Maxwell Valdez | Combat First Year (maximally) wrote in olympianthreads, @ 2014-11-29 14:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: maxwell valdez, character: santiago valdez, player: andy, player: terri |
Who: Max and Santiago Valdez
When: BACKDATED - Nov. 5th, Evening
Where: Santiago and Esmeralda's house.
What: A confrontation Max put off too long and awkward father-son moments.
Rating: Mild
Status: Started via gdocs | In Progress
Max had done a very good job at avoiding having a serious discussion with his father. Word had taken a little time to reach the ears of parents, and after it had, Max had been very swamped in his school work. At least, that was his consistent excuse. His father had asked for him to stop by his office one day, and Max had done so. He wasn’t disrespectful enough to say that he would show up and then fail to do so, but it had been in such a rush that the severe older man hadn’t really had proper time to scold him. Max had important lessons to get to. He had study groups. He had practice for Faction baseball. There was always some readily available thing that he could use as an excuse to continue on his way and save his hide for just one more day, or a few more hours. The thing was that after two weeks Max was running low on excuses. He knew that eventually he would have to face his father’s disappointment, and at this point he wondered if he’d irritated him to the point of it actually being worse than better. Still, Max was actually on better terms with Tristan now, and they were co-existing peacefully in the dorm. There were exciting things happening on the island that Max found hard to ignore. Organization members were popping up out of the woodwork, and he recognized some of them from their frequent visits to the island for recruitment, but others were unknown to him. The perk about being the child of ex-Organization members was that sometimes he could find out information that other people couldn’t, and there was no denying that he was curious about what his parents might know. It was the knowledge that files had been stolen from the administration building that finally sent Max headed for home. He wasn’t sure what could be in those files, and though he’d seen the accidental announcement, Max had been careful not to really say anything. He didn’t want to draw attention to it more than had already been done. Instead, he’d stewed over it for a long time. Ben and Mena’s mom was the Dean of Students and it had been her office that was apparently ransacked. It didn’t bode well. He knew that the Organization members would skirt around his questions, so he figured that maybe his parents would be at least a little more straightforward with him if they knew anything at all. He still had a house key on his small set of important keys, and it wasn’t unusual for him to drop by home. His room was still the way it had been when he moved to the dorms, and he occasionally came back to grab something he wanted that he’d left behind because he didn’t really have room for it in the dorm. That was the perk, he supposed, of having parents who lived on the island. The bad part was that he couldn’t get away with anything. Everyone knew him, and there was a lot more expected out of him...almost any other student could have gotten in a fight and only dealt with the staff, but Max had to deal with family too. He opened the door, and made a bit of noise as he entered so that if anyone was within they wouldn’t be startled, “¿Hay alguien en casa?” He called out, silently hoping that maybe his mamá would be home so that he could narrowly escape his inevitable fate just one more day. -- It had been an unusual couple of weeks. That was putting it mildly. After the student mission that had ended in disaster, and Gabe’s apparently semi-suicidal ‘vacation’ - no one was buying that story for a minute - now there had been break-ins to the administration followed by the arrival of several agents. Diego was still not sanguine with that decision, no matter who had made it. In his mind there were three possible explanations. The most absurd was that there were enemy agents infiltrating the island by night in order to steal student files, which was ridiculous and he leant it no credence whatsoever. Another was that this was merely a student prank gotten out of control. The third was perhaps somewhere in between - someone on the island was responsible, but for some darker purpose. Perhaps this last was what his former colleagues expected, but really, rolling up on the beach in full regalia was not exactly conducive to reducing panic, especially if it all turned out to be unnecessary. And then there was Javier and Ellie… much too early and casting their eye on the students of eighth and ninth level where before they had only considered those who had completed all their schooling. And if this was not enough to consider… there were his children. Not that the term could really be applied, anymore - Cat was over thirty years old now and Max finally - finally - out of the house and beginning his