InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Hogwarts Class of '77!"

🎵 𝄞 🎸 𝄫 🎷🎶 🎻 (jukejoint) wrote in rooms,
@ 2015-03-09 00:43:00

Entry tags:

!marvel comics, *journal, *log, dylan mckendrick, jack corvus, luke henry, max main, thomas brandon

Dylan M, Jack C, Thomas B, Luke H
[Locked to Dylan M]
Hello.

[Locked to Jack C]
Hello.

[Locked to Thomas B]
Hello.

[Locked to Luke H]
Hello.

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	Re: Max M / Dylan M jukejoint 2015-03-09 07:01 am UTC (link)
	The prison system isn't ready for me. 8 pm. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	Re: Max M / Dylan M jazzhands 2015-03-09 07:02 am UTC (link)
	Coward. What if I told you that I could ensure our solitude? (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	Re: Max M / Dylan M jukejoint 2015-03-09 07:05 am UTC (link)
	You're a criminal mastermind, aren't you? [...] Yes. Also yes. Also bring beer. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	Re: Max M / Dylan M jazzhands 2015-03-09 07:10 am UTC (link)
	Before 6 AM? I'll bring liquor. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	Re: Max M / Dylan M jukejoint 2015-03-09 07:13 am UTC (link)
	My dad would hate everything about this plan. It's perfect. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	Re: Max M / Dylan M jazzhands 2015-03-09 07:17 am UTC (link)
	[...] Okay. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	Re: Max M / Dylan M jukejoint 2015-03-09 07:23 am UTC (link)
	See you there, kid. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	Re: Max M / Dylan M jazzhands 2015-03-09 07:30 am UTC (link)
	Yeah kid. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

Rink: Max & Dylan

jukejoint
2015-03-10 10:01 am UTC (link)

[Max had seen the Rink a few times, but she'd never been there to skate. The General'd had business in the heart of NYC, and she'd walked past the ice and dreamed of being Kate Moseley in Cutting Edge. But ice skating, while alright for exercise, wasn't something the General wasted time on during business trips. Max tried to convince him once, only to receive a lecture about congestion on the ice and the cost of tickets. You didn't ask the General for something twice.

But the General wasn't here, and Max had picked this place because it was a landmark, and she would be able to find it easily. She had some money in her pocket from this door, and she didn't even have to lift anything to make the fare, though that disappointed her a little bit. If she was going to break all the rules, she wanted to break all the rules BIG.

Because going to Rockefeller during the day was a grounding offense, but going at 4 in the morning with an older guy and hard liquor? She would be excommunicated like Henry VIII when he started chopping off ladyheads, and she didn't care. YOLO, as the girl she sat next to on the subway kept saying. YOLO.

Her jeans and plaid were covered in a jacket that fluffy cream and new, just like her shin-high brown boots were, all compliments of the debit card that had accompanied the cash in her pocket. Hoodie back, beanie on, and it was in the high 40s and not too cold as she walked up the darkened rink and looked around for the old guy she was banging.]

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jazzhands
2015-03-13 08:46 am UTC (link)

[Ice skating. Dylan couldn't remember lacing up some skates since long before he lost his virginity, but the prospect of frozen water wasn't really worrying. When one took bullets, molotov cocktails, and prison state torture... a skating rink(even with limited familiarity) brought no worries. Meeting up with Max brought no worries. Her questionable writing prior to this did bring a some uncertainty, but nothing that was close to worry. There was even less worry when it came to early hour illegal skating.

After all, Dylan liked breaking rules and he liked wintery traditions. Dylan had arrived at the rink only some twenty minutes before Max. It gave him time to strap on his skates and test the ice for a trio of circles. He was dressed simple, which was the only way that he ever seemed to know how to dress. He was layered clothes; a wine colored thermal that draped low way past his hips, a black cotton jacket with silver teeth zipped up his torso and the hood drawn over his dark hair. Blue jeans didn't do much to combat the mild chill, but allowed Dylan to move decently in his skates.

He wasn't exactly doing triple axels or anything crazy, but he knew how to make laps after getting reacquainted with the skates. He could do single spins when slowing down, and after two falls, he rmembered how to skate backward at a medium pace.

A moment later, there was a girl/young woman approaching... but Dylan didn't think much of it. She obvious wasn't security. So he went about doing his lazy eights and humming Taylor Swift, waiting for Max.]

