Work Text:
*We open on Malachi, cape flapping dramatically in the wind. Considering that he doesn't have the rest of his stage attire on, he's probably using the cloak as some form of a security blanket.*
*Malachi, followed by both cameramen, walks onto the premises of a small building labeled "The Interest Rate".*
Malachi: *clicks his tongue* Innocent-seeming. But why would they want pictures of our work...
CM #1: You asked that question 3 times on the way here.
Malachi: *nonplussed* Well, now it's been 4. And...oh, a customer! *looks off in the distance, then heads toward an older man getting out of his car*
The older man: *doesn't see Malachi and heads right up to the stack of papers next to the door* Tsk. Same as ever, huh.
Malachi: *watches the older man, with no small amount of disdain, take one paper* Hello, sir!
CM #2: Why are you just...
Malachi: *squaring his shoulders; points back at the camera* I pay you to film, not to talk. This one is serious business.
The older man: *sees the cameras first and Malachi second* Got some paparazzi, don'tcha...*chuckles to himself, thumbing through the paper's pages*
Malachi: *takes the liberty of coming as close as he thinks is comfortable* My name is Malachi Morris, and I was wondering if you happened to be familiar with this syndicate?
The older man: That's a word for it. Name's Carmichael, Donald. Don't read this one often. *taps the paper with the back of one wrinkled hand* Nothin' closer around, so I gotta put up with these here. *points to one article and huffs* Wonder what he ended up doin'.
Malachi: *leans over (dramatically swinging a leg out as he does so)* Hang on. "Tyler Atherton, local Union Jack crusader and college dropout..." Rude. "...has cast aside doubts about his usefulness by failing to provide for this edition of The Interest Rate..." That's one of my employees!
Donald: *squints, skims the rest of the article* Says he was meant to be taking photos of the new theater renovations down the—*suddenly straightens his toupee while giving a grin to Malachi* You're the man fixing it up. How'd this kid end up with you?
Malachi: *bows slightly in thanks* My dear, Trancehall, it's going very well. But, I digress. Atherton and I had a heart-to-heart and he chose to take a stake in my project. The way he mentioned those pictures made it sound as if it was...not this important. *eyes comb over the printed insults, a glint of concern in his gaze*
Donald: *grumbles* Interest Rate's folks're always making mountains from molehills. Don't go showing it to the boy, but I wouldn't get in a tizzy about it neither.
Malachi: *crosses his arms* It's...well...*looks down at the pavement* This just rubs me the incorrect sort of way. It feels exploitative.
Donald: *wipes off his nose with a sniff* I'd eat my vest if there's not someone in there. Ought to be worth it to try a calm conversation, eh, Morris?
Malachi: *smoothes a finger over his mustache and nods* Of course. Shall I go first?
Donald: *shakes his head* I can scout for you. *heads inside, slipping past the door and beyond the camera shot*
Malachi: *under his breath* You're very kind.
*With the camera focusing on the closed door of The Interest Rate, those standing outside hear the following:*
*A snippet of cursing, presumably from Donald, about the dustiness of the floors.*
*A sound like a broom clattering to the floor, and another curse from Donald.*
*The whirring of some sort of screen or system activating before a handful of...are those whispers?*
*About 60 seconds after these, the door opens and Donald comes back out, holding his head. A closer look reveals tears running down his withered cheeks.*
Malachi: *instantly alert* What is it? What did you see?
Donald: *steps away from Malachi* I DIDN'T see...did I? *to himself more than anyone else* Wanted to clear up that gunk, 'n then...heard...
*Donald looks directly into the camera. It's faint, but the light in his eyes is briefly replaced by an emerald-green ring around his pupils. His head cocks to the side as if someone pushed it to do so, before he seems to completely wake from whatever state he was in.*
Malachi: *firmly* Donald, what did you see in there?
Donald: *taps his temple, sounding a little more grizzled than before* Nothing. *holds up his other hand* I feel like I did see something. Someone. Best I can say it was, was...some sort of aura. You see it one place, but you FEEL it all around ya. *shakes his head and puts his arms down* All I got's the feeling. Memory flew the coop.
Malachi: You...don't remember ANYTHING?
Donald: *smiles sadly after a second of silence* One thing. From too long ago. *holds a hand to his pocket, then pulls a locket out of it just to check that the trinket is still there*
Malachi: *holds his hands in front of his face in the prayer motion* That sounds, to me, like hypnosis. Why a tabloid would have some form of it set at the front door...it's only MORE suspicious. And the "aura" you mentioned...*tries to think of an explanation and ends up just throwing his arms up* Donald. What triggered this?
Donald: *nods* That, I still got. I know how to clean and I know what places need it. That there was one of them places.
Malachi: Alright, then. *folds his hands behind his back and assumes his best slightly-persuasive voice* I'll need you to focus...*holds up one finger* Right here.
Donald: For what? *comes up to Malachi*
Malachi: For following it to the left...*moves his finger to the left*...and then to the right...*moves it to the right*
CM #2: You didn't do this for the others.
Malachi: *turns his head and keeps moving his finger* The showmanship is on the basis of my whims. *pronounces "whims" as "hwims"; turns back to Donald* Yes, and off to the left...off to the right...off to the left...off to the—right to sleep. *points directly at Donald with the last phrase, then moves in for the eye contact*
Donald: *sinks into himself like he's curled up after a long day of work, his pupils now swallowed by the same malachite-green pinprick that Tyler and Kristan have already experienced* Right......
Mystichite: *eyes glowing* You're going to come with me to the theater, and we will work out a position for you there. Your help will be invaluable. *carefully enunciating every word before snapping his fingers and motioning for Donald to follow, which he very much does*
CM #1: ...Guess we're doing that now.
CM #2: I'm gonna tell the British kid about the paper. *moves to grab one (though the camera shot shifts so we won't see their face)*
Donald: *hazily, though he's still somewhat aware of his surroundings* I WILL be cleanin', yeah?
Mystichite: *chuckles* Oh, Pyrite. All that dust is yours.
Donald: *probably smiling (the shot is at the men's backs, so it's hard to tell)*
CM #1: Know what, I can be dramatic too. Cut.
*The camera shot blacks out, and we're left to consider the intertwined fate of the theater and the paper...and how the new janitor will fit into it all.*