Tweak

InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Charlie and Cass"

🎵 𝄞 🎸 𝄫 🎷🎶 🎻 (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: 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 (link)

[He only smiled when Max continued with insistence that she hated flowers and flower shops and probably all things foliage related. Dylan didn't know much about Max's relationship with her mother, only that Max followed in her father's footsteps while her sister, Ella, must have favored after their mother. Dylan didn't know if Max's joining the military was a way of pleasing her father or just a way of escaping her household, but either way, now didn't seem like the time to pry. Dylan didn't do much prying these days, it felt too much like interrogation, and all of that left a bad, torture-metallic taste in his mouth.]

Your mother doesn't like flowers? [The sidelong glance that he gave the young woman at his side was a little confused. Despising flower shops didn't fit the picture he had of Max's mother.

He stiffened a little when she asked for a years in the form of a number. How did one measure time when so much had been taken away from the both of them? Dylan wasn't about to mention the time that the doors had stolen away from Max or himself, not to this younger version of herself. Maybe it was a form of protection, but Dylan didn't think that anybody needed to know they'd spent years in a torturous prison, not if they didn't remember it. Dylan recovered with a deep breath drawn, his exhale huffing white in the dawning sky that still carried a chill.] I guess it was a few years ago, three or four...

[It was her consistent denial of twirling that brought his smile back, full-force. Dylan looked down at her, and kept their arms linked as they crossed the street in the direction of a diner that he hadn't yet decided on, but was certain there had to be one a few blocks ahead. This was New York, after all.]

Oh, you're gonna twirl. Not only that, but you're going to reenact the entire finale number of Dirty Dancing. [Smug grin returned like he'd just dropped a winning hand of poker on the table.] And then I'll pay for anything you want.

[When she asked if they went out to eat a lot, Dylan gave a brief nod so as not to change the subject. He stopped on the sidewalk, brinding her to a halt alongside him.]

Come on, Baby, its now or never.

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jukejoint
2015-03-18 04:11 pm UTC (link)

[Max's dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully when Dylan asked if her mom didn't like flowers. She didn't think much, not like this, so the expression was a foreign one. She was dating this guy, but he didn't know about her mom? How could he not know about her mom? Alright, so she wasn't exactly little miss forthcoming, but her parents were kind of hot as far as topics went, and she wondered if she'd forgiven them by the time she was old. It was a nice thought, but she didn't buy it for a second. Forgiving was sucked out of her young, with a row of dead baby chicks in the backyard and a lesson from the General about sentimental attachment.

She took a few steps in quiet, and then she gave him a matching sidelong glance.] We bang, but we don't talk? [Obviously.] Listen, my mom hates me. She loves Ella. She talks to Ella. She shows Ella how to plant stupid hateful things that grow. She's scared of me. Mom. When I was five, the General took me to base with him, and Ella stayed home. I only saw mom on awkward holidays where she ignored me. I remind her too much of dad. She hates dad, too. [A pause.] I hate flowers.

[She wasn't too surprised when he didn't know their anniversary. Lovesick couples were gross. She appreciated his bad memory. It still gave her a good idea of how long this thing had been going on, which was what she'd been after anyway.] That's a long time. Do you love me? [Brow quirk.] Luke said Jack loves me.

[But, man, oh, man, did she like his smile.] I refuse to twirl. [Still refusing to smile as she came to a halt alongside him. She laughed, though, loud and nothing pretty in the early sunlight.] I'll bowl you over if I run at you. [She would too. Deliberately. Her smile said as much, and it was a challenge.]

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jazzhands
2015-03-19 06:34 am UTC (link)

We don't 'bang' that much. [It was the truth for many different reasons. Flying bullets and switching realities and just life kept Max and him from a rabbit-style fucking kind of lifestyle. As pathetic as it was to admit, maybe if they were younger, they'd get more time in between the sheets. Bullets and realities be damned, they'd surely fuck through every firefight and every change of scenery. Dylan didn't think that age changed him, but there were things to talk about between Max and himself. Sometimes it led to fucking, and sometimes it led to arguing, but they liked their words, they liked their dinner dates, and in between... there were crashed cars and exploding apartments.]

