tɦɛ iɳquiรitѳʀ (freemarched) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-03-09 23:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, kenzi malikov, maxwell trevelyan (the inquisitor) |
Who: Maxwell & Kenzi
What: A second meeting, this time where he doesn't get pickpockted by someone
When: Recently
Where: The recently renovated demon-vampire diner, for cheeseburgers and milkshakes
Rating/Warnings: Mostly low
Status: Complete
Rumor has it that this particular diner - designed a bit retro with white and black tiled floors, and an oldies sort of feel - had once been ravaged by gang of demons and vampires. Like, fifty of them. And they all stunk, and breathed fire, and ate everyone in it, and the survivors were few. It was a tale Kenzi kinda believed. She hadn’t been here long enough to determine whether or not stranger things had happened, but the story was strange and sounded like something that would happen around here. Anyway, the point was that this particular diner was back in business. Cleaned out, rebuilt, new furnishings. It was cute, and they’d been rolling out a slew of milkshakes of all different flavors to attract clientele back through their doors. Kenzi loved milkshakes - especially this chocolate maple-bacon she ordered, sweet and savory and go fuck yourself, it was totes delish. It was the only thing she ordered for the moment. Something to slurp on while the one now known as Maxy (she referred to everyone in that twisted little mind of hers by the nicknames she’d given) was on his way. It was at the little breakfast bar she’d been seated on, spinning in her stool, just sippin’ away at her drink. The finest specimen of maturity, folks. Right here. Dressed in a tight skirt, fishnets crawling up those mile-long legs, pistol-shaped shoes (they were banned from Airlines, so she wouldn’t be wearing these on her way to Ireland), and corset-like top with sleeves. All of it looked uncomfortably tight but, well, she always seemed pretty comfortable in what she wore - even if those shoes looked like they could be murdering those piggies of hers. He arrived right on time, clean-cut and put together, only the dullest of aches in his left arm - a storm must be on the horizon, in that case. The elbow joint only ached when the weather was about to turn bad, but sometimes it just really made him feel old. Nevertheless, he popped the ibuprofen and went on his merry way to the diner which was easy enough to find - it looked quaint, and the paint also looked fresh, so he wondered if it had been renovated recently. “So. Kenzi,” he started, settling on a stool next to the raven-haired blackcherry diva. “It’s nice to see you again. I feel like we have a lot to catch up on. Like what you’ve been doing, post-wallet stealing?” Max’s milkshake was vanilla. Probably because he was kind of vanilla, until you scooped past the outer layers and got to the caramel center in the middle of the ice cream pint - or rather, the spicier portions. It was simply that he had a very professional air about him, as neutral as neutral could be given his occupation (he was paid to focus on other people for hour-long chunks at a time, not himself), so perhaps a little mysterious as well. Still figuring things out - he’d leave others guessing too. Though Kenzi was probably the only person he met thus far who would wear fishnets to a mom and pop diner. They looked nice. Don’t get him wrong. Hah, she’d wear fishnets in a church with her favorite, most raunchiest monster thong, religious or not. Kenzi had always been an odd duck of sorts, a little immature and a little irresponsible but her street surviving skills were top-notch, and her fingers were ghosts when picking pockets. Also how she met Max, come to think of it. Attempts at taking his wallet backfired, and they never backfired for her - she always came out richer by the end of the night. Except for Seattle. Or just that one guy in Seattle. “I gave it back,” she reminded with a smirk, stirring the thickness of her shake to make it a little easier to suck through. And she was buying him a meal, so. “But I’ve been dandy, mostly. Tracked down my long lost brother, whom I live with now.” Maybe she’d wait to drop the bomb that she was related to none other than Captain Hook. That would involve a couple rounds of alcohol. “But look at you, so fancy-shmancy. You look like a cleaned up ham sandwich.” “I don’t know if I’m that fancy, but a ham sandwich - that’s a compliment, I’m guessing?” he asked, sliding the milkshake toward him when it was delivered. It looked good, and even had one of those neon red maraschinos on top - the color that didn’t really exist in nature, and shouldn’t. As far as what to eat, he’d just give the menu a glance - but Max wasn’t picky, as a general rule. Cheeseburgers would satisfy the appetite just fine. He too had to poke at the milkshake with his straw, to get it to mix and not be so thick - otherwise you could easily give yourself a headache sucking on air. “How’s the living with the long lost brother thing going? I’m an only child. That I know of - but my family’s so pious, I don’t think illegitimate children would be a thing.” Please. They hadn’t even voted Democrat since the early 1900s, probably. “Ham sandwich is the highest, most regarded compliments in Kenzi-lingo,” she promised, that aforementioned smirk cracking into a full-blown