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POSTED ON Sept 26, 2018 3:24:03 GMT

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the realtor stutters when malcolm asks about one mansion on the outskirts of mauville city. it only takes one simple press for a meek, shy response of, you haven’t heard?

hauntings, she laughs. a laugh that dies her throat as she looks away from his frown. playing with her hair, she adds, well, i mean rumours of haunting. you know how people can be. holdings lodged a request with the league, anyway, don’t even worry about it, and only stops speaking when malcolm interrupts her to request another showing elsewhere.

i'm a busy man, malcolm reminds, and the realtor stumbles through an apology. but when they go to look at another house, before he enters, malcolm sends his husband a brief text: OUT OF OFFICE TODAY. MEET IN MAUVILLE CITY TONIGHT?, an address and an XX.

the mansion shows its wear even in the nightlight. ivy creeps across wood framing, the windows are stained with grey and brown. malcolm leans with his back against its gate, hands absent-mindedly picking at peeling black paint, as he waits. he closes his eyes briefly. it’s quieter on this side of the city. it’s closer to the sea, enough to feel the gentle breeze.

“do not stray far, ailie.” behind malcolm, through the gates of the mansion, an espeon is twisting and turning on her back in the overgrowth. her paw batting at a long blade of grass above her, and malcolm can hear her low, fluttering purr. as ever, it calms him.

but malcolm’s face does not soften until he sees his husband. pushing off the bars of the gate, he greets simply, “ian.”

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POSTED ON Sept 26, 2018 10:34:19 GMT

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ian couldn't justify skipping the council meeting at four, so he's texting his husband while a mayor speaks.

some messages that malcolm may have received at approximately 4:12 PM:

aww u missed me
if u want me to blow u at a historic site then u could just ask, babe

it's a good thing that he sent those texts in the afternoon, because ian no longer had the heart to joke when he sees a malcolm in love. with him. he disembarks the arcanine at the gate before turning to his husband and embracing him tight.

"i've been missing you all day, mal."

he doesn't mind that they probably won't be able to get dinner at this house.

Malcolm Stone

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POSTED ON Sept 27, 2018 2:51:13 GMT

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malcolm presses a kiss against ian’s cheek. his lips are light, but the hold is close, warm, and malcolm is reluctant to pull away. when he does, his hands linger against ian’s chest.

malcolm is smiling softly. his hands smooth and correct the lapels of ian’s jacket. “i missed you as well.”

“my apologies for bringing you here so late.” the rusting, locked gate is not a sufficient gift for his husband. malcolm will make it up to him later. “you’ll be disappointed to know this is league work.”

“a haunting, supposedly.” far below ian’s pay grade. malcolm draws his hands back, and they return to their place resting behind his waist. he turns back to the bars of the gate that his espeon was easily able to fit through. she still sits in the overgrowth but her ears are turned forward and her unblinking attention rests on the arcanine behind them.

“it should be no problem for either of us.” and planting one foot on a railing, malcolm begins to climb the gate.

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POSTED ON Sept 28, 2018 21:48:03 GMT

he waits until malcolm is on the other side. ian takes out a haunter and allows him to unlock the gates. "new acquisition." he winks at his ever-impatient husband. "phoebetor. scout ahead for us, will ya?" the haunter cackles as he flies into the house at 95 base speed per hour.

he walks to malcolm's side and takes his hand. it's not optimal for busting ghosts, but it's good for ian's heart. "oh, thank god, it's league business." ian laughs as he brushes mal's bangs aside. "i worried that this might have been a romantic date." nevertheless, he leans in against malcolm's shoulder. as if they weren't stepping into a haunted house.

the arcanine wags his tail as he approaches ailie. he leans down and presses his nose against hers. he doesn't linger for too long; they've got work to do. apollo walks ahead, obscuring the espeon from a clear shot.

they reach the front steps, and the door creaks open on its own. "huh. that's welcoming." ian doesn't hesitate to step inside. "watch the step, babe."
Malcolm Stone

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POSTED ON Oct 5, 2018 2:05:01 GMT

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the click of the lock is useful, and the gates creak and rust crunches as they open, but disappointment pools. malcolm was looking forward to seeing ian scale that gate. a view of his husband’s arse as he stretched over railings was a missed opportunity in malcolm's eyes.

his hand is an acceptable remedy. malcolm laces their fingers together as he lets ian brush hair from his eyes.

“we can go somewhere after.” somewhere that doesn’t reek of mildew and dust. malcolm thinks of the restaurants they’ve dined in before. “i’ve confidence many restaurants will keep their kitchens open for councilman castilla-somerville.”

‘marquis de somerville’ did not have as much gravitas in hoenn. a shame. but malcolm has something else to say.

“i’ve been in mauville looking at houses. for us.”

the espeon leans up. a louder purr ripples through her as her nose touches the arcanine’s, and as they walk together her tail curls close to apollo’s back leg.

hinges groan and the door voluntarily opens. moonlight spills into the hallway and through the dusty windows, and though darkness still remains the outline of the room is evident. a wide, gaping atrium and cascading stairs. some furnishings can be seen: an baroque table with a vase, dead flowers and a vast mirror on the wall above them. malcolm looks down as he steps in and he can see dirt tracks. the tread of footprints looks recent.

the doors close behind them but there is no breeze. only a strange warmth that permeates the quiet, quiet room.

on the landing above, where the stairs led, a single, small flame flickers on the ground between the bannisters.

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POSTED ON Oct 8, 2018 0:40:54 GMT

ian squeezes his hand as they walk into the haunted house. "as long as i'm with you, i'll go anywhere."