When the mood strikes, I guess... [Dylan offered that belatedly and with a sense of awkwardness because he didn't want this younger version of his woman to think them prudes or perverts. It was a strange tightrope to balance.] We talk, and your mother doesn't hate you. [He didn't tell her about what he knew of her father. This youth of hers would not last, nothing here did, and there was no point in destroying the girl's idol on this night.

When she asked if he loved her, Dylan was visibly taken aback. He blinked, paused in his steps, and drew a breath. Eyebrows knit, an inquiry to why the fuck she would ask that.] What do you think love is? [When she mentioned Jack, Dylan nodded and there was a littl shrug. He knew how Jack felt about Max. He also knew who they would never work, but he knew very reason that Max and him wouldn't work either so... who was he to judge? He certainly didn't seem jealous.] Jack is a good man. He saved my life once, and yours more than once.

[Dylan shook his head, wordlessly grinning when she said that she would bowl him over if she ran at him.] You underestimate my grandparents and their determination for me to take societal lessons. I can lift, darling.

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jukejoint
2015-03-19 03:11 pm UTC (link)

[Her expression made it clear what she thought of a bang-free life. Sex was new, and she liked to think she got it on the regular one day. Deadpan, unimpressed. Maybe he wasn't interested, but she assumed she was a decent looking Cougar if she'd managed to find three guys to sleep with. Unless they all had a military fetish, which was possible. Her expression changed to something curious as she looked at him; she didn't think he looked like the type that wanted to be dominated. Maybe she was wrong. For whatever reason, they didn't bang much. Previous unimpressed expression returned.] Don't you think old me is hot?

[Which she followed-up with an equally deadpan.] Don't you think old me is interesting? [She scoffed, and it sounded very much like old her.] My mom hates me. My dad is disappointed I don't have a penis. I hate them both in return. My life is a hard one. [Sarcastic deadpan, tyvm.]

That response isn't promising. [His blink, taken aback, follow-up question about love. But she shrugged.] Love is Sleepless in Seattle. It's While You Were Sleeping. It's When Harry Met Sally. It's a birthday cake on a table a pink dress on your sweet sixteen. [Belatedly, she pulled a face.] Without the pink dress. The pink dress can go. What do you think love is? [Obviously nothing involving jealousy, given his response about Jack, who was a good man. Bleh. Dull.]

If you drop me, I'll shoot your kneecaps in. [She stomped a few feet away, turned, and she looked at him with narrowed brown eyes as she tried to decide if this was a set-up. Really, it was the darling that made her consider actually doing it. And an unhealthy obsession with Dirty Dancing.] My skull would crack like an egg on this sidewalk.

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jazzhands
2015-03-20 05:22 am UTC (link)

First of all, 'old you,' isn't old. You have a better body than most of the girls I remember from college. And [With a shrug and his mouth screwed sideways like Northern ridiculous was suddenly realized.] Hot isn't even the word, you're sexy. You're smart. You could kick my ass... probably. [Definitely. But he didn't want this younger Max to think of him as totally inept. He also didn't want her to challenge him in the middle of the street and spend the night in lockup.]

Yeah, well, everyone hates their parents. I'd give you a club card but we ran out in the 70's.

[Miraculously, Dylan managed not to laugh when Max described her interpretation of love in the form of Hollywood movies. It wasn't surprising, maybe that was why he managed only a slightly crooked smile. Dylan still remember the hotel party where she'd been the girl with all of the movie lines, the song lyrics, the trademark Hallmark love lines. While such a thing had been a mystery with the Max he knew, it was beginning to make sense upon meeting this girl.]