grin. Her way of letting him know he turned out pretty swell, with his own career and shit. Not many people could say that, now could they? But now that they had their milky drinks, she placed the order for a barbecue burger, curly fries included. Their ALT was supposedly pretty good - maybe next time, her stomach and heart were one in regards to wanting something juicy. “Not too shabby, actually. We live on a houseboat, so points for adventure.” The best place she’d ever lived in, let’s be real. “I knew he existed when I was little, but he sort of learned of my existence when I showed up at his door Thanksgiving Day. It wouldn’t be hard to pass off as twins if we really wanted to. And could totes rock the eyeliner much better than I can if he put it on, I think.” Really, it wasn’t shabby at all. Killian was family, he had an odd way of making her feel complete - kind of like Big Bro was her heart, or something. A feeling she had for Bo in the dreams, but the dynamics of everything was just so different here. Bo didn’t stop being her best friend, it wasn’t it. Bubba Jones was a factor that sorta changed, well. Everything. Nothing fancy on Max’s cheeseburger, when he placed his order - just meat between buns (no quips from the peanut gallery), cheese, and...well, that was it. He might put some ketchup on there, but otherwise? Very neutral about his diner meal. “That sounds...pretty great, actually,” he noted. “That you found each other, I mean. Family’s important. And if you get to live on a houseboat, definitely a bonus?” It was kind of a popular thing in Seattle, but Max never had looked into it. Lake Union was large though, and one of the best spots to have a floating abode if you were going to do that. He sort of missed Seattle in general, a lot about the place. It had been home for him - meaning the hipster Pike Place market had been. “So you think you’ll stay awhile? It seems like once you arrive here it kind of sucks you in.” Sucks you in. Yeah, putting it lightly, Maxy. A strip of bacon was pulled from her burger, and Kenzi nibbled thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’ma stay for awhile,” she confirmed, shoulders rolled into a minor shrug. Stay through the wild, wild storm of what the shit this place flung at you. Killian was the main motivator, really. Bo did the Bo Thing and latched onto a love interest that became her entire world - which was what she did with Dyson, she wasn’t too surprised - and Birkhoff was a hermit. Their friendship had initially blossomed online. They didn’t need physical proximity to maintain it, but it was nice? So, family. It’s definitely what kept her tethered here. And she didn’t realize how important it was until she found family that wouldn’t pick a quasi-pedophile husband over her. “What about you, by the way? You worked for a relative, didn’t you?” Kenzi had gotten a gist of his situation when they’d met. “You advocate the importance of family-feels but yours were moldy douchenozzles, huh?” There were curly fries, at least. Well. Max just had the regular fries, but he stole one of Kenzi’s curly fries sort of impishly, in order to give them a test run. Not bad. And he’d make up for the stolen fry, somehow, she needn’t worry. “Moldy douchenozzles,” he repeated, since that was a fine image to conjure while eating. “Maybe just moldy, not complete douchenozzles? They’re very religious. Bible scholars and pastors, ones that give sermons to hundreds and thousands at a time, very near Televangelist levels of fame - so it’s just not for me, to put it lightly. Because of it they thought something was wrong with me, so off to a group home for kids with behavioral and emotional problems I went.” He wasn’t keen on fitting in there either, probably because he was a perfectly healthy kid - he didn’t have a mental illness just because he questioned things pertaining to the Big Man upstairs. That’s not what mental illness was. “I ran away though. And I tracked down a distant cousin - you know, one of those black sheep types, way too far removed to be invited to Thanksgiving dinners,” he said, dipping one of his own fries into ketchup. “She ran the magic shop, and it’s where I consider home. I’m just glad she decided to take me in. I didn’t have anywhere to go otherwise.” Unless it was back to the group facility, but he had been a teenager with big dreams, wanting to experience life not be sheltered from it. The look on Kenzi’s face suggested that something was wrong with her meal, like she’d bitten into the bread-cushioned cow meat only to discover it was spoiled and swimming with maggots. It wasn’t. It was just the look she had at the description of his family, a whole cult of rabid Bible Humpers that popped boners when they sang Hallelujah! “I remember the running away thing,” she said, after an almost painful swallow of her burger. It’s what kind of sealed the deal that, alright, she needed to give the dude his wallet back - because Kenzi had been there, and the dude looked like he was legit trying to make something of himself. Unlike most gutter rats. “You did the best thing you could for yourself. And you didn’t turn out to be a complete scum of the Earth, clearly.” Max probably helped more people than the religion his family preached did with his chosen career. “Do they know where you are now? I mean, are things cool, or are you completely