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Post by scribblerrigby on Mar 5, 2011 22:35:01 GMT -5
“Go home, Malcolm.” Aaron said sternly. It wasn’t an option. “Don’t you have work to do on Monday’s assignment?”
Malcolm started to protest, but Angel tugged on his arm, and Aaron gave him a look that insisted he clearly wanted them out of there. With a last, suspicious backward glare at his teacher, Malcolm followed Angel to the stairway.
His mind raced as he walked. What else could he do? He couldn’t argue with or pick a fight with a teacher – especially one who taught several of his more important classes, who’d help him get into a good school, later. What was he going to do with the body? The cadaver dissection excuse was bull – the class would definitely notice if they started slicing up the janitor. What if Aaron got caught? Would he turn them in, show off the photo?
And Angel. She wasn’t holding up very well. He wrapped his arm protectively around her shoulder. He had seen the strange look his professor had given the tattoo. And that little thing Malcolm did with her wrist - How much had he put on the line with that? How did she read that? That was dumb timing. And a dumb placement. Dumb everything.
The whole thing was dumb and confusing and frustrating, and he didn’t know what to do.
He walked back to the studio in somber, unbearable silence.
Just say something. Anything.
“Well, O-Chem isn’t going to be weird at all on Monday. That…that was just messed up. On so many levels. ” He smudged a small puddle of paint with his foot. “Like…the body thing? What could he possibly want with that?”
He walked to Colin’s now-decimated canvas, still sitting where Angel had left it. Though there were pieces of background left in places, a large smudge of paint was the only indication that the janitor had ever been in the picture. He picked it up, studying it. He choked back a teary laugh, again. He would definitely have thought it was awesome. It wasn’t fair at all. “It was…really good, Angel. I'm sorry...”
He set it down, and looked back at her. “Do you need help with anything…? Cleaning, carrying things? You…you can stay at my place if you don’t want to go home, tonight.”
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Post by Clairice-Sarah on Mar 6, 2011 0:37:20 GMT -5
When Malcolm moved his arm around her, Angel leaned into him. Her knees felt soft, and she didn't know at this point if it was blood loss or exhaustion. She stared down at the bandages on her wrist, much better wrapped than anything she did. And after her arms began healing, too...her lip twitched at the thought of how butchered her body looked. She wanted smooth skin again, no itching, no pain.
By this time one of her arms moved around his middle, but too late it seemed, as they reached the art studio.
"He's creepy," Angel said, leaving the destroyed painting alone to take down the sketch she'd been working on before. "And sick...what do you guys do in sciences?" God, she killed a man, and someone was helping her cover it up...part of her urged her to accept that it wasn't her, but that felt just as wrong.
She glanced back as Malcolm looked at the painting. "Yeah..." Looking around the studio, she frowned. "We should probably clean up ourselves...and just try to dry up the puddles..." She set the large sketchbook down with her supplies and purse, which - thank god - hadn't been touched by Colin. She went into one of the back rooms to get a box of vinyl gloves. "Wear these when you clean up the paint, and try not to get it on your clothes. It's not like blood...it won't wash out."
Twenty five minutes of fighting with the wash basin and paper towels later, Angel gave up. "Good enough..." She dropped dirty paper towels in the garbage can, followed by her gloves. Carefully she pulled her hoodie and jacket on, and dug around for her keys.
"I want to stop at my house first and get clean clothes, start washing these...is that okay?"
Sneaking out of the school in the dark didn't seem as hard as she first thought, and though both wrists ached and all she wanted to do was lay down, she chose to drive anyway. She clambered into her back seat to prop the painting and sketchbook before taking the driver's seat. The transmission changed for her much easier since its repair, and she still looked shocked when she didn't need to strongarm it to switch to drive.
"No one's home but the cats," she promised him as she turned down her street, "I just want to check on them and change my clothes. They're out of town until tomorrow afternoon." She pulled into her driveway slowly, to park straight, she hated not parking properly... She left the vehicle unlocked and went straight to the door, assuming he'd follow behind her. After fumbling through her keys in the dark she found the one she wanted and opened the door.
She dropped to one knee to capture Arsenic before he could run past, and slipped off her tennis shoes. She gave the cat an affectionate squeeze and kiss before letting him down on the floor.
