mohanmax

[mohanmax]

max attempts to muffle a chuckle behind pursed lips at how rafael had to explain himself vis-a-vis his wardrobe choices. not that max thought it was necessary, but it amuses him how a distinction absolutely must be made between rafael and leon. max thinks they both have their own winning physical qualities... in the right context, of course. because his friends are attractive, one could just use a good shave every once in a while and the other could do without the bar stains on his shirt. but max loves them both all the same, in their fuzzy sweaters and rock shirts. "i'm just saying, it's nice when we get to go to these things. fuck, i miss it. the phony smiles, the humble brags. keeps me on my toes, you know?" oh, to be held to the obligation. swishing the contents of his glass, he perches his elbow on the table, shifting slightly towards rafael. "raf, getting a massage isn't a social engagement just because someone's touching you." and he pokes lightly at his friend's arm, almost to try and prove a point. the fact that he even gets him to step inside a spa is a considerable win, one that he'll try not to exhaust. "wait, is he, really?" leaning closer, he props his chin on his hand, intrigued by the gossip. sometimes, they're just no different than the old ladies they play mahjong with. "what's goin' on there? 'cause unless saul weissberg suddenly grew a set of great tits and a kardashian-brand middle part..." he makes a gesture towards his hairline, painting a picture. contrary to what some may believe, leon isn't below landing a woman like that. or a sexually promiscuous divorce lawyer. and honestly, good for him. he just wishes his friend wouldn't end up putting himself in a position where he might get hurt. or hurt other people, for that matter. "oh, thanks, but i'm good. really. it'll be like story time at kindergarten." if the story was about getting the shit beat out of him ten years ago, leading to meeting his husband and living in domestic bliss for the next five years only to have all of that taken away from him by his bigoted father and brother. "it's not exactly the it gets better fairytale anyone's hoping for but, well... i never said i was the spokesperson." he shrugs, finishing off his drink. god, he wishes it had more alcohol content. "'sides, it's how i met you. and leon, too, in a way. you win some, you lose some, you win some more."

He didn't even wear suits to his practice. That was supposedly one of the best perks for being an adult: never wearing anything that wasn't comfortable. At least this wasn't a tie event. Rafael needed time to prepare for those. Glancing at Max, Rafael frowned. "That's such a tone of surprise! I'm offended." He shook his head. "I'm not Leon. I have more than 90s band t-shirts you know?" So what if he preferred a comfortable sweater? It didn't mean that he was incapable of dressing nicer. "No, you know the rules. One social engagement a weekend. This should fill my quota for a while, thanks." His own non alcoholic option was already empty. Rafael still didn't understand what a spritz was but he was now a big fan of how they managed to encapsulate the feeling of summer. "You mean Leon's boyfriend." Rafael mused, still staring at his drink as if it would magically refill. "I volunteer at Bright Sparks, you don't need to remind me of how important it is." Money was an unfortunately vital part of the non-profit, otherwise Rafael may have even attempted to speak about some of the horrors he heard about. "You know what you're going to say? Do you want to go practice?"

[mohanmax]

closed starter for @clementinebriar, friday night @ o'shea's irish pub, 9pm.

walking into o'shea's like he owned the place, followed by his trusty four-legged companion (and, really, the only thing missing now is a fur coat and a long staff with, perhaps, a skull at the top), he slides onto an empty barstool where his favorite bartender is working. "okay, orange. whatcha got for me tonight?"

[mohanmax]

it's not too often that max and his boys (and by his boys, he means carl jung over here and their bear-man best friend prowling the vicinity with a hot yoga instructor) get dressed for such formal events but, well, they clean up nicely. this is the kind of sunday max is probably more used to than the other two but they each have their turns dragging the others to whatever weekend activity of their choosing. max is just happy he's not in the middle of slimy lake somewhere or falling asleep to the rattling of mahjong tiles at four in the afternoon.

