- living on borrowed time - log - ota

[conning]

Who: Neal Caffrey, YOOOU
When: Early September to the beginning of the September event. (Rough timelines specified.)
Where: ALL 'ROUND
Summary: Neal scouts out this place in which he's found himself and gets up to some shenanigans, as well as like... having trouble with the local weirdness.
Warnings: None as yet, will add if necessary.



➥ mirror, mirror (throughout the month until event, feel free to make up your own scenario)
He's in an ADI unisex bathroom, washing his hands, and when he looks up the weaselly face of Matthew Keller stares back at him, ashen with surprise, a hole in his forehead dribbling a trail of blood down across his nose.

Neal jerks back, almost tripping over himself in the need to put distance between him and the image.

It happens again later, though this time it's not Keller's face. Neal notices right away. As hypervigilant as he's had to be over the past few months, anything odd in his periphery gets immediate attention.

A decorative mirror behind a bar where he's been integrating himself. Something shifts in it and Neal looks up sharply, to see the space around him popping, melting, burning and reforming, like traditional film held over heat. He closes his eyes tight, blinks them open again--

And now there's Keller, raising a glass, that hole still in his head. He's naked, Y incisions marked across his body, and when he drinks his beer it leaks out of the cuts with blood and pus.

Neal leaves. Quickly.

The third time lasts the longest. It doesn't matter what building he's in, it doesn't matter what room, it doesn't matter what he's doing. Every mirror gives him the same visual, the same hunted feeling. Eyes and smiling teeth, the room gone dim around them, encroaching and retreating and, at one moment, the teeth snapping shut next to his ear.

He whips around at that to find--of course--nothing there.

Deep breath. Reclaimed calm. He flashes the closest person an apologetic smile.

"Didn't sleep well last night."

➥ haunting tunes (ongoing)
He's out for a jog. Minding his own damn business. Flashing a Hollywood smile at anyone he passes, because it doesn't hurt to be remembered as friendly if one is remembered at all.

The song, the memory, it's the feeling of a distant silver arch and the taste of macaroni and cheese made with spaghetti. It's Meet Me in St. Louis, or something very like it, and Neal can't decide whether he's drawn to it or wants to recoil. Either way his steps slow. His mind starts to wander. Maybe he forces himself awake a moment before running into you, or maybe he's dozing at a bus stop, or walking in front of the bus. Maybe he's keeping you from walking in front of a bus. Anyting is fair game.

➥ they'll probably never miss it (THROUGHOUT THE MONTH, he wants nice clothes okay)
Neal does not like his standard issue ADI habiliments. He does not like the mild improvement of thrift store and off-the-rack pieces, which he still knows how to coordinate with a fashionista's practiced eye. Yes, he has the suit he came in, but that's going to wear out fairly quickly if he abuses it and who wants to wear the same thing every day?

To wit, he is stealing stuff. That is to say, he's picking the pockets of obviously (and not as obviously) wealthy pedestrians, focusing his attentions on tourists. Every once in a while he'll snag a particularly fancy watch, necklace, bracelet, et cetera. At one point he even manages a single earring--more for shits and giggles and because he didn't like the way the woman looked at her server than anything else.

He knows what will pay well at a pawn shop, and he's selective, never staying too long in one area from day to day. He's just a friendly resident, making his way through town with curiosity of someone unfamiliar with their new home.

➥ Wildcard
Neal is rapidly coming to the conclusion that he does not like this place. To put it in socially polite terms. As though the mirrors weren't enough, as though the disturbing reflections haven't spread to other surfaces, as though the eerie songs and ghosts of memories haven't made him balk at going outside. Now there's... this. Whatever it is.

Ugh.

Comments

[abrightboy]

Malcolm shrugs a shoulder and turns his cup around in his hands.

“A lot of us have taken a big step down here.”

[conning]

“That’s true.”

It’s an answer!

[abrightboy]

“Yeah.”

The question was too forward, he’s concluded. He messed up. He turns his cup around in his hands restlessly, then looks at Neal, then looks at his cup. “I’m. Um. I should. Get going,” he says, though there’s something reluctant in it. He looks at Neal. “But it was nice to meet you,” he says sincerely.

[conning]

“In a past life, some people might have accused me of been involved in an alleged theft or two,” Neal says quietly. It’s not quite apologetic, but it seems like the roundabout dance isn’t Malcolm’s game. Neal should have guessed that, really, given how their conversation started.

“I might also have been interested in the ways given tests can be circumvented.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm’s expression creases faintly.

“It wasn’t an ultimatum,” he explains apologetically. It wouldn’t have occurred to him that an ultimatum based on his company could work, for one thing.

