#fseabrookefms

location: rhee’s bar and grill

Malachi could feel himself reverting back to the person he had been when he first got back to Nightrest, career in ruins, his ego bruised, always itching for a fight or the next hit. Seeing Jake hooked up to all that hospital equipment gave him that familiar feeling of helplessness he felt when he saw his own brother in the hospital just two months ago. He didn’t know how to help then, didn’t know how to make anyone feel better now, didn’t know how to make anyone see that he was struggling with the fact that he was finally coming to terms that there actually was a killer on the loose because this one hit way too close to home and the thought of whoever it was coming after his family terrified him. So he went back to his default setting -- shutting down. 

It was why he found himself at Rhee’s, wanting nothing more than to watch a basketball game while he drank, only to get more and more pissed off at the man sitting at the other table, shit talking his father’s team. His team. Malachi didn’t miss the way he leered at the servers too and once he saw the man slapping the ass of one of them who just passed by, he was immediately out of his seat and clutching the front of the man’s shirt in his clenched up fists. At that point, Mal didn’t care if he was outnumbered, with three other guys along with the man he wanted nothing more than to punch. How sick was it that he was actually eager for this fight? “Didn’t your mama ever teach you fucking manners?” Mal asked, his voice low before he pulled his arm back, letting his fist swing back in, punching the man square in the face. “And fuck your fucking 76ers,” he hissed before throwing another punch, just to feel someone pulling him back. He wasn’t able to swerve quick enough to avoid the punch across his jaw.