malcolm / LIVE AT ARMS LENGTH

[MAX ANNABEL CARDIGAN]

[bg=0f0f0f][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color:0d0d0d; width: 300px; border-top:25px solid #a14c4c; border-bottom:25px solid #a14c4c; padding:0;] [atrb=width,400,true][atrb=border,0,true] there was nothing better than being sexually frustrated, stuck in a house with a fourteen year old, and just remember you've still got a bottle of smirnoff with your name on it. the sad part, was that this life was a lot better than the life she'd been living before the apocalypse. she had a roof over her head that she didn't have to jerk anyone off to keep, and the only times she was disturbed unannounced was when joey wanted to hang out, or when malcolm had to bring something to her attention that she needed to 'work on' or something. she didn't hear her neighbours beating the shit out of each other her head every morning when she was trying to go to sleep, she didn't hear people call her filthy and disgusting. no one looked at her like she was the scum of the society, because here, there were no more levels, or sections to be slotted into. money meant nothing anymore, being replaced with food and ammunition. fashion was completely left behind, and people wore what they looted from stores or houses and wore without complaints, just as long as it was clean. things like race and gender discrimination were a little less used, and things kind of seemed.. peaceful now. no amount of government, or ruler, could've made the world like this. but max wasn't about to let herself drink herself to sleep again. if she kept that up, she'd be in clinic from alcohol poisoning or liver failure, and then what would she have to say for herself? well, she wouldn't have to say much of anything. everyone else would do that enough for her. instead, she grabbed her combat foots and shoved her feet inside, leaving the laces carelessly undone. what she was currently wearing probably wasn't the best idea to roam around in with big scary inmates surrounding the fenced areas, but max knew it wasn't a very long walk, and her stubbornness was too high for her to give a shit. she wanted company, and only one person could give her the kind of company she was hoping to get. by the time she'd reached malcolm's cabin, she'd already downed almost a quarter of the vodka. she refused to think it was her nerves as she raised her free hand, knocking on his door, hoping he was still awake and very much alone. as she waited, she twisted the cap back onto the bottle, leaning her right shoulder against the door frame.

[/justify]
[/color]
[/size]

malcom ; 421 words ; outfit ; sorry it's sucky D;

[/td]
[/tr]
[/table][/center]

[MALCOLM DANIEL WESTON]

because the last time you saw me,

is still burned in the back of your mind.

tap, tap, tap. the pen collided with the surface of the desk in a steady rhythm, the hand controlling it moving automatically. the sheriff's chin rested on the desk, his eyes staring ahead blankly as he remained lost in thought. these days, malcolm was always thinking about something. a million things were always pressing on his mind, to the point where he was starting to lose sleep because his mind simply wouldn't shut off long enough for him tor rest. life in the apocalypse had always been hard, but now with the rush of inmates and the chaos that accompanied them... the stakes had been upped. zombies seemed easy in comparison. they were highly dangerous but all they wanted was to eat you. there was nothing complex about them. but with the inmates, it wasn't so simple to figure out intentions. and they caused more kinds of destruction than just chowing down on people. malcolm knew he was losing control, but he was unsure how to stabilize things. how was he supposed to get rid of a herd of inmates? there was no way he could just let them into town -- they'd already done too much damage, and they'd never stop with just that anyway. but he wasn't sure how he was going to fight them off. mater was made up of average people, not fighters who could take on hardcore criminals. there were obvious exceptions -- dexter, john, damien, toni, and a few others were highly useful in combat -- but not enough.

with a low growl, malcolm jerked himself from his brainstorming and reached for the now cold mug of coffee and took a long drink, grimacing slightly at the taste. he rose from the desk as he set the mug back down, his eyes going to the window to take note of the heavy darkness outside. he knew there was probably another party happening at the park, but lately malcolm hadn't even felt like going to those. parties like that had never even been something he'd consider going to in the old life. the marines was not a place to have wild parties and orgies. but now... he figured why not. they helped loosen everyone up and they allowed people to do things they'd never have been allowed to do in the old life. or then again, maybe they did do all that in the old life. with a sigh, malcolm walked out of his home office and headed in the general direction of the kitchen. the house was only dimly lit, since malcolm was big on conserving electricity. but he knew the house by heart now, and wasn't worried on tripping over something in the bad lighting. he stopped short as he heard the knock on the door, his feet coming to a stop as his eyes went to the door to the right. he almost didn't want to see who it was, since at this hour it was probably someone bringing him bad news -- but unfortunately for him, that was all the more reason to open it. with another sigh, he padding across the carpet and unlocked the door, slowly pulling it open. and suddenly he was glad he'd answered it. his mouth immediately shifted to a smile as he saw max's familiar slim form. "come on in," he told her, moving aside so she could pass him. he didn't bother asking why she was there, and he really didn't care. he just knew he was happy that she was.

tagged for max, obviously. idc about word count. outfit is this.