Log - OTA! - What’s the difference between a corpse and a shirt?

[bossyboiler]

Who: Everyone.
When: Wednesday evening, Jan 11th
Where: A rented out bar, downtown.
Summary: The wake for George Milton.
Warnings: N/A (will update as needed)

If anyone of the forcibly kidnapped to Gloucester deserved to be remembered, it was George Milton. In many ways, he was the best of them. He had been kind. He had always been willing to help and lend a hand. Unlike some whose first choice was violence (because what else was there), he had chosen to forgo that route and had come up with a much more clever solution. The solution saved lives.

It had not felt right to have a formal service for him. To put it simply, he was not a formal person. And so after much calling around, a bar had been found where they could rent out the entire place before business got too busy. It was just for a couple of hours. People could come and say nice things about George. It's what he deserved after all.

So come on in, have a beer or two, and sit a spell. Maybe you'll feel like sharing a story about George or maybe you're just there to pay your respects. There's a break in the weather, the clouds only filling up half of the nighttime sky. No acid snow for tonight.

Comments

Malcolm Bright and/or Neal Caffrey; OTA

[abrightboy]

Malcolm is devastated. Devastated. Unlike the close friends and family that had disappeared, whose fates weren't certain - whose fates were even more uncertain in the wake of Tim's return - George is dead. Malcolm knows with the lead weight of certainty, because he'd seen the body. He found it, in fact. That part doesn't bother him, really. Dead bodies are a day on the job where he's from. But he's taking the loss of George hard and he does not stray more than a few steps away from Neal. He's nursing a glass of whiskey through the evening and he's much quieter than usual. He listens to people's stories, he watches, he thinks. He doesn't touch the food.

Both is good.

[bossyboiler]

Kate has been waiting for Malcolm to arrive. She knew that Neal would be with him but she's not really worried about Neal. She is worried about Malcolm and how he's doing after he told her he had found George's body.

She catches him when he is about a step and a half away from Neal. Kate goes in for a hug whether he likes it or not. He needs one.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm awkwardly pats her elbow with the hand not holding his drink, but looks around for Neal - he got too far away from Neal - with wide eyes looking for help.

[bossyboiler]

Kate lets him go and then steps back. "Hey. I've been worried about you." She follows Malcolm's gaze over to Neal and then turns her undivided attention back to Malcolm. "How are you?"

[conning]

Neal hasn't gone far. He wouldn't dare, not in this situation, not when Malcolm is so fractured with everything going on. Neal has George's note to him folded into one pocket, and he keeps reaching into it to touch the seams of the folds. He's caught in a moment of staring into space, fingers on the paper, when Kate goes in for the hug. Malcolm's look gets his attention and he joins the two of them, reaching for Malcolm's free hand. He kisses the other man's temple and offers Kate a small, fatigued smile.

Malcolm hasn't been sleeping well, which means he hasn't either.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm presses his lips together, but the tension in his frame eases a little when Neal takes his hand and kisses his temple.

“I’ve been better,” he actually answers honestly. “But I’m okay,” he lies.

[bossyboiler]

She acknowledges Neal joining them. Kate smiles at him. "Hi Neal." She thinks it's sweet that Neal is tending to Malcolm who clearly needs it.

"Malcolm..." You don't look okay. You look sick and tired and tired of being sick and tired. She presses her lips together, just a little bit unsure of how to proceed. No one likes to be called out on their bullshit. Should she press him? "Are you sure? You'be been through a lot."

[abrightboy]

"I think I would know," Malcolm tells her, with less kindness than usual. But he barely takes a breath and then says "I'm sorry," right away, holding up a hand. "Everything has just been... a lot," he concedes.

[bossyboiler]

Malcolm has never been rude to her before and she is taken aback. She isn't sure how to respond so it's a good thing that he apologizes. Kate might have escalated the situation... might have.

"It has." She agrees slowly. "It's been a lot for everyone but some more than others." She continues meaning Malcolm specifically.

[conning]

"This might not be the most productive discussion right now," Neal says softly. He's worried about Malcolm too. Deeply. The way he snaps at Kate certainly doesn't assuage the worry, but he can't see this going well given where they are right now. Instead, he asks, "Did George come to this bar? Is that why you picked it?"

[abrightboy]

“He played poker and darts here sometimes,” Malcolm says quietly. “He invited me sometimes.”

Neal would know how that affected him, someone inviting him to a ‘guys night’ just because he wanted him there. That didn’t happen to Malcolm.

He closes his eyes for a moment, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.