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jukejoint
2015-03-13 09:31 am UTC (link)

[Max did some recon once she saw the guy on the ice. She walked around, casual, only tripping twice on the way, and she glanced without being suspicious. Spy training, it was good for something, and she was just past being that awkward high school girl with the braces. She had some Army time under her belt now, and she was beyond basic training and used to life in a barracks with dicks. You could only be uncertain for so long around those guys, and then you learned they would always find your soft spots if you let them. She had a lot fewer soft spots than she'd had once, and most of her awkward uncertainty was shoved right down. Most of it.

She got some skates from the closed stand, and she laced them up before venturing out onto the ice.

The guy out there, who she assumed was Dylan, wasn't as old as she'd thought he'd be. She really was a Cougar, and the girl who'd never been conventionally pretty thought that was impressive. The fact that it took twenty years to get to being a Cougar wasn't as impressive, but it wasn't important. This was a rom-com moment, and she wasn't going to waste it by criticizing her oldlady self; she could do that later.

She skated up to him, and she stopped right front of him, mid-figure 8.]

Toepick. [She loved that movie so much, but she knew nearly no one had seen it, so she tried again, smoother, and in her best Obi-Wan voice.] You are the droid I'm looking for.

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jazzhands
2015-03-15 07:20 am UTC (link)

[While spy training certainly was good for many things, it went both ways. So while Dylan got acquainted with his skates, and while Max walked around like casual was a possibility at this absurd hour of morning, Dylan didn't acknowledge her. He dug the groove of his skate blade into the ice and swerved for momentum, catching the brunette wanderer in his periphery. Height judged, weight judged, build judged, Max-ness judged. There was literally not another single person walking the rink, it would have been difficult for a blind man not to pick up on her presence. Distantly, a cluster or two of people were making their way down distant sidewalks, papered coffee cups in hand, sour-mouthed at the prospect of the assuredly boring work day lined up for them in the hours to come.

When the girl got her skates, Dylan pivoted on the far side of the rink, watching her lace up. It would have been ridiculous to pretend that he hadn't noticed her. He watched her board the ice, and then he edged off the far side with a one-two sweep of his skates, stopping short with the sharp point of his toe digging into the rink's ice as lil miss swerved in a partial 8.

Dylan didn't know what Toepick was referencing, but he smirked at the follow-up.]

A little young to be a jedi, right?

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jukejoint
2015-03-15 01:21 pm UTC (link)

[Max noticed when he started watching her without pretending he wasn't. But he didn't move toward her, which she thought was interesting. She didn't have an assumptions to draw from it, but she was sure it said something about his personality. The problem, as her teachers always said in school, was that she lacked the imagination to come up with possible things that could mean. In her head, it just meant he didn't come forward. In her stories, the ones she sent to newspapers, there were facts but little more than some accompanying sass and wit, and her thoughts about the man on the ice was more of the same. But he was hot. Not octogenarian old. Probably no dentures. Low threat of halitosis.

But what she lacked in imagination she made up for in the bravado of newly found sardonic brashness of freedom.

He smirked; she didn't swoon. She rolled her eyes, hands on her hips, and she skated around him, physically proficient in everything there was to be physically proficient in, and brashly ignoring personal space.]

Luke Skywalker couldn't even grow chin hair.

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jazzhands
2015-03-15 02:20 pm UTC (link)

[The roll of eyes reminded him of the CW, and for the first time, Dylan wondered just how young this Max was. He wasn't worried about going to jail(not for illegal skating or questionably young company at strange hours. He didn't have some make believe wife to leave him(taking the house and the dog and the gaming systems, oh horror of horrors!) Nah, Dylan didn't think of right and wrong in that kind of punishment spectrum. He operated on his own moral compass, not the government's. That shit went down the tubes long before he'd spent a lifetime of hell in 1984. Even so, that didn't mean that Dylan was going play 'skate a lil' closer'. He still had his dignity. Sometimes. It was usually based on his online gaming rank of the week.

So the sweetfaced Max skated around him, and he let her. He didn't turn. His eyes followed her, but he crammed his hands in his pockets while he considered her and just where the fuck these Star Wars references were coming from.]

Luke Skywalker wasn't human, give him a break. You prefer the wookie-look or something?