"Make yourself at home...I'll be really fast, okay?" The other cat made a meow from the living room. "Mimi doesn't really like to be touched...probably should just leave her alone." Without giving any instruction or boundaries, Angel turned up the stairs and left him alone in the front hallway.
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Post by scribblerrigby on Mar 6, 2011 18:56:26 GMT -5
Cleaning had been long and frustrating. The more he scrubbed, the more it seemed to spread, so he was relieved when Angel finally decided to throw in the towel and go home - but not without stopping at her own house, first.
At least we didn't have to clean up a body in the middle of the school, too, he thought, darkly.
When they arrived at the house, Angel dashed up the stairs to change, leaving him in the doorway with her cat, and his thoughts.
They were there, alone. Her parents were out of town. She was changing up there. Right now. It sounded like the prelude to many high school escapades - minus the deadly painting and the profusive bleeding. And just the general crappiness of things. Their timing was never right.
But then again, if they were normal, he wouldn’t have met her in the first place.
He stayed downstairs. Arsenic had taken to pulling on his shoelace, anyway. He scooped the cat up, wandered to the living room, squeaking gray bundle in tow – who’d taken to gnawing on the strings hanging off of his hood – and sat down on the couch.
“Your owner just needs a break, huh,” he said to the cat, in his small, talking-to-animals voice. “That’s why you’re here. We gotta’ be around to cheer her up, right?” Arsenic sniffed the blood on his shirt and said nothing. Malcolm set the cat on his lap, and idly flicked through a recital program he found on the table.
Mimi was a fuzzy blob, a tiny pulse sitting on the back of the couch, near his head. He absently reached to scratch her under her chin, something he regularly did with his own Buffy. Mimi, however, was quick to remind him that she wasn’t Buffy at all - she hissed, screamed warningly, and took a swipe at his hand.
Malcolm yelped, hissing back at the cat, “Shut up, shut up – AW CRAP!” Bright claw marks shone on the back of his hand. With a self-satisfied flick of her tail, Mimi jumped off the couch and sauntered away.
“I didn’t do anything,” Malcolm yelled towards the stairway, just in case.
Meanwhile, Arsenic had pulled the hood’s cord out completely, and had trotted after Mimi to wave it in her face.
Mimi sat on him.
Malcolm laughed, then, though it lasted probably a lot longer than it would normally have. He just wanted to go home. The fact that Jeff probably wouldn’t look twice at his roommate stumbling in the door, covered in blood said a lot, too.
“You ready yet, Angel?” he called again, and tossed the recital program aside.
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Post by Clairice-Sarah on Mar 8, 2011 18:59:54 GMT -5
Angel grabbed garments from her closet before disappearing into the bathroom. It occurred to her, as she pulled off her bloodied t-shirt that she'd broken her mother's first and only Holy Rule that boys were never allowed in the house unsupervised. Well, her mother didn't know a lot of things, right? She paused to think about it, the kind of opportunity it could be to anyone else and...and he kissed her wrist, she was sure she hadn't dreamed that.
Her face coloured again, and she reminded herself that she was just little Angel - Telfer's opportunity - and they were just friends anyway. That had just been Malcolm being a vampire. Nothing to do with her. She gave a frustrated sigh and dropped the dirty garments in the sink, running them through cold water and hand-soap before re-dressing into another pair of skinny jeans and a grey long-sleeved shirt.
He yelled something up the stairs, that she didn't quite catch but he didn't SOUND alarmed... She balled her dirty clothes together and put them in her laundry basket. Grabbing a hoodie as an afterthought, she tugged on her uggs and shut the bedroom door behind her.
"Sorry, all good," she said as she came down the stairs and into the living room, stooping to take the hoodie cord away from the younger cat. "It's yours right?" They didn't keep laces out, so she assumed...Angel pushed a hand through her hair. "Just to your place right?"
She slung her purse over her shoulder and nudged the cats apart before going to the door. To his apartment...and then what? Think about what they did, what they covered up? What if that guy had a family, and he had to have friends? Angel turned away from Malcolm on purpose to compose her face as she walked out the door. The drive, she didn't speak but pushed in a mix CD of old NIN albums to fill the quiet.
She didn't kill the man herself, and she needed to keep that in mind. But she also could have stopped it, apparently. On the same token though, she didn't know that she'd risk her life over it. She didn't want to die, and she knew that much.
