ʙᴇᴇᴘ ʙᴇᴇᴘ, ʀɪᴄʜɪᴇ (trashing) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-07-13 15:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, ₴ inactive: max trevelyan, ₴ inactive: richie tozier (2) |
WHO: Max & Richie
WHAT: Discussions about joining up with Prigany, because Richie needs Opinions (and delicious bánh mì sandwiches)
WHERE: Max's office @ the DOA
WHEN: Yesterday
WARNINGS: They are very cute, I don't make the rules
STATUS: Complete
Summer in LA was way different than a Vallo summer, Richie had come to decide - because he’d gotten here in the fall, he’d been through a winter and a spring, but now was facing summer and so far it...wasn’t bad? Definitely different than where he was from, like Hollywood and Vine where you’d find an endless collection of crappy tchotchke peddlers and Marilyn Monroe impersonators, plus bars and former speakeasy’s as the prime spots for literal, actual murder. The beachers were nice, if you selected the right beach - some were packed with crowds, others were rocky and pebbly or had more open green spaces and snack shops every few hundred yards or so. Not that he went to the beach very often - not since his days of wayward youth, where it was all parties and kombucha, cafes that invented avocado toast, and specific mirrored surfaces to do your coke off of in the bathrooms. He much preferred this life, where he was high on being freshly engaged and bringing lunch to his fiance while he was doing fancy magic things at work. Those fancy magic things - Richie probably should talk about it. A little. It was no secret that Trashmouth Tozier fared better in a group - the Losers had been a ragtag team of childhood friends who banded together to vanquish the evil that had sunk into their town since, like, the dawn of time. They had to do it themselves, throwing together little more than a wing and a prayer - being that Pennywise’s mind control had every other adult under a thrall, it wasn’t like they could trust anyone else either. At first he thought that it was just, you know. They wanted to defeat Pennywise so they did. They believed they could, so they made it happen. But - after everything he’d discovered about himself since he landed in Vallo it was becoming apparent that it wasn’t only about the power of fantasy and belief. He - they were all, his friends - happened to be a little bit magical. So weird. But Prigany wouldn’t have asked him to join them if he was just some derpy schmo, and while he wanted to believe that he finally found his people he also needed to hash it out. That was why he brought bánh mì sandwiches to Max’s office at the DOA place - check out all these cold cuts, the pâté, the pickled veggies, the jalapeños, and the creamiest mayo to ever mayo. Two sandwiches on beautiful French baguettes were wrapped up in a plastic bag, and there was a drink carrier Richie also balanced when he knocked on the door. “Maximus - “ When he was talking about Max, he was referred to as his proper name but talking to him, well, Richie had about a thousand different monikers up his sleeves. “Let me deliver meat to you.” Max looked up from the paperwork, his eyes a little bleared from the interruption, but they instantly brightened as he recognized his (wrong) name and saw his fiance barging in. Even though Richie had full permission to come by whenever he wanted, somehow just his body language alone as he wrapped his tall frame through the doorway and announced things seemed to imply the word ‘barge’. “I love your meat,” he answered automatically, pushing his papers aside and pulling down the fancy little extra leaf in the office desk so that there would be plenty of lunch room. The food was clearly a form of sandwich, but it was unfamiliar to him, which never bothered him. Max was still playing catch up with a lot of the food here. Sometimes he daydreamed of introducing Richie to Thedas favorites like Eggs à la Val Foret or a hot Blessed Apple, but unless a doorway straight home that allowed visitors to travel back and forth arrived one day, Max would be hopefully (never) be going home again. He’d had mixed feelings about that. Less mixed now with the ring on his hand. He was ever a champion at compartmentalizing, however, and so he eyed the little plastic cup of jalapenos and immediately grabbed some (he loved spicy so). “Thanks for lunch, darling,” he said, and pressed a kiss to Richie’s cheek. “I think my brain was in actual danger of melting.” So pretty much Richie was a total sucker for Max doing things like calling him darling, especially in that accent which - he wasn’t sure how to classify it. It wasn’t quite ‘ivy crawling all over the Tower of London’ (largely because London didn’t exist in Thedas) but it was pretty close. He was admittedly a total sucker for most anything Max did - especially how sweet he was and how he’d just smirk when Richie called him something stupid like Spike or Rudolpho or something that wasn’t even his name. But it was just funny, you know, to keep it interesting. “We can’t have that - no brain melting on my watch,” he insisted, pulling up a chair by Max’s desk and unwrapping one of those sandwiches. Definitely extra jalapeños for Tozier too, because he always loved his mouth being set on fire. “Plus I gotta make sure you eat. You work hard, time to take a break.” The game of footsie also commenced, with Richie nudging Max and getting it going. “So like - I got the part? In the musical? The one I wanted.” Playing Lurch was a lot of looking dead and mumbling - until he got to bust out with the vocal calisthenics and really sing. A couple solos or something - he’d have to cut back on the cigarettes and coffee again. “Also, uh - there’s a thing that happened and I’m not sure what to do, so throw me a bone and give me some advice.” Pleeeeease. Max was chewing his sandwich blissfully - yes, he loved it; good job Richie - when Richie announced his part in the play. Because Max had been raised a noble child with a preoccupation for table manners most of the time, and because he had certain standards, he made sure his mouth was entirely empty when he grinned and said: “Oh! The tall one, right? Wonderful! I know that was the part you were really hoping for, wasn’t it?” Theater provided an entirely different rush of enjoyment in watching Richie perform. Max truly loved popping in to his various comedy routines, hearing him build up to a joke, nail his timing, draw an audience in only to sashay back. But theater gave him an opportunity to watch Richie not be himself, wrapping himself in the figure of someone else entirely. It was grand. Max was already calculating just how many flowers he could throw at the stage and not be obnoxious. But at Richie’s request for advice, his eyebrow went up. Something in his fiance’s tone indicated something, if not entirely serious, then certainly more serious than warbling as an undead butler. “Of course,” he said, and licked his finger lightly of mayonnaise (well, so much for table manners). “What sort of bone could I provide you with?” Really, Richie had set that one up. It would have been criminal for Max not to have taken it. Oh, there were plenty of bones Max could provide - and boy, he was great at really fitting the bill. And fitting other things into other - alright, you know what, Richie wasn’t going to get sidetracked. He poked his eyebrows upward comically, poke poke (and a waggle), while sipping on his soda - it was diet soda coming up through that straw though, see, he was totally cutting back on everything that tasted good in order to best fit into a musical costume and a wedding outfit. And not bust a seam on any of those eccentric, brightly-colored blazers he wore when he did his comedy act onstage. Nevermind the mayo on this sandwich but those calories didn’t count - and life was too short to count those damn things anyway. Plus he had the metabolism of a hummingbird thanks to having this lanky body type. “So you know I’ve been like - hanging out with the one coven. Prigany,” he started, grabbing for a paper napkin to wipe off his fingers. “They’ve been really cool and showed me a lot of stuff and I’ve gotten better at this whole - thing,” Richie gestured vaguely, sort of to indicate the future-telling shit. Whatever it was classified as. Divination. Seer brouhaha. “They had some spots open ‘cause a bunch of their people went to start up another coven. So they asked me to join them...” He had this look on his face - something that spoke to how hesitant he was about the whole affair. Or more like ‘why the fuck would they even do that?’ because he still had trouble recognizing that, you know, he didn’t suck at everything. “That’s weird, right? It’s weird.” Max had been following along well enough, eating his sandwich and doing that patented Inquisitor expression that just screamed trust me with your problems. Honestly, at this point, he didn’t even know he did it; it just came naturally whenever he sensed a side quest might be afoot. And then his patient-yet-understanding-and-totally-re For unlike his fiance, Max saw nothing particularly strange about Richie being asked to join the friendly Prigany coven. Richie had abilities - powerful ones - and was garrulous and easy to love. Why wouldn’t Prigany want him? “I’m not - magic,” Richie replied and, nevermind, he backtracked a moment later because he couldn’t convince himself of that anymore. Couldn’t lie to himself either. “Or, well, fine - I guess maybe that’s a thing but...it’s not like how you’re magic.” Max could do some cool-ass shit - lots of fire and lightning and glowy stuff; he punched hard and summoned energy (though Richie was pretty sure that’s what magic was - manipulating varying forms of energy) and he’d studied basically his whole life to be that badass. Naturally he was Richie’s favorite person and still would be even if he didn’t have an iota of twisty spellcasting hand magic (using a ‘staff’ as a conduit, heh) - but he recognized that, for Max, it was a big part of his identity. For Richie, not so much, at least not until he began trying to understand and channel his visions - and the more he considered it, the more the pieces began to come together when he thought about where everything may have started. Beverly had psychic visions also. Eddie had some crazy innate navigational skill. Stan had something too - Richie didn’t know how to classify it, but there was something; and all of them, it always felt like they were telepathically linked. Point was, he was only now just coming to these realizations and hadn’t studied his whole life. “I think I just don’t want to let them down.” They’d asked him to join but that could deflate like a beach ball poked full of holes if he just couldn’t hack it. Ah. Max got it, suddenly, or at least got part of it. Enough that his shoulders dropped just a little, and his expression shaded slightly sadder - not sad, perhaps, but softer, empathy working its way through his face. He’d been nothing particularly special back home, at least, not for most of his life. More wealthy than most, certainly. But at the end of the day, he was just another mage imprisoned - in a gentle sort of way - inside a Circle, shuffling about and hoping he wouldn’t get possessed by a demon. The only truly notable thing about him had been the clout of his last name, which wasn’t even something he’d