"shut up, you look great." he smooths down the lapel of rafael's navy jacket, then towards the open collar of his shirt where a tie should be but, at alex's suggestion (and she would be the only person in the car max would trust for fashion advice next to, potentially, his driver vincent) might look better without it, fingers lingering just a bit on the material of the fabric. "this is actually a nice suit, raf. like, nice nice," he says, with a surprised tone that rafael had picked it out himself, if it isn't bespoke, and casually threw it on. and he's complaining about it. chuckling softly at the mention of the spa, max drops his hand on his lap while the other reaches for the sparkling wine on their table. "we can still go to the spa after, if you really want," he teases, though he knows raf would only go there to appease him despite how it's looking to be a more attractive option for his friend when he compares it to mingling with pearl-clutchers who probably only care about having their name on a donation board for their own benefit than the real cause. "but we have to support saul. and the gays. and i have to go up there, remember?" he nods towards the platform where some chairs have been arranged for the guest speakers.

@mohanmax

"There really is no point in wearing a suit to this." Rafael grumbled, his hand creeping up to try to adjust his tie again before remembering he'd abandoned it before they got out of the car. "I could have looked just as nice in a sweater. And been significantly more comfortable." He resisted sending a 'what are you wearing' text to Leon not out of the worry that it would be misinterpreted but out of energy preservation. He could understand Leon's texts but they did require effort. Rafael glanced at Max as he slid his hands into his pockets. "We could have donated the money then finally gone to that spa you keep going on about." A cheap shot but there was always the chance they could leave early.

[mohanmax]

closed starter for @ziamo-xo, cantwell country club, weissberg law firm charity luncheon.

he could swear he'd seen her from the crowd. it may have been a couple of years, but he'd recognize those same dark eyes anywhere, that sweet smile. ziana was no longer a little girl, but a woman, watching him from the audience as he sits on that platform, hands trembling as he tries to gather his wits about him, openly speaking about a traumatic experience that had occurred so close to where they all sat now. how that incident, fueled with so much hatred that had stemmed from his own family, had led him to meet his husband. how his father and brother's prejudice had caused them to be apart. teary-eyed, he searches for zia's face again. he hates how he can see his brother more now that she's older. he's there, in the angled way she quirks her eyebrows, in the bridge of her nose, that slight upturn of her lips, the swell of her chin. that's dev mohan all over. god, he hopes her heart hadn't changed all these years.

the guests are later invited to have some pre-lunch cocktails out in the garden and with tom hagen tailing behind him, max weaves through the sparse crowd until he sees his niece.

"ziana!" there's an urgency in the way he calls for her, like she would vanish or somehow turn into a mirage of a different person if he didn't say her name. "z, is that you?" he almost loses balance, how his feet couldn't keep up with the rate of how soon he wishes he could hold her. and when he's close enough, he reaches for her hands, doesn't hesitate in pulling her in and wrapping his arms tightly around her. never mind that he might ruin her dress or her hair. "my sweet girl..." he has to choke back a sob. not here, not with everybody watching. pulling back, he sniffles, chuckles at himself, at the way he'd quickly lost his composure he's well-known for maintaining. he doesn't let go of her hands as he takes the sight of her in. "what the hell are you doing here? does your father know?

[mohanmax]

MAX MOHAN ATTENDS THE WEISSBERG LAW FIRM CHARITY LUNCHEON. THE CANTWELL COUNTRY CLUB, SEPTEMBER 29, 2024.

as a vocal advocate of lgbtq+ rights and a dear friend of saul weissberg's, max not only makes a hefty donation to bright sparks, but is also one of the speakers for the event, sharing his story and how he promotes a queer-safe space as a business owner. he is, of course, in attendance with his 'consigliere' (aka his service companion tom hagen), his assistant alex, and @rafaelmoldonado .

[mohanmax]

‎ he realizes he'd hit a sore spot when he mentioned the bakery but because sincere apologies aren't something he'd fully mastered yet despite his attempts at being a more empathetic person, he instead responds to her quiet admonishment with a blithe, "sorry, but it kind of is? the internet is a circus, madi. you shouldn't take anyone trying to give you flack on it too seriously." he casually plucks a piece of emmental cheese from the board and takes a tiny, rat-sized bite from it, just barely scraping his teeth against the buttery surface. "so you started a business and it didn't work out. that happens all the time." he's trying to be comforting, or he thinks he is, in his own twisted way. it's what he does with his sisters and what his sisters do with him. he just sometimes forgets that it might not work on everyone. "but, you know, i'm glad you like what you're doing now. isn't that the important thing?" popping the rest of the cheese into his mouth, gives her a small, tight-lipped smile. "so, what exactly is it that you do on the farm?"

