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Max Castle ☾ Máni (manen) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2011-07-03 14:52:00

Twizzlers for $2.85? You Gotta Be Joking
Who: Max & Philip
What: The art of breaking into vending machines.
Where: Lobby of Pax Letale, vending machine area.
When: 11:46 pm
Warnings: TBA
Notes: Placeholder for a Gdoc Le Finished!



The vending machines were almost like a second home to Max.

All right, perhaps that was over-exaggeration, but he appreciated their function almost as much as indoor plumbing. Where else was he going to get his quick sugar fixes in the middle of the night? Especially since his sister kept a firm inventory of the kitchen cupboards and sometimes even his room, there was simply no where to hide them except under his mattress for a few hours, before they melted from the heat and became inedible.

But right at the moment, the vending machine was taunting him. Once he’d gotten over the ransom being demanded for his beloved twizzlers, he’d finally given in and put his money where his mouth was. And now, now of all things, the twizzlers had gotten caught in the winding metal spool and refused to drop to the bottom of the machine where he’d have access to them.

“Oh come on! Seriously?! Don’t hold out on me like this, man!” Max gave the machine’s glass front another slam, completely unwilling to pay yet another three dollars just to get his snack on.

The sound of Max’s irritated cry immediately drew Philip’s attention. He too had been summoned by the alluring siren call of the building vending machine, though his pockets were suspiciously absent of anything resembling coin or paper bills. His steps, once a languid stride that fell silently against the carpeted flooring that was typical of the hallways, quickened their pace while remaining ever light and soundless in their intervals. Curiosity was always a successful draw for Philip, even more than the prodding presence of hunger that stirred in the emptiness of his belly. There, as he rounded the corner to the small cubby in the corridor, Philip at last could see the source (and the cause) of the mild outburst.

“Hey now, that really is unfortunate,” he said, eyeing the way the red candy dangled just at the edge of its row, stubbornly refusing to drop despite whatever shaking or tapping it might be subjected to. “You know,” Philip continued, sidling up a little closer with a rather convoluted approach of dancing in and out of proximity, until at last he settled on one position at the right hand side of the machine. “I’ve had that happen to me before, and then, of course, I never had any more money so that I could try again and hope that it’d end up giving me both. Not that it usually does, and when it does, it’s not like you really wanted the extra.”

“Exactly! And, I mean, six bucks for a handful? That’s ridiculous,” he replied, turning to look at the newcomer with a sad expression. It wasn’t as though he had extravagant bills to pay, but most of his funding went toward his video games. Throwing away a few dollars on candy shouldn’t have been that big of a deal, in the end, but Lily’s ingrained teachings regarding corn sugar and its many evils were making him start to regret even attempting to buy the first.

Now he was caught between the desire for his candy and the guilt that accompanied such a thing, which put him into a not-quite-sour mood. “Sorry if I interrupted something. I’m Max, from 605. Do you live here?”

"Philip. I'm over on the third floor. Nothing as fancy as all those penthouses on the upper levels." Philip said, for a moment forgetting the tragedy of the denied candy. "Say, have you ever seen them? I managed to once, you know, and I couldn't believe my eyes. You could probably fit three of my place in there with a little creative arrangement, and still have room. I honestly don't know what a person would do with that much space. I can barely fill up my own apartment." Yet, he supposed that might have had something to do with the fact that he didn't really have a signed lease, and wasn't holding down a regular job. In fact, his possessions had not grown beyond the scarce dufflebag he'd brought with him when he'd first arrived in California.

"I guess, it's no wonder they think they can charge three dollars for a snack," Philip said, but he sounded more amused than irritated by this detail. "But now, for people like us, that's just - well - that's just issuing a challenge, isn't it?"

Max’s sour mood dissipated at Philip’s musings over the penthouse apartments, a slight smile replacing it. He could well imagine what he’d do with the space - a nice big HD-television set with an entertainment center for all of his gaming machines. Bean bag chairs and some tables for whatever snack foods might come to mind: a little paradise of sorts, for getting away from the every day. But Philip’s question turned his expression into one of confusion; his brow furrowed in concentration, glasses slipping down a slight fraction of an inch down his nose. “A challenge? What do you mean?” A hand rose to push his glasses back into place, then moved to push back the mop of curls that kept falling over his forehead into his eyes.