Angel parked across the street from their building and followed Malcolm up the stairs and inside. Spotting Jeff out of his room, Angel gave a shy wave as she slipped off her boots.
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Post by scribblerrigby on Mar 8, 2011 23:56:31 GMT -5
Jeff sprawled on the couch, homework scattered across the cushions and surrounding floor When he heard the two pairs of feet pounding up the stairs, he paused the game he had been playing and steeled himself for an argument. No scary movies. He had stuff to do. And he wasn’t going to be sexiled, either. Not tonight. He started talking as soon as he heard Fin’s keys rattle in the door.
“No. NO MALCOLM. If you even THINK about sticking Samara up on that screen-“
“Nah, not tonight…” Malcolm grumbled.
Jeff looked up in mock horror, ready to say something, but then he saw Angel, then their faces, then the blood all over Malcolm’s shirt.
“Hey, Angel. Oh, Jesus…Dude. Something happened. What happened?”
“Stuff…Not really sure yet. Tell you later.”
Xander trotted up to Angel, rubbing happily against her legs while Malcolm went to open the fridge. On the top shelf was a six-pack of brown beer bottles. A piece of paper affixed to the front of the pack with too much masking tape bore a hastily scribbled skull-and-crossbones, and the words: MALCOLM’S BOOZE. HANDS OFF. He grabbed a bottle, flipped off the rubber cap and took a swig before putting it back.
“Hope you don’t mind,” he said, turning to Angel. “I have actual beer and water and pop, and vodka, and juice in here too, if you want.” He grabbed a bottle of water for himself.
Jeff had claimed the couch, so they wandered to Malcolm’s room. Buffy was a large, sleeping, orange-and-white puff on his pillow. Malcolm pulled his shirt over his head, balled it up, tossed it on a chair, and grabbed another one from his closet to put on, all the while saying, “We can wait until he’s done in there and…I dunno, watch a movie or something. Something that’s happy…”
He thought back to the car ride, which had been frustratingly quiet.
Angel didn’t seem to want to talk, then, so Malcolm had spent the ride attempting to stick the cord back in his jacket. It failed; he’d jammed it in his pocket, instead, silently sulking, replaying the night's events in his head. Angel had been on the verge of falling apart the entire ordeal, and now…nothing. He’d read about vampires who could read minds – that skill could’ve come in handy at the moment. The hell if he knew how to do it, though.
He had questions. He had many things to say. And something to explain. But first thing’s first. He turned, and looked directly in her eyes.
“So. Angel...how are you doing?”
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Post by Clairice-Sarah on Mar 9, 2011 21:10:03 GMT -5
Angel stole the smaller cat from the floor as he rubbed up against her and she scratched his chin affectionately. "No scary movies tonight," she confirmed with a hollow and unreadable smile, holding Xander with one arm. Turning to Malcolm when he offered her a drink, she didn't hesitate to say, "Vodka, please. With anything." As Xander rubbed against the fabric of her sweater, she took the glass and followed after Malcolm to his room.
"Don't you want to...clean that...?" Angel's eyes followed the balled up shirt but fixed themselves on his back while he searched for another shirt. "Yeah...that's cool," she replied, then shook her head to refocus herself. She sipped at the drink but found that it didn't have any flavour. Xander squirmed and she let him down on the floor, looking up as Malcolm asked her how she was doing.
Angel paused, glanced at her left hand, then back to him. "Fine, your creepy professor is better at this than I am." He's not asking about that, he already knows. Another sip of her drink, two. She didn't know how else to avoid it other than to not talk about it. She made a monster that killed a man. No other way around it, she was involved, if not at fault. Between that, and Telfer, she'd seen enough real violence to last her a lifetime. Angel was done. She didn't want to anymore.
She leaned against his desk and sighed.
"I'm going to stop painting outside of assignments for now," she decided. And maybe she'd stop reinterpreting horror for a while, too. Absently, Angel swirled the drink. "I put more than that custodian in danger tonight...you, and your creepy professor too." Her eyes dropped to the floor, if Malcolm had been hurt, or killed...
"I'm just...just sorry I'm so useless. If I...did whatever I did, earlier, this could all be different."
It hurt, and scared her, the extra pulse in the curse-mark. But it also upset her, that it showed up so late, that she didn't know how it came or when it left or why it never showed up before. She didn't know much of anything and with that thought, she decided maybe she was done altogether and it was time to find a new hobby and discipline to study.
