(Untitled)

[spooky_shrink]

Malcolm Crowe comes in from the back, dressed in the jogging suit he's been in a lot lately. Still in training, apparently, and his regimen is starting to have an effect. Malcolm may never be buff, but at least he's starting to look in shape

Comments

[petraarkanian]

Petra pokes at her food nearby. The bar is still refusing to give her the key, she assumes the food before her is the qualification to get it. She frowns as she looks at the food.

[spooky_shrink]

"Hi." Malcolm notices her frowning from his seat at the bar.

He smiles slightly. "Sometimes Bar has her own ideas. Or seems to, anyway."

[petraarkanian]

Petra starts at the sound of the voice and falls out of her chair in an attempt to get up.

[spooky_shrink]

Startled, Malcolm instinctively lunges forward, reaching for her arm in the hope of keeping her from falling too hard.

[didntseeit]

"Trying to please a girl?" The voice is young, with a warmth from Mexico even though the accent isn't that noticable.

The voice is also amused.

[spooky_shrink]

Malcolm grins. "More like trying to make sure I feel my age and not twenty years older."

[didntseeit]

"And is it working, senor?"

[spooky_shrink]

"Well." *wheeze* "Not yet."

"This will either get me healthy or kill me." He chuckles. "Again."

"I'm just not sure which it will be yet."

[randomsbastard]

You know how every time you want to lose some weight, start exercising, that sort of thing, you run into one of those guys? The kind that, for instance, sit down right next to you and your glass of water and proceed to order enough food to feed a small town and then work their way through it as though tomorrow eating becomes illegal and they're going to follow the law?

Yeah. They're always skinny gits, too.

[spooky_shrink]

Malcolm doesn't glare. Not really.

But the thought does cross his mind.

"Hungry?" he says, managing, thanks to years of practice, to keep his voice dispassionate. Mostly.

[randomsbastard]

"Always." Is the dry response, and green eyes glance over at Malcolm. Martin isn't angry.

He's just perpetually looking like someone ready to attack the world.

[spooky_shrink]

Malcolm eyes Martin's plate. Especially the two steaks. And that asparagus, just drowning in butter. Malcolm shuts his eyes and looks away. Too late. His id is already screaming for a steak.

Deciding to embrace the masochism he asks, "How's the steak tonight?"

Maybe his appetite will let him get away with living vicariously.

[watcher_g_man]

He might recognize the man lounging in the bar nearby with a pint. Or not.

Considering the rougher look with his hair, the leather jacket, and the fact he was smoking.

[spooky_shrink]

Malcolm might be squinting ever so slightly.

He's seen the man before. He's sure of it. But Malcolm can't quite place him.

[watcher_g_man]

The man then yelled to a rat, "Oy! Rat. Another pint."

He stubbed out his current fag, and immediately went to light another.

[spooky_shrink]

Oh, my god...

And now Malcolm is staring. Perhaps not quite rudely, but there may be a mouth hanging open in disbelief.