I don't know what love is.. [He admitted while knowing that saying such might have made him seem like a dick. Love seemed to Dylan like the kind of thing realized through fatherhood. Maybe love could only be known in the aftermath, in loss. If that was the case, Dylan didn't think he ever wanted to be in love.]

You've threatened to shoot me too many times to take that seriously. [And with palms up, his fingers bent like come on. He wasn't going to drop her, give him some credit, although he did have to question something with an eyebrow raised high.] You have a gun on you? That's not very Baby.

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jukejoint
2015-03-20 05:48 am UTC (link)

So. You're with me for the sex, but we don't bang. [Deadpan and, yet, somehow still incredulous. But she was pleased to learn she was sexy and smart. She knew she could kick his ass. She thought she could probably do that now, but it was more impressive when she was old.] Not everyone hates their parents. You do? Do I know that? Old me that isn't old. Also sexy. Also. smart. [Smile.]

You haven't loved anyone. Ever. [Like most of her questions, they were phrased as statements. Not caring was important. Question-mark inflection made it sound like she was too interested in the responses. She'd wasted a lot of question marks on this conversation. Time to conserve.] I don't believe that. You look like the romantic type. Not Bill Pullman. Maybe Tom Hanks. Definitely not hot boy in Sixteen Candles. I guess you could be Judd Nelson in Breakfast Club if I squint. [Consideration.] So. It's just sex. Do I know it's just sex? [Good waste of question mark.]

I don't threaten. I shoot. [She hated shooting, but he didn't need to know that. She hated it like she hated every single last thing about the Army. She was considering her run trajectory when he asked about the gun, and she forgot that she wasn't admitting to her hatred of all things firearm.] I abhor guns.

[Unthinking.]

Nobody puts Baby in a corner. [Then, without any warm-up or warning, she ran. She was fast, powerful from years off practicing too hard. She wasn't as thin as she would be once the Army really sank its teeth into her, but she was good enough not to need to get much speed going to jump at him. She was determined to bowl him over. Unless he really impressed her with his catching ability. He might. She didn't mind being surprised.]

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jazzhands
2015-03-20 06:06 am UTC (link)

I'm not with you for sex.

[His tone was probably the wrong one, because it read foolish child.]

Do you want to know our usual night?

[And in this, he stepped closer, voice a little hushed although not to deaf-levels, most business morning people walking by were bitching amongst one another, chatting on their phones, or shouting for cabs.]

We used to aim to stay alive. That was it, and I know that you're the military girl and climbed the monkey bars faster than anyone in second grade, but I'm talking snipers shooting you off the road. I'm talking laughing on our way in my apartment door, arguing over take out, and having a bomb go through the window. I'm talking a prison that -- [His voice didn't crack, but Dylan shook his head before going there. Not Max's story, but his own, he wasn't fucking doing it on a sunrise morning after ice skating. When Dylan looked at her again, it was with those hazel eyes that said he was done with this repetition.]

She knows how I feel about her. [How could she not?

And even in the midst of that irritation, that huff of an exhale that said this younger Max asked too much, was too prying.... and even when it seemed like Dylan wasn't paying attention, his eyes skirting out to the street like any man used to scoping surroundings for safety's sake, he caught her. It required a step back on his part, but his arms were python tight on her hips, palms under her ass for leverage, and that step back helped to keep them from eating concrete.]

Ready?

[And then his hands slid around the front of her body, guncarved palms against the flat of her stomach when he hefted her above so that Baby might spread her arms like an angel.]

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jukejoint
2015-03-20 06:29 am UTC (link)

[She rolled her eyes at his tone, his response, maybe both. No. Definitely both.] Then why are you with me? [She was back to wasting those question marks. Damn him.

But then he offered enlightenment about their usual night, and it was worth the question mark for that information. It was like the intel cache about her future love life. Sex life. Not-often-sex-life.] You can't stop mid-prison. [But her tone wasn't as harsh as it normally was, because even she could tell that whatever he'd been about to say was not good. Opposite of good. Across the city from good.] But this wasn't the Army. What? Feds? Are we Feds? [That was potentially worse than the Army. The General would be so proud. What was she thinking? What happened to her defiance? Worse. Than. The. Flower. Shop.]