Orders taken, wine appearing on the table, it was easy to pretend for a few moments that they were anywhere else. California perhaps, cosying up in Spago or Nobu, the warmth of the Los Angeles air ready to wrap them up in greeting, instead of the chilly fall evenings that Illinois had to offer. But it was only as Madi reached the tail-end of her story about her relocation did her smile morph into something more somber, reality crashing into her. But time marched forward, or something. She wondered if Max felt the same way, seemingly disinterested when it was obvious that for once in her life there had been no drama associated with her purchasing Meadowview Farm.

A giggle escaped her at the teasing — being compared to Paris Hilton was of course the highest of compliments to an influencer — and how Max was in disbelief about her sudden pivot of career. “I mean, expect the unexpected, right?” The tone shifted when he brought up her failed business venture, and whilst she was sure Max didn’t mean it, it came off as unnecessarily cruel all the same. “Don’t. That’s not funny.” Her stomach turned at the idea of her run-in with Grace, if her former partner was still in town. If there had been any crossover between her and the Mohan enterprise. “I like the farm.” She further added, addressing her wine glass with an air of petulance.

[mohanmax]

‎ "back, tom." max commands the dog, who obediently steps backwards, his threatening growl diminished into quiet panting as he returns to his previous position laying on the ground. max then reroutes his attention to his unexpected visitor standing by his door. "and fuck you." he pushes himself off his seat, though with the amount of effort it takes him, it feels more like trying to cancel out his weight against the force of gravity. his chair creaks at the movement, a sound that could very well be mistaken for his joints. he takes a few steps towards the mini fridge standing on a small table under the tv. "you're under my roof now, foster. show some fucking respect." he means this with some dubious affection, as he would towards a hard-headed nephew, of which he has none. his nieces have been nothing but angels. he misses them dearly. "here. you look like shit." grabbing a plastic water bottle from the fridge, he holds it out for foster to take. "now, will you tell me what you need the fire escape for or am i gonna have to sic tom on you?" he only means it half-heartedly, of course.

The office was definitely high-end, and considering the kind of establishment it existed in, Foster felt vaguely like he'd just stepped onto the set of some gangster movie. He even glanced around for a table somewhere laden with bricks of unnamed elicit substances, like there might be a guy sorting them while another counted out a briefcase full of cash. He definitely needed to stop watching The Sopranos... Regardless, sticking around seemed like a very bad idea; Foster might've come out looking for a fight tonight, but he definitely wasn't looking for a bullet to the kneecap...

He turned as if to go, but the man's gruff voice stopped him in his tracks. It reminded him of his father, authoritative yet mocking, and Foster was just drunk enough that the shithead delinquent in him couldn't help but rise to the challenge. "Would that we were so lucky, huh?" he chuckled. "Might liven the place up a bit..."

[mohanmax]

‎ "no, no, it's... cute. oosterhuis. kind of reminds me of a dr. seuss character. in a good way, of course." he used to read the books to his nieces, all the voices included. it's a side of max no one else has ever seen and now that his nieces are all grown up and with his aversion to having children of his own considering his circumstances, a side no one else will ever see. pulling his phone back, he looks at his screen again, at the photo annie-lou had chosen for her profile picture. "yeah, i wanna follow you!" it's almost a stupid question. why would he even look her up if he didn't have any intention of following her? "and what, pray-tell, is the reason, hm? hiding something naughty, are you, annie-lou?"

anne-louise had been pouring another patron a vodka cran when max started spelling out her last name, though it took her a moment to realize that was what he was doing and not just voicing his favorite letters. she gave the customer a sweet smile before she returned her attention to max, leaning her hip against the bar top. “you’re telling me?” she quirked a brow, arms folding underneath her bust. “try having that last name for thirty-five years.” there had been a period of time in her life where she desperately wanted to get married just to have a reason to change it, but as the years went by with no engagement ring—not even a boyfriend—to show for it, she let go of that dream. besides, it was a long one, but it was her last name, therefore part of her identity. it was annoying to spell it out every time she went to the dmv or doctor’s office—‘double o’s, sounds like rooster’—but she was proud to be the daughter of hilda and pauline oosterhuis. her mothers would likely consider it a betrayal if she changed it, anyway. anne-louise nodded in confirmation when he turned his phone around. annielouwho89. that was her, alright. “yes, that’s me. why? do you want to follow me? i’m on private for a reason, y’know!”