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Post by scribblerrigby on Mar 10, 2011 2:15:36 GMT -5
"Don't you want to...clean that...?" Angel asked. She was cuddling Xander, Malcolm noticed; he thought it was cute. He drank some of his water, washing down the blood and the odd dryness in his throat, and stared at the crumpled, bloody shirt in bemusement. Cleaning it right away hadn’t even occurred to him. “Yeah, I guess I could…”
Her answer to his question was frustratingly and obviously evasive “Fine, your creepy professor is better at this than I am."
Malcolm sighed. “Yeah, he is. He’s had a few years and lab accidents and stuff to practice. That was really creepy, though. I don’t know what that was all about…” He looked down and trailed off; perfectly aware he was sidestepping the situation.
For a beat, the place was silent, save for the noises of Jeff’s video game drifting in from the main room.
He looked up, met her eyes with a more determined stare, moved closer, and set the bottle down on the desk beside her.
“But I’m not talking about your hand.”
"I'm going to stop painting outside of assignments for now," she decided. "I put more than that custodian in danger tonight...you, and your creepy professor too."
“C’mere…” he said, taking both of her hands. His voice was firm. “What happened was an accident. Painting is what you do, though…It’s part of who you are, what you’re good at. It’s – well, it’s usually - your bliss. I mean, sorry if that sounds corny, but it’s true. That’s like trying to stop, I dunno, Aldo from knowing everything. Or Jeff from…not-doing his homework…” he added, as Jeff shouted something at the TV. “Imagine if Lovecraft had stopped writing whenever he met a setback."
He traced the tattoo on her arm. Boy, Angel. You got stuck with one bitch of a curse…
"I'm just...just sorry I'm so useless. If I...did whatever I did, earlier, this could all be different."
“Angel. You’re not useless.”
He brushed his hand against the side of her neck, trailing up her chin. They met eyes, again.
“You’re not useless,” he said again. “It didn’t get you. It didn’t get me. And it didn’t get Fleischer. And that was because of you.”
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Post by Clairice-Sarah on Mar 10, 2011 22:04:25 GMT -5
She set her drink on his desk to wait to see what he had to say, surprised when he took both hands. She jumped - both still felt sore. "Yeah, I know it was an accident, but--" Angel stopped talking to let him continue, eyes on the floor. "Nothing Lovecraft did...ever hurt other people," she mumbled, dropping her shoulders.
She shivered as he touched the tattoo, unsure if she welcomed it. Her fingers curled and she turned her arm away from his fingers. It wasn't really her own tattoo, and now she wasn't even sure it was her own skin. She didn't want him to touch it, she decided, lest it hurt him or somehow transfer.
“Angel. You’re not useless.”
Angel's breath caught in her throat as he touched her neck and chin, forced her to look at him.
What is he doing?
Her instinct felt torn between anticipation and warning, still too familiar with Telfer's controlling habits but he's not Telfer. She barely caught the last thing he said, giving a slight, dumb nod to indicate she heard.
Angel's face coloured, and her voice failed her. What is he doing?
"M-Malcolm..."
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Post by scribblerrigby on Mar 11, 2011 0:13:42 GMT -5
He had her gaze, now.
“Angel,” he continued. “I’ve been where you are. I know how this goes. And I guess all I can tell you is: Move on. Thank god it wasn’t any worse. Life goes on, and you can’t let something like that ruin the whole thing. It’s too short for that. And you managed to save us, which is…more than any of us have done. And that, well… I’m here. You’re not alone in this.”
"M-Malcolm..."
Malcolm leaned in. His hand moved to cradle the back of her head. His lips drifted, briefly up her neck, until they found hers. It was a light, soft sweet brush. He was dimly aware that Jeff had paused the game in the other room. He didn’t care. He deepened the kiss.
After a while, he pulled back slightly, inches in front of her face, eyes twinkling. “And this?” His voice was a low murmur. “Well…I just needed you to know."
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Post by Clairice-Sarah on Mar 12, 2011 3:27:07 GMT -5
What is he doing?!
Angel stared ahead of him at the wall before she closed her eyes and let the feeling of his breath and mouth overcome her, raising on her toes. Both of her hands found his free one and closed around it, half to anchor herself as her stomach fluttered and knees shook. She squeaked at the taste of his tongue all of a sudden in her mouth, but turned her head to the side some before she pushed her own mouth against his.
