely December. Diana’s question broke his train of thought, though, and his voice faltered, gaze flickering over to her with furrowed brows as he clumsily got to his feet to have a look around the store.
Cloud 9 was a relatively small establishment, and from where the two stood at the register, they could see all four corners of the room—an undoubtedly intentional design, given the high demand of their products. Even the rich stole sometimes, and the dispensary’s owner evidently wasn’t one to take chances.
Mal leaned forward slightly, palms flat on the countertop as red-rimmed eyes peered past long lashes. He frowned, blinking, then tilted his head to the side as if a new angle would help him better discern the identity of the figure standing across the space, facing away from them. “Shit, I dunno,” Malcolm decided. He was too high for this. So was Diana. “What’d he be doing back here?”
Before he left Star Point, Reggie had made it abundantly clear he no longer wanted anything to do with it or the people that lived there, namely them, along with Josie. Perhaps Crystal Peak was a different story, but what was the likelihood that he’d stop by on a day his old friends would be working?
Any doubt that remained regarding whether or not that was Reggie standing before them dissipated as the man strode in their direction, face eerily devoid of any readable emotion, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary for him. The small talk was.
“Have you seen Morgan lately?” Diana asked after a while, a seemingly innocent question about the long-absent fifth member of their disbanded group, but Reggie tensed. “How is she?”
“Why should I know?” Reggie demanded. “It’s not my job to keep tabs on her. We broke up a long time ago.”
“It was just a question, man,” Malcolm interjected, speaking before Diana could. “We’re not trying to accuse you of getting back with your ex or anything.” He accentuated his words with an uneasy laugh.
“Good, because I didn’t. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
Morgan had essentially vanished off the face of the Earth, and Reggie didn’t seem to care all that much that the girl he once claimed to love had dropped every means of contact. Then again, he didn’t care about a lot of things—not outwardly, anyway.
Mal made a noise, some form of quiet acknowledgment but really just an excuse to fill the tense silence that had settled between the three of them like cartoonishly brewing storm clouds over their heads. The fingers of Malcolm’s right hand found purchase on the edge of the counter, and he tapped out a rhythm.
Reggie glanced down, noting Mal’s nervous fidgeting and took it as his sign to leave.
As soon as the man was out of ear shot, Malcolm’s face swiveled toward Diana, bearing an expression somewhere between shock and amusement. “That was weird, right?” he asked. “Like, that bitch has always been crazy, but that felt extra shady.”
“Arf!”
A small, fluffy head peeked up over the arm of the couch, where Nana sat watching old Judge Judy reruns, Chester no longer curled neatly in her lap but staring at Malcolm with resentment in his beady eyes.
They’d interrupted the beast’s beauty sleep.
“Go, go!” Mal whisper-yelled, urging Diana and Josie toward the door, but Chester was hot on their trail, nipping at their heels all the way outside.
As Chester scrambled across the old wooden porch, intent on flinging himself into the snow, Malcolm side-stepped, blocking the dog’s path at the risk of his own ankles suffering the consequences. “Get your rat-lookin’ ass back in the house,” Mal said, scooping the Yorkshire Terrier up and plopping him down on the warmer side of the threshold. “As much as I would love to let you freeze to death, Nana would kill me.”
“You got that right!” came the old woman’s voice from within.
Malcolm laughed humorlessly with an exasperated shake of his head. It was a losing battle he’d come to accept his role of defeat in. He stuck a foot out, gently sliding Chester further away from the door with the toe of his boot before closing him up inside, much to his dismay, which he vocalized, even through the door, in a drawn-out growl.
“Little bitch,” Mal murmured, sucking on the side of his index finger, which was now adorned in a new nick the size of Chester’s tooth. With his other hand, Malcolm locked the door’s hand set, then clipped his keys to the front belt loop of his cargo pants and hopped off the porch, landing in the snow with a soft crunch.
It was chilly, but not unbearably cold yet—the blizzard wasn’t predicted to arrive until much later that night, maybe the early hours of the next day, if they were lucky—and it was fairly decent weather for a long walk, even if Mal would inevitably change his tune once they got halfway up the mountain. For now, he appreciated the brisk wind. It distracted from the sting of the bite mark on his skin.
“Ready?” Malcolm asked, already beginning to back down the short driveway.