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jukejoint
2015-03-15 05:22 pm UTC (link)

[Like most children that spent their childhoods moving around and ignored by exacting parents, Max had spent a lot of time in front of a television. When she wasn't being drilled in how fast she could put together a disassembled firearm, and when she wasn't been forced to run until her muscles gave out, she made friends with rom-coms and sci-fi alike. Distance from those things as she grew older was deliberate, and she'd almost convinced herself she didn't remember any of it. She played dumb, and that was better than ever admitting to being a lonely child. Lonely child wouldn't fit with the her she created during her years in the Army.

But this girl on the ice, she wasn't an aged down version of that older, cynical and jaded woman. She was herself, aged not-yet-twenty-one, and unapologetic about everything.

When his hands went into his pockets, she rolled her dark brown eyes again, unimpressed in the extreme. He didn't even turn, and she wondered if she picked boring old moral dudes as a rule.]

He was humanoid. [Said smugly, and she stopped right in front of him when he asked about wookies, ice kicking up off her skate.] Chewie was less whiny than Jedi-Boy. More articulate too. [She took one finger, and she poked one of the hands that was hiding in his pocket. Theory testing, while not her normal thing, had its benefits at times.] Scared of me?

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jazzhands
2015-03-15 07:50 pm UTC (link)

[He smiled when she asked if he was scared of her. It wasn't one of those machismo, I-fear-nothing smiles that intended to prove her wrong with some display of push-ups on the ice or some shit. It also wasn't a smile that dismissed her as unscary in any capacity. She;d shot at him too many times for that to be a possibility, although he wasn't sure if the trigger-happy personality trait carried over with age regression. Dylan's appreciation for science was limited to computer programming and machinery, he wasn't a doctor by any means.

But this girl, young woman, whatever... she was definitely Max, and therefore his girlfriend. Were they using that term yet? It was the first that came to mind. After all this time, after all the fires and bullets and dinner dates, calling them anything less would have been dismissive.]

Just thinking. [He said it with a scientist's air, like the formula was nearing its completion. Dylan glanced down when she nudged at his hand, then he removed it from his pocket and exhaled some warm breath on the slim black glove he wore. He considered asking about whether or not he should feel a moral dilemma, but doubted he'd get a helpful answer out of this one. So, oh well.]

How do you feel about a race, Tara Lapinski? [And, naturally, before she could answer yes or no, Dylan pushed off with his skate. Nothing wrong with a head start, especially when he was racing somebody that was practically half his age. Wait, maybe that meant he was supposed to give her a head start. Too late now.]

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jukejoint
2015-03-16 12:29 am UTC (link)

[She watched him like she might watch a potential target. She was young, but she was still her, and she'd still been raised by the most exacting shit of a general ever. He was trying to figure something out, but she didn't know him well enough to figure out what. She wondered if she ever knew him well enough to figure that kind of stuff out; he seemed like there might be more going on under the surface than regular people had.

At this age, it was easy to romanticize all of it; it was easy to romanticize him. He was handsome, older, and he could skate. He smiled like he wasn't a boring saint, even as he tried to figure out something while doing it. He looked down when she poked his finger, and she scoffed when he said he was just thinking.] Thinking about what?

[What was there to think about? Max didn't think much.] Thinking isn't any good. It gets in the way. [That was more candor than any of her deadpan thus far, but it was true. Thinking things through, it was a trap.] Go on your gut. [She poked his a second later. Well, his abs through layers of fabric.]

I'll beat you. [Which she called to his back, because he took off first. She was lighter and smaller and no way was he going to keep that lead. She pushed herself the same way she always pushed herself - too hard, too competitive, as if her dad was watching from somewhere and would be disappointed if she didn't leave him in the dust.

Which she did. By the time she reached the end of the rink, she was breathing so fast that her face was bright red from the exertion, and she nearly buckled as she grabbed the edge of the rink, but she'd won. Winning was all that mattered; breathing was secondary. She was a good soldier.

One who couldn't catch her breath at the moment.]

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jazzhands
2015-03-16 06:29 am UTC (link)

[Dylan wasn't used to being looked at like one of those paper man cut-outs from the shooting range. Max had certainly shot at him a couple of times throughout the years they'd known one another. He even considered the possibility of Little Miss Max packing some kind of firepower, but that wasn't worrying. She looked old enough to buy a gun in the city, not to mention that Max had an arsenal to rival the hoards of invading hell at any given moment. If Dylan was worried about getting a bullet graze on any given day, he was fucking the wrong woman.

Dylan could have explained to her that thinking could encompass all kinds of things; movies that reminded him of this, Belushi jokes, where they could find cheese fries at this hour of the morning. But he didn't itemize any of those thoughts out loud because the following moment was one of race time, not chatting.