Philip’s grin only grew wider at Max’s question. “Look, the way I see it, the world isn’t equal right? Some people have money, some people have athleticism, and some people, they’ve got more brains than is good for them. But we’re all different, and if we’re all different, you can’t expect the same solution to work for everyone,” he explained with what he considered to be very reasonable and very wise observations he had made in his relatively short lifetime. “So maybe paying three dollars works for some people when it comes to vending machines. Bu it doesn’t work for me, and it hasn’t worked for you. So...” Philip let his voice trail, prompting Max to draw what he considered the only logical conclusion.

Max’s eyes nearly turned around in his head as he attempted to wrap his brain around whatever Philip was suggesting. Yes, he’d put the money in, and been denied what he’d paid for - so what other options were there? One came floating to mind.

“Are you serious? For one thing, that glass could probably stop bullets, and two, I don’t think either of our arms are long enough to reach anything inside the case. And besides, that’s just-” It was against the law, wrong, off the path of the straight and narrow. In all of Max’s fairytales, the stories he’d clung to growing up and what had shaped the somewhat naive boy standing next to the vending machine, the good guy always got his just reward. There was nothing for thievery, and though the world might be painted in shades of gray, the bad guy always got his comeuppance. But maybe he was overthinking it just a little. He gave Philip a curious look.

“How would you break into a vending machine?”

"Personally I don't plan on breaking anything!" Philip said with a good-natured laugh. The moral dilemma which had weighed on Max's mind was absent from Philip's, and had been for quite some time, if it had ever existed there once in the first place. But he had come from a background where rules were often bent (as the practical world came at odds with the idealistic policies of foster care), and all promises eventually broken. Even on the news, there were perpetually stories about individuals, whom everyone knew was guilty, but had nevertheless skated free of punishment due to technicalities or a carefully and charismatically presented defense.

"Look, I can trust you, can't I?" Philip leaned in a little closer, his expression almost convincingly serious as he met the other boy's gaze, his own eyes widened to create the illusion of innocence. It was not a question where the answer mattered. Philip did not really give much consideration to matters of trust, but what he did often seek out, at least in the heat of a moment, was a sense of connection.

Max found himself inadvertently (and a lot softer) laughing along with Philip, even if such a thing was only a reflex. There was something about this young man that made Max want to like him very much, even if it was solely to be liked in return. Though he’d never been one to trail after those of a popular clique, there was something to be said about Philip’s personality. His confidence was enticing, and all too soon Max found himself nodding his head in agreement.

“Of course - who would I tell, anyway?” The concierge, for one; the authorities, for another, the possibilities spinning through his head. Lily certainly would not approve of this proposed endeavor. But he’d keep this secret, because Max was someone who gloated over having a shared, hidden possession, since he’d had so few and the secret levels to any game were always the best. The thought of pulling one over on those who had the power to decide whether or not you got your Twizzlers for less than two dollars was grossly appealing, but to Max it was more of a ‘ha-ha, got you!’ than the thought of actually breaking the law. “And I didn’t really mean break - the thing probably has an alarm or something on it, don’t you think? If the glass were to shatter, I mean.”

"At almost three dollars a piece, perhaps you're right to think they would, but I don't think they really do. They haven't even got a security camera, you know? I mean, I've checked," Philip said in a manner that was perhaps too cheerful considering the subject of their conversation, and to emphasize his point he made a hasty gesture to the ceiling, which was bare of any evidence of security. But he shared Max's current attitude that focused less on the semantics of right and wrong, and more on the simple element of relishing in one's cleverness and ability to outwit another. If one had the skill and the means to do so, this had always struck Philip as somehow appropriate justification for questionable acts that bore no apparent harm (at least if one only looked at the immediate effects) to anyone.

Without hesitating any longer, he drew out one of the various lockpicks he owned, which resembled far more a screwdriver than the typical thin strip of metal, but one for which he knew was the perfect size and shape to release the lock to this particular variety. He inserted it against the slot, turning the handle slowly both ways, and wiggling it slightly so that each hidden pin would be pushed with the right pressure and distance, until at last he began to work it out and felt the lock give way. The door opened, both the narrow strip that hid the wires and money fed into the machine, and the glass section that had blocked access to the desired candy.

"8-pin tubular lock pick. It's great for barrel locks like these," Philip explained with a smile. Max gave a low whistle, eyes wide and large behind their spectacles. Albeit, the event was a tiny bit lackluster - no choir piped up to serenade their actions, no flute to announce the opening of a treasure chest or the acquirement of a key item. Still, Max was deeply impressed.

