[Mal/Travis] - steampunk revolution

[andlivefreely]

Who: Malachai (PC), Tyrus/Travis
When: Friday, 12th
Where: Phone/Mal's apartment
Before/After: NA
Warnings: Possible swearing, TBA

Mal was growing restless. He'd met Lera's parents that morning, and then puttered around with his constructs, getting started on the lizards he'd promised Gabe, but he was starting to feel more and more alone on Earth. Duncan had shit going on he didn't want to share, Gabe and Lera were in another world, he was running out of people to bother...

So he called up Travis.

Comments

[reference_section]

"Well..." Tyrus knew a little bit about this. He looked down at the rum, swirling his alcohol around in his glass thoughtfully, before he looked back up at Mal. "If you've done it awhile, it's part of who you are. There isn't anything wrong with changing it, but that's probably why it's hard. I think everyone has the things they do automatically. It means you probably can't just flip a switch and do it suddenly. It'll take time and practice. But..."

Could he give advice on Duncan? Tyrus did not know Duncan at all; Travis did and he read those conversations, but they had happened a long time ago, now.

"Level with him, y'know?" he said. "Tell him it's something you're working on. He'd respect him."

[andlivefreely]

"Yeah," Mal said, staring into his glass while he thought it over. It wasn't easy to think out with a booze-adled brain, but he was sure to remember part of the conversation... Right? "Yeah, I'll just... level with him."

Whenever Duncan got around to being willing to talk to him about what was up, at any rate. Mal didn't trust his ability to talk to Duncan calmly without saying something that would upset him.

"Thanks, man," he said, tipping his glass towards Travis. "Sorry to burden you with this crap, it just kinda came out."

[reference_section]

"It's what I do, man." He looked up at Mal, raised his glass up into the air, and grinned. Then, he took a long drink of it and leaned back in the chair. The rum was warm going down.

He could give this sort of advice, he thought, but he was bad at following it. He looked back down into the rum, its color giving his brown eyes a reddish tent when they reflected back up at him.

He repeated, "It's what I do."