"the lot's probably more valuable than the house. i could just get the city to buy the house for cheap, and then tear it down. we could build a park or community center on top of it." ian has no patience for ghosts in his mauvile city.

a cold current passes him, but he focuses on the warmth in mal's hand. ian takes a long look at what he can make out from the light of the setting sun. he sticks his head into one of the siderooms. still stuffy. to him, the place looks like a smaller version of lady somerville's summer home.

"you want to buy this one?" ian doesn't see why mal couldn't just find an un-haunted listing instead of busting ghosts. "thinking about getting another place to store all your furniture?" he jokes, but only halfway. malcolm has more furniture than he does.

ian doesn't really appreciate all the cheap horror sfx. "these ghosts know that we could just destroy the door if we wanted, right?"

Malcolm Stone

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POSTED ON Oct 15, 2018 3:23:51 GMT

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“likely true.” ian thinks to a future where the house could be something more. malcolm thinks of what the mansion would have been. even in the dark, the wallpaper yellows and stains, but he thinks it could have been brilliant once. malcolm presses a finger along a table to wipe away the dust. beneath it, the marble is beautiful.

“we’ll see if there is anything of worth first.”

the sideroom has nothing. malcolm cranes his head through the doorway, still holding ian’s hand, but there is only an empty candleholder.

as ian jokes, malcolm is inspecting the chiselled wood legs of the hall table for wear. his eyes snap up.

“we’ve still space at the flat in lilycove,” malcolm says drily – an attempt at a joke. the days ian’s councilman duties need attending by the coast are days malcolm can spend at the city’s auction houses. there is always something he wants.

but malcolm has something else on his mind. ian’s first question rests in silence as malcolm frowns before he says, “there is another reason.”

a burst of light. between the bannisters, from the landing above, a candle’s flames erupts and aims to blind apollo, ailie and their trainers – a confuse ray. then, the blaze of purple flames targets the arcanine as a hex is cast. it is hard to see at the distance but above them the litwick is smiling.

then, it runs.

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POSTED ON Oct 15, 2018 9:41:04 GMT

Ian laughs. Malcolm is at his funniest when he's not trying to be humorous. "Are we here as League reps or burglars?" He hopes that they're not here out of Malcolm's thirst for old furniture. With every passing minute, it seemed more likely.

He's not sure how helpful he would be here, besides watching his husband's back. Everything older than ten years looks like an antique to him. The last Pokenav model looks like it belongs in a museum.

He worries that Malcolm is about to move some in-laws in, but he waits for his husband to finish. There is no one around except for the two of them, their Pokemon, and an annoying Litwick.

Ian shuts his eyes as soon as the Confuse Ray hits. He feels a migraine eating at the base of his brain, but he's still lucid enough to give orders.

"Apollo, are you good?"

1kgTiQuD <50 good

"Go get em, partner."

The Arcanine speeds up with an Agility before zooming further into the house for a Crunch

Malcolm Stone

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POSTED ON Oct 20, 2018 22:42:48 GMT

“we’ll see, ian,” malcolm says as he resists crouching to check the table legs. he set out here for other purposes. the flash of the litwick takes his attention and he’s left shielding his eyes, unsteady.

the confuse ray blindsides ailie as well. she was distracted underfoot, and her psychic just snaps at the bannisters of the stairs and landing above. wood splinters beneath her power but litwick keeps on moving. it is no match for the speed of an arcanine. as apollo vaults stairs, the crunch pierces its tiny, waxed body and keeps it pinned for another attack.

“ailie.” with the sure voice of her trainer, the next espeon’s attack hits. the candle fizzles out under the arcanine’s hulking form and the duress of a psychic.

malcolm reaches to steady himself against ian. he’s now actively checking their surroundings but there seem to be no other pokemon in the room he can see. the half-burned candles on a mantle at the top of the stairs are authentic. he tries to continue, “as i was saying.”

“i thought we would need a bigger place–” from their penthouse, he can see the ocean every morning. the waves in slateport are never that tall but the crash against rocks can still audible if a window is open. clear ocean water broken by the white froth of sea foam against sand and stone. breath-taking, malcolm thinks. but there can be better views than that.

“if we were to have children.”

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POSTED ON Oct 21, 2018 23:51:36 GMT

This conversation does not liberate him.

"Malcolm." He hardly ever calls him that. He only realizes when the name feels strange on his tongue. "Is that what you want?"

He takes his husband's hand and squeezes it. Children was his only major compromise. Malcolm had agreed to move to Hoenn permanently for him. He had left academia for him.

Ian has not always made choices that were to his husband's best interest. He could ask if Malcolm was happy, and he would say yes. Instead:

"Would you still be happy?"
Malcolm Stone

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POSTED ON Oct 29, 2018 2:42:18 GMT

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ian takes his hand again. malcolm lets him, pressing back tenderly against his palm. the house wheezes around them, the air grows cloying, and he ignores it.

“i only ever thought the future as the two of us, once.” an honest admission. it will be the one ian knows a decade and a half back when he first raised it. then, there had been no hesitation. only rigid certainty as malcolm answered, no.

i am not a father. i never will be. ian had been warm against his back, arm curled around him, and it had been simpler not to look at him – easier to stare at the plaster of the bedroom wall. after silence, his addition is an attempt to mend. i want you. i’ll only ever want you.

everything else will always be secondary, ian.

that has not changed. but he limits the both of them, sometimes, and they’ve grown beyond what malcolm thought. he brushes another hand along ian’s front again, lingering, wishing it was bare skin.

“i’ll be more than happy.” malcolm says. his voice is lower, now, his words aspiration against his husband’s lips.

“you deserve a dynasty.”

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