[mohanmax]

‎ max nods agrees, somewhat, to the sentiment she imparts on his DJing. "yeah, well... it's- it's true that... a lot of the k-k... kids these days just press play on a laptop and call it- it a night. never had to learn the craft when it was all s-s-s... still analog. i think half of 'em are j-j-just... in- in it to have bras thrown their way, y'know? but there's also lots of talented acts out there. that's what s-s-static is- is for." with his cigarette, he loosely gestures towards the imposing white building, a muffled D&B track his foot tapping rhythmically to the bass creeping on to the ground they are standing on. "to host raw talent. unfiltered music. this- this... is what a real party looks like." he's proud of static, of the culture he's cultivated here despite the trauma that continues to live in its walls. but that's something he continues to work on, even to this day.

he glances over at tom, the rottweiler's ears perking up at the sudden uproar of laughter coming from the small group of of partygoers behind them, sporting hair in all different kinds of hues, ripped tights, mid-riffs and shoulders speckled with glitter and shimmering under the street lights. "oh, he's- he's used to it. he also wears earmuffs when i'm on." fingers reach out to scratch the top of tom's head. "tom's a real party animal." he snorts, particularly proud of the joke. it's not often he tries to be this funny on purpose.

he's not surprised she turned down his offer at a ride, but it won't hurt to keep it on the table. "you sure?" he takes another puff from his cigarette. "it-it really isn't a problem. i have a driver, he lit- lit... litr- he gets paid to do that stuff for me, hourly. i don't mind adding a stop, seriously." he glances at her feet. "your feet must be killing you."

he could feel her studying his face and wonders, with some obscure anxiety, if she finds his stuttering off-putting in the way some people have, in the past. he's never felt the need to explain himself, but he can't shake that vulnerable, exposed-wound feeling whenever someone's eyes linger a little too long. he used to love the attention, now it just makes him self-conscious. still, a veteran in the art of sustaining composure, he gives her an easy smile. "max." he's learned to no longer wield his last name as a weapon in the last decade and it's been one of the most freeing decisions he's made. "and you're... no, wait, don't tell me." crease forming between his brows, he feigns intense concentration, like a psychic receiving an intense energy. "hannah. no, amanda. no, wait..."

Grace wasn’t oblivious to the stares of passersby, a sensation that she was more than used to. She knew that the little black she’d chosen for the evening was simple, yet effective – tailored perfectly to her frame. However, the weight of stairs was something that the blonde had long since learned to ignore. Instead, her attention was focused on the man standing before her, cigarette angling between his fingers and voice tinged with something that felt…genuine was probably the best word to describe it. 

There was something about the man that piqued her curiosity. She observed his manner carefully, noting the subtle care he took in how he spoke. The fact that he was also mindful of the smoke, making sure to direct it away from her, wasn’t lost on her either. She appreciated the small courtesies. “I do appreciate your understanding,” Grace responded, her voice smooth and reassuring. “I’m sure that DJing is a more complicated skill than first meets the eye.” She cast a quick glance at his Rottweiler, an amused smile gracing her lips. “Although, I must say, I think I was more impressed by how well your friend behaved with all the noise inside,” she said, motioning to the dog at his side.

There was something about the way the man carried himself that made her curious. Something that felt she should remember him from something other than his DJ set earlier in the evening. The little voice in her head making her wonder what exactly his story was. When he offered her a ride, Grace raised a single eyebrow. The blonde could see on his face that he knew what that offer sounded like. While the man had a disarming quality about him, she still didn’t know him after all. Grace didn’t feel as if he had any disingenuous intentions, but she also wasn’t naive either. “I appreciate the offer,” she began, her tone measured but warm. “But I wouldn’t want to trouble you and make you go out of your way.” She still couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity she when she looked at him, though she couldn’t place why. For reasons unknown, she felt it was probably worth trying to investigate further. Perhaps it was just the night, the music or the fact that she wasn’t in the mood to rush back to the hotel just to be alone. “You know,” she added, her eyes flicking back to meet his. “You’ll have to forgive me, I don’t think I caught your name earlier. Frankly, I couldn’t understand what the young man who announced you at the start of your set was saying half of the time.”

