Malcolm Tucker (fuckitybye) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2013-04-14 22:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed, !plot |
Who? Malcolm Tucker & Kelly Tucker
Where? The street, and then the pub.
When? Evening sometime.
What? Plot!
Rating? High for themes and language.
Status? Logged, complete.
Malcolm should have known that this would happen eventually. The island had tortured him with Lucy's voice twice now- he knew just how twisted it could be. And it made sense that it was now, that it would bide it's time, wait until he was settled with Grey, until he was happy-
No, he was thinking of the island like a cruel, sentient being, and he knew that wasn't true. It wasn't divine providence or the universe turning against him, it was just someone he didn't very much want to see. It didn't mean anything. But he couldn't very well just let her go wandering about and fending for herself in this place- despite everything, he did actually care if she fucking died. He wasn't petty enough to just turn away and pretend he hadn't seen her.
He pulled his jacket tighter round himself like some kind of security blanket, arms crossed over his chest, fingers digging into his sides as he approached, rather like a schoolboy who had just been sent to see the head teacher. He forced a smile.
"All right? Welcome to the island," he greeted her, trying to sound casual about it.
What the hell was this place? One minute, Kelly had been on her way home from work, nothing exciting, nothing out of the ordinary, really. It had been an ordinary day in the middle of January, and she was just exiting the train station when she found herself in a place she didn't recognize. So what the hell was this?
She heard footsteps approaching and she turned, raising an eyebrow to find her husband approaching, pulling his jacket tightly around him. Kelly looked up at him, then looked around them. "Island? What on earth are you talking about?"
Malcolm was shit at explaining the island at the best of times, but for some reason, being forced to explain it to Kelly felt really fucking degrading.
He sighed, looked around as if he hoped someone else would come along and take over from him, and then he shrugged.
"Eh- it's a bit of a headfuck, actually. Do you- we can go and get a drink or something, and I'll- explain," he told her hesitantly. It was too much to go over standing in the street
"You want a drink with me?" Kelly snorted in disbelief. When was the last time he'd done anything like that? She looked around a little warily, a hand coming up to smooth down her hair before shrugging. "Sure. Why not? It's not like I have anything better to do, really."
She took another look around, then slid her hands into her own pockets once more. "So where to?"
"Yeah. Yeah, Aye," he fumbled, successfully ignoring her snort. He knew it sounded strange. He'd hardly spoken to her since the divorce, and now he was asking her for a drink- at least she wasn't being too disagreeable about it. It could have been going a lot worse, all things considered.
"Right- there's only really one place here-" he told her, nodding in the direction of Mitchell's. Mitchell's. Fuck. Was this the worst idea he'd ever had? Would Mitchell be there? Who the fuck else could be there? He didn't know how he was going to explain the vampires, or the fucking elves, or anything. "Fuck it, come on then," he told her, heading in the direction of the pub. He took his phone out, and sent a quick message to Grey. The last thing he needed was her hearing it from someone else.
One place here. But what was here? At his muttered words, she rolled her eyes. "Don't sound too excited, Malcolm." Kelly started to follow him, easily keeping up the pace. She wasn't entirely sure what she was doing, if she really wanted to follow him or what, but she'd be damned if she would let him get away without an explanation. She watched as he texted somebody- what the hell was going on around here?- and she looked up as they approached the pub. "I take it you've been here a while, then?"
Malcolm gave her a very fake smile, full of barely concealed contempt. What did she expect from him? He was being civil, that was more than enough. He had absolutely no idea how he was going to explain any of this.
"Eh, yeah," he answered, looking back at her for a moment before he swung the door open, even managing to resist the urge to let it swing back closed in her face. That was maturity. His mind was blank. He couldn't even think how long it had been, all of a sudden. "Coming up for six months now," he told her, knowing even as he said it that it was going to make no sense to her.
He was glad that Mitchell didn't seem to be there. He leaned over the bar, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, and headed over to a booth, just expecting her to follow him.
"Six months. Hm." Kelly said nothing, but she couldn't figure out how that was possible. She had just seen him that morning, hadn't she? Or was this perhaps some elaborate trick he was trying to play on her? But no, that didn't make much sense, either. She lifted an eyebrow as she watched him grab the bottle of whiskey, wondering what in the hell kind of place was this that didn't have a bartender, where he was comfortable enough just taking as he pleased from a public establishment? She followed, sliding into a seat and leaning forward a little to shrug off her jacket, leaving it on the bench beside her before she reached for one of the glasses he had brought, turning it over and holding it toward him to pour the liquor. "So. Go on."
"Aye, thereabouts," he responded, as if that was perfectly normal. He really could be an annoying twat when the mood took him.
She held out the glass, and Malcolm started to fill it, giving her way more than a normal measure- partly because she would need it, and partly because he was distracted. Distracted by her left hand- or more specifically, the ring he spotted there. He was staring. Had she asked a question?
"Eh-" he moved onto his own glass, snapping himself out of it. "Yeah, right. You've been kidnapped by a fucked up island, you can't go home, there are all sorts of supernatural creatures, people from all different eras, blahblahblah, did you- sorry, what year do you think it is?"
"2004. March, 2004." Kelly watched him, unamused, as he spoke. Was he feeling alright? Her gaze moved over him curiously, wondering what he was on about and she waited for him to finish pouring her drink before she brought it up for a long, slow sip. "What the hell do you mean, kidnapped? And why are you looking at me like I've suddenly grown two extra heads?"