But it accidentally did and he doesn’t know how to feel about that. A little guilty and a little elated.

He takes a sip of mocha, the fingers of his free hand fidgeting absently at the table top until the cup returns to their reach.

“Do you like working with the FBI?” he ventures, eyes wandering back up to Neal’s face.

[conning]

“Did,” Neal corrects gently, and stops to really think about his answer. The fact that he does stop to think about it annoys him. What the pause gives away annoys him even more.

Finally: “It had its moments.”

A sip of coffee. “Let’s say they took it hard when we broke up.”

[abrightboy]

“Hard is the only way it ever ends with them,” Malcolm concedes sympathetically. “They don’t have much care for what’s outlived its usefulness.”

[conning]

I had the opposite problem.

You’re dangerously easy to talk to.

Note to self.

He blinks, realizing something. “I’m Neal, by the way. Neal Caffrey. I’m in ADI housing.”

[abrightboy]

“Malcolm Bright. Apartment B1. Which building are you in?” In other words, if he has to do his own laundry, is there a chance he’ll at least run into Neal in the laundry room?

[conning]

Neal tilts his head in faint surprise, smiling a little. “A4. Do you happen to know Meredith Idlewild?”

[abrightboy]

That gets Malcolm’s attention.

“She’s my roommate,” he replies. “Are you working with her or did you meet somewhere else?”

[conning]

“We bumped into each other on the street. I helped snap her out of one of those music fugues.”

He just assumes that Malcolm knows what he means by now. Neal keeps his head tilted, studying his companion. Handsome face, stunningly blue eyes. He can’t be lying when he says his psychological business keeps people away. “She invited me over. Now I’ve got even more reason to take her up on it.”

[abrightboy]

He means Malcolm. He’s talking about Malcolm. His face doesn’t know what to do for a second, so it cycles through several things before settling on a smile that directs down into his cup.

Unless.

He looks up as it fades with a realization. “If… you guys are trying to have a date, though… I mean, Tim and I could go out for a bit.”

[conning]

Neal wouldn’t consider himself a bleeding heart. A romantic, sure, and proudly. But he doesn’t think he’s half as kind or gentle as he is.

Neal lifts his cup to tap the edge against Malcolm’s, as though to emphasize the point. “If that’s what I meant, I would have said it.”

[abrightboy]

“…You actually want to see me again?” he questions because… that doesn’t seem like the way things go.

[conning]

Neal’s smile is crooked. “Do you know how often I meet people who are interested in the purpose and origins of cesium testing?”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm laughs, and this time his gaze lingers on Neal with his smile before it drops to his cup. After a second, he looks up again.

“Whennnn do you think you might come by?” And if he happens to be way overdressed for sitting around the house, pretend you don’t notice. He has one suit, which he arrived in, and he wants to make sure it’s been dry cleaned before then…

[conning]

Neal finds himself entirely, dangerously charmed. He's going to need to watch himself, not least because letting his defenses down around Meredith seems like a bad idea. She's sharp, observant, analytical. He likes her, but he doesn't trust her as far as he could throw a truck.

Bad enough that Malcolm is insightful as he is, and as good at puzzling out people as he is. Hopefully their third roommate, Tim, isn't some kind of detective.

"When do you think would be convenient for you and your roommates? I told Meredith I could cook, that we could do some kind of inter-apartment mingle, but I don't mind kicking this off myself."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm’s eyebrows go up fractionally. For some reason he’s surprised. He’s not sure why.

“Most evenings are fine. None of us is really a party animal.” A beat. “You cook? What kind of cooking?” He can make scrambled eggs not horribly.

[conning]

Another one of those long, expansive shrugs. "Whatever takes my fancy, really. I pick up recipes wherever I go, and I've been to a lot of places. Cooking is fun. A kind of art of its own and a small puzzle to go with it."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks interested and a little confused.

“A puzzle? How so?”

[conning]

"Balancing flavors. Compensating when something doesn't go as planned. If you've got multiple guests or someone with food allergies, figuring out how to make something that will appeal while avoiding anything that will make people sick."

Neal smiles a little. "And sometimes when you have a cupboard half-full of random ingredients and don't feel like shopping, you can take what's there and make something good out of the chaos."

[abrightboy]

“Oh.” He considers that. “But you would need to know in advance. Like. If someone in the apartment couldn’t eat something.”

[conning]

Neal raises his eyebrows in silent question, taking a sip of his coffee that's almost as long as the shrug.

[abrightboy]

“…That… must be challenging. When. You meet new people,” Malcolm suggests.