Malcolm kept his arms folded while the heavy pine door creaked open, the hinges groaning with age, his eyes drawn away from the light outside to the figure in the doorframe. At first, he didn't recognize her; but as he took in her features from head to toe, a piece of his brain triggered. He'd seen her before, but he couldn't remember where. As he stared at her and she at him, a silence stretched across the room -- wholly uncomfortable and oppressive, like a thick wool blanket in the middle of July. After a time period that felt like an eternity of first impressions and immediate judgements, he finally spoke.

"Was kind of hoping for a brother." His deadpan face eased itself into the practiced smile he had done so many times as he swung his jean-clad legs over the edge of the bed. "Kidding. Judging by your bags, you'll be my foster sister. Am I wrong?"

He stood up and let out a tremendous yawn as he stretched, noting the clock helpfully informing him that he hadn't moved for several hours. His back and arms gave several rattling pops and creaks before he settled back down, slipping his left thumb into his pocket as he lifted his heavy green duffel bag onto his bed.

"I'm Malcolm. Used to be Wetekam once upon a time -- German, if you're curious -- now it's..." He paused as he legitimately combed his brain for a few moments. "...Hughes, I think. Or was it Norton? I've been around so often, changes every few months."

He slipped his free hand towards her for a handshake, kind of tapering off halfway and merely slipping his hands into his pockets instead as he reconsidered his options. Not wanting to offend her and not able to immediately judge how she'd react, his deep brown irises observed her carefully, standing about four feet away. A comfortable distance.