mpxmaxim

[mpxmaxim]

January 4th 2008

{ A glimpse into Maxim's past struggles }

[T/W: Alcohol Addiction]

His breath was showing in the air. 

Unsurprising considering it was the middle of winter, and he was drenched to the bone. All thanks to the knee-high layer of snow next to the path he was walking on and his lack of balance. Dirt and tiny pebbles painted part of his cheek gray and a bruised shade of pink. A reminder of how he lost consciousness just a few steps ago. Though, the fifteen-year-old just assumed he tripped and decided to take a short nap on the cold floor. Or at least that would be what he’d assume if he wasn’t too focused on taking one step at a time to get back home. 

It was of the utmost importance to him to return in time.  He couldn’t let the events of his last failure to come back repeat themselves. Last time that Maxim didn’t make it home after a night out, his brother took the fall for him. The punishment Boris received was cruel and way out of proportion for the simple crime of trusting that his brother wouldn’t sneak out, get absolutely wasted and in turn neglect to feed the animals.  Worse than the wrath his father unleashed on Maxim afterward was the disappointment of the eldest son.  But this time, he would have his cake and eat it. He had to make sure of that. 

Would his vision not go blurry every couple of seconds and his steps wobble and veer from the path, the demigod would be able to get home within twenty minutes or less. But in his current state, it would take him at least double that time. And that was only if he didn’t collapse or vomit again. 

Bloodshot eyes struggled to stay open enough to look at the spot he was concentrating on. A bench in the distance that was luring him to lie down and end his journey early. He shouldn’t. Right? Surprisingly, humming kept the urge to hurl at bay. His melody of choice was an old lullaby his sister used to sing to his younger siblings. It sounded crooked and raw in his throat, interrupted only by occasional slurred curses when balance eluded him. 

Maxim felt proud when he passed the bench without sitting down and took another few wobbly steps before he grabbed onto the fence post of his farmyard. He made it back home just in time to get up to fulfill his daily duties before school started. Although intoxication didn’t necessarily impact his ability to do his tasks properly, the—then still oblivious to his powers—son of Phobetor was already thinking of ways to get out of school.  If he’d skip, his parents would definitely find out about it.  But if he’d attend classes with the stench of alcohol and his vomit still haunting his clothes or fall asleep in class for the second time this week, his teachers wouldn’t keep quiet about it, either.  Whichever occurred, he’d be fucked and ripe for punishment. An excuse for discipline and corrections that would only push him towards the bottle more, which in turn would guarantee further retributions.

A pained groan ended his humming, before he almost immediately relieved his stomach of something he assumed to be remnants of a not yet fully digested sandwich coated in vodka. 

Soon, a painful headache would almost make him forget about the sweet feeling of nonchalance that alcohol gave him, but for now Maxim tried to convince himself that he could sober up through sheer willpower and water. 

He nearly stumbled again when he passed the threshold of the gate and was greeted by a symphony of animals nagging him for food.

[mpxmaxim]

Not once did his gaze wander towards the device on the table. Instead, his eyes were fixed on her in an attempt to read her expression, to try and see which design would suit her taste best. While he held his own preferences in his art, Maxim wanted to make sure she’d be just as happy with it as he was. He was unsure where his attention travelled to when he heard her say her name again, but when she made a mention towards their first meeting, he knew that he wasn’t the only one thinking about it. Eyes, dark and cold, mellowed under the memory of her taking care of him. But he made sure to hide it from the nurse by glancing down towards the designs he drew. 

“Yeah…”, his voice trailed off slightly while his fingers senselessly tapped on the device, “Thank you for that, by the way.” Maxim wasn’t a nice person by definition; verbalizing gratitude didn’t come easy to him. But if he had the opportunity to repay kindness in a way that didn’t require words, he would. This better be the best damn tattoo he’d ever do. 

His eyebrows raised slightly, and he offered her a faint nod of respect at the revelation that this would mark her first tattoo. Usually, patrons would opt for a smaller piece to test the waters. Therefore, the fact that someone who looked so dainty and innocent decided to go for a back piece of this size was impressive to him. 

