by ryuunosuke » Sat Jan 09, 2016 2:13 pm
━ＰＬＡＣＥ━━━━━━━━━
no.1ooo | penned by wansham | coded by kuwata
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
my name is malcolm davie dimette.
i can levitate items only by the mass they carry.
...to say the least, i'm a legendary boss.
⋆
⋆
⋆
⋆
━━━━━━━
.ᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛs
.....ᴏ1. ᴏ2. ᴏ3.
.....ᴏ4. ᴏ5. ᴏ6.━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
July 18, 1922
The soggy morning air from the west gripped the morning by surprise, giving the day a taste of salt from the Ocean. Though it was still cold, the sun granted upon the place with a sweet warmth. Malcolm was already out on the streets. Not because he was a morning bird, but because he was the neighborhood hobo. Now Malcolm was very stupid with his mon--
"Maddox shut up." Malcolm snapped.
"Look you told me to write your "Autobiography" did you except something that Shakespeare would call "magnifico"?"
"Shakespeare wasn't Italian you idiot." Malcolm corrected. Maddox sighed and threw away the parchment.
"Why don't you just write it Malcolm?" Maddox whined
"I'm too busy, " Malcolm answered.
"Then how am I supposed to write this.. thing?" Maddox asked rudely.
"Just write what I say, Maddox," Malcolm said in a tired and agitated voice. Maddox reached for the 17th piece of paper and grabbed his bent quill.
"Shoot."
Malcolm sighed, putting away his papers for a second.
"In the early 1920's, I was what they called a "traveling lawman". I was poor yes. But I was no hobo. I lived in whatever place I could find and ditch. My name changed throughout the states, and luckily they were too caught up in other manners to worry about a guy that ditches apartment pay, along with casually making people overpay. I was okay at my job for someone that was self-taught. My degree from law school was fake, my identity was fake, I was fake. I was alive though.
On July 18, 1922, I was introduced to the wondrous technology of framing people--"
"Wait you actually didn't follow rules once in your lifetime?"
"Maddox I swear I will make you do my work."
"No, you won't-"
"Quiet. Now I was framing people for the longest time, generally because they wouldn't share the clients with me. And now I think about it, I think I pushed the client's way... During my illegal career, I was mainly with gangs, since I was cheap, expendable, and I didn't carry the true title of lawyer. So I made my living there. About 10 years after starting the ordeal of framing people, I fell. I was careless at that time, and the law soon caught me. I believe it was from the case of Marrein. She supposedly was the one behind the planning of the mass destructions of barns in the North end of New York. She didn't do it of course. Young dumb me left a huge hole in the interworkings of the case. She got away, and I got front row seats in jail. Also--"
"Okay, besides this sob story, do you have anything else worth mentioning? Like how you become orange and blue?"
"Fine. I died in jail at the age of 76. Happy?" Malcolm aggressively spat out. Maddox sat dumbstruck, looking down at the ground.
"Go get the rest of the paperwork," Malcolm ordered. Maddox quickly got out of the room, closing the door quietly. Malcolm picked his work back up and continued working. Thoughts rushed through Malcolm's head, diverting his attention constantly.
Fall
Falling
Falling, Malcolm, you're falling
Malcolm, Malcolm, you're falling
Malcolm accidentally stabbed the paper through with the jagged quill. He set the paper and pen down and held his head with one hand.
Are you Malcolm?
Where am I?
His head swarmed with distant memories. The same voice clearly sounded off in his head
Malcolm,
Malcolm, are you okay?
Where are we?
Malcolm buried his head in his arms that smelled like a smoky forest, fresh from the California burn.
Malcolm, what did you do?
Malcolm threw his fist down but stopped before he reached the desk.
Please stop--
Malcolm, are you okay?
Why am I wearing prison clothes?
When's Malcolm coming to visit?
March 10th, 1987
The feeling of spring sent Malcolm into a shivering mess. His already decreasing hairline was a poor defense to protect himself. The light bells rang on the bars of the cell, which was a signal to get people up. Malcolm took a small cup and banged on the cell next to him.