shunned because Jesus isn’t your homeboy?” “Funny how that happens, right? Some people with great parents turned out not so great - others with sorry excuses for parents turn out fine. You turned out fine,” he noted, and sure, he sort of sensed commonalities there - nobody was perfect, but Kenzi was no cold-hearted snake. Otherwise she just would have kept his wallet. “They know where I am, yes. I just made it clear, when I moved into Pike Place, that I wasn’t going back to them. We haven’t spoken in awhile, but I still tell the story - I give a lot of seminars and guest lectures, mostly in a lot of high schools,” Max added with a grin. “About the stigma of mental illness, how our country has such a problem with that, how we need to improve. There’s usually a lot of giggling and snickering, or high school students are more concerned with how I look - “ He got a lot of batted lashes sent his way. It was odd, but expected from the hormonal, teenage crowd. Mostly, he didn’t pay it any mind. “But even if I reach one or two people, it’s worth it.” Romantic notions of changing the world, maybe, but he felt like it had to start somewhere and he had to do his part to nudge it along. Compared to most people she grew up with underneath that abandoned subway line, Kenzi turned out just dandy, thank you. Maybe a little crooked when it came to some things, sure - being a thief was her saving grace, and so was being pretty. Looks, as shallow as it sounded, were good to have when you were trying to worm your way through life by fucking a couple people over. But that lifestyle was left behind in Canada - it’d stay with her mother, with her stepfather, and with Massimo. It could stay there, and she wasn’t ever going back. On the bright side, she skipped out on the drug addictions all her old friends had fallen into. No thanks. Her noodle arms couldn’t take the track marks. “You get a crowd just by being adorbs, I’d say that’s a perk,” she grinned wryly, trapping a curly fry between those little shark chompers of hers. “You’re so full of good intentions, dude, I can poke you with a fork and cream puff filling could pour out of you. Ready for your life to get super weird, though? Unless it already has for you.” Adorbs. Probably the first time Maxwell had been referred to in such a manner, but alright, he’d take it. “Thanks,” he laughed, with a good-natured roll of dark eyes. “So I’m a ham sandwich stuffed with cream puff filling? That’s practically poetic.” He wasn’t sure if he was ready for his life to get super weird, however. But then again, it didn’t seem like he had a choice - oh, he wasn't an idiot, he did his research on the Valar network and what it was all about. Those people weren’t ‘crazy,’ and maybe it seemed bizarre, yet he believed them. No sense in living in denial about what was inevitably a whole bag of worms he’d just opened. That wasn’t good preparation. “I think I’m ready for...something,” he clarified thoughtfully, popping another steak fry into his mouth. “Change, perhaps. The next steps of life. It’s kind of interesting, and extraordinary, to be a part of something like this. Or potentially be - I haven’t really experienced anything noteworthy yet. Have you?” “Awww, you can be my little ham sandwich for short,” she snickered - because the other option was a mouthful. For now she was pretty done with the rest of her plate, the remaining contents to be boxed up for tomorrow. Or for Killian when she got home, he’d probably munch at her leftovers unless he was at Queenie’s Modern Palace munching on her instead (and that jerkhole still never told her where the paprika was when she had texted him). Kenzi focused the rest of her appetite on the milkshake, washing down carbs with even more carbs. Change, huh? Maxy would get change. More than what he bargained for, probably, but if he wanted to get a gist of ‘noteworthy’ experiences, then boy, did she have a slew of that for him ready. “My brother lost his hand because of a dream,” she began, very nonchalantly - and then went off like she was reading a grocery list. “One of my closest friends became a succubus, another friend brought the foggy apocalypse by crawling into a random hole that showed up in his apartment, and then I once ate contaminated foot soup in a dream - without knowing the main ingredient, don’t you look at me with that judgement - and almost died here as a result. A basilisk was my cure, isn’t that gnarly??” Sluuuuuuurp. Gnarly, sure. Or....something. Max just kind of offered a slow eyebrow raise, processing all of that. Where to begin, was the question? He thought about it as he swirled the last fry in ketchup, not one to really leave things on his plate - almost always, he finished what was on it or if he couldn’t he’d definitely bring home the leftovers. His arm was also starting to ache again, a flare-up of something that felt like needles down to the bone. Absently, he rubbed at it, right above the elbow. “And...how are you, after all that?” he wanted to know. Because it was a lot - most of it just things he didn’t quite understand, really, but he still got the idea that stress was the key component here. “Just wondering, as a friend. Or someone you eat cheeseburgers with, whatever you’re comfortable with.” Really, she just wanted to let him know what wide-range of variety there was when it came to all sorts of bullshit, and