Stupidly, Dylan slowed the propel of his skate on the fifth strike against ice, thinking that he was being unfair. He had longer legs, after all. Might as well give the girl a bit of a fair hand in this race, but Dylan underestimated Max's will to win. Suddenly she was gliding ahead of him before Dylan dug the toe of his skate into flaked ice, propelling him after her.

It wasn't bad time, he got to the rink's edge a couple of moments after her, but at least he wasn't heaving for a new lung. Max was against the rink, fingers curled to grab(not that he thought she'd fall without it), and Dylan fit his hands onto the rail of the rink too, just on either side of hers. The line of his body against her back in the moment that it seemed like her knees might buckle, but her legs straightened a moment later even if her chest still heaved, and Dylan drew back.

He twisted, skate blade grating ice in the movement, until his back was against the edge of the rink beside her.] Nice. And first prize goes to the asthmatic. You better get that breath back, homegirl, before the guys comes around to smooth the ice for the day. [Head cock, contemplative nod.] Although they can be bribed.

[Dylan idly reached for her, brushing the fluffy cream of her jacket where it met her throat.] Guess I'm going to have to construct you a gold medal now.

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jukejoint
2015-03-16 06:51 pm UTC (link)

[Max hadn't looked for a firearm since she'd been here. She'd considered it, and she knew she'd feel safer with one, but this was a fresh start. One that wasn't based on the stuff the General wanted for her life. It was almost a defiant decision, even though she didn't know this city well, and she knew it even less in this decade. Maybe 4 am and no firearm in NYC was stupid, but she was also used to life two decades earlier. But he was right that she could shoot him dead with her eyes closed, even at this age. The difference was that she'd feel bad about it now, even if she still didn't hesitate.

Then the race was everything, and it was the Main competitiveness that kept her on her feet after her knees threatened to buckle, even more than her hands on the walled edge of the rink. Willpower that was almost for nothing when she felt him against her back, because for all her bravado she was still the last girl asked to dance. Since she'd joined the Army, she only got asked because she put-out, and she knew it. It wasn't the same as confidence built over years of being pretty, and it wasn't like the rom-coms she loved. She wasn't naive anymore, not in that way, but he felt better against her back than the other cadets did, and her knees threatened to buckle for a completely different reason.

But he drew back, and she recovered well, no hint of the almost-whatever that she'd just felt.

She kept her hands where they were as he leaned back against the edge of the rink, and she rolled her eyes when he mocked her.] The asthmatic still beat you. [A reminder, and she looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was really coming to smooth the ice; a lingering sign of the naivete of her age.

She looked back at him.] Are you a criminal? Am I a criminal? I don't want to own a flower shop. [For all her deadpan, she asked the questions like being a criminal might be an adventure.

She watched his fingers near her jacket, and she tipped her head back a little too willingly when his fingers brushed the jacket at her throat. Her tone returned to deadpan, even though her dark gaze on him was curious, interested in what he would do next.] It has to be real gold. I know the difference. I don't come cheap.

[She totally came cheap.]

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jazzhands
2015-03-16 10:13 pm UTC (link)

The asthmatic has had some more recent experience with skates. [Dylan offered that rebuttal with a tilt of his head. That dark hood had slipped past to gather and ruck upon the back of his neck, and Dylan tossed some hair(that was bordering desperate for a haircut) out of his line of sight. His breath huffed white in the air, and he admired the quietude of the rink and the city at this hour. Soon, it would be bustling and just another reminder of cogs spinning in capitalist machinery. It understandably left a bad taste in his mouth, so he tried not to see the city during the day. He'd always been a night owl. He'd always been more comfortable in neon and dives and shady characters trading their wares in alleys. That felt like city to Dylan. This place, at this hour when the steam began to find industry in the sky and not the sidewalk, not to mention the jungle of metallic skyscrapers beginning to glint like bronze with the first promise of sunrise... yeah, it left memories like rust in his mouth.

It was the question about being criminals that made Dylan pause. Too trained, too unaffected by surprise to draw back or quirk an eyebrow like what, but his attention wandered over the ice in the rink like he was contemplating another game of race, tag, or red rover.] No, we're not criminals. [Not in the grand scheme of things, anyway. Dylan, until this point, had believed(or hoped) that Max had retained enough of her memories to know their history -- fuck that, to know her history.]

