conning | TLV IC Contact Post

[He knocks on the door, a shiny black case tucked under his arm, a big smile on his face.]

[Neal opens it almost at once, actually stopping for a moment on the other side of the door before he opens it so it doesn't look like he was like, y'know, WAITING there or something.]

Hey, come on in.

Malcolm steps in, moving to first give him a tight, one-armed hug.

"Have you been down to the station yet?"

He moves over to the table to put down the case.

"A bit, mostly scouting around and seeing what I can find in terms of supplies and suppliers before I commit to anything. Seen a few shows, gone to some restaurants--Norton and I went to what I think was an opera and Raylan and I went to dinner."

Unbridled enthusiasm: get. Neal is clearly recharged at the opportunity to explore a city. "What about you? I mean, obviously, you've been down there, but anything stand-out in terms of experiences?"

"The black market has amazing stuff. I've been mostly just shopping. And Will and I went to the forest. They have ponds full of fish. He went fishing."

Malcolm turns to look at Neal, his expression turning sober.

"I'm sorry. For the whole... Eiffel thing when we landed. For what I said to you. I lost it. It wasn't okay. I'm sorry."

Fishing. Neal can think of fewer things more excruciatingly boring, but painting in the woods does sound kind of nice.

When Malcolm sobers, Neal grimaces internally, his outward expression still calm and neutral. He kisses Malcolm's forehead, then goes over to the nearly-boiling water he has on the stove to make some of the tea he bought in-port. It keeps him from getting too itchy to look at the package Malcolm has with him.

"You don't have to apologize," he says quietly. "You didn't do anything wrong. You were hurt and you said as much."

He turns from his task to give Malcolm another little smile. "If anything I wish you'd apologize to people less."

Malcolm smiles down at the table, then picks up the package and holds it out, barely able to contain his excitement as it bubbles up into his eyes.

"Open it," he urges.

Neal immediately abandons the tea half-made and goes to the case, inspecting it curiously. He glances at Malcolm, almost nervous in his excitement, and opens it up.

The contains a handheld device, a little bigger than a pen, but light and still easy to manipulate.

"It's a device that can produce any colour and any texture. So... it can look like paint or marker or pencil or charcoal or pastels... and probably stuff I've never heard of. Like. An all in one art kit. It's supposed to work on paper or canvas or... just about anything. I mean I guess technically you can make t-shirts and graffiti...." He looks from it to Neal's face.

Neal looks from the little cylinder to Malcolm and back again, eyes huge. "Wait--really? Really?"

He turns it over in his hand, fascinated. "How does it--how?"

"Um, if you put your two fingers on these two circles here at the same time and then picture it, that's supposed to do it. So I guess it's literally only limited by your imagination," Malcolm tells him.

"I-- Malcolm, I--"

Neal rests his fingers on the indicated places, almost afraid to try it out. "I don't know what to say."

"Do you like it?" Malcolm asks. He doesn't sound unsure or worried; he thinks he's interpreting Neal correctly.

"I love it," Neal says quietly, and he does, even if he hasn't attempted anything with it yet. "I--"

He shakes his head and stops trying to figure out words, instead going to the half-finished rendition of van Gogh's Irises. Tentatively, almost nervously, he holds it as he might a brush, fingers still on the two circles, and tries to put down a stroke of paint.

It matches perfectly. In fact the color is closer to what it should be than what he was working with. The texture and thickness of the oil paints, everything. "...Holy shit."

Malcolm smiles when Neal says he loves it. That's all he needed. He comes over to watch, practically holding his breath as Neal attempts a stroke of paint.

"Is that good?" he asks, staring raptly at the canvas.

He's slightly breathless. "I mean... I can't do a spectral analysis to tell how close the composition is to the real thing, but. Visually speaking, it's flawless."

Malcolm's smile broadens. "That's good, right?"

"Not for authenticators," Neal says. He can't help himself. He ducks his head and grins, then looks at Malcolm again. There's no mistaking the gratitude or wonder in him. "Thank you."

Malcolm absolutely beams at him.

“You’re welcome,” he says happily.

Neal studies the... brush? pen? what does he even call it? with fascinated wonder. "I have no idea what to give you that could possibly match this."

Malcolm looks a little confused.

“…You don’t have to give me anything.”

That breaks his trance somewhat, and he looks at Malcolm again finally, still--not dazed, exactly. Dazzled, more like. "No, I know, I know that. It's just..." He shakes his head. "Thank you."

Malcolm smiles brightly.

“You know I love you,” he says easily.

The casualness of the words, how comfortably they're said, makes Neal's chest feel squeezed by something warm. He's not sure what else to say, or what he could say, so he just hugs Malcolm instead.

Malcolm hugs him tight.

“I’m so proud of you.”

(no subject)

conning - 2023-09-29 03:20 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

abrightboy - 2023-09-29 03:32 (UTC) - Expand