"Fuck!" was his involuntary reaction as soon as she'd said the date. This wasn't good, this was completely fucked up. How could he even begin to explain this? It was hard enough when the newcomer was a stranger.
"Look, this isn't going to make any sense, right- but see for me, last I knew it was 2012," he told her, not answering the part about being kidnapped, and not even caring that he sounded like a nutter. The fact she was wearing the wedding ring was more fucked up than anything the island could do.
Kelly looked up as at his exclamation and she set her tumbler down from where she had been idly swirling the liquid around. 2012. Eight years that she didn't know about. She frowned and tilted her head as she watched him- how was that possible? "Okay. 2012. And you're obviously less than pleased to see me here, so I'm going to guess that something has happened between 2004 and 2012."
Malcolm nodded along with her, glad that she just seemed to be accepting the fucking ridiculous claims he was making. He couldn't smile, he couldn't pretend that everything was okay, he could hardly even pretend to like her. He knew that that had been drifting apart in 2004, but he'd never treated her so coldly before the divorce. He should have just been blunt with her- it wasn't as if he owed her anything.
"Yeah, yeah. A lot has changed," he shrugged. "Does the name Simon Hewitt mean anything to you?" he asked, more than a hint of bitterness to his tone.
"Simon Hewitt? Er. Not really? I think we just hired someone named Simon at work, but I don't think I've actually met him yet." Kelly frowned, not entirely understanding. Sure, she and Malcolm had been drifting recently, but this attitude from him was something new. What the fuck was that one about? She leaned back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest. "Don't be a shit, Malcolm. What the hell are you not telling me?"
Malcolm gave her a cold laugh, and shook his head in disbelief. "Fucking hell," he muttered, taking another drink and sitting back in his chair.
"Well, darling. You will meet him, you will leak to him, you will fuck him, repeatedly, and we'll get divorced. In about.... oh, less than a year now. There's something to look forward to, eh? You'll finally be fucking rid of me," he told her, giving her a sarcastic thumbs up.
Well, huh. Kelly listened to him speak and did her best not to outwardly react. Hm. She sighed softly and reached for her glass, bringing it up and downing the entire tumbler before setting the glass on the table with a thud. "You've got to be shitting me. So how the fuck does this place work, then, if something that's in your past hasn't happened for me?" This was insane. It was like some cracked out episode of Doctor Who, but without the fun stuff. She reached for the bottle and poured herself another. "How do I get back?"
Malcolm scoffed at her, shaking his head in disbelief. He crossed his arms over his chest, giving her a look of total disdain.
"Fucking hell, darling. That's it, yeah? I say you fucking sell me out to the press, have an affair and we get fucking divorced- and you just want me to tell you about this fucking island. Who gives a fuck about the island? We are- we were more important- than the fucking island, yeah?" he told her, getting genuinely angry about it. "See, that's it- you don't care anymore, you stopped even giving a fuck, yeah?" he admitted with a shrug.
"Well, you're fucked, darling. You can't go home, none of us can go home," he told her, unhelpfully.
"I don't know what the fuck you want me to say, Malcolm. Right now? Selling you out is nowhere in my mind. I don't know what happens in my future, what changes things. Sure, we don't get along all the time but what married couple does?" But he has her there. Maybe it doesn't hurt, doesn't bother her as much as it should. She takes another long drink.
"So now what? We're still married to me, I haven't done anything to sell you out or have an affair. I don't even know if you're telling me the truth or if you're just trying to make excuses for something. I didn't ask to fucking come here, so you can stop giving me that shit attitude, alright? It's not like I asked for this."
"I don't know. I don't know. There's fuck all you can say, darling," he admitted, with a resigned shrug. "Would have just thought I'd get a bit more of a- shocked reaction, you know?" he admitted. Maybe that was it. She'd just accepted that it was possible, whereas to him, the thought was repulsive.
"Selling me out's not on your mind," he repeated, cruelly. "The affair, though? You know, that's the thing, I would have fucking got it if you wanted a divorce, I would- but you had to go and fuck me right over," he told her through gritted teeth.
He let out a sigh when she asked what they were meant to do now, and shook his head in disbelief. "We haven't been married for years. I've moved on, right? I've moved on. I'm sorry-" he started, and then rolled his eyes at his own apology. "Fucks sake, I know I'm a cold-hearted bastard sometimes, but I'm not going to fucking invent an affair and a divorce, don't be a fucking psycho," he said with venom. He should have walked away when he first saw her.
"Right, well- you're here now. There are apartment buildings you can find a place to stay, there are shops- just take what you need. Someone who can fucking stand your company a bit more than me can sort you out with the rest. Try not to get yourself fucking killed."
"Oh Jesus Christ, Malcolm. What do you want me to say? I don't know what happened to you since it hasn't happened to me yet." She frowned, leaning back in her seat and folding her arms. "Don't call me a psycho you son of a bitch."
Kelly downed the rest of her drink and set the glass down, sliding out of her seat and standing. She found her coat and pulled it on, turning on her heel to walk out. She had no idea what this place was, but it was clear that he wouldn't be helping her. Fine. She could take care of herself.
Maybe he should have gone after her, maybe he should have said something to make her stay, or keep talking, but he didn't. He just groaned, rolled his eyes, and let his head fall to the table, bashing his forehead lightly against it a couple of times. By the time he looked up again to retaliate, she was gone.
"Fuck-" he muttered to himself, knocking back his whiskey. And a second.