You don't like flowers? [He asked in an easy change of subject, his touch falling away from the fluffy warmth of her jacket, gun-carved hands finding their way into his own jacket pockets.] What would you do instead of owning a flower shoppe?

[Dylan knew that the military had been a big part of her life when she'd been young, and although they'd never discussed it at length, Dylan never believed it'd been the right path for her. Just because one could kill without remorse, shoot without blinking, walk away from terrible nights with the same pace that one walked away from a Chucky Cheese. Especially having a daughter now, Dylan had once pressured her to find passion in something else... but those conversations had only led to distance.]

You know the difference? [Quirked eyebrow, cocked grin.] Sure, I got just the thing, once we get out of these skates. [And then he started toward the other side of the rink with lazy strides.] So do you [...] remember anything? [He asked, curiosity to disguise the importance of such a question. Dylan sat on the bench and began to unknot his skate laces, watching Max.]

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jukejoint
2015-03-17 02:58 am UTC (link)

The asthmatic is better. [She was faster, lighter. He was tall, broad, and she thought that was good. It wasn't an idle observation, because she had too much interest in what future Cougar-her got up to for it to be casual, but she knew what her strengths were in any race. She knew when to stay and fight, and she knew when to fight dirty. If she'd thought he could take her, she would have swiped one of his skates out from under him. With his height and his weight, he would fall hard and waste time getting back up. But she hadn't needed that, and she'd gladly take some ribbing about her too-fast breathing if it meant victory.] Your hair's long. [Observation, and it sounded nothing like her cocky assurance that she was better than him. It was something interested, more curiosity, and she was too caught up on it to even catch any hint of surprise that he might have let slip about the criminality thing.] What are we? I'm not still in the Army when I hit Cougarville. Too old for that. It's hard on the hips.

[Max had no history to remember. For her, everything was forward. Yesterday was boot camp. This was now.] I abhor flowers. [More deadpan.] My sister likes flowers. My mother likes flowers. I think they should all die. The flowers. Not my family. [Though the lack of inflection in her tone left doubt about that.] I'm a beat reporter. A journalist. [Okay, so she wasn't, but she wanted to be. And if she could reinvent herself here, she didn't see why she couldn't just take it for a given.]

I know the difference. [She was going for something wittier, but that cocked grin made her stare, and wit was nowhere to be found. She followed him to the side of the rink without questioning whether she should, and that kind of trusting thing still got her in trouble with the guys on the base. She'd outgrow it eventually.

She joined him on the bench, and she unlaced her skates.] I remember being in barracks yesterday. How did we hook up?

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jazzhands
2015-03-17 07:57 am UTC (link)

Fashionable, [He corrected. Maybe it was a look for skaters fond of beanies and heroin chic runway mutts, but Dylan owned his hairstyle without any discernible sense of shame. In a sense, his lack of any recent haircut was a form of protest. 1984 had been shaved heads along with very specific, very hideous fashion statements. If shaggy dark hair that curled just past his ears made him hippie-esque, that was fine with him for the first time in his life. Growing up with his parents, Dylan had favored conformity, but the past few months found him better at home in something a little more anti-establishment. He wasn't wearing anarchy patches on his jacket sleeves or anything so extreme, but the hacker had somehow become more of a slacker.]

I told you, you own a flower shop. With one of your friends or something. You weren't in the Army when we met. [Not exactly, although he didn't fill in the blanks. Upon removing his skates, Dylan replaced his shoes and considered her final question.] We met while at a singles swing dancing class. You know the kind, where you drink wine and switch partners after every song. Blind date swing dancing, yeah. You wore pink, and oh could you twirl. [Not the least bit true, but the idea made Dylan grin because it was sure to make the girl beside him disgusted if she was anything like he expected.]

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jukejoint
2015-03-17 10:31 pm UTC (link)

Nonconformist. [It was a counter to his claim of fashionable hair. But she was glad she wasn't banging some businessman in a suit. She'd originally thought her babydaddy might be some businessman in a suit, but she'd changed her mind about that; he was too strange. She almost asked if Dylan knew him, but that seemed kind of tasteless. Alright, so she never cared if anything was tasteless, but this was a special circumstance - he was cute.]

Owning a flower shop doesn't mean I work there. Also, it could be a front. Also, I abhor flowers. [In case he needed the reminder.]

