Nicholas: Whew!! I'm back in business, guys! I told you I didn't abandon any of my stories. Here's a fun chapter to make up for my absence.
Lazing around just seems like the best thing to do on a Saturday; it's basically the only thing that Twins can think to do when they aren't preparing to kill someone or something like that. Before, they never really had to worry about boring each other (because there wasn't much they could do about that since they were pretty much stuck together), but now that Malise was there, they figured that they might want to make her comfortable. "Being that ya don' have yer notebook," Murphy had said, "it just makes sense that we try ta distract ya from yer loss." So they decided to play cards, which had somehow materialized in Connor's nightstand drawer—but we don't ask questions, we never ask questions. In any case, they blew most of the day away playing poker; the twins both took to losing to the girl without even planning to and she noticed something odd, but didn't mention it. By the time the evening came around, Malise had a very subtle bout of confidence nestled in her gut that hadn't been there before, even though she knew that they weren't trying to win. Either way she liked it.
"Well," Murphy began at length, stretching until his back cracked, "I'm done with this…honestly, losing me shirt to a teenager."
"Ya haven't lost yer shirt yet. Believe me, I'd notice." That was Connor and it made the girl laugh. "But really, I think it's about time I turned in." Reaching down with his left hand, he mussed Vicky's fur and stroked her ears gently. "Even she's getting tired, look."
"It's only nine o'clock."
"We're old, dear," Connor stated with a smirk. "'Sides, Murphy needs his beauty sleep or he gets grumpy."
At that, aforementioned twin stood and tossed half of the deck of cards he'd be gathering from the table in his brother's direction. "Fuck ya, old man. I on the other hand, don't think that turning thirty-one in October means that I'm too old ta stay up late."
"Oh shut it, ya idjit." Indignantly, Connor abandoned his seat to pick up the cards that were now strewn across the floor before Vicky got her nose in them.
While they continued bickering, Malise sneaked to the bathroom to quickly change into her pajamas. The time alone gave her free range for her thoughts and she used it to wander somewhere deep within the confines of her imagination—places no one else had discovered—and create. It was never hard for her to think of little plot lines and good scenarios (the hard part was putting them on paper), and she often enjoyed being able to put herself right in the action. She only ever got to do this when she was alone and it was safe to slip into those dark recesses of her brain. Mumbled words tumbled out of her mouth—lines, dialogue from both sides of the conversation. Right now, she was thinking of Jason Kreit: the German American, a drifter in Northern California facing the persecution ahead of him because of World War II.
Pulling her shirt over her head, she imagined Jason on the side of the road, bruised and beaten like how this story began. Currently, she was little Caroline driving down a highway with her mother. "Father is MIA," she muttered, donning her tank top. "Mother don't you see him? He's there." And then Mother would gasp and pull over, worried about the state of health a man had to be in to sit on the side of the highway like that.
This was the easiest way for Malise to make her world her own. What with her father being a bastard, she didn't have much freedom to live life to its fullest. It often made her wonder how things might be different if her mom was still alive. Jay Neal had loved his wife more than life itself, and when this little girl came along and took her away, it was a natural human reaction to hate it. Not saying that Malise believed he had just cause for some of the things he did to her, but she did understand (if only a little bit). And sure, a strange as it may be, she'd written quite a bit about her father—what he may have been like before she came along. In her mind, he had been a nice man at one point in life, a kind-hearted, sober gentleman…okay maybe that is pushing it.
Once she had her PJ bottoms on, she emerged from the peaceful hallow from her mind—deliberately, but reluctantly—and peeked out of the bathroom to see that Murphy had succeeded in tackling his twin to the floor and was holding him in a strangle hold (though of course, not strangling him). With a nervous, slightly amused laugh/sigh she beckoned Vicky towards her and sent her bounding in Murphy's direction.
"Hey! That en't fair!" Murphy quickly abandoned the fight at hand and tossed himself on the bed to get away from the dog that was after him. It didn't help much because Vicky just leapt nimbly onto the bed and started to lick him wherever she cold reach. "Get off!" he demanded, pushing at the canine futilely.
With a snicker, Connor pushed himself to his feet. "Serves you right," he muttered.