studies. Esme complained the place was too quiet without him. Diego was rather enjoying it. But they were both his offspring and therefore still his responsibility despite having passed into adulthood. Maxwell perhaps more so, although Cat seemed to be generating enough problems of her own for the both of them. He still winced a little inwardly when he remembered their conversation. She’d worked herself up into a real mess; he hadn’t wanted her fears of what he would say to add to it, but it clearly had, and there was little he could do about it now. What was done was done. She would have to do better than she ever had before, to fight her way back into service. Although if the Organization were really so short of men that they were looking at the younger ones… perhaps she’d be in luck. Maxwell was another matter. By all accounts - and Diego made sure to periodically check in with his teachers, since he wouldn’t have him in his own classes for another year - he was doing well. Academically, anyway. Physically, certainly. Behaviourally? Diego had his doubts. He’d been disturbed to hear reports of the boy lashing out at his classmates. Unpredictable as Max was, he had thought he might wait at least until after Christmas before he started making a nuisance of himself. He was taking this evening to relax in his armchair by the fire. As a rule he did all his work in his office, and refused to bring paperwork into the house. It was a slippery slope that led to marking dreadful ‘essays’ in bed until two in the morning, which was a habit he didn’t intend to start now that he was closer to seventy than sixty. Seventy. ¡Qué tontería! He looked up from his book, a Portuguese history text that was proving particularly challenging, when he heard the key in the lock. Agent at heart, he braced momentarily for a fight before forcing himself to relax at Max’s voice. Old habits really died hard, even after almost two decades. "En la sala," he called back, his lips curling slightly. The promised ‘visit’ with his son had not exactly been the dressing-down he had planned - the boy had all-too-skillfully wormed his way out of it, and Diego had pondered retribution for a few days before the whole Halloween debacle had hit and he’d almost forgotten about it. ---- From down the hall, when Max heard his father call back, he momentarily paused. Still time to back out, he reminded himself. He could always just say he was grabbing something from his room and he’d be out of his father’s hair in a few minutes, but that would probably require him actually needing something from upstairs. He didn’t have anything in mind right off the bat and that put a damper on the fleeting plan. It wasn’t that he didn’t sometimes enjoy talking to his dad...it was just easier to deal with his mother who was about a thousand times more nurturing in comparison. Biting the bullet, Max continued on down the hall to where his father was lounging in his chair. There was a fire crackling in the fireplace and it heated the room nicely. It wasn’t overly cold outside, but it had been getting a little cooler. Max had been forced more and more into his long-sleeved wetsuit to help keep him warm during his surfing endeavors. That was how he marked the change into the cooler months of the island, though he was never inclined to give up surfing completely, even when the temperature dropped even more than it had. “Hola, Papi,” Max greeted, inviting himself to drop into the empty chair near his dad’s, but he didn’t push out the footrest or make himself overly cozy. He was nearly six feet tall now and more heavily muscled than he’d ever been before, but somehow dealing with his father made him feel small again. He eyed the book in Diego’s hand, “What’s the book of the night?” He slipped into English easily, though he was just as comfortable in either language, he tended to speak English more often since it was the accepted main language on the Island. -- Diego picked up a leather bookmark from the side table and slipped it between the pages to mark his place. “A Cultural History of a Maritime Trading Empire,” he replied, doubting that Maxwell had any real interest in what he was reading, but that’d teach the boy to ask. “Its a Portuguese text on the influence of their sailors on Asian linguistics.” He put the book aside and turned his focus directly onto his son, steepling his fingers in front of his chest with his elbows on the armrests of his chair. Diego had his faults, but you could not deny that when he spoke to someone, he gave them his full attention. He was sure that Max had grown since the last time he’d seen him. The boy was nineteen and taller than his father by several inches; he couldn’t know it but he took after his paternal uncles in this regard. Diego had always been the little one. Size wasn’t everything, though. “Nice of you to visit,” he said, raising his eyebrows a little. His tone suggested he was more than aware of Max’s active avoidance over the last couple weeks. “It’s a shame your mother is out. She would have liked to see you.” --- Max raised