Catch Me If You Can (Malcom)

[Samuel Rixon]

Sam couldn’t help it. The weather was finally nice enough to shed a few (hundred) layers of clothing. He could actually go outside in less than a long sleeved shirt, two hoodies, and a heavy winter jacket. He was running around the campus in a long sleeved baseball style shirt and jeans that were riding low on his hips, flashing the very top of his boxers to the rest of his fellow students.

Classy creature, really.

He’d been zooming around campus looking for somewhere nice to tuck away for a little while. Being that classes were out for the day, he was legitimately allowed to be outside, enjoying the sunshine with the other students. But he wasn’t out on the grass playing Frisbee, nor was he studying under a tree. He wasn’t playing soccer, and he definitely wasn’t outside just for the fresh air.

No, he was being good and not smoking weed in his room.

He’d already received multiple warnings. Mostly from Dr. Neville whenever he happened to end up in front of him for yet another punishment (that was totally Vincent’s fault anyway). He’d never been caught in the act, per se, but he’d certainly come close, and the general reek of his room and clothes were enough proof that he at the very least spent time around the stuff.

So, he found himself a nice cozy corner of the courtyard, veiled only slightly in shadows from the school, and lit up a little roll he’d made in his room. Lots of the older students smoked. Only that was the ‘normal’ kind of smoking, not the kind he preferred. But he was nineteen now, dammit. It was plenty old enough to make adult decisions about things like drugs. (But the chances of him actually admitting to weed being a drug were slim to none.)

The pyro closed his eyes, enjoying the heat and the sweet smoke swirling into his lungs. Yeah, today was a good day.

[Malcom Black]

The weather was really nice. It was. But that didn’t seem to matter, because Malcom’s mood was terrible. It came from being on the wagon once again. It was much, much harder to get back on when you’d taken a break, and he was just now beginning to experience the full effects of…well, trying to get back on track. It didn’t particularly help that he’d also switched to the morning shift in an attempt to fully transition into a normal life. The combination of a lack of sleep and a general itchiness to gamble was making him pretty irritable.

He’d been managing on his own so far. He’d stayed away from most of the students and had not looked for anything that would make him upset. That was what had taken him outside to the courtyard, where it was usually pretty peaceful, even after class. Besides, most of them were probably going to be willing to either stay inside and play video games or go misbehaving around the town. The courtyard was bound to be safe, right? So he’d taken a little stroll, breathing in the fresh air and relaxing a little. That was, until a particular scent hit his nostrils.

Having nine siblings had introduced Malcom to all sorts of people and all sorts of situations. Although he hadn’t been a big recreational drug user himself—he’d always viewed alcohol as a suitable poison, personally, and it had the additional benefit of being legal—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t recognize drugs when they were around. It was just a shame that telekinesis couldn’t work without seeing the person, which meant that he’d have to actually spot him--

Ah, there he was. His eyes narrowed slightly, and because he was in a bad move, he got a mental grip on Sam’s collar, and then hauled him up off the ground while Malcom himself stood three feet away, his hands on his hips.

“Smoking’s against school rules, kid,” he pointed out. “Specially that kind of smoking. Got anything to say for yourself?”

[Samuel Rixon]

Sam sighed happily as the smoke swirled around him. Somehow Vincent had once found it funny that the pyro kid was the one with a smoking habit. He’d gotten smoke blown at him at the time, and his foot stepped on. Really, Sam just found it convenient. Who needed a lighter when you could make your own fire?

Of course, the ill effects of the drug hadn’t exactly aided him in his training or his academics. He wasn’t exactly smart, but when he had a little something in his system? His grades and attention span rivaled Vincent’s in terms of being abysmal.

Lately, he’d been trying more, mostly for Spencer. And he had to be clean to drive his car, he wasn’t that stupid. But today he’d had no plans to drive, or harass his girlfriend for a few hours, so he was outside scratching his itch.

Amusing himself with little lopsided smoke rings, he was too involved in what he was doing to do something clever like, say... watch for security staff.

So it was his own fault that he was caught and collared. He yelped when he felt himself tugged up, and flailed just a bit. “’ey ‘ey ‘EY! WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?” At first he suspected some idiot student close to graduating that was just looking for a bit of fun. But when he looked up to see Malcom, he just glared.

“Teachers smoke,” he pointed out. “An’ so do half the fuckin’ students. Lay off.” He wasn’t fully addressing the issue at hand, but that was okay with him. He could just pretend it was a normal cigarette.

Except it was Sam, and Sam wasn’t known for being clever.

“... I’ll letcha have a drag if you let me go?”

Brilliant, kid.

[Malcom Black]

Malcom wasn’t amused by the language either, although it didn’t even make him bat an eyelash. He’d been in the military with a bunch of other teenage boys. Like anyone would be concerned with not using swear words in that group. They were only required to be polite in front of reporters, and if she was pretty enough, it was for a given value of polite. So he crossed his arms over his chest.

