Having placed a little under-the-table bet on the Sonnier/Lalaurie Quodpot game, Malachi was heading out across campus with a few more bucks in his wallet. He was dressed as he usually was, when not in uniform, distressed jeans, tee shirt and boots, not to mention a collection of grunge-type jewelry. He had a few bucks to spend on maybe some Taco Bell and a used CD at Euclid Records in New Orleans; luckily, his bike had a full tank of gas.

Checking out the scenery, as he walked, and pissed that he’d forgotten his iPod, Mal’s attention fell on this chick doing tricks on her skateboard. His lips curled up into a crooked smile; he remembered having a skateboard, when he was younger, and being hell on wheels.

Malachi was enjoying the show, the little blonde was performing, until she took a tumble. He picked up his pace and came to crouch down next to her, “Hey there, little girl, are you okay?”, he asked lightly; he could see that the scratch wasn’t bad. “That was a badass ollie you were performing when you wiped out”, he tossed her the compliment with a smooth, deep quality to his voice, as if he were saying, ‘that’s a nice hat you’re wearing’.