The movement of her fingers drew his attention. In a motion that told her to go ahead, he nudged the tablet closer to her before he leaned in slightly to get a better look at the design she was talking about. He just knew this was going to be fun. Whether it was the prospect of adding something more delicate and colorful to his portfolio for the first time in a while, or the fact that the piece was his favorite out of all designs. Maxim wasn’t sure which, but one of those reasons tugged at the corners of his lips and made the faintest smile rise to his features. 

“It would, but…” his fingers slid across the screen again, zooming ever so slightly in on the bottom part, “if we make it bigger, this part might need to wrap around the side.” He straightened his back to point towards his own side to approximate how far it’d go. “Otherwise it might look a bit…uh…” teeth bit onto his tongue in a relatively fresh habit that came out when he struggled to translate his thoughts, “…stiff?” The word sounded like a question, only because it was. When it came to his art, Maxim was nothing short of a perfectionist, and he wanted to make sure that they were both on the same page before he even printed the stencil. 

“It’s also possible to only have it on your back, if you prefer that, but I would cut out this bottom part here.” he circled part of one flower and a cluster of leaves to show her what exactly it was he was talking about. “…or we could just keep everything on your back, depending on how far you’re willing to go down.” Despite the lack of intonation in his words, his voice sounded completely professional. His eyebrows raised to silently question which option she’d prefer.

“That kind of depends on your pain tolerance, I guess.” Although he was very familiar with the pain of the tattoo machine gliding across his own skin, Maxim learned very early on that everybody feels pain different. He’s encountered people looking like they’d eat nails for breakfast who started trembling before he even sat down. On the other end of the spectrum, he remembered the little girl who didn’t even flinch when he traced the lines of the butterfly on her shoulder. It’s been years since that day, yet it still made him feel nauseous to just think about it.

So instead, he willed himself to get his thoughts back into the matter at hand. “The back is usually a safe zone to tattoo on, but if it hurts too much at any point, speak up. Especially the closer we get to your spine because that’ll hurt most.” His tone was the gentlest it’s been throughout their entire interaction, yet there was still something cold and professional about it. 

“If you’re ready, you can go to that chair there,” Maxim nodded towards the vacant tattoo chair next to his neatly organized workstation. “And I’ll get everything else ready.”

Davina had been glancing around the tattoo parlor, not aware of the male's momentarily lapse of focus. She had never been in the building before, having merely made the appointment and sent the details of the tattoo she had been interested in. Now that she was here, it was a bit overwhelming, but she trusted the other. He wouldn't have a job if he couldn't do the work.

So when he invited her to sit, she did not hesitate, and she moved over to the chair, as comfortable as the nerves allowed her to be. She knew the outcome would be amazing! But the process, that was a bit nerve-wracking. However, his creations did well to pull her from that. Leaning forward, she tilted her head so that she could look over each floral design he presented her. She had to give it to him. Maxim truly had talent in this division. She could already imagine it on her body, and it would look amazing.

Starting from a look to surprise quickly to excited awe, she allowed him to speak, struggling to steal her glance from the screen. However, when she did, the bright grin pulled on her lips. "Maxim. I'm Davina" Ah! Now that was his name! Yes, she did place him right. It all finally added up to that memory of a rather rebellious man with a growing infection she healed. Craning her neck, she looked at his forehead, smiling at how untouched it seemed. Playfully, she adds. "Yes. It's nice to see you without a gash on your forehead. You look much better this way."

Watching him, she paused for a second before letting her gaze go back to the tablet. "Yea.. It is my first." She responded. Davina had been impressed with the first design, but each one of his clearly showcased both skill and creativity. However, she did too see herself more interested in the first design that had shown up, pleased with the delicate pink, peonies. Finally, she reached, gently flicking back to the first drawing. "I know. I like this one. Will it be long enough to go along my back? If so, I am happy with it."

Pausing for a moment, she then nodded her head. "How bad will it hurt?" Davina asked. She had heard about the different experiences and that different parts hurt worse. So, she could only hope for the best.