[mohanmax]

‎ HE COULD'VE JUST TAKEN HIS SISTER'S PHONE CALL IN HIS OFFICE, but he doesn't want to bring that kind of energy into a space he's been trying his damndest to cleanse. charlotte had been trying to get him to reach out to their father and brother for years now, especially with the kind of debt dev has been finding himself in lately, but max has been firm in his decision in staying the fuck away from those two if he can help it.

"...and as far as they're concerned, they're fucking dead to me!"

he hangs up, fights the impulse to throw his phone across the parking lot. tom hagen senses the rise in his heart rate, to which he reassures him with a gentle pat. "it's alright, buddy. we're... we're good." he takes a deep breath, counts to five in his head like andrew had taught him to whenever he'd get stuck on a word, before he'd been made to count the days since he'd left him with an open, throbbing wound.

and when his head is clearer, he finally notices the girl lingering by the entrance. she doesn't look drunk, nor does she look lost. curious, seems more appropriate, like she's maybe never been to a club like this before. so he clears his throat softly, not too loud so as not to startle her with his presence. "not at all. i was just about to head inside." he usually takes the service entrance out back, for both his and the dog's sake, but it's a lot of effort he doesn't want to make at the moment. "you waiting on a friend?"

who: @bloodbuzzfm

where: outside static nightclub

Just a short walk home from Rafael's, that's all she had to do. It honestly sounds great to curl herself up into bed after the day she's had. Sawyer pauses when she hears the music playing outside of the nightclub, her head turns to look over at the door way, knowing it would be easy to walk inside and find something to distract her for the rest of the night but it's also not a good idea. She doesn't realize how long she's been standing there until she hear someone clear their throat. Her head turns toward the direction, clearing her throat. "Sorry, I didn't bother you, did I?"

[mohanmax]

‎ CLOSER NOW, MAX MANAGES TO SCAN THE BOY'S FATHER'S APPEARANCE, tall, shaggy-haired and maybe slightly sleep-deprived (with a child like this, max doesn't have to wonder why) as he apologizes profusely for his son's behavior. max finds it all somewhat endearing, the mild annoyance he felt for the child's intrusion on his lunch and tom hagen's personal space dissipating at the display of firm parenting. he's glad to know not all parents these days just let their kids do whatever they want for fear of a tantrum. maybe there's hope for the future yet.

"well, i can't tell you no worries. it's a rottweiler, man." he gestures to his service companion, unfazed by the child's poking and prodding. thank god tom hagen is well-trained. "but it's alright. you've got an adventurous kid on your hands." as if it needed pointing out. he's sure the father—leandro, as he now just learned—knows all about it and more. taking the man's offer of a handshake, he gives him a small nod. "max. and that depends. do you do yoga and/or clubbing?" it's a joke, mostly, though he can probably tell by now what the answer is.

Two seconds. Leandro had looked away for two seconds while he chatted with an old church member away from his table when he noticed Diego at a complete stranger’s booth. Normally it wouldn’t have been a problem, everyone in town knew them and wouldn’t actually let Diego walk out with someone they didn’t recognize, but he could hear the male’s voice all the way where he’d been. Not because he was loud, there just weren’t enough people in the pizza shop to drown out conversations.  Excusing himself, Leandro walked towards his son, catching his eye and holding it for the entirety of the distance. “Diego.” he addressed him with a pointed look, “Please apologize to this man and unhand his dog. You know better than to pet without asking permission.” Leandro offered the stranger an apologetic smile before nodding. “He’s really into animals, he meant no harm.” he answered defensively. “Leandro. I don’t believe we’ve met.” Lea reached out a hand to shake. Having lived most of his life in the small town, there had been a time where he knew everyone around. Over the years, and after his departure from the church, he put a good amount of distance between him and most people. His focus has shifted from sharing the word of God with those he came in contact with daily, to his children.