there were plenty. And that was only with the people she knew - there was a whole network of weirdos that had their own stories, their own bits and pieces of otherworldly drama. “Surprisingly sober,” Kenzi responded, lower lip jutting out in another shrug scenario. “Sometimes it can get scary, but it’s better to focus on how amazeballs it is that we survived and can still sit on the couch and watch Netflix when it’s all said and done.” Adapting to new ways of survival was something she was good at, and if she could survive in a world of fae that saw her as a roach just for being human, then she could survive in a world where she felt like she belonged in for once - and this time around she wasn’t just an outsider looking in. “So if change is what you’re looking for, Maxy,” she then snickered, clocking her ankle against his. “You’re about to get it. I just don’t know if it’s the kind you want.” “Well, I don’t know if it is either,” he admitted, turning a little on his stool to return the ankle nudge - or volley back in a rousing game of footsie, either one. “I guess I’ll find out. And deal with it as it comes.” Max wasn’t anyone important in the scheme of things - just a cast off, Trevelyan black sheep who wanted to make a difference somehow, even in small ways. So to just be here, on the verge of something extraordinary? It felt surprisingly right. “I’ll let you know what happens?” he offered. “But if soup is ever a thing, now I’m going to make sure to check it for feet. All because of you.” Whatever decided to come his way, Kenzi was really hoping it wasn’t anything brutal - Max was a cinnamon roll, too squishy and good-hearted, it’d kinda suck to see him get maimed, or wake up almost dead like Bo seemed to do every morning (but she healed by sex, so it all ended in a win?). “Don’t get sassy about my involuntary bout of cannibalism with me,” she snorted and went to swiftly flick him in the ear. Next time it’d be his nuts. “But, yeah, dude, shoot me a text or whatevz. I’ll buy you a drink. To toast to your assimilation as one of us. Social drinking was still very much a thing with her - but there wasn’t anymore waking up to wash her teeth with vodka or anything. All things considered she’d cut down a lot. More cash to buy more ridiculously styled shoes, really. Shit, Max couldn’t remember the last time he got flicked in the ear. How sweet of her. “I will,” he laughed. “We can toast to that, and I’ll buy you the second drink. Shot. Whichever.” He was a social drinker too, though his days of partying hard and sowing wild oats had sort of died out in college - there was a lot of getting everything out of his system (and in some cases, actually puking everything out of his system) and then he just tapered off into the down-to-earth therapist, with an actual career. He couldn’t have an actual career if he looked like he’d been run over by a bus everyday. “At the very least, I’m glad I ran into you again. For whatever it’s worth.” Minus the sticky fingers this time. Those pale eyes leered a little bit. “It’s funny how people find each other again around these parts,” she commented dryly, right before taking the last sip before there was nothing at the bottom of her glass - aside from the bits of bacon and chocolate that were too thick to go up the straw. Killian, Bo, Birkhoff. Now Max, which was a very random sort of encounter in the very beginning. The concept of fate was for pussies, but she guessed around here there was some kind of bizarre truth to it. “But I guess it’s nice to see your ham sandwich face again, too. And, um. We’re good about the almost wallet stealing, right? Tit for tat? Tit for tit? I mean, I don’t care how you wanna call it, just wanted to make sure we’re even??” “Of course, water under the bridge,” he waved it off before finishing the dregs of his own milkshake too, because really, it’s not like he was upset about it. That had been a couple of years ago, and obviously Kenzi was in a different place (in all ways); she seemed to have changed, she wasn’t going around pick-pocketing (much, or so he assumed). He probably had changed too, it was just what happened. “I’ll just consider it an...unorthodox meeting. Funny story to tell people later.” He could also tell people that his new nickname was Ham Sandwich Face, but he still wasn’t entirely sure what that meant or how to even explain it in the first place. A folded wad of cash was oh so attractively pulled from riiiight from between her lady balloons. She made sure it was a decent amount to cover the expenses - plus tip - and pinned it underneath her empty milkshake glass. Meal paid for, as promised. Kenzi kept her word. Sometimes. “Try not to die before you get a chance to tell our little origin story,” she winked, spinning right out of her stool, to-go box in hand. “Drinks next time, Maxy.” Max may have blinked in awe a few times, not just at the lady balloons, but mostly at the fact that Kenzi kept cash in her brassiere. Well, it was as good of a wallet as any, he guessed? “I have no plans to die, but alright, that doesn’t sound ominous or anything,” he chuckled, sliding off the stool - he’d get the door for her, and then they’d part ways, but he could be gentlemanly until the very end. “Drinks next time. Looking forward to it....Cream Puff.” He’d have to work on the nickname thing. But there was time. In theory. |