Collect calls [prp Liam]

[Malakai]

Things had seemed to heat up, at least momentarily as the world was yet again rattled by voting polls and race. Malakai's pockets had gotten fat in the meantime. She'd not been particularly invested in any candidate - but they'd been in her. Given she held a large hand in several places offers upon offers had kept her delightfully neutral and open to fulfill more request. Lyra had called it ''shamming'' but Malakai liked to say it: ''Jungle survival techniques.''

But now that the election is over and big time enterprise and party rallies have put two-and-two together Malakai has been neck up in discrepancies. A little relaxing rendezvous that had involved her, Lyra, and a steamy five star spa had ended horrendously in the press aftermath. Not only had their relationship nearly crashed and burned entirely from their subsequent '' walk out of the closest''. (Which was far more like back flipping out of the closest, losing your footing, and crashing into the thousand dollar glass table.) But then they'd had to deal with the embarrassing decision that stepping down, even temporarily, was a better idea then trying to make excuses or placate.

(-- A better idea to the alternative for Malakai. Which had been to lay people off, sniff out the backstabbers, show up at their house and gobble out their insides like it was a turkey dinner. )

Now of course, they (well, more so Malakai then Lyra), are plagued with the decision of who will become their puppet. Their face in public eye - their poster child. It isnt something that is taken lightly and a back problems that the shuck has developed is confirmation of so. But a agreement is come too very shakily, very, and Malakai is the one who has to do it.

It's a total notch down on her pride list. To be back in this dank smelling bourbon street apartment waiting for Liam to arrive with her heel's leaning on his riggity limbed coffee table with a little less than ten thousand dollars propped open in the suitcase beside her.

But if he isnt dazzled by the money when he opens the door (or arguably her voluptuous thigh) then Malakai clears her throat and says a albeit a little sharply. "Liam," and lifts the side of her lip almost entirely in a smoldering disgust.

"My dearest friend."

[Liam]

It hadn't been a good day. Searching through the underbelly of New Orleans was never a pleasant experience and Liam didn't relish the lengths he had gone to for such little information. He was as lost as ever, cold and tired to the marrow of his bones.

His hands shake as they grip the nob and Liam shoves through doorway, shivering. He had come to the South to escape the bitter winters, but still it followed. At least the house was warm--somewhat, and although there was no one to warm his bed, at least he had one. Liam was looking forward to a nice evening drinking himself into a stupor, but it seemed the world would deny him even that. "Malakai," His voice is that of a man's twice his age--his physical one at least, but even that preciously maintained youth is slipping, marred by wrinkles at his brow and greying at his temples. "Just who I wanted to see." Liam slips out of his coat, laying it across the arm of the sofa. A pistol and car keys clank onto the table next to the briefcase.

"Come to say your sorry's, then? I have to say it's long overdue." He manages a tired smile as he sinks into the old leather recliner at the black dog's side. The pale thigh thrust into view is given little more attention than the crisp dollar bills that fill the briefcase. "You broke my table. It was a nice one, not cheap either." He fixes his gaze on the gun, mind too sluggish to contemplate the twisted avenues of Malakai's own. Why in God's name would she limp back to New Orleans? It was rare she visited him and after the wine incident Liam had expected to never see her again, being a woman that kept her word.

Sheer luck and embarrassment on Mal's behalf were probably the only things that prevented any surprise midnight sojourns.

Liam buries further into the sanctuary of his chair, sighing wearily, irritated at Malakai intruding in his own home. She never had any respect for what was personal. "What do you want? Sorry, but I'm out of wine." He had since switched to the hard stuff again, finding drink easier to console himself with than the warm bodies of strange women.

"Make it quick, Mal, I'm tired."

He runs stiff fingers through his hair, shoulders drooping. Malakai always did have the worst timing.

[Malakai]

There are only a handful of times she has ever seen the fox visibly upset. Even then it'd been shallow shreds. Only notable with the friction of eighty years between them. Malakai knows before he's entirely in the door that something is wrong. The better part of her might be concerned. Especially since supernatural immortals tended to get rather brash when upset (her wrath a perfect example, if not bottle-fed under the thumb of a demon for a century.) But, there is still some fistful of anger she feels between them. Some plum among their sour sweet grapes. Though never as sour as the smell of sickly wine on his breath.

A scapegoat that has never worked for her, but has always been Liam's choice of hand.

"Come to say your sorry's, then? I have to say it's long overdue."

But even then the satirical humor they often bicker back and forth is frazzled and worn. It's forced and unrequited. Malakai does not make a notion to do anything other than observe him through her blue gray eyes and a flat expression. Practiced apathy that fits into place as easily as a size eight shoe.

"You broke my table. It was a nice one, not cheap either."

It might be wise, or even kind of her to comment on his current state. But instead her eyes follow a pistol that clitters against the table with what she hopes is the safety clicked into place. And she follows his tired tremble back up to his face, settles on it; so maybe just when Liam expects her to interrupt. To ask as she has subtly before, ''what's wrong?" instead she says: "Will ten thousand cover it?"

Then she shuffles her heel down from the edge, leaning forward to nudge the briefcase with her knuckles.

"Make it quick, Mal, I'm tired."

"As you wish," She says. That hint of otherworldness in her tone. "I want to make you a very rich man, Liam."

Whatever bonds are frayed between them, whatever hair is out of place on his little orange head - well it all can be fixed with money. Sorrow, grief, guilt. In a way, it's the only condolence Malakai will ever offer him.

[Liam]

Liam yawns dismissively, reaching for the quilt thrown over the back of the couch to bundle himself in, kicking off his shoes with little care to Malakai's presence. She was no guest and she couldn't expect to be treated as such, breaking in his home, insulting him as she had. For as long as he had know her, Mal acted a queen and expected him to play the fool. Not now, and not today of all days.

Surprise stills him, but Liam barks out a quick retort, laughing off what she was offering. It was quickest way to push her away from him, to get her out of his home so he could comfortably drown himself in the sweet embrace of Southern Comfort. "Was the kiss that good then? You know, usually I don't ask women to pay for my services, but in this case, well," He rubs the spot on his chest she had nearly driven her stiletto through. "A certain amount of compensation would be nice."

The fox shifter crooks a finger in her direction, smile hanging onto his lips by thin threads and there is something malicious in it, a challenge to Malakai to push him on this day. Let her see how far his patience truly went and the anger he could deal out when motivated. "By all means, if you're going to offer me money, let me give you the full package deal." Liam gestures lewdly to his crotch, sneering, hoping beyond hope she'd turn and show herself out the door rather than deal with him in this pitiful state.

He holds her gaze for a moment longer before dropping it. It was the fool who didn't look the gift horse in the mouth. The stock market, long term investment or not, wasn't what it used to be and the money would be welcomed, but Liam knew better than to think the deal came without a catch. "What do you want from me, Malakai? What can I possibly give you?" Liam brews in his frustrations, blanket tucked under his chin, before throwing it off and rising to his feet, stalking towards the kitchen. He mutters Gaelic under his breath as he reaches for a glass and the bottle of amber liquid nearly guaranteed to silence the buzzing wasp's nest of his mind.

Everything came at a price with that cur. Who was she to walk in here and demand things of him?

"I don't want your damned money, and there is nothing I want from you." Tumbler filled, Liam leans against the counter, hands shaking and liquid sloshing over the rim. He takes an affirming gulp, the sharp image that Malakai cuts in his living room turned wavy, distant and faraway.

Liam only wished she could stay that way.