#malachi lore

Movie night's over at Malachi's, because Damien doesn't own a tv. Closest he has is a radio that's pretty busted.

They'd squabble a little over what kind of movie to watch, because that's just in their nature, but would most likely end up with a horror or horror/comedy most nights. Movies like The Cabin in the Woods, Tremors etc. Mal lies and says he doesn't get scared, but the way he nestles into Damien's side says plenty.

Maybe sometimes they'd slip in an old western, if Mal's having a bad night. He's real fond of cowboys. But if it was Damien's choice it'd probably be a DC movie or something. He envies superheros, especially the ones that fit well into human society even if they have less than friendly traits.

Mercy's getting fruit gummies (preferably sour watermelon)

Damien would get the gnarliest jerky available. Like the kind that's one step off from being dog treats

“You can’t tell anyone.”

   “What the fuck do you mean?” Damien snaps, turning around. Malachi eyes his still-extended claws cautiously.

   “I mean, you can’t tell anyone we’re- you know,” he gasps, exasperated. “Goddamnit you know what! What if someone came out and saw this shit-”

Malachi grunts as he’s shoved up against the rough bark of the tree, Damien’s claws thankfully dug into his jacket instead of his flesh. For the moment, at least.

   “I, know,” Damien snarls. He pulls back his lips, baring his teeth before abruptly turning away and letting Malachi slump down between the roots. “You..you think I don’t know that? That’d I’d spoil your precious rep-u-tation, Mal? Nobody comes out here.” His ears droop, lightly twitching. There’s a needle shoved through the end of one of them. “No, um..humans.”

Malachi sighs, watching his breath fog in the air. It’s too cold to be arguing, and it was fair enough he got mad. It’s not like he doesn’t know nobody likes him.

   “I’m sorry, you big ol’ cow.”