[mpxmaxim]

Gods and Dogs

a starter based on a SNS post made for the four-legged companion of @mpxinvidia

It was a struggle he pretended to almost lose. A low grunt mimicking the growl coming from Pushkin when he held onto the ball for dear life. Maybe the little French bulldog knew that if he’d let go of his toy, his owner would only throw it away as far as possible again. The oaf on two legs might think it’s a game without considering the small dog’s stamina or the effort it took his short legs to run after and subsequently find his possession. Perhaps Pushkin just wanted to gloat and show off his hunting and tracking skills when he returned the ball only to have it taken away once more by the tall and inconsiderate fool. 

As if he could hear that hypothetical and completely made up thought process, Maxim made sure to reward his adorable companion for his good work this time. The symphony of barking and yapping—directed, produced and performed by Pushkin—started the moment the demigod’s hand moved to the pocket of his jacket. He didn’t even get the chance to touch the treats, yet, before his friend performed his first jump and followed it with an excited spin. When Maxim squatted down again to hand out the reward, his full attention was on the stray-turned-pet. It almost made him forget about the somewhat pleasant interaction he had with his co-worker earlier and the deal they made to tire each other’s dogs out. 

While playing with Pushkin, Maxim didn’t notice the grin that crept up onto his expression. The kind of grin that was reserved for when he could drop the mask that he believed kept him safe. It was wide and joyful and lacked the wicked edge that would otherwise accompany his features.

Not once, during their whole interaction, did Maxim take note of the grin creeping onto his lips. But when he looked up to see the familiar frame of Invidia approach, he couldn’t help but notice how quickly his smile dropped. The mask that felt like a second skin hid the remnants of his true feelings on his face. All that was left were the scarce traces of amusement lingering in his eyes. 

Though, admittedly, his attempt to veil his smile was quickly interrupted by the exchange of enthusiastic barks between Tannie and Pushkin when they tried to match and exceed each other’s excitement about meeting each other. 

The buzz of his phone briefly called for his to show Invidia’s warning comment on the SNS post they’ve been communicating through. ‘Incoming Tannie’, the notification read. At least he could say that he tried to fight the laugh from passing his lips. Effort poorly spent, he figured, when he ended up losing that fight anyway. 

“I was starting to get hopeful you choked on your coffee on the way here.” the words carried no poison when he said them. At least no additional one other than the one his voice always held. “Seems like prayers aren’t heard after all.”

[mpxmaxim]

[mpxmaxim]

He heard her questions even before he took his shower but for reasons unknown even to himself, he didn’t answer. Perplexing as it might sound, Maxim didn’t know why he didn’t just give her a quick confirmation earlier when she asked—it would’ve been a yes, either way. Then again, he did make a mental note to ask her for more details about the landscape.

His eyebrow shot up, and although he looked almost peeved when she chuckled at what he said, the smallest curve in the corner of his lips softened his expression and emphasized the ease he felt around her. At least he felt it whenever he didn’t just mess up royally. “Fair enough.” Despite his best effort to let indifference dominate his tone, his relief was audible in the sigh that followed.

With another bite of baklava, Maxim finished the small piece he held and let his gaze focus on the remaining slices. For a moment, his mind struggled to give him a straight answer on whether he wanted to eat more now or save the rest for later. Ever since coming to Mount Phoenix, he often found himself asking that question. Sometimes he’d decide to another piece of whatever was in front of him. But most times, Maxim would put it away to save for later. For when everything inevitably goes wrong, and he’d have to go multiple days in a row without eating. Just like he did when he was younger. Though, of course, back then it wasn’t up to him whether he was allowed to eat or had to give a week’s worth of his food to the pigs as a form of punishment.

Maxim hadn’t noticed that he must’ve zoned out while looking at the sweet dessert and simply blinked to look back over to his mentor. “Meditation, huh?” A small nod accompanied his question, though he heard and understood her the first time. It only served to distract from the trance he got caught in. He took another sip of his coffee, its heat burning a spot on his tongue. The demigod was eager to start and with a nod that looked reassured this time, he stood up. “Let’s go then. I’m ready.”