an eyebrow at the title of the book and the following description. He didn’t see how his father derived any real entertainment from reading something like that. It would have bored him out of his skull. Then again, he’d always been someone more interested in the physical side of things. He learned best in a kinesthetic manner. If he could actually do something, he was far more likely to remember it than he was if he just read about it or heard about it. He’d found ways to help with that over the years. When he couldn’t do something, he found that it helped his concentration if he doodled in the margins of his paper. That little bit of movement helped him to recall things later, “Papi, I’m pretty sure that you’re one of the only people on the island who would take interest in that,” he grinned, not meaning the words to be disrespectful at all. It was just a fact. He pretended that a little color hadn’t risen to his cheeks when his father said those five words that indicated he had just prolonged the possibility of his reprimand instead of avoiding it entirely, “Well, I was finished for the day and I hadn’t been by in a while. I thought it couldn’t hurt,” he tried to play it down, leaning into the back of the chair, though he was still able to see over to his father, “I’ll come back and see Mama sometime soon. I can’t leave her disappointed that she missed out on a visit. Maybe I’ll see if she wants to have dinner one evening.” Max wondered if it would do their family some kind of good to all get together one evening now that Cat had returned and they were all in the same place for a while. Still, they hadn’t ever really been the touchy-feely kind of family and he was aware that his father was quite enjoying not having kids in the house anymore, “The Organization agents being here is weird. That doesn’t happen very often.” -- Diego almost smiled at the less-than subtle segue of the subject, but managed to keep his face carefully schooled. Trust Max to try and pump him for information while he was already on thin ice. Of course, Diego was just as concerned, if not more so, about the Organization’s presence, but the students were not meant to know the reasons, and although Diego had been out of the field for two decades, he was still nothing if not a good soldier. He followed orders. Well, two could play at the same game. “Indeed, perhaps we could make it a regular evening,” he said, sidestepping his son’s observation entirely. “Sunday night, perhaps, if you can persuade your sister to put down her guns for long enough.” He lowered his steepled hands into his lap. “I’m pleased we have an opportunity to talk,” he said, lightly. “How are your classes? No more… incidents, I hope?” --- It was hard not to pull his face into a pout when his father completely evaded the topic he wanted to talk about altogether. He wasn’t necessarily surprised by it, but it was disappointing nonetheless. Maybe it would just take a little more easing into it. Maybe he’d just have to endure whatever comments his father had been holding onto for the last few weeks first. He could do that if it was in the interest of getting more information. “It’s not a bad idea. I think I could probably get Cat to come along,” Max replied confidently as though he was oblivious to the fact that his father was probably trying to get him to squirm. As it was, Max really was pretty sure Catalina would come if he asked her to. He’d just have to ask her to help him survive the evening, beg her not leave him alone and remind her that siblings stuck together. Nothing like a good old-fashioned guilt trip to get a family dinner in place. Max knew immediately what “incident” his father was referring to, but he smiled as though he hadn’t done anything wrong since beginning his education there at the school, “Yeah. Classes are going well as far as I can tell. None of the teachers have had anything particularly concerning to discuss with me about my performance. No incidents from me. Though there was a kid who nearly set the whole classroom on fire earlier this week, and it wasn’t even in fire class. That would have been messy.” -- Diego listened with mounting impatience, though he did his best to keep his expression calm. He’d heard the story about the would-be arsonist before, and he had been extremely unimpressed the first time around. If anyone tried anything of that sort in his class they’d be lucky to make it out, and getting back in again would not be easy either. “I see,” he said, when Max had finished. “A loss of control, no hay duda. Such incidents seem to be frequent among this year’s first year class.” He had also heard about Mena, and the arrow shooting incident. He couldn’t help but feel marginally fond of the girl, she had after all grown up alongside Max and Izzy, and she was certainly more bearable to have around the place than Miss End, who as far as he could tell had been born with two extra arms and two sevenths short of a brain. It wasn’t like Mena to cause an accident, particularly in archery which given her father’s extraordinary