[mohanmax]

‎ PSYCHIC INTUITION. if only madisyn could've told him about how his marriage would end, he probably wouldn't have stood in front of that altar in the first place. she also could've probably used psychic intuition when the internet feasted on her online carcass, but here they are: not-quite divorced, elbow-deep in horseshit, and reincarnated into marginally less broken versions of themselves. which is, to their respective credit, entirely of their own doing. fuck psychic intuition.

she mocks his being fine as if he can get any better (which he can, in theory, but 'fine' is the best he's been in a long time and he'll be damned if that gets taken away from him) and he responds with a huff, takes another sip of his drink as he listens to her tell him about how she managed to dig her perfectly manicured nails across the country and have her autograph on a deed of sale for a farm lot. he half-expected something insane like she'd been scammed into purchasing abandoned property when she thought she was buying a g-wagon, or whatever story would generate the most clicks, but it turns out, the truth is much more underwhelming than he'd anticipated.

his fingers tap against the moist surface of his glass, mostly silent, his eyes narrowing towards madisyn as he waits for her to order and hand the menu back to the waiter. "and how is the simple life, paris?" the makings of a smirk appear on his lips as he makes the joke. he's much more interested in talking about her life than he is about his. well, at the moment, anyway. "you must be the last person i imagine living on a farm." he shakes his head, remembering a tiktok video of hers that his sister had shown him. "madisyn huang is actually holding a fucking chicken. what is this, some sort of pr stunt to bring the bakery back, show 'em it's all organic?" he wouldn't put it past her.

Reading the room was a skill Madisyn learnt along with walking and talking. She knew when was the best time to strike when needing more allowance money, or rides to various auditions to parents. Knew when to ask her high school teachers for extensions on homework she never gave a shit about. Knew when Dominik would be cooperative to collaboration ideas. It was a life skill, no matter what people said otherwise. She smirked at Max. “Of course, babe. It’s like…psychic intuition.” She teased, though she never believed in that shit. 

As Max answered, her eyes drifted to the sleeping dog by his side, fighting the urge to cave to the adorableness of the animal by reminding herself he was working. “Fine, fine, fine.” She mused with a raised eyebrow. But truthfully, if Madisyn wanted to dive in more, she would go on about how people said they were ‘fine’ when they weren’t, the whole song and dance her high school guidance counselor performed when her educators were worried about her not taking her studies seriously. Of course, their concern was trouble at home rather than Madi’s desire to be more. You didn’t need SAT results to be famous after all.

The questioning of the change in her career was expected, and she kept her smile poised, taking a sip of the table water provided. “I wanted a change of pace. LA could be so…” She let out a sigh, “Toxic. I’m all for the…good vibes.” 

If she said it enough times, maybe she’d believe it. She was passed a menu, glancing at it with little interest. “I had nowhere else to go and the farm was on sale. I head a full of chardonnay and a black Amex Card, and no one there to tell me no.” And that was the crux of it all, wasn’t it? No one was in Madisyn’s corner, making sure she was okay after the scandal broke out. Offering her a place to stay. Offering her some semblance of her old life. “The risotto sounds good.” She murmured in an attempt to change the subject from her sad life.

[mohanmax]

MAX: @rafaelmoldonado Pls tell me it's a clinical psychology book. That would be so hot MAX: Aw don't put yourself down Leon. I would go out with you if you didn't text like a 13 yr old degenerate. MAX: That's cute. Lawyers love bimbos I'm sure MAX: And I'm serious I'm gonna book us a table at this Italian bistro my friend owns back in Chicago but only if you're bringing someone MAX: Vince will drive us

RAFAEL: @bloodbuzzfm I didn't plan it to sound that way. RAFAEL: @leonwozniak I am tragically out of Leon's league. RAFAEL: You two enjoy the dates, a book I pre-ordered last year was delivered this morning so I have plans. I am always available to DD.

[mohanmax]

CLOSED STARTER FOR @annelouiseoosterhuis, o'shea's irish pub, 9pm.

‎ "O-O-S-T-E-R..." he keeps his eyes on annie-lou as he spells out her name out loud to his phone, confirming that he's not fucking it up. "jesus, that's a mouthful." he checks the search page on his instagram app and clicks on the first profile that comes up. "this you?" he says, showing her his phone.

[mohanmax]

CLOSED STARTER FOR @saulweissberg, saul's home in oak gardens, late night.