[bossyboiler]

"That sounds like George." Kate looks at Neal to answer his question. "It was Donna who booked the place. I'm glad it means something to him and he was comfortable here." She keeps most of her attention on Malcolm. Her heart is very sad for him. It's clear that they were really very good friends. She can't imagine what he's going through especially with having found George's body.

[conning]

"Well done Donna," Neal says softly, making a note to tell the woman as much himself later. They haven't talked much, but he's seen her information-gathering posts.

Neal puts an arm around Malcolm, drawing him closer a little protectively. He does know how much it meant. He couldn't avoid knowing even if he wanted to, with how nervous Malcolm was beforehand and how excited he was after. He presses a kiss against Malcolm's temple. "Maybe we can start up a poker night again."

Either one or both!

[ployboy]

Tim's found a way to stick to his purpose: he moves plates of food here and there depending on where the crowd migrates, he picks up and takes out trash before the bins get too full for the sake of appearances, he even announces the upcoming curfew for the sake of whoever that might inconvenience tonight. He's dressed neat enough despite heavy jeans, though he wonders if the detachment he's felt during the whole thing is sensible or simply the accumulation of too many similar experiences.

Naturally, eventually, he goes to join the familiar faces.

The first thing he does approaching is reach a hand for a momentarily unattended glass of whiskey. It's worth a try.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm’s eyes are shiny with unshed tears when he turns at the movement at the corner of his vision, but he sags a little with relief that it’s Tim.

“Oh hi.” He frowns faintly, gesturing towards his own glass in Tim’s hand. “I thought you didn’t like that stuff.” His voice is shaky and he has no idea whether Tim is still 18 and it seems insensitive to ask. Tim’s touchy about the whole being disappeared thing. “Do… you want some juice or someth… chocolate milk?” A beat. “Red Bull?”

welp here we go again, cw underage?? drinking

[ployboy]

The accumulation of too many similar experiences is what keeps Tim from hurting more from seeing Malcolm like that. Tim's expression smooths to tangible understanding of what he supposes Malcolm must be feeling, all of him in the present and eyes meeting his before Tim drums his fingers against the glass.

He lifts it. "When did I say that I didn't like... whatever this is?" he presses, seizing the moment to (elegantly) steal the sip.

Whiskey, it turns out, is worse than wine. Whiskey tastes tart, and like regret. Tim does not pull a face, though he stills for a second before setting the glass back in Malcolm's hands. It's a strong drink, and Tim can see the benefit of, like, downing a bottle.

Okay.

Uh.

"I'll... get some water later," he says, admitting defeat. He rocks back on his heels, not wanting to fidget and not wanting to seem childish either. "Hey, Malcolm?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm is looking down into his drink, but returns his attention to Tim at his name.

“Mm?”

[ployboy]

The privilege of growing up, one that Tim has his wars with, right now just means it's easier to do what he wants and not care what anybody else may think.

It's a little awkward, physically, because Malcolm is sitting and Tim is not, but he embraces the man regardless. He's careful of Malcolm's hands, he's careful to not press tight until or unless there's some permission. But Tim also just as quickly makes himself comfortable with pressing one side of his head to Malcolm's. He says, "It hurts to lose a friend this way. I know. And I'm so sorry, Malcolm. I know George was a friend of yours."

[abrightboy]

It surprises him, that Tim hugs him. Not in the same way that Kate’s hug surprised him… though he also isn’t always sure Tim likes him either. But he returns it with his free arm, squeezing his eyes shut.

“The others might be alive,” he whispers back. “You are. You came back. But George is dead. Really dead. I didn’t even know he went to that fight.”

[ployboy]

Fondness floods him, and Tim can't find it in himself to feel bad for feeling comfort in his own gesture. His body moves on its own accord and Tim's hand touches the back of Malcolm's head just for a moment before he pulls back, a loose grip, a connection, still on Malcolm's shoulders. The others might be alive. "Maybe," Tim agrees and he doesn't say that maybe not.

l̵o̸n̴e̵l̷i̵n̶e̷s̷s̶ ̸+̴ ̸a̶l̸i̶e̴n̴a̷t̶i̵o̴n̷ ̵+̷ ̷f̸e̷a̷r̸

George is dead. There is no death until you see the body, though.