"Keenu, ya up?" Malcolm asked
"Hi, Malcolm, where are we?" Keenu said groggily.
"We're in prison Keenu, remember."
"Oh, yea." Keenu faked, hopping from the top bunk onto the ground. Malcolm sat down and talked to Keenu for about 10 minutes on where they are and what's happening. Malcolm stood up and walked out off the jail cell, opening others with a small, worn out key.
"Keenu come on."
"Okay hold' on."
The day continued as usual, along with the therapy that judged whether or not a person was prepared to go back out into the world. The only issue was that today was not Malcolm's day.
The cold air from one of the few ACs in the building greeted Malcolm. The same questions were asked, and Malcolm answered them all again. He was sent out and the next criminal came in.
Malcolm made his way back to Keenu, waiting for the next shipment of prisoners to arrive, just like the rest of the people.
The same mistreatment and abuse to the fresh, new people carried out like usual. The only problem was is that the therapists needed to reach their quota in order to keep their stingy job.
They just needed one.
And Malcolm was the best fit.
When Malcolm received word that he was to be released at the age of 76 he wasn't happy. He was terrified. He felt like a deer being released into a hoard of bears. Keenu was happy for Malcolm since he believed that he would be out soon. Malcolm was out before the next morning. Before he could tell Keenu where he was, what happened, and what they have to do today.
He was on the street, waiting for a bus to take him South of New York.
But he never saw the bus.
When Malcolm made his way to the bus stop, three people were on the road. Three people who just got the right to drive and they were celebrating. One decided to knock the car into neutral with their elbow. The driver freaked out and attempted to fix it and shove it back into neutral. In a fit of fear, they slammed on the gas pedal, sending the car out of control. Malcolm was on the end of their celebration journey.
Malcolm didn't feel anything thankfully, just the sudden pain of the bright headlights shining in his eyes out of the blue.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ▷ＰＬＡＹ： ＷＥＬＣＯＭＥ ＴＯ ＵＴＯＰＩＯＳＰＨＥＲＥ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Falling
Malcolm was falling
Though he wasn't alive, he felt as if he was
Malcolm was tumbling down in the planes.
Malcolm's screams of terror was echoed
He blinked quickly and found himself in an office. The walls were a dark blueish gray, while the light was a thick yellow.
"Malcolm Dimette?"
Malcolm was still coming down from the high of fear. The person sighed and wrote on the paper.
"Look your dead. We can get you out of this mess by--"
"Yes."
"Wha--"
"Yes, get me out" Malcolm answered in haste.
"Are you sure you--"
"I don't care yes. Put me back in the Prison."
The person leaned back in their chair, surprised by Malcolm eagerness.
"Sign here"
Malcolm reached for a pen, but it was ripped out of his hands.
"Personally sign here."
The man gave Malcolm a quill.
"You want me to--"
"Yes prick your finger."
Malcolm almost gave himself a reason to get stitches.
"Okay, back to the prison."
"Well, we have to complete this contract first."
"What do I have--"
The feeling of horses tugging at his body from all angles struck Malcolm deeply. His ears were pulled into a long bunny like shape, while his shoulder blades were extended into two wings that painfully shot out feathers. The aching feeling of a brain freeze burned through Malcolm's head, leaving a horn behind in its wake. His tail felt as if it was being slowly burned away, and replaced by a warm smoke. Malcolm felt the speedy shot of a bullet in his chest, rewaking him back into the disastrous present.
"Almost done. Don't be stupid."
Malcolm's eyes wandered around the office, dancing about the colors that flashed in his eyes.
He could feel a stinging sensation that covered his skin and crept down into his bones. His fur soon fell out, bringing with it a speckled mess of blue and orange that covered his body and enveloped Malcolm in this new person. He was still Malcolm, but the years that he spent in cell #243 were ghastly removed from Malcolm's person.
"Okay, your set with the Planes Lawyer package deal. Now I'm supposed to give you a 10-minute speech on what you can do, but I'm not going to. Just know that you can make small things float like pens and paper, and you can hop through and make portals into planes. But you are only sanctioned to be in plane 002, 001, and the one we are in 003. All others are to be avoided."
