malia tate.

“You’re right. I prefer that one anyway.” Murphy sighed, joining her at the table. “Depends on whose perspective you want. I shot someone. Someone who apparently shouldn’t have been shot. She’s fine, by the way. Basically. So, if it’s Alma Coin’s story you want, well then, I was protecting the very core of this nation. If it's the Rebel’s, then I’m Satan incarnated, reborn to hurt the innocent and take everything I want for myself.” He shrugged, acting like it didn’t get to him. “A little dramatic for my tastes, but what can you do?”

“I don’t really understand like… half of what you just said,” Malia admitted, pausing for a moment in an attempt to fill in the gaps for herself. Of course Bonnie and Jackson had spent a long time explaining the rebel’s history, of how the world had changed, but there was only so much information she could retain within a few weeks. Perspectives, she found, were also hard to navigate. Murphy was an example of that, as he went on to point out. “If she was shot, but she’s fine, why do they care? I’ve hurt people before when I didn’t mean to, and I’m still here. My alpha told me that those mistakes weren’t my fault, that if I learn from them, I can forgive myself and move on. So what makes you any different to me?” Malia’s questions were her way of trying to form her own opinion, as she’d been encouraged to do, but she couldn’t do that with only half the story. “I know Coin’s bad. I wasn’t here to see what she did, but I’ve been told. But you don’t smell like a bad person to me.”

“From meeting them.” Malia was certain to change her opinion, as she adjusted and matured, but for the time being, she was stuck in a childlike mentality that all adults were boring rule-abiding citizens. One person had made her question that already, though. “Okay. Maybe just one or two are cool. Like Bonnie.” She was yet to make up her mind on Miss Oswald, though. The woman was still a teacher, and a firm one.

“Yeah,” he frowned back, sharing in her concern. “Because.. they weren’t really lost. Maybe in their parents’ eyes, but… they were free. And they made a home for themselves, and they had each other. They were brave, they wandered Neverland all on their own. They didn’t fit in this type of world, they belonged there. They understood it, and it understood them.” He shrugged. Nick had always hoped he’d find his own version of that one day — of feeling like he belonged.

Malia was unsure how to respond. He seemed to feel deeply about it, even though she herself only viewed it as a storybook. So, she shuffled closer to him, scanning his expression for a while, looking for social cues. “You’re sad,” Malia commented, eyebrows frowning in concern. “Why? You wanna…’ be free? You belong with the lost boys?” Pairing his comments now to the earlier one about wanting to be a lost boy, that was the conclusion Malia drew. Maybe she was wrong, but he didn’t seem happy, he seemed down and out of place.

“A teacher, huh? She sounds cool.” Brian smiled knowingly, familiar with the town's only English teacher. "Her name wouldn't happen to be Clara, would it?" He nodded enthusiastically, agreeing. “Of course! I don’t know if I know anyone who wouldn’t – oh, wait. Alma Coin. She’d have hated it. Too many ultimately happy kids.” Perhaps that comment wasn’t appropriate, but Brian continued on without too much thought.

“She was helpful. I wouldn’t say cool. Adults are never cool,” Malia commented, shrugging her left shoulder. “No offence. But yeah, her name is Clara. I'm not allowed to call her that, though.” As he continued rambling, she began to frown, clearly lost on where the conversation was going entirely. Brian talked a lot, about several different topics — it was hard focusing on which part she was supposed to reply to. That wasn’t his fault, though, that was just because she was adjusting to conversations as a young adult, and not a child. People spoke to her differently, now.

“Murphy. John Murphy. Your lord and saviour. Traitorous cockroach. Whatever you wanna go with.”

“Murphy’s easier to say.” Malia frowned at him, wondering what the deal was. “But it depends what you did. So, what was it?”

“It should be,” he nodded. “I think everyone gets it, that’s why. I mean, who wants to grow up? To get old and sick?” He sounded quite conversational despite the frown on his face. Nick nodded again, resting his elbows on the table, and his chin on his hands. “The Lost Boys are my favourite. I always wanted to be one.” Although in a way, he’d become exactly that. Nick smiled at the thought, but it never reached his eyes.

Malia frowned at him. “You wanted to be one?” As someone who’d spent so much of her life trapped in wolf form, with no adult supervision, she’d certainly felt like one before. Not so much now, since she’d still managed to age as a human. And she’d found her father in the process. “I don’t get it. Why would anyone wanna’ be lost?” Malia shook her head, the confusion evident on her face.

Murphy eyed her for a moment, noticing an irritation that mirrored his own. She seemed just as defensive. “Whatever,” he finally shrugged, figuring she wanted to keep to herself, especially since she was sitting alone. No point angering the crazies.

It surprised her that the conversation continued, especially with both of them having somewhat of a bad attitude, but people shocked her every day. They would continue to do so — Malia was still learning how to be around them again. Humans were supposed to be animals, but each one was so individual and different. At least the wildlife she hung out with had been easier to understand, for them it was black and white, kill or be killed. Nothing about love or relationships. “Malia.” A brief pause. “You?”