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Malcolm Carey, Pecari
But not other kinds?
Thu Jun 13, 2013 22:11

The summer had been strange for Mal. For the first time in his life, as far as he could remember, anyway, he had not been the center of attention at home. His mother had been so delighted with what she perceived as Lucille’s breakthrough into social success – a pretty poor breakthrough, in his opinion, which no one had asked – and all her mind had been on his sister. Lucille had been given clothes, allowed visits with the cousins she was particular friends with, whatever she wanted except enough to eat and a little peace – she had been put on a special diet and given all sorts of beauty treatments, or what purported to be beauty treatments, anyway. The fact of the matter, in his opinion, was that Lu just wasn’t pretty, and gone thinner, with her hair curled and face painted and all, she had put him in mind of nothing so much as a half-plucked, half-baked chicken. Mother had been delighted with it all, though, and had ignored him almost entirely except when he was right in front of her, and sometimes even then.

Alas, all good things had had to end. Lucille, overwhelmed, had given a bunch of the dresses to Theresa, and Mother had spotted the South Carolina girl wearing one of them at the Reunion. He thought she might have been more offended by the fact that Theresa had had it altered beyond just what was necessary to make up for differences between her and Lucille’s physiques, but either way, Mother had been furious, and he had been back to being the favorite for the last three weeks. It had been horrific. He had been so annoyed that he’d sneaked some cookies to his sister and then saw to it Mother walked in on her eating them, getting her in further trouble just for spite. Having to listen to all the tense, whispered, neurotic speeches about how he had to make sure to watch Lucille at school because of her untrustworthy, Father-like character afterward had been worth it, though admittedly, it had helped as he listened to think of how much more fun the memory would make making up a pack of lies every time he wrote home for the next few months. Writing letters home was as close to a bonding experience as he and Lucille had ever really had, and Mal was proud of himself for how successfully he had corrupted his only full sibling in that way last year. With time and further drawing-away from being such a prim, sniveling creature, he thought she might even turn into a human being.

In Potions, he tried not to let his expression glaze over too much as Professor Fawcett gave a predictable speech and was glad he hadn’t when he heard they were doing something different today. If he had not been paying a little attention, he was pretty sure it would have become obvious at that point, and he did like to try not to look like an idiot. He walked along, near the back of the pack, to the front of the school, where he was, grudgingly, impressed.

He listened to the lesson with more interest than he had the opening speech, but with a bit more disappointment, feeling the lesson was probably just a time-killer meant to burn some energy out of the first years. Once it was concluded, he decided he was not really the helpful sort and that he did not feel like making polite chitchat with any of his fellows until he had made a start on what he had to do, so he had just recorded his first number on his own when something large, person-sized, hit him, sending him into a turn which only didn’t turn into a fall because he managed to grab one of the fake branches nearby. That made him trip, too, though, because he had expected it not to be solid, and he landed in a sitting position on the ground, which he immediately leapt up from, silently cursing, sure he would be all dirt along the backs of his new robes and light colored suit. He had scuffed his right shoe, too; he knew there was a reason he loathed being outdoors sometimes, even, apparently, outdoors that weren't really outdoors at all.

“Just smashing,” he said when the girl asked about his recently-imperiled health, then took a breath. "And you?" he asked, gentleman-like. His sister's favorite thing to throw at him, when he could provoke her into a real argument, was that he was no gentleman, a weary inversion of their mother's favorite term of praise for him, but she admitted when she was being almost human that he could play one when he wanted to. He was still baffled that he had actually won it in the yearbook, though. "I think you took a harder fall than I did," he added, trying not to be too obvious about brushing himself off.

  • We always enjoy these types of games!Emery and Chloe Jareau, Aladren/Pecari, Thu Jun 13 21:20
    Emery was aware that the staff knew he was the Headmistress’s sonjust as they had likely concurred that Chloe was her daughter. Some of them might have met him at his mother’s wedding to Chloe’s... more
    • But not other kinds? — Malcolm Carey, Pecari, Thu Jun 13 22:11
      • Depends on what they are.Chloe Jareau, Sat Jun 15 21:39
        Chloe could recognize sarcasm when it came out so straightforward to her. If one was subtle and hid it behind something like a compliment, she probably could have missed it, but she picked up on his... more
        • How do you feel about word searches?Mal Carey, Wed Jun 19 18:59
          The girl did not appear to be injured, and Mal did not believe he or his clothes had been permanently injured, so all was well that ended well. Except that it hadn’t ended yet. Well, he never had... more
          • I'm better at those than this.Chloe, Wed Jul 3 15:52
            Well, so far Malcolm did not seem terribly upset at her for knocking him over. That was good. And he didn’t seem perturbed by the encounter to consider it a terrible first impression. That was a... more
            • They can both be hard to see throughMal, Fri Jul 12 22:16
              Mal resisted the temptation to tell Chloe to feel free to fall into anyone else she liked. With most people, he would have gone ahead and done it, but she was possibly related to the Headmistress.... more
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