The smile broke on her face before he pulled away.
She didn't know why. Logic told her she shouldn't be. She never admitted it, and would continue that way, but Telfer made her skeptical. After that, most of the time, Angel didn't think she deserved to be happy. She begged for this power, and she got it, and hadn't done anything good with it. And then tonight...
"Glad you told me," she mumbled in return, unable to break her gaze away. She did, though, realize after the glimmer was over that she tasted something like iron in her mouth and then...
Then, pausing, Angel pursed her lips before saying quietly, "There's blood in your beer bottles isn't there." That...hm. Wow. She knew how to ruin a good thing fast. "N-not that uh...you're bad, not that, it's just um, maybe...no..." Her voice dropped slightly. "...maybe no blood-booze...next time...?"
No sense in lying, the thought of someone else's blood maybe in some far distant way being in her mouth kind of grossed her out, but that seemed balance by the excitement and her inability to suppress her smile.
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Post by scribblerrigby on Mar 13, 2011 23:03:28 GMT -5
Angel: his best girl friend for over a year. Angel: the insecure, talented girl. The only one who’d put up with him, who he could talk to for ages about horror, about cats. About nothing. The one he’d take dancing, though neither was very good. Hematophobic, but put up with him, anyway. Cute. Pretty.
He’d be there for her. He wouldn’t let this destroy her. And he wanted her to know that. He had thrown himself out there. He’d put it all on the line. And tonight, with that kiss, she’d returned the sentiment.
He couldn’t hide his smile. Not that he wanted to, anyway.
You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.
Then, pausing, Angel pursed her lips before saying quietly, "There's blood in your beer bottles isn't there." That...hm. Wow. She knew how to ruin a good thing fast. "N-not that uh...you're bad, not that, it's just um, maybe...no..." Her voice dropped slightly. "...maybe no blood-booze...next time...?"
He laughed, and ran his fingers through one of her long bangs. “Yeah, yeah. There is. Blood booze.” He chuckled again. "Sorry about that." Semi-apologetic. Giddy. So there will be a next time...
“And - nope. I’m great,” he added, matter-of-factly. He closed his hand around hers; his other hand ran down her back to her waist. He pulled her closer to him, a mischievous look in his eyes.
“How about this, then? Is this good?” He ran his lips across her neck, grazing her with his teeth. The blood responded, surged; he could almost taste it. His restraint was almost palpable. He pulled away; his lips drifted along every other part of skin he could find, instead.
She was leaning against his desk. Yeah...
“If you want, of course...if you trust me-,“ he purred along her skin, just as -
“Close the DOOR,” Jeff grumbled loudly from the other room.
SonofaBITCH, Jeff.
“Seriously, guys, Aldo’s coming over. Like, right now.” He cranked the volume up on his game.
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Post by Clairice-Sarah on Mar 16, 2011 22:52:13 GMT -5
“And - nope. I’m great,” he added, matter-of-factly.
Angel let out a small laugh at his attitude and actions, feeling terribly awkward and wishing she was a few inches taller and --that must be a Malcolm charm thing, because she never noticed him look like that before...
"Is wha-! Yes," she squeaked as his mouth went to her neck. Her face, throat, and collar turned red and one of Angel's hands flew behind her to hold herself against the desk. She didn't know WHAT she was doing, or what he was doing, or what they were doing - flashbacks of her last first-time made her feel light-headed, and not in the positive and she fumbled over her response to him before Jeff interjected.
"Um." Time for a breath. "I..." She felt guilty thinking about. Felt worse not thinking about it. Malcolm would get it, right? "I think we should...wait a little. I'm just, not..."
"DRAGON AGE TWO." The previously mentioned boy walked through the door with a bag over his shoulder and his cell phone in his other hand. "We are finishing that TONIGHT," Aldo declared as he worked off his shoes and joined Jeff in front of the television. "How far is your file?"
Immediately Aldo moved some of Jeff's papers aside to make room for his netbook, typing in the password with one hand. He paused though, as his brain caught up and saw two other pairs of shoes at the door. "Oh, Angel and Malcolm are here? Malcolm!" He stood, too enchanted by the thought of one of them finishing the game to really put two and two together and stopped in front of the vampire's door.