d̴̡͙̝̘̩͍͇̈́̇̽ȩ̶͇̹͍̯̻͆̏͘s̶̝̦̥̞̾̒̚͠p̸̡͓̬̱̪̌̀̔̊̊́͘ȃ̷͈ͅi̵̬͎̪̲͒͊̀́̊r̶̫̍̈͊ ̷͙̙̋͠͠+̷̫͐͊̄ ̵͓̹͚͑͜s̴̡̲̩̤͈͆͐̈́̃̑̀͠ͅĕ̴̡̻̱͛̌͑̒̿̅l̷̝͖̫̦̤͈͈̈́̓͌̀̓f̴̘̲͇̝̝̪͋͑̌̈̉̈́̕-̶̛̤̯͉͇̍̍͑͊͂̆w̸͓̌͛̍͆ṏ̴̲͉̦̬́͗̃r̶̼̬̳̿͂̅́͗͘̚ͅt̵̗̤̼͝ẖ̷̫̌̅͝ ̴̝̱̞̌̃̀̌̈́̒̔÷̸̨͍͍̟̈́̈́́̑̕͠ ̷̮͚̻̘͉̻̙͗͒͋m̷̱̯͛̋̂̂̃̚͠o̷̟̦̜̎̈́̑̓̏͜c̶͚̺̳̺͇̙͚̓̂͋̍k̴̯̠̽̂̽͜e̵̝͋͛͛͜͝r̶̙̉̄̚y̶͇͓̞̅͐̈́ͅ ̶̫̦̘̙͍̫̪͆̑÷̵͚͂̿̌͜͝͠

And sometimes not even then.

Tim can't get the image of Conner out of his mind for a second and he has to look away, remember to breathe. A big fight, a big hero, a bigger sacrifice. Tim can't even say this man's death was for the greater good because, well, he's missing some big details here.

At least the man's at peace. In a better place: unconscious.

But that's just callous, man, Tim's not gonna say it.

c̸̡̹̬̊̀͊̉͂̚ọ̶̲̹̦̾̓͝ͅn̶̢̧̖͎̰̝̞̺̦̎̃̿̋́̆̃̈́̕d̷͙͚̘̄͗́̽͛̕͝͠é̶̢̧̤̦͕̰̠̬̻̩̬̊͛m̴̧͎̬͈̘̞̱̣͇͕̫̌́̃͌ņ̵̨͍̯̏̆̍́͋̈̀̒͌a̸̢̛̫͙̟̪̬͍̰͈̐͆̆̿̆̒͐̇̿͠t̴̳͆̓͐̓̉̽̈͘i̵͍̳̺̲͗o̸̯̪̾͒ͅͅṋ̴̢̼̯̘͓̜̖̃͂̈̒̈́̂̿̂̓ͅ ̷̳̺͚̥̊÷̵̡̱̘́̒̌͌̽̒͜ ̴͍͔̪̼̙̹̺̔̓͋͝m̸̺̞̝̖̬̰̺̖̪͉͛̅̉͗̾i̵̢̬͓̩̳̦͈͓̻̹̾̾̆́̀̓̈͗̇̈́͝s̷̤̳̮̅͌̀̎̓̐̍͑̆̃ȕ̸͎̗̲̀́̊ň̸͎̞͑d̴̰͔̻͗̿̍̎͗́̌̕̚͝ḛ̵̃͝r̷̢̦̱̳̖͇̜̈́̆̊͋͌͆̐̈́̎̈ş̷̛̱̆͆̒́̌̑̄͘͠ț̶̡̢̰͕̤̰̓̎̿͒͑̈́͜͠a̴̛͇͍̼̞̗͎͙̗̔̾͑̆͘ņ̶͇̣̽̈

"It feels different, doesn't it?" he murmurs.

[abrightboy]

"Different than just absence?" He nods, the hand that wrapped around Tim in kind now loosely gripping his elbow still. "But it's just... added on top. Almost everyone that was a family here with me is gone now. It's still better than... going back. Neal is still here." He looks around to find him nearby with his eyes before turning back to Tim, like he wants to make sure he didn't jinx it by saying so. He would never have something that good in his life at home. "But it's not like it was."

[ployboy]

He slides smoothly into a seat, subdued and the world welcoming and gray. There's a lot to unpack and address, and a lot to commiserate.

"You really rather stay here?"

[abrightboy]

“Yeah. Since really early on. But.” He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s on purpose. Them bringing people and then taking them. To feed.” He looks at Tim. “I mourned you.”

[ployboy]

He lets out a breath at that theory. It's as soft as incredulity will let him make it, because if that's the Fears doing their thing, his world has a lot more to answer for.

Tim looks down at his shoes, finally releasing his weak hold on the closet connection he has here. "I think that's just how things are," he argues. Mildly.

People come, they go.

They go, and go.

He's still looking down at his shoes when he says, "I'm usually the one mourning others. If you knew me before... you'd just be saying I took a wrong turn backpacking through Europe."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm doesn’t release his.

“I didn’t know you before. I thought we were building something here.”