skill she should have been, if not a natural talent, at least well versed in the precautions needed to prevent incidents. He didn’t like to think what he would do if Cat or Max did something similar; accident or not, if one of them misfired a gun… he shuddered inwardly at the thought. Even if no one was seriously hurt he would never live it down. ‘Believe me I would hear if something else had happened,” he continued. “This perhaps is the disadvantage to having your Papi passing regularly through the staff room.” He sighed. “Max, we must talk about what happened. As much as I’m sure you would prefer to avoid the subject entirely, I am not sure you understand the severity of this incident.” --- It really was kind of unfair, Max thought. He’d always loved living on the Island. He couldn’t imagine growing up anywhere else. It felt odd to him to hear stories from people about growing up without magic because it had always been a reality for him, but he knew for most that it wasn’t. He’d never really thought too much about how things would be once he started classes at the upper level until he actually had. All the students who came from other places were blissfully able to avoid all repercussions that might be imposed on them by family members because they didn’t have them right there. Max had both of his parents there instead, and while it wasn’t always bad, there were definite aspects that he could do without. Like this conversation, for instance. Then, there it was. He kept calling it an “incident” and Max thought inwardly that’s what it would be referred to now and forever. The Incident. That time Max lashed out in class and punched his roommate in the face only to have to be ripped off of him by his favorite mentor, “Papi, I think it’s being made out to be a bigger deal than it really is. Tristan and I have both moved past it already. It isn’t something that’s going to happen again. It’s not causing any further problems.” He tried to play it down, hopeful that maybe if his father saw that it was a one-time mistake that it would be let go. Even the boy he’d had the altercation with wasn’t still upset, so it didn’t make a lot of sense to Max to dwell on it. --- Diego considered his son for a long moment. Yes, it was probably unfair that he had two parents in the staffroom, which meant that whatever he did he was liable to face both whatever punishment the school decided to mete out (and these in Diego’s opinion nearly always fell short of what was appropriate for the crime) but also the stern opinions of those parents and whatever they considered appropriate justice. Of course Max was an adult now, but as far as Diego was concerned his did not mean he was exempt from hearing his father’s opinion on his actions. “I very much hope it will not happen again,” he said, without a trace of humour in his tone. “Whether you and the other boy have ‘gotten past it’ is not the point. This is about more than blatant disregard for school rules, although that in itself is a very poor show of discipline that I would expect more from your sister than you. For me this has implications for your future, your training. I’m sure he did something to provoke you. I’m equally sure you could have found another way to deal with it. You want to train in combat, to be a soldier. Do you think this kind of behaviour would be overlooked in any Defence Force? In the Organization, or the army, or the marines? Ask Catalina, she will tell you.” He leaned forward, eyes as sharp as flints and his brow furrowed with exasperated passion. “You lack control, Maxwell. You let your emotions get the better of you. I know you are young, but I also know you know better. I want to know that you can keep your head. That if and when the time comes when others are relying on you for their success, for their survival, that you will not let them down, or get yourself hurt, because you are not in control.” All right, perhaps his own emotions were a little out of control on this subject. But could he be blamed, after what had happened to Cat? They were both as fiery and unpredictable as each other. Wherever they had gotten it from… Diego pretended not to know. --- Max was not a naturally serious person. He suffered none of the austere, rigid manners that his father seemed to have perfected over the years. So even though Max was not inclined to such a severe temperament, as his father continued to speak his youthful face masked over into an unflinching facade. When Diego mentioned Cat, Max struggled not to protest, to say that his sister was amazing and why couldn’t he just see that? It would only lead to more trouble, however, so he bit his tongue - literally. He had to wonder about what his father meant about asking Catalina, because there seemed to be some weight to it, but Max was too focused on not letting himself wither under Diego’s coolly intense gaze. He wasn’t wrong. Max did lack control. He was incredibly impulsive, but he thought quickly on his feet as a result so the side effect of his AD/HD wasn’t always a bad thing. He had a bit of a rebellious