Despite another sip, his drink was not yet quite finished when Maxim set it down on the table in order to reach up and grab the towel around his shoulders. Once more, his hair most likely suffered under his chaotic method to dry his hair before he hung the towel over the back of an empty chair to dry out. Although not dripping anymore, most strands were still damp enough to stick together and not yet fall into place like they usually would. “You wanna go through the Bohemian district and then through the forest, or do you want to go around both and walk along the mountains?” Still standing, Maxim picked up his cup again, but didn’t yet take another sip. Instead, he stole another glance towards the food, still debating whether he should risk it and take another bite or keep it for later when he’d inevitably be hungrier than he was now.

Artists should always be proud of their art and show it to the world. Some people might not like it but it was quite a normal reaction. Maxim was extremely talented though. "If I asked you for a drawing, would you make it ?" she asked, turning around to look at another piece. "A Greek landscape, could you do that ?"

Athena smiled when the young man reappeared. He had chosen the perfect outfit, comfortable and non-ostentatious, two things that she appreciated. She loved to dress up and always wore elegant outfits when teaching but training days were for easy clothes.

The goddess served the coffee into two clean mugs she had found in the cupboards, handing one to Maxim before adding a pinch of sugar and a could of milk to hers. The bitter aroma was a real wake-up call and she felt rejuvenated as she drank. 

"Your mind, yes." She chuckled at the boy's remark, refraining from reaching to smooth his hair. "Oh Maxim, I do not think that you are ready for that yet. The time will come for you to try again but it is not for today. Especially not with an unwilling person." If they could find a willing guinea pig, this would make everything simpler and it would be possible to guide both Maxim and his 'victim'. A good exercise.

Her question seemed to have surprised Maxim so Athena waited as he thought, observing his facial expressions and the way he held himself. He remained calm but she could almost hear the gear turning into his head. It made her even more curious to know the answer. 

The old tower. She had seen it a few times, looking for the perfect place for her Parthenon. It looked like it had been abandoned centuries ago and a gloomy atmosphere came from it. Even more with the forest so close. But, for some reasons, she found the place fitting for the young man and could understand why Maxim liked the place. 

"Some meditation for now" Athena answered, finishing her coffee mug and the baklava she had been eating. She put her cup in the sink. "We will leave as soon as you finish your breakfast. Is that alright for you ?" It wasn't like he had the choice anyway. 

[mpxmaxim]

The frown on his face formed between his brows even before his eyes had a chance to fully adjust to the rays beaming through his window. With something that sounded too deep to be a sigh but too airy to be a groan, his dreamless sleep finally concluded, despite his body’s innate urge to hold onto the sweet slumber. 

Or at least that was the reality he seemed to be trapped in. Though, he would only find that little detail out much later. 

Maxim was unsure what exactly tipped him off that something was wrong, but for a fraction of a second, he could’ve sworn he felt a wave of paranoia cloud his mind. And even though he knew it was a bad idea to move when he didn’t know whether there was a threat in the first place, he turned his head to look behind him. 

The sigh, when he finally got himself to release it, was visible with the rise and fall of his chest. A genuine sign of relief. It was enough to make one corner of his lips twitch up briefly when he saw Pushkin still fast asleep next to him, unharmed and peaceful as ever. The dog's tongue stuck out slightly, and for a moment that didn’t even last long enough to classify as a blink, Maxim almost forgot about the paranoia he felt just a second ago. 

His heart was hammering in his chest when he sat up, his gaze fixing itself on a pair of eyes that looked like black holes, infinite in their depth and eerily unsettling. It took him a considerable chunk of composure to not make any sudden movements and hide the pit that laid heavy in his gut. 

This time wouldn’t mark the first time that the place he’d been living in would be broken into. However, it would be the first time that it happened in Mount Phoenix. 

Maxim’s eyes were glued to the black holes until the intruder rose fully. Only then did he allow himself to take quick glances at the stranger’s hair, clothes, hands—anything that would make it easier for him to recognize the robber later. 

His face was a permanent scowl, openly showing contempt towards the situation and hiding any potential emotions or surprise behind it. 

Truth be told, he already expected one or multiple of his victims to send someone to take revenge on their behalf. After all, he rarely held back when he used his powers. 

His lips parted to speak up; to ask who his opponent was and what his mission was. But when he heard that name, it was like everything froze. Almost in a literal sense, when he felt a cold sweat run down his back. Who was the man standing in front of him? None of Maxim’s victims ever heard his real name. In fact, the only people who know about it are the folks back in his village and his family members. It was unlikely that the intruder learned that information about the demigod from his neighbors or people he went to school with, but it was even more unlikely that he heard it from his siblings. 