When Malise saw him stick his tongue out at his twin, she realized that that had to be the most childish thing she'd ever seen him do. It was awkward because the last thing she would expect would be for Connor to be anything but mature. Then, as he stood there with his arms crossed defiantly over his chest and his chin in the air, he looked more like a stubborn child than anything else (a very tall, stubborn child, all the same). It disappeared in a heartbeat when Connor suddenly rushed over to get the dog off of Murphy.
"That's enough of that, I should think," he stated playfully, though the slight concern that had donned his face was apparent. He grabbed Vicky carefully around the neck, careful not to startle her, and pulled her back gently.
"You're very good with animals," Malise observed—lacking anything else to say.
"Well, I deal with Murphy, don't I?"
Murphy sat up on the bed in a furious flurry. "Oh shut it, ya little bastard!" His mouth was turned down in a frown, but Malise had this feeling that this was how they sometimes expressed their love.
It occurred to Malise, in the silence that followed this that there were two beds and two twins—and being that she could add—and though she was sure that they probably shared most of the time, she didn't want to impose. Awkwardly she cleared her throat to break up the glaring contest that had started between brother, and shuffled her bare foot into the carpet. "So…I'll sleep on the floor then?"
Immediately, and by the look on Connor's face, she knew it wouldn't fly. When he scoffed—almost angrily—at the suggestion, Malise felt a blush start to heat up her cheeks and knew that all the way down to her bare shoulders had to be flushing pink right then. Still, she hadn't known any other way to get the dilemma out in the open.
"Don't be ridiculous," the blond said firmly, "it'll be a cold day in Hell when I let a teenage girl sleep on the floor ta try an' make us comfortable. Ye can have my bed." He motioned to the one farthest away from the window—the on that she'd slept in last night as well. "S'not like I'm not accustomed ta sharin' a bed with that." He hiked his thumb over his shoulder in Murphy's direction (making clear who that was).
Sliding up to the edge of the bed behind Connor, Murphy put an arm around his waist. "Yer actin' like ya don' wanna…" he muttered with a cheeky grin. "Weren't complainin' last night…er maybe tha's just 'cause yer mouth was otherwise occupied."
Almost as quickly as Murphy said it, Connor thumped him sharply on the back of the head. Groaning at his brother's high-pitched laughter, he rolled his eyes. "That's not somethin' ye should go about mentionin' in front of a sixteen-year-old girl." Despite his sharp, authoritative tone, there was an unmistakable tint of pink on his cheeks. (Malise didn't feel so left out anymore.)
"It's alright," she stated with a shrug, "There's not much you guys can talk about doing in bed that I haven't already written something about."
Both men then stared at her as if she'd grown another head—quite an embarrassing sort of way to look at someone—but before she got the chance to turn beet red, Murphy started to snicker. "I gotta read these stories o' yers." That earned him another sharp thump on the head.
Raising her eyebrow, Malise took a moment to consider what Murphy was talking about. Then she turned to Connor. "Why is he such a pervert and you're so normal?"
Shrugging as if to say "hey, we're fraternal, what can I do?" Connor cleared his throat before muttering: "You have no idea…he jerked off in the womb." And that was reliable information coming from the man that had shared said womb with him.
"I'm not a pervert…I'm perverted, there's a difference." Murphy was smiling cheekily behind two fingers that he pressed against his lower lip.
Malise just shook her head hopelessly, knowing that this wouldn't end any time soon. She looked at her new dog and smiled, then looked back and Murphy and shrugged. "I'm gonna sick Vicky on you again…" she told him.
"What!? Why?" The alarm in his tone made his pitch jump—as only an Irish brogue can do so silkily—and both Malise and Connor started to laugh at him. Murphy was less than amused being that whatever joke it had been was at his expense. "Careful Malise, I think yer catchin' me brother's asshole-ism," he murmured, scratching idly at his lip.
"Oh hush," she said quietly, watching Connor sit down and stare thoughtfully at the flowers that still sat, untouched, on the table. She noticed his forlorn looked, even though he must have been trying to hide it because he dropped it as soon as he noticed she was watching.
"Should we get to bed then?" he mused, now effectively ignoring the floral arrangement.
"As long as you promise there'll be no funny business during the night." She mainly directed this at Murphy, who just shrugged with that wry smirk of his as if to say "I'm only human." "Or at least wait until I'm asleep…"
"Oh don't worry, dear," Connor said, shoving his twin sharply, "I'll keep him in check."