nature in him. He liked breaking the rules. He’d been gratified when Bones had told him that next time he should use a crossbow instead of his fists...but this had always been coming down the line so he swallowed the hard pill that it was like he’d done what seemed a thousand times before. Underneath his calm exterior, Max’s stomach churned uneasily. His father had a way of making him feel inadequate just by looking at him, and this time was no different, even though he had learned since he was a small child to steel himself and take the words with a grain of salt. They would happen no matter what, and if he was to keep any kind of faith in himself, he couldn’t let his father’s criticisms cut too deep. “I can keep my head in situations that call for it. I’m…” I’m not an idiot, he sighed a little, the huff of air a small relief of frustration, “I’ll be better. I’ll stay in control.” It was always the case. Needing to be better than he was. Max understood his father’s concern, he supposed, but he also thought he was blowing it out of proportion. One time losing his temper and punching someone did not equal a lifetime of disciplinary problems that would result in him getting his whole task force killed years down the road, which seemed to be exactly where his father’s mind had jumped, “I’m sorry I let you down.” The words tasted bitter as he spoke them, but Max was sure it wouldn’t be the last time he said those words. It seemed like he was always apologizing for something. --- With Max’s apology, Diego felt himself soften a little. He knew deep down that he was taking out some of his frustration over Cat’s situation on Max… but really, if Max wasn’t careful he was going to wind up going the same way, and that was what really worried him. As usual he alternately told himself he was being too hard on his kids, and then too soft. He didn’t know the details behind this particular incident, but he didn’t need to. “Maxwell, mijo,” he sighed. “This is not about my feelings. I want what is the best for you. I want you to have what you want. But I cannot hand it to you. I can only give you advice, to help you have the best possible chance. Is it up to you whether or not you listen to it.” He shifted forward, to look his son close in the eye. “Tiene mucho potencial,” he said, earnestly. “I know you can do whatever you want. I hate to see you hold yourself back.” --- Max almost protested when Diego said it wasn’t about his feelings on the matter because it seemed that was what mattered. He wondered if it was just that he’d embarrassed his father by striking up a rumor in the staff room. The Valdez family name forever marred by The Incident of Maxwell being an uncontrolled wildcard. His chest ached as his father continued, and as always, he wasn’t sure if his father was just trying to placate him with some teaching method that would supposedly motivate Max to do better for himself or if he was being sincere. “I don’t want you to hand me anything. I want to succeed because I put in the effort and because I’m good at what I do. Not just because I’m your son with your name,” Max had always tried hard for everything that he’d earned. He was a hard worker. He put in the effort and the practice that it took to become who he was. Max may have been a first year, but with his extra training he operated at a skill level well above his classmates - at least in the area of Combat. It felt like a particularly sharp insult to think that his father would assume Max wanted to be handed anything. He might like to goof around during his down time, but when Max was training, he was laser focused and he was great at it. Max shifted a little, almost uncomfortably, when Diego looked at him so intensely. He wasn’t used to words quite like that. It wasn’t that his father was a mean man. He wasn’t. He just wasn’t particularly warm, but those words of encouragement were ones that Max would take. It seemed genuine, and Max’s eyes burned a little, his chest feeling a bit tight, but he bid himself to not show his emotions, “Voy a hacerlo, Papi. Voy a hacer lo que necesito.” -- Diego looked into Max’s eyes, and knew that he meant what he said. He was a lot like Diego himself at that age; young, proud, determined, and more than a little foolish on occasion. It was as concerning as it was encouraging; but Diego knew there was only so much he could do. Max had to figure out the rest on his own, as much as his father longed to take him by the hand and lead him the rest of the way. “Bueno,” he said, sitting back and allowing his posture to relax finally. “Then, let us say no more about it.” He stood up, with a slight creak to his back that he could have sworn had not bothered him for the last month, and went to the cabinet against the wall where he kept his exquisitely curated collection of spirits. He did not drink often, but when he did, he drank the good stuff. He poured two brandies into snifters and passed one to Max before taking his seat once more. “So, tell me,” he said, settling back into the chair’s blissfully supportive cushions. “How do you think you are doing in your classes? ‘My teachers have nothing to complain of’ is hardly a detailed assessment.” --- Max let out a breath of relief when his father agreed to move on from the topic. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant one, so he was more than willing to leave it behind in favor of something else that would maybe get under his skin a little less. Still, Max was surprised when his father poured not one, but two glasses of brandy and actually gave one to him. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Max simply said, “Gracias, Papi,” as his father sat back down, though he just held the glass in his hands for a moment. The question wasn’t really a terribly surprising one. His father was interested in knowing how his studies went and Max knew that. He expected it. He probably would have been a little offended if his father had no interest in them at all because it was almost all Max really got to do anymore, “Combat classes are the ones I do the best in, which probably isn’t terribly surprising. That’s what my test that they had us take said I should choose. I’m more advanced than my classmates in that area so sometimes it’s harder to challenge myself, but I’ve talked to a few of the teachers about it and they know to push me more.” He took a sip from his glass. It was strong, and it burned, but he didn’t cough. It wasn’t the first time he’d had a drink since the beginning of the year after all. “I like Offensive and Defensive classes pretty well too. Wind is a little more challenging, but I feel more confident about the other elements. Dr. MacAngus is tough, but healing has been pretty useful. Psychic and Enchantment seem to easily be the ones I’m least suited for. I managed to make an interesting combustion that wasn’t supposed to happen in potions, and quite frankly Spirit creeps me out a little. Give me a bow or a gun and I can hit a moving target at long or short distance, but I’m not built for talking to otherworldly spirits. I’m still trying, of course. I put forth my best effort in all of my classes, but it definitely doesn’t come naturally.” He quieted a moment, his mind jumping to his ailing Uncle who may not have that much time left. He looked down at the brandy in his glass, a quietness settling over him for a moment. He tried to like Spirit more...knowing that soon it may be the only possible way to contact Olivier - a man who was always in his corner when he needed him - but Max didn’t know that he wanted to see him that way anyhow, “I get the point in making us take all of the courses our first year just so we have a more rounded education and can figure out what we really want to do, but sometimes I feel like my time would be better spent doubling up on skills I already know I want to use instead of spending my time in Numerology or Spirit, which I doubt I’ll continue to pursue after the year is up. I understand the significance, but it makes it not less frustrating.” --- Diego nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “It was much the same for me in my first year, as I recall, except I had even less a knack for the magical courses. You have the advantage there, I suspect, in having two ‘magical’ parents. I do think, however, that a good grounding in all the subjects is essential. I would not argue with extended the first year curriculum for another year, or more, or perhaps narrowing the field of focus by only one or two areas each year, instead of dropping everything all at once in favour of one. For some it takes longer than that to find their real talents. Of course it would make scheduling a nightmare, but that would be Naomi’s problem and not mine,” he added, a rare smile of amusement crossing his face. --- "Maybe the magic makes a little more sense to me because I grew up around it here too. I've had my whole life to get used to the idea of it and ask people about it." He shrugged a little, knowing that you didn't get anywhere in the magical field without at least a little bit of inherent talent. Everyone that came to the school had some of it, but some were more naturally inclined than others. Max happened to be pretty decent at it even if his heart truly belonged to combat. He had known for years what he wanted to do. Ranged combat with a focus in Archery. He liked close-range as well, but it just wasn't where his passion had taken root. "It would be interesting if we could have more than one year with various subjects, but that would get pretty messy with combat. There are a lot of courses in that field alone. It can be a little overwhelming taking everything at once, but I think my organizational skills have never been better. I'm learning to manage my time better than I ever have before." He took another sip of the alcohol from his glass, relaxing a little as he saw his father's smile. At least he didn't seem to be in trouble anymore. It could have been a lot worse, he supposed. He sighed and bit the bullet, trying once more, "So you really can't tell me anything about the Organization being here?" -- |