"Have you seen any of this game yet? It's brilliant--oh. Uh..." Well there went thirty dollars, Laurie won. "Glad to see you two got over this NOW COME CHECK OUT THIS GAME." With that he turned on his heel and marched back to the living room, spouting off some statistics and a rumour he'd heard about an easter egg in the game but hadn't been able to confirm.
Angel sighed, bowed her head against Malcolm's chest. No, nothing ever came easy. She didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, life moved forward so fast...
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Post by scribblerrigby on Mar 17, 2011 17:16:37 GMT -5
"Um." Time for a breath. "I..." She felt guilty thinking about. Felt worse not thinking about it. Malcolm would get it, right? "I think we should...wait a little. I'm just, not..."
He reluctantly pulled back with a small, low, frustrated groan. Tried to gauge her expression. Was it him? Was it something he did? Was it because of what happened that night? Was it a Telfer thing? Oh, god. What if it was a Telfer thing…What the hell did THAT mean?
“Yeah. Yeah, we can... I’m sorry. That was…that was fast. I’m– oh, Jesus, there he is…” He trailed off as he heard Aldo burst into the apartment.
Buffy was awake, now, and was staring at them, tail flicking peevishly, from her perch on the pillow. Malcolm continued. “I understand.” Kind of. "I won't press it or ask, but I mean...if you ever do want to..."
When Aldo burst in, Malcolm just stared, attempting to speak, with an expression halfway between ‘amused’ and ‘absolutely mortified.’ Aldo left just as quickly as he appeared.
Angel sighed and leaned into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. “I'm sorry, Angel." Tonight was already so weird, and he was probably doing more harm than good. Dammit. "I feel like we need to go entertain, now…Rejoin humanity for a while.” He ventured a small, chaste kiss on the top of her head before inviting her back out to the main area.
He picked up his water, went to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of the “blood booze’’ – Malcolm couldn’t help but laugh at it now – and joined Jeff and Aldo in the living room. Jeff looked at Malcolm, eyebrow raised – that was fast… but Malcolm ignored it.
“That was all of two seconds of a heads-up, Jeff…Thanks for that. Hi, Aldo.”
“No problem!” Jeff grinned back, before turning back to Aldo to chat away about the game.
Malcolm remembered Aldo’s earlier question, and addressed him over Jeff’s head.
“Yeah, Aldo, Jeff’s been hogging it, so I only got as far as…wait, ‘got over’…wait, what?!” He shot an accusatory glare at Jeff, who shrugged, then leaned over the edge of the couch.
“So…as long as you’re here, you guys ready to spill what happened, now?”
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Post by Clairice-Sarah on Apr 28, 2011 19:19:12 GMT -5
She didn't miss the sound he made when she asked him to slow down and she chewed on the inside of her labret stud with mixed feelings. Angel let go of Malcolm's arm when they entered the living room and he moved on to the fridge; she took the cushion next to Aldo and sat cross legged on the floor.
She stared at the screen as Aldo set up what he wanted for the game, focused on the graphics and character designs, eyes following lights and shadows, mouth twisting in a bit of a frown when something looked off to her.
"-wait, ‘got over’…wait, what?!” Malcolm exclaimed and Angel turned to Aldo, also waiting on an answer. The boy didn't spare either a glance.
"Huh? Malcolm, sit down and watch, this is amazing...don't sleep anymore, play while Jeff is out during the day." He paused. "Wait. Something happened?" Aldo looked between the two, glancing at the fresh bandages peeking out from Angel's shirt sleeve. "You okay?"
"Mm..." Angel wrapped her arms around the cushion and brought her knees up. "Yeah, a...a painting, again...one of Malcolm's professors caught us." She half-coughed, half-stammered through the explanation, glancing to Malcolm and back to the floor.
"A professor?" Aldo kept playing as she spoke. "Does that mean you two are in trouble?"
Angel shrugged. "Maybe..."
"Give me an office number and I'll find out where he lives," Aldo offered, mashing buttons.
"Huh?"
"I'll just drop my body off at home and I'll follow him home," the boy reiterated as he pushed up his glasses. "I'll let you know what he's up to."
Angel swallowed, trying to curl tighter around the cushion. "I don't know how good of an idea that is, he seemed...pretty perceptive."
"The only thing he'll find is endless spyware on his hard drive."
"Isn't that...illegal?"
"Not when I do it BAM see, I rock at this."
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