How do I feel about you? [She wasn't sure future her was sure about anything. She didn't have much faith in future her at the moment.

She didn't have faith in his ability to catch her either, but he did, and that left her speechless. Not deliberately speechless; that was normal. Really speechless, and she was looking down at him after that step back. Her features were literally shocked. Huh.] You didn't look strong.

[He didn't.

But he asked if she was ready, and she nodded out of habit, because she'd momentarily forgotten what she was supposed to be ready for. Because hello, hands, and that was an impressive grip. Huh? What? Oh. Right. She remembered as soon as he hefted her above his head, and she laughed for a few seconds, teetering, before she did the spread arm things for one second.

Just. One. Second.

Then she thwapped at his head.] Put me down. Now. I will vomit. [But she was blush red. Not pukey. He'd never notice.]

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jazzhands
2015-03-20 06:44 am UTC (link)

[He didn't look strong, she said. So the grin came again, followed by a laugh because while lean, Dylan held a more muscle than his body type made obvious. Holding her was no problem. Dylan wasn't strong, he wasn't a bodybuilder, but the lean muscle that he had knew its purpose.

She was still airborne when she threatened to puke, and Dylan stuck out his tongue, daring with a kind of youth that didn't allow for his years.] Bullshit.

[And she didn't twirl. She said so, she swore it, so he made her. Her body hefted in his arms, he spun only once before putting her down, back on her feet where cement meant steadiness. Because, yeah, he didn't want her to get dizzy enough to actually be sick.]

Better?

[He asked gently. Hands off of her, and he took a step back.]

Is it too early to get a drink in this place? [As if she'd know better than him.]

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jukejoint
2015-03-20 06:55 am UTC (link)

Do not make me force puke. I'll do it. [Deadpan. Serious. Not at all swayed by that show of tongue. Never swayed. Not by cute behavior in a cute old guy.

He made her twirl. Deceptive. Must be watched. He made her laugh, which was even worse. She'd laughed more during this one clandestine assignation than she had in her entire childhood. And her childhood felt eternal. So that was saying something. She steadied with her hands on his shoulders, and then she took a defiantly independent step back.

She considered puking on his shoes. She was not the little cadet that cried puke. She pretended she was going to. Sufficient.

But his voice was gentle. Damn him. Foiled by kindness.] That didn't count as twirling.

[She considered his question about a drink with more seriousness than it merited, and she began walking to the only open place on the block; she assumed that's where he was taking them.] We can always threaten them with vomit, firearms, or federal action.

[She looked over at him, and then she pushed open the door.]

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jazzhands
2015-03-20 07:05 am UTC (link)

[If Dylan was deterred by bodily fluids, be it vomit or blood, he'd really chosen the wrong profession for most of his early life. He glanced down when young Max false gagged in the direction of his shoes. They were nice shoes and Dylan liked them, but he was unsurprised when she failed to follow through. He thought that the older Max would have, just to prove a point. Or shot him, for the same reason.]

You said you didn't twirl. I'm against tricking women into what they hate.

It is a little early to threaten customer service with -- [But she was already making her way inside the establishment before he could suggest his place instead. Which was probably the best idea made all morning. Besides..] They've got to have mimosas. [The door swung closed behind him, after her caught it for her, so gentlemanly.]

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jukejoint
2015-03-20 04:39 pm UTC (link)

[She wasn't as willing to vomit or kill to make a point as her older self. Alright. Not kill. He was possibly too not-disgusting-butterflies to kill. Maim. Somewhere not very important.]

What body part is least important? [Innocently, like she asking nothing of important.]

[She stopped just inside the door when he interrupted himself about customer service. She turned as the door swung closed, and she made a face at the prospect of orange fizzy drinks.] No. Very important. Ask if they have beer.

[At five am.