Malcolm sat up straight again, his eyes glazed from the side effects of manipulating a body.
"Got it?"
Malcolm looked up and slowly started to focus on what was in front of him. But all of it seemed as if it was a blur.
"Wha-Whe-R-e am I? Everythin-gs' blurr-Y-y" Malcolm choked out from his younger voice box.
"And I screwed up another vision change. Ugh. Look, do me a solid and fill out the form that I gave you that speech, and that you have had vision problems before."
"F-O-orm?"
"Right." He said depressingly, filling out the form for Malcolm.
"All I can give you now is reading glasses, but you should be fine until you get your own." He put the glasses on Malcolm and continued with the form filling. Malcolm looked around, wondering where the light glow was coming from that plagued the top of his head. Malcolm then looked down at himself. His hand was a mix of a deep sea blue and an odd orange. It was a dazzling speckle of the two colors, and it ran down into his tail, in which Malcolm touch lightly, pulling his hand back up from the mist that drenched his fingers. Followed by the tail were stars and a shine that seemed to be confused with bits of purple merging with the white.
"Am I a g-Od?" Malcolm asked in all seriousness. The lawyer busted out in a chuckle, mocking Malcolm ignorance.
"Heh, no. You're a Planes Lawyer, and you will get accustomed to it."
"A what-"
"You go around and you do you paperwork. Not like an actual lawyer no. It's just a title."
"So I'm a fake lawyer?"
"Yep."
Malcolm shifted in his seat, waiting for the "lawyer" to finish with his paperwork.
"When can I go back to the Prison?"
"Whenever, butt you still have to do work no matter where you are."
"So I can leave?"
"Sure, just slide through the planes, I'm sure you can catch the trick easily."
"Can't you show me?"
"No, because I'm not a planes lawyer."
Malcolm nodded and impatiently waited, asking any questions that could come to mind.
"Do I get an office?"
"Yes, floor 83."
"Where do I go to get teleported?"
"Make one."
"Bu-How?"
"I don't know. All the other planes lawyers just wave their hands together."
"What about--"
"Look I don't know. Your paperwork is done. Just go."
Malcolm stood up and walked out, looking around at the desks that held what seemed as if they were slacking lightly.
Malcolm headed to the elevator, side stepping into the room due to his wings lightly puffing out.
Floor one
Malcolm immediately pressed floor one. A feeling of falling hit Malcolm's head as the blood rushed up into his brain. The stop wasn't as pleasurable as Malcolm expected. The sudden jerk of the brakes sent the force from the "ride" onto Malcolm, making him stumble around like a newborn baby cow.
Malcolm walked out of the office, and though it seemed like a regular, same-old-same-old office, it was quite the opposite. It was hell.
As in literal, trademark, the thing that people constantly say that somethings warmer or colder than, Hell.
And Malcolm panicked. He blindly ran towards a brimstone pile, taking shelter in the crevices of the rock.
An hour passed by. And nothing happened. He didn't see ghouls or demons. There were no screams of forgotten souls or the hands of the undead. All there was near Malcolm was a burnout courtyard and a small platform sticking out of the sidewalk. Malcolm rose from the rocks, walking to the courtyard in an upset and confused manner. He sat down and awkwardly looked around.
Well, that is until he remembered Keenu. Malcolm face paled and he shot up. Malcolm put his hands in his hair and silently freaked out. That is, until a loud shatter rippled in Malcolm's ear, scaring him to no-witts end. He snapped his head back to see the thing that he thought was ready to strike. But instead, he was greeted by a man walking from a small black hole, that closed in a flash. He walked into the office, not noticing the brightly speckled elephant in the room. Malcolm looked over his shoulder at the person, jogging over to the platform that he came out of.
It was simple, the platform itself was a solid piece of concrete, with a light dome shape in it. Malcolm walked around it, in it, and touched just about every part of it. Malcolm finally resorted to what he didn't understand. Waving his hands around like a lunatic.