“Wow, you make it look so easy!” Of course, he would assume that real life lock picking was very different from pressing a sequence of buttons in the correct order, or holding and clicking the mouse button at the right moment. He watched as the door swayed to the side, leaving all of its gloriously sugared entrails available for their perusal and taking. Not even thinking twice - for there was no one there to tell him to stop - he reached out for the twizzler that he’d been denied. Ripping it open was far easier than gaining entrance into the vending machine, but the snack food had never tasted sweeter.

“How’d you learn to do that?!”

As he so often did, Philip once again gave a carefree chuckle, taking as much satisfaction in the obvious awe of his companion as he had in overcoming the meagre security measures put in place to safeguard the contents of the vending machine. His eyes were shining with pride at his own accomplishments, not dampened by any sense of humility or guilt. Such feelings were reserved for when they were useful, and Philip did not view them as particularly advantageous in this case. It would have been different if Max had threatening to report him, and then Philip might have regaled him with a repentant look and a humble bow of his head, regaled him with apologies and how it had been a stupid thing to do. (Perhaps even thrown in some reference to growing up with all sorts of bad influences). But Max was a comrade, an accomplice.

"The same way anyone does, I think," Philip said, dashing forward to as he ensnare a bag of chips with nimble fingers from behind the door, before he sealed it shut once again. He did not ask, or even offer, Max the opportunity to retrieve anything else. For all his lawlessness, Philip was seldom motivated by greed, taking only what was needed and rarely more.

"A little guidance, a lots of practise, and even more messing up." He grinned at the latter sentiment. "But you have to make mistakes in order to learn, right?"

“Dang,” Max mumbled to himself, putting a twizzler in his mouth and taking a bite of it. He chewed for a moment, possibly considering what had just happened. Instead, realization dawned on him. “So, wait, you mean you do this a lot? Or...are you some kind of boyscout, and that was how you earned your...what would you call it, lock picking badge?” Max might have been familiar with your garden variety villain in his games, but day to day bad guys were not so easily discovered. Of course there were the sympathetic types, the ones who plied the viewer with sob stories to win aid to their cause. But Max was nowhere near painting Philip with any of these brushes, nor even really believing him to necessarily be bad. After all, he’d simply helped Max retrieve a candy that the machine had failed to deliver. If anything, he’d fulfilled the role of a hero - albeit, for a small cause, but it was on the side of good all the same.

"A boy scout? No, I never was one of those. Were you?" Philip said as though forgetting the original question, too easily distracted as he went about reminiscing about younger days and brief childhood envies that rarely stuck long when Philip was not particularly prone to jealousy. "I always wanted to be. It always sounded like such fun when the other boys talked about it in school, going out on camping trips, taking hikes, getting badges, you know? That would have been fun, I think." Fingers teased the corners of the chip bag he'd taken so that they stood in perfectly straight points, an unconscious gesture made as Philip spoke as he was rarely able to keep perfectly still.

"But no, I wouldn't guess they'd teach something like this there, you know? Though the principles the same, isn't it? Survival skills, and all that, foraging out what you need from where you can take it," Philip mused, and this was in essence his view of stealing. A mere part of the natural order with any negative aspects overlooked when he too often forgot to consider how it might poorly affect others, and only considering it as a means of satisfying his own needs.

“No, I wasn’t, so I wouldn’t know. But yeah, I guess you’re right.” He added another twizzler to his mouth, chewing and enjoying Philip’s presence. Though he’d only known the other young man for potentially less than a half an hour, he felt as though he’d made a friend. Max was rather low on those, at least friends of the physical sort, since the majority on his gamertag list were merely voices over a microphone and headset. He assumed that Philip must live in the building, since he was so familiar with it; so the next simple course of action was to extend an invitation. Maybe Lily would get off his back about going outside more if he simply made friends here in the building, especially ones who seemed to keep the same nocturnal habits as himself.

“So...you wanna come over to my apartment and play some video games?”

Philip nodded with an amiable smile, hardly an expert when it came to such things, but somehow still managing to successfully launching into a series of anecdotes of past experiences with a second-hand PlayStation 2 and a couple of rowdy friends. His jaunty steps kept him well in pace with Max as they made their way to the other boy’s apartment, and his laughter always trailing behind them in the echoing expanse of the corridor.