ʀᴇᴠᴇɴᴀɴᴛ • ᴄᴀʀʟɪꜱʟᴇ ᴄᴜʟʟᴇɴ

01; the Cullens

Forks is a lovely town. Really. Quaint but not completely abandoned to the point of ruin. Community was a real spirit to fight there, people loved and laughed as easy as they breathed. It was human feeling, the sense of it all. It was nice.

Or it was until a year ago.

Malakai stares down at the newspaper in front of him without indication of his curiosity; the paper is out of date by at least nine months. It detailed a killing, an animal attack. So misfortunate in this small quirky town. Murder was so out of place. It made the community pull together in horror, But hey, at least it was an animal, not a person. God forbid.

Malakai knows better.

He sighs, resting the article against the oak table with clear intention, a picture perfect example of a human man affected by the bad words it held. He's dressed appropriately for the sleeting weather in a thick coat and jeans that are too baggy along the legs, yet he blends in well enough. The boots are constricting on his feet, always so used to having skin being in contact with the floor, but there's no indication that it's showing. All of it is stolen. The clothes, the demeanour. He's wearing a mask, metaphorically, so only the people around him can see what he wants them to see.

The rest of the people in the cafe see a stranger just passing through, probably another truck driver stopping for food. A little young for that job, but no one pays attention as he's so quiet and in the corner of the building. The waitress, on the other hand, has to get closer to him. Has to look into his eyes as it's only polite when she speaks to him.

"Here you go honey," the woman places coffee and a slice of cake in front of him, his asked order, going as far as to unroll the napkin around his utensils. See? Nice little town and it's community.

Malakai softens his expression and tips his chin down into a thank you, echoing her kindness. Her cheeks flush, but Malakai doesn't know if that's from his expression or because her eyes flicker, drawn to the scars lining his throat and how he follows her action with sniper like attention.

"You know, we had a few animal attacks of our own here not long ago," she tells unbidden, forced into conversation from his silence and from being caught staring at the injury.

Malakai allows his expression to slide into interested. It's hardly an act this time. The waitress eats it up either way, "yes horrible thing. No one was lucky enough to walk away. We had all the rangers out looking for the animal that did it."

There's the unspoken, like you, hidden in the first part. It doesn't affect him, doesn't make him want to grit his teeth and snarl like it would have fifty years ago. He was lucky, in the sense he got attacked by an 'animal' and was only left with scars.

Malakai uses his right hand to write on the notebook in front of him, the same one that he wrote on when he first walked in, the story the same as always when he had to go into public and socialise- I had an accident, I can't use my vocal chords. Is it ok that I order through the notebook?

She'd been so aghast with the sight of him, the sob story he sold people, that she nodded and ushered him to the corner table in the cafe, completely babbling in apologies for the stranger she didn't know.

This time, he writes, that's horrible. I'm so very sorry. Did they catch the animal?

"Yes it was extremely unfortunate, but no, the animal got away and never did it again. Really weird, huh? My old man used to say once an animal got itself onto the taste of blood, it wouldn't stop until someone put it down."

Malakai schooled his expression into a flat one, picking up the steaming cup of coffee and hiding the silent laughter into the rim of it. If only she knew how determined he was himself to put the 'animal' down.