maxfield urquhart (ex_madmax698) wrote in caged, @ 2013-09-03 10:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! 97-08, [ log ], maxfield urquhart, vivian bletchley |
Who: Maxfield Urquhart and Vivian Bletchley
Where: The Urquhart home just outside Glasgow.
When: Tuesday 27 August 1997 - Backdated
What: Vivian is upset Max tries not being a jerk. Sandwiches are not harmed.
Status: Log
Rating: PG ish.
Vivian Bletchley was the pain in Max's freaking arse. He had said it regularly and he would probably continue to say it regularly for most of the rest of his time spent in close contact with her. She was like gum on the bottom of your shoe. Once you were stuck with her you were never fully rid of her, she'd cling on and leave a dirty skim up inside the leather that always smelled a bit sweet but was really sticky and awful. They'd been friends once. And then they'd made the mistake of going out in that way that kids go out that are messing around and have no idea how it will mess up them being friends. And she was … well Vivian. And he was Max. And it ended pretty horribly and while most days he hated her other times he actually remembered he used to like her well enough. He hated feeling conflicted. Today for example. She seemed so unlike her usual self he actually felt a ping of concern about her, which was likely the only reason he'd invited her over to talk or whatever it was she wanted to do. He was still laying about in his workout clothes, and he didn't bother changing that, instead pushing the dogs off the couch so he could go make them some sandwiches in the kitchen as an excuse for something to do as he listened for the floo. Floo travel wasn't Vivian's preferred mode of transport, but she wasn't yet old enough to take her Apparition test, and anything else was too slow -- or required too much red tape. "Hello?" she called out as she crossed the floor in search of Max. Was it weird that she was visiting him instead of turning to someone she hadn't dated once upon a time and didn't delight in annoying for the sake of it? Yes, maybe. But her summer had been so dismal and awkward and awful that even spending an afternoon with at Casa Urquhart seemed a preferable alternative to staying home. Max looked up, his expressive eyebrows lifting as he shifted on the kitchen's stone floor in his bare feet and expertly spread butter on slices of bread. "Do you want tomato with your chicken salad, Vivisection?" he shouted. "I'm in the kitchen with the carving knives." "Sounds delightful," she replied. Her head peeked through the kitchen door and as she smiled. "Promise you won't spear me if I enter?" "I promise I shall restrain myself," Max said dryly. He patted the empty counter beside him and went back to fixing their food, his sure fingers putting chicken salad, lettuce, tomato, and some sprouts on bread with surprising familiarity and deftness that most would have been surprised at. "Mum made it so it's not going to kill you," he said of the chicken. "And there's fruit in the bowl if you want. You want a beer? We can go to my room if you're worried about the brat listening in. She's around somewhere." It was a lot to say all at once, and he acted as if Viv came over every day and that there wasn't anything unusual about her being here. In short he tried to act decent, like it was Tilly or Ursula or one of the girls he messed around with now. Or maybe even more like Lilith or Eden who were solidly friends. "So what's up?" Vivian wrinkled her nose. "Do you have cider? Or wine?" Beer was not even remotely tasty! She couldn't understand how people stomached it. "And your room would be better." Max disappeared beneath the counter as he looked in the cupboard, and pulled a couple of bottles of cider out, handing here both of them. "Here, you carry these, I'll carry the food." He led her up the winding stairs of the old home to the upper reaches where his room was. The peaked roofed room looked out over the city in the distance, and he set food down on the window seat and closed the door behind them, then leaned against it to watch her for a moment. "Something's wrong. You're acting weird." She passed him his bottle of cider and fixed her gaze to the landscape beyond the window pane. "How am I acting weird?" "Well you're here," he said bluntly. "And unless this is a desperate bid at reconciliation I'm suspicious of that alone. And you just seem … I don't know, off. Not your usually annoyingly chipper self." "Being cheerful is hardly annoying," she countered and turned to face him. "Fine. Things at home are just. Tense." "Tense." He took the bottle of cider and opened it, then took a seat opposite her on the long wooden bench. "Look if you don't want to talk about it you don't have to. We can just eat. Or you know. Snog." He tilted the bottle at her and clinked it against hers before taking a drink. "Just trying to think of ways to cheer you up." She rolled her eyes. "Snog? I'd rather talk than do that." But a hint of a smile crossed her lips nonetheless. He nudged her with his foot and looked expectant. "Then talk, Vivi. I'm all ears." |