“I smoke,” was his calm response. And he did, but not a lot and somewhat sneakily so his sister/mother didn’t figure it out. Filling your lungs with smoke was only done when he just really needed something else to focus on. “And that isn’t a normal cigarette. I’d know. Besides, are you even eighteen? Or legal?” His voice, which normally would’ve been filled with wry humor, was a slow drawl instead. His intention was to drag the kid in—probably by his shirt collar—and just fill out the paperwork, but the suggestion made him pause, and he stared at him.

“You trying to bribe a security officer, kid?” He shifted slightly, folding his arms over his chest and giving him his best John-Thornton slow stare (he liked to watch the trainer because the man had a knack for being scary as shit without even really knowing it, while Malcom had to work really really hard to be scary). “That’s a hangin’ offense.”

He didn’t know how much of that stuff he’d already inhaled, but he thought it might be fun if he’d gotten enough to the “believing everything other people say” stage. And then he’d drag him in and file the paperwork.

[Samuel Rixon]

Swearing was like a second language for Sam, often practiced when he was with Vincent. It flowed in and out of his normal conversations without him even knowing. Hey, he was a teenager, and he was sure he wasn’t the worst one on campus. Surely someone swore more than him. ... Somewhere.

“SEE?” The declaration was supplemented with a jabbing point at Malcom. In his mind, that was just gold he’d been given. Students smoked, teachers smoked, and even the security staff smoked. As for the accusation, he just shifted in a guilty manner, all the while trying to look innocent. “It’s normal enough. An’ I’m NINETEEN!” At least he had the good sense not to add ‘bitch’ onto the end of that sentence.

The slow stare made Sam stop and, gasp, think for a moment. Was he really trying to bribe him? Maybe a little. Maybe a lot. But he hadn’t exactly planned on getting caught in the act. At least in his room he had the brief moment between knocking and opening the door to pitch the evidence out the window. Not much could be done if he didn’t actually have the damn thing in his hand. And he was learning to be more creative in his hiding places...

None of that really mattered at the moment, though. Much to his dismay.

He looked up at Malcom, meeting the icy stare with a pouty glare. There was no way this was a hanging offense. “You can’t KILL students for smokin’! That’s UNLEGAL!” Yes, unlegal. The poor child of illegal and unlawful. Squirming ineffectively, Sam continued to pout. “Lemmee goooooooooooooooo.”

He paused again, thinking. “... Y’ can’t really hang me. Right, dude?” Great, now he was worried.

[Malcom Black]

Malcom wasn’t really against swearing. When he’d been in the army, he’d sworn…well, like a soldier, obviously. But it was weird being around students who swore. He kept wanting to go into big-brother mode and scold them off, or hold them in the air until they stopped. But he was already holding Sam up, so he supposed it wasn’t really a good method after all. Oh well.

He also looked completely unimpressed by Sam’s logic, if it could be called there. Instead, he jammed his hands in his pockets, and gave him a look. “Sure, if you believe smoking marijuana is legal, kid,” he said. “Problem is, it’s not, even if you are—and really? You’re nineteen and still at Hammel? What’ve you been doing with your time, anyways?” He’d made it out in two years. Mind, he’d been really determined to, after one too many years of “oh, why aren’t you like your sibling so-and-so.” It was obnoxious being one of the last ones there.

The kid seemed to be thinking over the bribery thing, and Malcom decided to let him while he tried to flip through the files in his head. Lessee…late bloomer—if he could be called that—with a knack for smoking weed. Hm. Probably…oh, Sam, right? Sam…something. Infamous for hanging with Vincent Verax, who Malcom did know mostly by reputation. Yup. No wonder he hadn’t graduated yet. Now this was probably harsh, coming from the man who would’ve gambled away his state-funded college opportunity if he could’ve turned it into cash, but Malcom was pretty grumpy and not inclined to be charitable.

“If you can’t figure out if it’s illegal or unlegal, then how would you know?” Malcom pointed out, although he couldn’t quite stop a corner of his mouth from twitching upwards. “Could if it’s a repeat offense, you know. Or lock you up for a real long time. Away from any weed. What do you think of that?”

[Samuel Rixon]

When one was the second youngest in the family, parents were often too busy chasing around any number of siblings to really notice what the younger ones were up to. That being said, Sam had been taught a great number of nice and not-so-nice words by his brother and sisters at a relatively young age. By the time either of his parents had noticed, well, it was too late. Damage done, and Sam had some great new words in his vocabulary.

It had only gotten worse since he’d arrived at Hammel, and been in the company of one Vincent Verax.