How long ago did we meet? [The surprise on her features slipped through when he said she hadn't been in the Army when they met. She was standing now, feet back in her shoes and her hands on her hips as she looked down at him, waiting for his response. But he was talking about singles swing dancing and pink, and she scoffed and rolled her eyes.] Swing dancing is acceptable. Pink is not. [So much emphasis on the not.

She reached for his hands, and she pulled on them with calloused fingers that were already well experienced in wielding weapons that killed from a distance. She tugged at him with graceless insistence, until he got to his feet, not much femininity to be found in the girl with the cream coat.] I don't twirl. Where are we going?

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jazzhands
2015-03-18 12:00 am UTC (link)

[Nonconformist. Dylan laughed and rubbed his chilled nose with the back of his hand. He was getting to old to detest the likening to his parents, the similarities in wording. The fact that his slightly outgrown hair hadn't even occurred to him as something nonconformist was sign enough that maybe he didn't care anymore. He was old, or just getting older... regardless, he didn't have time for old grudges against men who refused to die. If the pills and drink and promiscuous sex of the seventies hadn't done his parents in by now, then maybe they were onto something. So yes, Dylan grew out his hair. He didn't put any psychology behind it, societal approval or not. The frequency with which he wore pajama pants in public wasn't -- shit, was that hipster behavior? In that moment, Dylan decided that he would settle for unkept nerd behavior. Mountain dew and Mass Effect. He could live with such stereotypes.]

You do not abhor flowers. [And this smile was for himself as his boots were finally laced and he stood to go in a direction yet undecided. The sun was peeking now, fresh as a peeled orange.] You could just as easily have opened a meat market or a drycleaners, but you chose a flower shop. IF its a front, that is only because you never wanted to properly hide your money. You married rich, surely there were ways. So I think, the flower shop was yours, Miss Main.

[He straightened and shrugged the sleeves of his jacket while considering her question.] Years ago, lifetimes ago, really. [And when her hands extended, he took them, more to hold than to allow any pulling on her part. He could stand on his own two feet without help, no matter how much older than her he was now.]

You twirl. [That was a promise with a smile aimed down at her. Dylan's smile's when he was in a good mood could be annoying, too pleased, too knowing, all assurance.] I will see you twirl one day. [They had danced at a hotel party once, and those memories were vague as absinthe, but it wasn't true dancing, it wasn't passion and it wasn't twirling.]

Its early yet. [Extremely, considering the run was only just rising.] Are you hungry? [Dylan admittedly knew little of younger woman aside from those he'd met in college, and they rarely ate.]

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jukejoint
2015-03-18 05:47 am UTC (link)

[She expected some quip about nonconformity, but she didn't get one. Unexpected, but then she wasn't sure what expected was, either, only that it wasn't what she got. She wanted to ask things, but she didn't know what to ask, and she was still looking confused about it when he said she didn't abhor flowers.] I hate them. [In case 'abhor' was tripping him up. Still, deadpan, and with deliberately little inflection. She considered his smile and his theory as he looked around. A few seconds more.] If I chose the flower shop, it was to thwart my mom.

[But then he said she'd married rich, and her eyes narrowed. She'd married Mister Bore? No way. So unimpressed, self.] There's a nefarious reason for the flower shop. I know there was. [Insistent.] I hate flowers.

[She rolled her eyes when he said they met years and lifetimes ago.] This isn't a rom-com. Give me a numeral. [But maybe there was something that was almost nearly a smile at the edges of her mouth. And he could justify letting her tug on him for any reason. She knew the truth. Old. Creaky. Knees.]

I don't twirl. [He smiled smug down at her, and she swatted at his arm. With all the stubbornness of a mule.] I won't ever twirl. [But she considered her hungriness, and she nodded; in truth, she didn't want to go back to her hotel yet.] Something greasy. You're paying. [And casual, no curiosity as she waited for him to lead in the direction of food. She slipped her arm through his, because he was old and needed help with his creaky knees and questionable balance.] Do we go out to eat a lot?

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan -

jazzhands, 2015-03-18 07:37 am UTC

Re: Rink: Max & Dylan -

jukejoint, 2015-03-18 04:11 pm UTC

Re: Rink: Max & Dylan -

jazzhands, 2015-03-19 06:34 am UTC

Re: Rink: Max & Dylan -

jukejoint, 2015-03-19 03:11 pm UTC

Re: Rink: Max & Dylan -

jazzhands, 2015-03-20 05:22 am UTC

Re: Rink: Max & Dylan -