Malcolm was slumped on the floor behind the counter at Cloud 9, back against the wall as he hummed an annoyingly persistent Christmas song that’d been stuck in the back of his mind for nearly a week now, and it was barely December. Diana’s question broke his train of thought, though, and his voice faltered, gaze flickering over to her with furrowed brows as he clumsily got to his feet to have a look around the store.
Cloud 9 was a relatively small establishment, and from where the two stood at the register, they could see all four corners of the room—an undoubtedly intentional design, given the high demand of their products. Even the rich stole sometimes, and the dispensary’s owner evidently wasn’t one to take chances.
Mal leaned forward slightly, palms flat on the countertop as red-rimmed eyes peered past long lashes. He frowned, blinking, then tilted his head to the side as if a new angle would help him better discern the identity of the figure standing across the space, facing away from them. “Shit, I dunno,” Malcolm decided. He was too high for this. So was Diana. “What’d he be doing back here?”
Before he left Star Point, Reggie had made it abundantly clear he no longer wanted anything to do with it or the people that lived there, namely them, along with Josie. Perhaps Crystal Peak was a different story, but what was the likelihood that he’d stop by on a day his old friends would be working?
Any doubt that remained regarding whether or not that was Reggie standing before them dissipated as the man strode in their direction, face eerily devoid of any readable emotion, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary for him. The small talk was.
“Have you seen Morgan lately?” Diana asked after a while, a seemingly innocent question about the long-absent fifth member of their disbanded group, but Reggie tensed. “How is she?”
“Why should I know?” Reggie demanded. “It’s not my job to keep tabs on her. We broke up a long time ago.”
“It was just a question, man,” Malcolm interjected, speaking before Diana could. “We’re not trying to accuse you of getting back with your ex or anything.” He accentuated his words with an uneasy laugh.
“Good, because I didn’t. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
Morgan had essentially vanished off the face of the Earth, and Reggie didn’t seem to care all that much that the girl he once claimed to love had dropped every means of contact. Then again, he didn’t care about a lot of things—not outwardly, anyway.
Mal made a noise, some form of quiet acknowledgment but really just an excuse to fill the tense silence that had settled between the three of them like cartoonishly brewing storm clouds over their heads. The fingers of Malcolm’s right hand found purchase on the edge of the counter, and he tapped out a rhythm.
Reggie glanced down, noting Mal’s nervous fidgeting and took it as his sign to leave.
As soon as the man was out of ear shot, Malcolm’s face swiveled toward Diana, bearing an expression somewhere between shock and amusement. “That was weird, right?” he asked. “Like, that bitch has always been crazy, but that felt extra shady.”
“Arf!”
A small, fluffy head peeked up over the arm of the couch, where Nana sat watching old Judge Judy reruns, Chester no longer curled neatly in her lap but staring at Malcolm with resentment in his beady eyes.
They’d interrupted the beast’s beauty sleep.
“Go, go!” Mal whisper-yelled, urging Diana and Josie toward the door, but Chester was hot on their trail, nipping at their heels all the way outside.
As Chester scrambled across the old wooden porch, intent on flinging himself into the snow, Malcolm side-stepped, blocking the dog’s path at the risk of his own ankles suffering the consequences. “Get your rat-lookin’ ass back in the house,” Mal said, scooping the Yorkshire Terrier up and plopping him down on the warmer side of the threshold. “As much as I would love to let you freeze to death, Nana would kill me.”
“You got that right!” came the old woman’s voice from within.
Malcolm laughed humorlessly with an exasperated shake of his head. It was a losing battle he’d come to accept his role of defeat in. He stuck a foot out, gently sliding Chester further away from the door with the toe of his boot before closing him up inside, much to his dismay, which he vocalized, even through the door, in a drawn-out growl.
“Little bitch,” Mal murmured, sucking on the side of his index finger, which was now adorned in a new nick the size of Chester’s tooth. With his other hand, Malcolm locked the door’s hand set, then clipped his keys to the front belt loop of his cargo pants and hopped off the porch, landing in the snow with a soft crunch.
It was chilly, but not unbearably cold yet—the blizzard wasn’t predicted to arrive until much later that night, maybe the early hours of the next day, if they were lucky—and it was fairly decent weather for a long walk, even if Mal would inevitably change his tune once they got halfway up the mountain. For now, he appreciated the brisk wind. It distracted from the sting of the bite mark on his skin.
“Ready?” Malcolm asked, already beginning to back down the short driveway.
let it snow
dean martin
♡coded by uxie♡
