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 Posted: Sat Jul 02, 2016 12:23 am
It's a big holiday weekend, all sorts of people coming through town and setting up camp in the state forest and by the beach. Caravans of red and blue coolers roll through the streets on plastic wheels, making their way to the hundreds of grills lit up and ready for friends, family, and nightly feasts under the fireworks. Burnt offerings, hummed America Jones weeks earlier. And maybe it was a joke, but maybe there was a truth lurking playfully around the smokey snap pop whistle of a Fourth of July weekend. The man standing by her truck, chatting up Tim while laying a hand on its hood with a proprietary air, was a likely tourist. Though possibly misplaced; in his gaudy floral shirt, knock off Raybans, and straw hat, the man looked like a migratory bird that'd flown off course. But maybe that was just a certain sort of tourists seasonal uniform. He wore socks with his sandals and the air of commonplace middle aged loser. The only notable feature at first glance was his nose. It'd taken more than a few hits in his lifetime and had attained an almost putty-like quality. A handshake takes place and Tim leaves the man alone for a long stretch, getting together the necessary paperwork from the office. As he waits, leaning against the truck in a comfortable slouch, the man lights a smoke from a battered pack of Camels.
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Posted: Sat Jul 02, 2016 12:40 am
He's left alone for a few seconds before the skinny ghost that's been haunting the periphery of the scene for several minutes re-manifests to start washing his hands at the grease-stained sink in the corner of the open garage. His hands are trembling as he makes aggressive use of the Gojo and are chapped enough to suggest that this is a frequent battle. He's watching the stranger sideways from a distance and not even bothering to look like he isn't, and once he's done drying his hands on a shop rag he settles a few feet away with his own pack of Camels and the sort of wordless masculine jerk of the head that passes for a greeting among men, tamping them down on his palm and fighting with a lighter. "You here for that, then?" he asks, finally, indicating the truck with his elbow as he exhales a hard-earned exhale. And of course he already knows he is, since Tim had snapped a little joke about Taym's girlfriend being able to drive the ******** away from him with precious little other information.
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Posted: Sat Jul 02, 2016 12:51 am
With an affable nod, the man confirms, "Gonna make a girl real happy." And where Taym's slice of Georgia has turned subtle on the tongue, this man's is not nearly. Rocking back on his heels, his lips compress in what might be a proud smile, might be narrowed eyed suspicion, sunglasses hiding the full spirit of his expression.
"Say, you know where I could get one of those big red bows from? The stupid sort folks like to stick on cars n'such."
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Posted: Sat Jul 02, 2016 1:03 am
Taym's--Pedro's--expression is equally unreadable, but that's because he hasn't got one, per se. "Party City?" he suggests after a pause, his voice flat and thin and devoid of inflection save a mild lack of faith in his own answer, the faintest implied question mark. He does not know much about the girl who owns the truck, at the bottom of it, which leaves him on uncertain footing here. He assays a minor power play that might come across as mild curiosity or might not, given who he's talking to. "How do you know America?"
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Posted: Sat Jul 02, 2016 11:48 am
Hes answered with a soft grunt of a laugh. "Who doesn't know her? Girl likes to make friends with damn near everybody." It's not exactly praise.
And then he's holding out a hand, "But to be specific, I'm Malby. Her favorite uncle." He says it with a certain obnoxiously smug tone, like he's teasing the girl even when miles away.
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Posted: Sat Jul 02, 2016 9:22 pm
He contemplates this for a second before accepting his hand, trying to remember whether Malby's the cop or the other one and thus how much he's immediately inclined to hate him, although his memory is suggesting only a little. Taym has a handshake that might surprise almost anyone--the handshake of someone who has been taught early and never forgotten that a good handshake matters. He feels inexplicably threatened by this sudden unannounced presence of someone who knows her more than he does and thus boots him a rung down the already shaky ladder of familiarity, and even more so by the idea--which, to be fair, he is already aware of--that she's already friends with damn near everybody. And me, and she can see through the eyes of a bird and make a safe space and find strange doors and she thinks I have a good neck and that I look good in a henley, he thinks, petty. So there."Obadiah Thompson. Not Pedro. I thought Junior was her favorite," he says, a good-natured joke, because Taym is good at lying.
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Posted: Sat Jul 02, 2016 9:38 pm
The grip was returned in kind, Malby apparently not being the intimidate via death grip sort. There's a bark of laughter at the claim, but there's something about the tilt of the man's head, the shift in his posture that indicates a reassessment. "Well dang, son, she must like you a lot to be giving you the family roster." It is, perhaps, a compliment. Maybe. With a shake of the head, Malby removes his hat to fan himself. He's got dark hair that'd curled up around where the brim had been. "But you must've misheard. Junior's a fine fella, great brother, but I've got charm." He grins around his cigarette for a moment before leaning toward Taym, grim-faced, "He didn't send some big ********' gift, did he? Do I gotta up my game, here?" He mutters something else as he exhales, something about a no pony clause.
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Posted: Sat Jul 02, 2016 11:13 pm
"If he has I haven't heard a damn thing," he says, suspicious that he is being mocked although to be fair this is something of a baseline state. "She's gonna be glad as ******** to get the truck back, though, so you're probably safe." A pause. "Long way to travel," he observes neutrally. "Sticking around a while then?"
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Posted: Sat Jul 02, 2016 11:25 pm
Hands in his pockets, Malby rocked on his heels, grinning outright now. "Had a piece of vacation sitting 'round. Figured I'd come up and see my niece for the first time since she went chasing about the country. See who or what's got her thinking about lingering about a little place like this." It's clear that Taym has put himself on the list possible culprits, but not what that might mean coming from the man. America had mentioned Malby's nosiness fondly, no stories of beat up boyfriends or any such things.
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Posted: Mon Jul 04, 2016 10:56 pm
It wasn't his place to enlighten him on that front, but he was bailed out of making more than a noncommittal noise of response by Tim returning, sending Taym back towards the garage on an errand, no doubt, to look busy til it was time to clock out. In the end it was Taym that ended up handling the transaction at the till, gnawing absently on a thumbnail between typing things in and looking somehow smaller and more childish behind the counter (swimming in the oversized shop shirt) than he did leaning against a car and smoking. His hands trembled as he tore the perforated edges off the resultant print out of what could only be described as some good news, some bad news and handed it over. He paused, glancing through the glass where Tim and another mechanic surveyed a Jeep, and said, quite matter-of-factly: "Don't tell him because I don't wanna get fired, but I gave her a discount." Her, not you.
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