‎ THERE'S A GAME ON THE TV. max is pretty sure it was just basketball a minute ago, now the cubs are playing against the dodgers and when did that happen? max isn't sure. his eyeballs feel heavy in their sockets bearing down against his skull, against the couch. saul's couch. he has to remind himself that he's not in his own home, and where is saul, anyway?

"oh, fuck, there you are," max drawls when saul returns. from the bathroom or some other business that had slipped his mind. he can't even remember if saul had said anything, it's also likely the guy just got up and left. not that it really matters anymore, he's here now. peeling his back off the cushions is a herculean effort, but he manages, a hand reaching for the table to grab the joint, of which they'd already shared two between them, off the ashtray. he lights it with the gas stove lighter saul had provided in the absence of a regular lighter. classy as always. "mm, fuck. hey, d'you wanna watch the cubs with me this saturday? i can get us tickets. you can bring a friend, if you want."

[mohanmax]

CLOSED STARTER FOR @elijahfalvey, max's home studio in oak gardens, 6pm.

‎ THE HOME STUDIO HE'S BUILDING IN HIS HOUSE has been ongoing for close to a year now and is more a personal project than a business venture, though he's not shutting out the possibility of it potentially generating income. he's just wired to think that way, he supposes. and in the past few months, he'd enlisted the help of local studio owner (and former rockstar) elijah falvey to design the room and order the equipment he might need to produce and record his own music. having only ever played live, max doesn't consider himself a professional in that regard, a rare display of humility that comes with the second-chance-at-life starter package.

the room, in its past life, was his home office and, at 225 square feet and a high ceiling, was the most viable candidate for almost completely reconstructing the space to make room for all the irregularly-shaped built-in panels and the alcoves on the wall where the speakers and a tv monitor are now nestled into. he'd requested for a hybrid setup, having started out on analog in the late 90s as an amateur spinning in college bars and had only learned to work with various softwares and plug-ins on his own spare time, of which he had many while in recovery.

elijah is currently helping him set up the new mixing console, trying to route all the speakers and equipment into the program and intermittently playing an incredibly annoying 1khz tone to test it out. "this must be what getting a lobotomy must feel like," he quips from the couch behind eli, legs crossed with a can of diet coke perched on his knee while elijah's beer remains on the glass coffee table in front of him. "you're really good at this stuff, huh?"

[mohanmax]

‎ JASMINE TEA AND A REGULAR LATTE. clearly, neither are here to enjoy the other's company, and to no one's surprise. max never lost any sleep over the fact that he and rachel never really got to be friends, or at least, nobody ever tried. right now, he needs something from her, just as she'd needed something from him all those decads ago, something that could very well do without the standard niceties (he doubts she has any real interest in how he really has been, nor is he inclined to answer that in any truthful manner at all) but at least this way he could even the odds. even though trying to have an entire publication step back from doing an exposé on his family's company is a much bigger ask than a sit-down interview for a class requirement.

so he humors her. "i'm alright. the club's doing well. i'm building a studio behind my house. elijah falvey's helping." she might know him, one way or another. perhaps as a neighbor, a friend, or in the same way his husband knew the guy before max had found his name in the local business directory as . "how's keeping print alive going?" it comes out a little snappier than he would've liked, but he figures it could serve as a good segue for what he's about to ask from her, also doubles as a quiet reassurance for himself that nobody reads the fucking paper anymore, that none of this matters enough to infringe upon press freedom or whatever it is he thinks rachel might invoke.

She wasn't sure if Max was trying to let her know he was on tight schedule and he was doing her a favor by giving her the time of day. Or perhaps he was trying to tell Rachel that she didn't need to worry he wouldn't be taking up her time. Really it could go either way in her opinion. She watched him wave down a barista, knowing that wasn't really how the cafe worked, but of course she shouldn't be too surprised that Max made it work for him that way. Rachel gave the familiar barista a smile, watching as Max pets Tom, smiling faintly at the gesture for a moment distracted before realizing Max was waiting for her to order. "Oh! Right, just my regular latte, Frankie, please." Rachel moved to meet Max's eyes now as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "So, how have you been?" She figured it was at least worth a try to catch up, even though she figured that her straight to the point acquaintance would cut that notion off.