Malcolm crouched and started to wave his hands around, but while doing it he felt a jerk. Not like a fish tugging on the end of your fishing pole, but as if his fingers were being pulled ever so lightly. Malcolm continued to pull and push around the air until a gleaming white ball basked the platform in a milky color. Malcolm couldn't see the planes, but he could feel them.
He could feel the drifting sunrise of plane 002, the crushing gravity of plane 097, and the metallic touch of jail bars in plane 001. Malcolm let his hands down slowly once he found plane 001. The lazily chopped grass, the wet smell of concrete on a drizzling morning, the feeling of family love from Keenu's misadventures through the laundry room in 1943. That was it. That was home.
Malcolm tried to enter the portal, but as he stayed in the portal, he could feel the electricity around him build until it slammed onto him. Malcolm hustled back, holding his chest from the shock. He stared at the portal, wondering what he did wrong.
He put his hand near it, felt the building of energy, and tore his hand back. Malcolm looked at the portal, gave in to its demands, and ran directly into it.
He felt a stretching burn in his spine, before being spit back out into a grassy bump. Malcolm groaned lightly, taking a second to think what went wrong.
I'm still in He--
A hard and snapping pinch lit up Malcolm's ankle. He breathed in light and smacked what was hooked to his ankle.
Stupid ant-
ants?
grass?
Malcolm shot up and looked around. The road was worn out, the trees were noisy shaking in the wind, and a stone fortress stood in the south.
Malcolm was back where he started.
And there was nothing more he wanted.
Malcolm started to jog to the south, his head wrapping around the idea that he was back. As he dove deeper into the thought, he picked up the pace and soon was rejoicing in the falling evening.
That is until night finally reached the hillside. Malcolm stopped from the engulfing sensation. He felt as if he was a tissue paper that had been drizzled with ink. It spread around himself, chilling him from the change. Malcolm looked down at his hand and saw the speckles disintegrate. Everything felt off. His pelt was smooth and had a watery feeling about it. Malcolm dropped his thoughts and focused on Keenu.
Malcolm neared the prison. It was drenched in vines and the once green grasses were replaced by looming weeds. It was a run-down carnival. The gates were opened, everything was. Malcolm walked in bitterly, looking around at anything that could point him to Keenu.
Malcolm stopped at a calendar. The dates from February the 1st to the 16th were crossed out. But Malcolm didn't care about what plans the guards had, but what year they were in.
2002
Malcolm was gone for 20 years.
Keenu was alone with his already decreasing mental health
For 20 years.
Malcolm stood in shock.
His face was cold.
His hands were cold.
Malcolm slow became cold at the thought of Keenu alone.
At the thought of Keenu dead. Without Malcolm to comfort him.
Malcolm reeled back into reality, his stomach twisting in regret.
Malcolm mouth finally made a noise after being left open. He hoarsely let out a deep and saddened groan. It soon turned into a mumbling mess of crying and choked sobs.
Malcolm stood up from his desk once Maddox pushed on his shoulder. "Malcolm. Get up." Maddox said, setting down a small bowl of questionable ramen.
"I have my own lunch, Maddox."
"The fridge died, along with your meal."
Malcolm sighed, shifting his hand around so that a stapled form would rise from the filing cabinet.
"Did we have a warranty?"
"No, you threw that out."
Malcolm sighed, filling out the form.
"Could you get the numbers from Keenu for today?" Malcolm asked.
"Sure. But don't start taking my work while your multitasking Malcolm. You know I need the money."
"Sure, just leave."
Malcolm continued working, occasionally moving his fork around in boredom.
Turns out you need to read terms and services contracts. Or just try not to die.
━━━━━━━━━
→ＦＯＲ ＡＮxxxx☾ ◯ ☽Last edited by
ryuunosuke on Sat Jun 10, 2017 2:50 pm, edited 10 times in total.
Leon - Male (He/Him) - Adult - VN+JP OK
My waifu (Madara) is better than yours
Signature WIP
, 
, 