Inside, even the waitresses looked sleepy. It looked like an eggs and bacon crowed. Maybe a strong coffee. She pulled her beanie off, and she looked around.] Ask if they have beer.

[Repetition was important sometimes. She was willing to wait. If she was humming Hungry Eyes under her breath as she waited, well, she couldn't be held responsible. Being held responsible wasn't something she was embracing in her new, General-free life.]

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jazzhands
2015-03-20 08:04 pm UTC (link)

[Oh, here we go. Watch as the miraculous Dylan goes ADD distracted with the prospect of listing unnecessary body parts.] Well, there's the third eyelid... difficult to shoot off on its own, although even if you took the entire eye, an eye patch is like a badge of automatic badassery. The high probability of the bullet going into the brain, though? Not a good option. [Side-eye.] And I doubt you know shit to do with a scalpel. Which also negates the tonsils, the nipples, wisdom teeth, and coccyx. Maybe the appendix? Gall bladder? Love handle? People get all kinds of stupid shit removed thinking because of evolution its no longer needed, but --

[He'd been talking over her repeated requests for beer for awhile now, and glanced down with annoyance.] You ask her if she has beer. [Max had never needed Dylan to ask for anything, unless they were in some fancy restaurant whose menu left her confused and uncomfortable.

Then, it kind of occurred to him, and Dylan slowly slid into a booth as the girl tugged the beanie away from her dark hair.] You're not Twenty-one, are you?

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jukejoint
2015-03-20 08:29 pm UTC (link)

[She considered his options.] Pretty eyes. No eyepatch. [Rejected. The rest of his suggestions got an eyeroll. Useless.] Pinky. [Pause.] Toe. Pinky toe. [He might have trouble balancing, but he'd still look hot. She assumed that kind of thing was important to her Cougar self. She had to look out for her future self, alright? Out of her three future sex options, he was the best. The babydaddy was weird. Jack was emo.

Foot tap. Foot tap. Foot tap. And she waited for logic to catch up with him, and to inform him about why she couldn't ask about the beer herself. Foot tap. Bingo!

She slid into the booth with him, same side, and then she climbed over his lap to sit against the wall; better to hide possible underage beer consumption.] I'm not. But that doesn't matter on the base. Don't make me bat my eyelashes at you for a beer. It looks like I have something in my eyes when I do that.

[She reached for the menu.] Do I get to go home with you?

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan

jazzhands
2015-03-23 08:21 am UTC (link)

Well, if its alright with you... [Dylan began with the menu tilting up in the palm of his hands, laminate flat in his grip where autumn eyes zoomed across words that all sounded greasy and similar. Dylan read amain, so fast that it was a thoughtless process. Something learned from days and nights pouring over code, over federal documents, over reddit feeds. He read faster than he processed, and even as his attention shifted across the typeface of offered early bird items, he planted his tongue into his cheek and continued the earlier sentiment.]

I'd rather not get shot tonight... this morning, whatever. [He blinked up from the menu with a bright smile that bordered on fake, head tilted toward her where she'd found her place against the wall. An unsmart position for a potential ambush, good idea to hide underage drinking. It was all dependent upon priorities.] We've done so well all these years, why fuck it up now?

[When the waitress approached, she was a grizzled woman who looked like the kind of zombie who'd started her red-eye shift sometime around 8 PM the night before. She was no smiles, and Dylan winced with hesitation when it came to asking about the beer.] Couple of coffees, and uh.. just give us a minute..

[The waitress wordlessly stalked off in her stained yellow apron to fetch chipped, ceramic mugs. Dylan glanced at Max anew when the next question arose.]

Don't you have a home? Like a Christopher Robin tree house or something?

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Re: Rink: Max & Dylan -

jukejoint, 2015-03-23 03:51 pm UTC

Re: Rink: Max & Dylan -

jazzhands, 2015-03-25 05:21 am UTC

Re: Rink: Max & Dylan -

jukejoint, 2015-03-28 03:06 am UTC

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