As soon as he was sure Malcolm had left, Neal made pie. Blueberry pie, topless, heavy on the fresh fruit and low on the cornstarch. Home-made crust, a recipe he's been working on to be as mild as possible. He had most of it prepped already--it's just a matter of putting it together.
He leaves it on the kitchen island in plain view.
He's been working on something else, too, and though he hasn't gotten the hang of what he wants to make yet, he's figured out a few simple things. In this case, the simplest of them is a tiny bouquet of twizzler flowers left on Malcolm's pillow, arrayed there the way they would be on the side of a cake at home.
It's not a move, not an attempt to take advantage of what he can only assume will go (went?) badly. Just him trying to soften the blow. Remind Malcolm that he's got people who would choose him, if it came right down to picking.
After he sets up the little gifts, he retreats to his garage bedroom, turning on a fan. It's warm in here, and he can't decide whether or not that's an improvement over the chill of autumn. He tries for a little while to read, but can't focus. So instead he starts working on a wire frame of a small bird, another idea that he wants to try out. It's all wires stripped from appliances and walls in unoccupied houses on the other side of town. He doubts anybody is going to miss them.
So there he sits on the bed, legs crossed, twisting little bits of copper together to try and get the shape he wants.
Afternoon of Day 65 - Locked to Malcolm
He leaves it on the kitchen island in plain view.
He's been working on something else, too, and though he hasn't gotten the hang of what he wants to make yet, he's figured out a few simple things. In this case, the simplest of them is a tiny bouquet of twizzler flowers left on Malcolm's pillow, arrayed there the way they would be on the side of a cake at home.
It's not a move, not an attempt to take advantage of what he can only assume will go (went?) badly. Just him trying to soften the blow. Remind Malcolm that he's got people who would choose him, if it came right down to picking.
After he sets up the little gifts, he retreats to his garage bedroom, turning on a fan. It's warm in here, and he can't decide whether or not that's an improvement over the chill of autumn. He tries for a little while to read, but can't focus. So instead he starts working on a wire frame of a small bird, another idea that he wants to try out. It's all wires stripped from appliances and walls in unoccupied houses on the other side of town. He doubts anybody is going to miss them.
So there he sits on the bed, legs crossed, twisting little bits of copper together to try and get the shape he wants.