done. It was just something he’d been born into, a stroke of luck. His magical powers were fine; he was a good student, but not a warrior, not a researcher, not someone who was going to save the world. “I didn’t get to change how the public saw me, either,” he said softly, eyes on Richie’s as if they held an answer. “Not after I got that Mark on my hand. It wasn’t about how I felt about it - it wasn’t about me, really, although some noticed. Some cared. But the vast majority of people didn’t care who I was or my history. They just noticed what I could do with it. What I could do for them. This Mark that closed gaps in the skies, that stopped demons where they stood.” He didn’t flex his hand. He no longer had it. He would have, he briefly tried to - before he remembered. “My point,” he said, a bit of humor returning to his face, “is that Prigany only knows part of you - the part that you’re only beginning to explore. They see you as someone with power, with abilities, with potential to bring something good to the coven. Someone who could be a good fit. Because you are all those things.” He reached out and squeezed Richie’s hand. “I have it on good authority that no fewer than three Prigany members described you as “oh, the funny one!” when I mentioned that you were my fiance. They like you, as well.” One of them had also done an exaggerated ‘glasses’ gesture, but that was neither here nor there. “You can do the same things that Prigany can - hence their interest. What you identify as - whether that’s human, magical, a human with magic, a cosmic luck of the draw or a Pop Tart - that’s always going to be a private venture. Your relationship with your magic isn’t just what Prigany might encourage; it’s going to be separate anyhow. Prigany just sees something in you that makes them want to be the people by your side as you discover your full potential.” “And you won’t let them down,” he added, because he knew that to be true. “Everyone starts somewhere. You can tell them as much or as little as you want them to know. If they’re mean to you, even just a little bit in some passive aggressive way, I’ll set them all on fire.” Well, now Richie just had to identify as a Pop Tart - that seemed like a good idea. He let out a huff of a laugh, sort of bowled over - overwhelmed by Max’s words and the emotion they brought out, but not in a bad way. His very favorite fiance (his only fiance) was always good with the inspirational speeches - that magic was all him. And it wasn’t anything that involved the elements or consulting the Fates. Though the idea of setting a coven on fire because they were mean to him was - funny. Really funny. It wouldn’t happen, but it was the thought that counted. “I love you so much,” he laughed again, holding Max’s face in between his hands - and Richie kissed him, gratefully. “Yeah, I’m gonna do it. It’ll be good for me.” Seeing the future was like trying to squint and make out the make and model of a car through fog thick as wool - you could see the headlights, but that was about it sometimes; you couldn’t get the details. Each future potential was more fickle than the next too - he wasn’t too proud to admit that seeing, with others like him, would help him understand more as well. “Thanks for the pep talk, coach.” “I just don’t want you selling yourself short,” Max said with mock-primness, gazing at him over the table. “That’s my fiance you’re talking about, you know.” With a flash of a grin, he reached for his sandwich once again, having temporarily abandoned it. “If it doesn’t work with Prigany, well, you tried it. It’s not as if the Outlander coven is going to shun you. I’m fond of enemies to lovers as a trope in ballads but I don’t really want our relationship to go the other way.” He crunched a bit of pickled carrots that had fallen out of the sandwich’s fillings. “How did they approach you? Verbally, or did they send a missive?” Some of the covens were all about formality. Prigany, at least, seemed a little less stuffy about things. Richie returned to his sandwich too (all that meat and the happy cronch cronch of carrot and radish - really satisfying, actually), but the game of footsie he’d started with Max definitely didn’t cease; his legs were long enough to sort of tangle up and slot in beneath the table, Tetris pieces. But he’d enjoy the lunch break now, because Max worked normal people hours and Richie didn’t - he worked at night, mainly, and often got home late so they sometimes went awhile without seeing each other. However he still had time to snuggle or jump Max’s bones. You know. Second wind and all of that - his favorite fiance was also very inspirational in that regard. “They invited me to their caravan and had me like...show off what I’d learned?” he replied. “I did some more psychography.” Prigany had taught him that and he liked it because he didn’t have to interpret tarot card meanings, necessarily - he just let it flow. Allowed the message to come across, whatever it was. “Then I guess I passed the test because they asked me how I felt about joining them. I told them I’d think about it and let them know.” Though he was sure they knew he’d say yes - that coven was real damn good at what they did. Divination at expert levels and shit. Max had some experience with people who acted as if the future was a done deal in that regard, so he gave a nod and continued to crunch his sandwich. “I’d heard that they were looking to recruit for that art - I’m glad we could provide. Honestly, the more entrenched the Outlanders become with the natives, the better at this point. The hole in the world that’s bringing people in isn’t stopping any time soon. If we face a threat