log - too tired for title whee - closed to B1 and A4, open to those likely to wander by

[conning]

Who: B1: Closed to Neal and residents; A4: open to B1 and those who wish to poke their heads in because socializing and open doors
When: Early September--on a Sunday and then the following Wednesday. Why the following Wednesday? Idk man I just picked something.
Where: B1 on Sunday, and A4 on Wednesday IG???
Summary: Meredith invited Neal to visit, and Neal suggested making it a mingle for both apartments. Then Malcolm invited Neal over and Neal decided to do a solo trial run or something like that.
Warnings: Not at the moment. except possibly meredith giving neal a shovel talk


B1 - SUNDAY

Okay, well, he meant to make it simple. But then he got carried away, because that's who he is as a person. So here is Neal managing two coolers, one slightly smaller than the other. He has to set one down in order to knock on the door.

The coolers themselves contain tiny servings of about a dozen different dishes, from tiny seasoned steak slices of varying doneness to little onigiri stuffed with lightly salted salmon. If it's stupidly elaborate, feel free to assume there is some dressed-down (read: locally available) version available in miniature.

The other cooler has small bottles of cheap wine and those little paper cups that barely hold a mouthful. He sets the wines with the foods that pair best.

Look this is who he is as a person, okay? At least he's dressed normally--turquoise sweater, close-cut jeans.

[ SUPPLY ACTIVITIES AS YOU WISH, both with Neal and each other. ]


B1/A4/Passerby - FOLLOWING WEDNESDAY

Okay, so the tiny food was a bit much. Only God can judge him.

At least this time it's a plain old cook-out with a grill on the patio of A4. Yes, the grill items include salmon, chicken, and... tofu in several marinades including citrus-chipotle.

Only God can judge him.

There's also a spread of perfectly ordinary salad-shaped objects and tiny pickles et cetera inside on the kitchen counter.

[ SUPPLY ACTIVITIES AS YOU WISH, both with Neal and each other. ]

Comments

[conning]

"I'm thinking they sloshed it around a few times, left it in the sun for a bit," he says sagely, hovering his nose over his own cup to take a whiff. "Definitely worth the eight dollars it went for."

[abrightboy]

“I’d have gone as high as ten if the label has a pretty picture on it,” Malcolm tells him with faux haughtiness. But then he laughs and looks at the cup, turning it this way and that.

“I think a better wine would be… not very this place,” he declares, looking up at Neal.

[conning]

Neal lifts his shoulders in a prolonged shrug. "Life shrinks or expands in proportion with one’s imagination. I think Anaïs Nin might object to my misquoting, but the sentiment is still true."

[abrightboy]

The thought sobers Malcolm a little and he takes a sip of wine before gesturing to the table.

“So… what did you bring with chicken?”

i'm too lazy to research this rn ok

[conning]

Neal points it out, explaining the ingredients, his substitutions, the dish's history, where he learned it. (This one in a little town outside of Berlin.) He can't help it, once he gets going. He loves talking about these things, and Malcolm has already proved himself an interested audience.

It’s always ok

[abrightboy]

And he follows the explanation, rapt, until it’s over and he picks one up, popping it in his mouth, nodding appreciatively.

“I can taste the gouda.”

[conning]

The expression on Malcolm's face as he listens gives Neal that giddy little flutter he's been trying very, very hard to ignore.

He samples a serving of the chicken himself, trying to think of something to say. He doesn't have trouble with small talk, but small talk doesn't feel right. They've already shared something heartbreaking. Backpedaling from there seems... wrong, somehow.

"It's been nice, in Paris, refreshing some of my skills. There were things in New York that were harder for me to get. Definitely some techniques I wanted to try that I couldn't with the equipment available."

[abrightboy]

“What sort of equipment did you have there that you couldn’t find in New York?” he asks curiously.

[conning]

Off he goes again, talking about specially designed equipment that achieves very specific textures or flavoring effects.

Half-way into explaining something that uses liquid nitrogen to flash-freeze desserts, he stops abruptly. “You don’t have to listen to all this.”

Does Neal look a little awkward for the first time, a little embarrassed? Maybe.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm, who was listening intently, blinks at the interruption.

“…Oh. Well. Can I anyway?” he asks.

neal, internally: FFFFFFFF--

[conning]

Neal gathers a breath to answer, taking a moment to steady himself, and then says, "What about you? You spotted me out there, profiled me, worked with the FBI for years. You consult now. What do you do for fun?"

[abrightboy]

“You just listed them all,” he jokes, then relents. “Okay, um. I collect antique weapons. I play squash recreationally. I throw axes competitively. I… read. Mostly about psychology and murder and the psychology of murder.”

[conning]

"You throw axes." It's both interested and incredulous. "I can hardly critique your reading when most of mine is history or art or the history of art. What kind of weapons?"

[abrightboy]

“All kinds. Blades mostly, but not exclusively. I have a morning star from the thirteenth century. And a collection of broad bladed axes of varying age and provenance that I occasionally throw,” he admits.

[conning]

"Battle axes or hewing?" Yes, Malcolm, he is very clearly and genuinely interested.

[abrightboy]

“Hewing. A couple of them are left handed, which is rare,” he explains. “But I don’t throw those in competition; they have special axes for that.”

[conning]

"What's the difference?" It's not a flippant question, it's genuinely curious. He adds, after a moment, "Between left-handed axes, and with axes used in competition."

[abrightboy]

“Hewing axes are only beveled on one side, so they’re handed. Competition throwing axes are designed… for throwing. The weight distribution, the edge of the blade, the shape of the handle. They’re optimized for that purpose,” he explains.

[conning]

Neal rests the small of his back against the counter, his curiosity piqued. “How did you get into axe-throwing?”

However Malcolm answers that, Neal will hit him with a flood tide of questions about weapon-related minutiae.

[abrightboy]

He opens his mouth and closes it and looks down before looking up at Neal again.

“After my father was arrested, I had to give up my… main extracurricular. Other kids’ parents weren’t comfortable having me in the class. So I had to find something I could do by myself.”

[conning]

That sobers Neal, his expression shifting to something like concern. It's not pity, that's clear enough. "Ah. Parents can be as bad as kids, sometimes."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm nods. "The kids were bad, too, though. I got beat up after school a lot." He slips his hands in his pockets. "And at school. On occasion."

[conning]

"I was pretty good at ducking bullies," Neal says. There's no particular fondness or animosity in the statement. It's just a fact. "And pretty good at convincing bullies that other bullies stole their lunch money. They kept me in candy bars until sixth grade."

The reality is that he used the money for lunch himself, but that's not worth sharing, for so many reasons.

[abrightboy]

"I took up Aikido and competitive axe throwing," Malcolm tells him. "And kept to myself."

The boy who ached for connection still aches for connection and is still also afraid of it.

"It was safer that way."

He wanted in. That didn't mean he ever got in.

[conning]

"Why don't you go back to it now?" It's less of a question, more of a suggestion. "Your main extracurricular, I mean. New world, new opportunities. I know I liked it when I picked up pool again."