He would have argued the point about smoking being legal, but instead he was faced with a line of questioning about his presence at the school past the age of eighteen. It could be worse. Vincent was twenty. “Hey! Being a pyro is HARD WORK.” Never mind the fact that he really didn’t put much effort into his training or his studies. Malcom didn’t need to know that.

He’d been a late bloomer, even before he’d started Hammel. His powers had manifested rather late in life, not to mention all that stuff before powers were even a thought. He’d been slow to talk, slow to walk, always much more interested in watching others than doing. (Read: lazy) But he was sure that Malcom wouldn’t be interested in that.

“I would know!” It was a rather lame counter, but there was no way he was going to be quiet and just let this happen. “Noooooooo! I ain’t never been caught before!” It was one thing he’d tried to be sneaky about, and usually, he was. “Y’ can’t lock me up! It’s child abuse!” He started squirming against the telekinetic hold again. “C’mon man, be cool. Pleeeeeaaaaaaaaase?”

[Malcom Black]

Malcom could guess just how little interest Sam had in his studies or training. It was like his younger brother Isaiah, who had taken approximately forever in order to learn his abilities. Not that Malcom could recall what it was…had it been time control or telepathy?

Whatever. It wasn’t like it even mattered. Isaiah was out now, doing who knew what, and he had to deal with this kid here at this exact moment.

“So is being a telekinetic,” he responded calmly, “And I seemed to have managed. Bet I started here later than you did, too.” It was a fairly safe bet, as far as they went.

He hadn’t ever been caught before? Malcom found that hard to believe, but rifling through the paperwork in his head allowed him to realize that that was indeed the case. Filed for suspicious behavior, and everyone knew that he was doing it, but no one had caught him before.

Well, that put a crimp in his plans a little. His temper died down—it never flared up for very long anyways—and he folded his arms over his chest to look at him.

“How much more you got?” he demanded after a while. “I want it all right here in front of me—whatever you’ve got on you. Then maybe I’ll think about letting you go.” He would’ve grabbed it himself, except telekinesis didn’t work on things you couldn’t see.

[Samuel Rixon]

Sam glowered at the security guard, wondering exactly what might shake him off. Clearly arguing wasn’t working, and neither was bribery. If pleading didn’t work, he was probably SOL. Cue a pouting pyro.

“I only been here three years!” He was a late bloomer at sixteen, but by now he should have gained some semblance of control. Apparently not.

If he’d ever put the effort he did into hiding his habit (at least while he was doing it) into his studies, he might have been further ahead than he was. While his record was no doubt spotted with misbehaviour, terrible grades, and general misconduct, he knew that it was clean of being caught in the act of smoking. Until now.

He continued to squirm in the telekinetic hold, willing Malcom to put him down soon. “This is all I got!” He flailed the little joint in his hand before tossing it in front of the guard, silently mourning it. “I swear, that’s it!” At least on him. His stash was frequently moved around his dorm, though even that was running low right now. “Can I go now? Pleeeeaaaaaaaasssseeeeeeeee?”

[Malcom Black]

“Really? I was only in for two.” But he was a late bloomer, also not a pyro, and so he supposed he couldn’t exactly comment on anything, no matter how bad of a mood he was in. He watched the kid with eyes narrowed, and hands on his hips, but in reality, he couldn’t hold this forever. And he was already getting tired. He rubbed at his head as Sam squirmed, then sighed.

“Fine,” he said. “You win this time ‘round.” He unclenched a hand, and let Sam drop to the ground—slowly, ‘cause in spite of all his bluster, he wasn’t that harsh of a guy. Besides, he’d just wanted to scare the kid a little. He doubted it was going to make any impact at all, but perhaps he could just give it a try, right?

“I’ll be nice this time and not report you,” he added, “But I’m keeping an eye on you, and if you don’t clean your act up—” or do a better job of hiding it “—you better watch out, or you will get into trouble.”

Once Sam’s feet were on the ground, he stepped over the joint and jerked his head to the side. “Now scram and remember what I said.”

[Samuel Rixon]

“Yeah? Well... shut up.” Sam screwed up his face in what he was hoping showed just how unimpressed he was with the security guard and his two years. He might have done worse, but Malcom was a) not Vincent, and b) higher up on the food chain, whether he liked it or not. Childish faces would have to do.

As soon as his feet were back on the ground, the pyro breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Instead of doing an obnoxious victory dance, he actually settled. Despite being a little bit buzzed, he could still figure out that doing anything else to antagonize Malcom was probably going to be a Very Bad Idea.

“Hey, you’re kinda cool. Thanks, bro!” Okay, so he wasn’t antagonizing him anymore, but he was clearly not shaking in his boots either. Sorry, Malcom. There was no way he was going to clean up his act, but he’d certainly keep his eye out for guards a little more carefully now.

“’Kay!” With a little grin, Sam scurried off, back to the dorms. It was probably time to feed Iguana anyway.