greater than what we already have… Andraste knows we could use the backup. Plus,” he added, trying not show his general anxiety regarding that, “we’re adorable and need more friends so we can attend more parties. Cross-cultural pollination is just beautiful.” He nestled his foot against Richie’s shin gently, polishing off his sandwich. It’d been a nice surprise - as had the man who’d brought it. “When do you think you’ll tell them?” Cross-cultural pollination. “Wow, honey,” Richie snorted in amusement - but he knew what Max meant. “Does this mean you want to touch my stamen?” Oh god, he was hilarious - however did Max manage to land such a catch? What a lucky guy. Or, you know, whatever. Richie polished off that last bit of delicious bánh mì, crumpling the paper it had been wrapped in. “Backup and parties - we got this,” he nodded. “Plus, you do good work with the Outlander coven and the schmoozing and the building bridges.” It was what he did back home, anyway, so Richie was sure there were few people more suited for this job than Max - maybe he was also a little biased, but he was just glad that best fiance found something he wanted to do here and he could like, make choices about it. If he wasn’t feeling it he could decide to go work at a pizza joint or something and no one would care. Not like it was ‘saving the world’ levels of dire. “I’ll tell them soon - a couple of days? Once we decide on a firm wedding date thing ‘cause I wanna invite them.” They were so sweetly excited for him and Max, and Richie definitely appreciated that. “And speaking of that, once we do decide - I will be psychographing like a bitch to make sure it’ll be a day clear of bullshit.” It probably wouldn’t be. But at least they’d be prepared. “Always want to touch your stamen,” Max replied with his typical nice guy, wouldn’t ever make a sexual joke in his life voice, which was patently untrue as everyone eventually discovered. Although now he was reminded… “About the wedding date...” he said, arching up a brow and hoping he and Richie were on the same page about this. He thought that they were - every time they had talked about the wedding, they had agreed on everything that mattered - but even so, he knew what he was about to say was a little bit unconventional. Not that Richie ever balked at that. “I was thinking,” Max continued. “I know we said that we wanted a short engagement, because why string it out, but why not do it in a few weeks? Not this weekend, obviously, but maybe the one after that?” He shrugged. “We’ve got most of the ideas already, we just have to make the arrangements. And let’s face it, we’re never going to be able to state with any certainty that the date we pick isn’t going to have Vallo just… implode with oddities.” Max was fine leaving it to fate at this point, and hoping for the best. A casual wedding, a big party, Richie at his side, and he would be happy. “Yes,” Richie agreed immediately and, well, that didn’t take much convincing. Honestly, if he could say ‘I do’ with Max right now then he’d be a happy camper too. He didn’t need a fancy wedding, didn’t need anything overly large or ostentatious - he simply wanted to party and then have lots of ‘we’re married now’ sex. “Two weeks, then. Let’s do it. Let’s have our cereal bar.” And video games. And karaoke. And a really fun time with their friends, the people they’d gotten close to - plus Prigany, and Destiny would do the mom matriarch thing and it’d be adorable. Richie would probably cry. Okay, he would definitely cry. “I’ll still keep an eye out though,” he promised. “Just so we have some idea if it’s gonna be like...large fuckery or smaller fuckery.” He wasn’t that shitty with his visions, and was confident enough to make it work for his wedding at the very least. Max’s smile went sideways with fondness, and he stood, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on Richie’s cheek. He couldn’t blame Richie for his anxiety - he felt it himself, grinding down in his chest. Ignoring it was a feat. “Gauge the fuckery,” he agreed, “and we’ll deal with whatever. I don’t care if we have to get married during a bloody dragon attack. I’ll duck under its wing and say my vows. Adaptability is the name of the game.” He picked up Richie’s trash and set it into the bag it had come in. “Thanks for the lunch, love. I feel ready to deal with my own brand of fuckery.” Not really, his job was pretty cool. “In case it should pop up,” he added generously. Ducking under a dragon’s wing - so romantic. Richie was just over here swooning a little. “Anytime - gotta make sure you’re fed and watered,” he chuckled, making his return kiss a little less soft - well, his fingers curled around the front of Max’s shirt and he leaned in to touch lips fervently, because Richie adored him and was going to marry the shit out of him. In a couple of weeks. He was totally flailing on the inside too, it was just a loud cacophony of eeeeee within the mess that was his brain. Electrical impulses and firing synapses and stores of porny fanfic. “I’ll let you get back to work though,” he decided, and added another kiss. “Love you, Inigo Montoya,” he added, before scooting out and leaving best fiance to whatever would remain of his magic stuff. And yes, he was chaotic but he’d call Max by his real name for the wedding vows. Probably. “Inigo Montaya?” Max sounded out loud carefully as soon as Richie was in the hallway, trying to figure out if there was a pun there he’d missed. He didn’t think so. Shrugging, he accepted the nickname and returned to his pile of papers, a warm feeling rising in his chest as he did so. They were going to be okay, he felt. It couldn’t be any other way. |