So, how did that stranger know about his name? 

“Who are you?” his voice sounded scratchy and dry, not yet caught up with his hypervigilance. “How do you know that name?” Maxim’s tone was filled with venom and nothing short of accusatory. He didn’t claim that name, but it still ticked him off that someone knew of its existence.

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?”

Closed starter for a curious nephew @mpxmaxim

When one wakes before their alarm, reality already seems a bit off while also not simultaneously. One believes they have a few more minutes or a couple hours left to snooze or gradually waken themselves, readying for the day. Perhaps that was the impression Maxim received initially upon waking this day. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in his room, nothing at all. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the way the sheets and the pillows felt--all of it as one would expect it to be. Everything was in its place, just as remembered before falling asleep...

...except...

Those eyes.

At some point, when Maxim dared to look to the side, he would find a pair of eyes peeking over the edge of his mattress; eyes that were otherworldly; eyes that reflected the night sky, shimmering stars against a blanket of midnight, constellations ever shifting; eyes that saw infinity; eyes that saw him, his innermost desires and secrets. Once those eyes locked with Maxim's--whatever the demigod's reaction may be--the owner of that gaze calmly and gradually rose.

Eyes...nose...lips...face...chin...shoulders...torso...waist...legs...

A tall figure loomed over the young man. Though kept in a messy bun, locks of his hair did escape and floated about him as though the god himself was suspended in water and carried on a subtle current; the fabric of his coat followed the same pattern, draped over him like ethereal shadows; the lining, when visible, seemed made of threads spun from the night sky itself, ever shifting with constellations, nebulas, auroras, as a universe trapped within cloth.

After a beat, Morpheus spoke; his voice was gentle, purring, scarcely above a whisper; a voice one might think they heard once. And that voice spoke a name, a name perhaps Maxim had not heard in some time...the demigod's true name.

And once that name lingered on the air for another beat, the King of Dreams spoke again. "You are a curious one, aren't you?"

[mpxmaxim]

Not unlike a trance, his gaze shifted to nothing in particular just off to the side of her and unfocused as soon as she spoke up. 

That voice. He knew her.

Distant images of a fight and the memory of blood stinging in his eyes while he dragged himself to the hospital painted themselves across his mind. Just a split second later, he was able to pinpoint how he remembered her. 

A blink ended his mind‘s short mission to recall that time and Maxim‘s focus drew back over to her. The whole ordeal lasted barely a second and if she wasn‘t paying close attention to him, she might‘ve missed his absent state. The nagging feeling of recognition finally dissipated without his expression ever allowing any emotions to play out. "Alright then. Sit.“ His tone lacked the edge that would make his offered invitation sound like a command; nestled somewhere in the vast gap between disinterested and welcoming. Similar to how one might declare the time of day or talk about the news in the papers. 

Nodding towards the chair on the other side of the desk, Maxim unlocked and placed the tablet in front of her. The display lit up to show his first suggestion. A delicate floral design that stretched out vertically across the screen. Light pink peonies contrasted the rich, green color of the leaves and stems. While he had to admit he was proud of all the choices he was about to present to her, he liked the combination of colors for this particular one the most. 

After a fleeting glance at the display, Maxim looked over to her, his expression softening ever so slightly. He wanted to see her reaction, the slightest shift in her demeanor. „I‘d like to go over some points with you.“ Despite his voice keeping the even tone from earlier, there was something gentle in his words. 

Admittedly, bringing kindness across by conversing was never his forté and luckily neither of his jobs required much talking in the first place. But if he could show his appreciation for her help - to let her know that he didn‘t forget about the extra mile she went to make him feel better - the least he could do was use a kinder tone. Then again, it might also be the most he could do. 

“First off, I‘m Maxim. We might‘ve met a while back.“ His expression didn‘t show any signs of the question blaring through his mind and making him wonder just why he just said that. Even the part about his name, he‘d like to take back. Just for good measure.

“Is this your first tattoo?“ Part of him was hoping it was. There was something exciting about working with a blank canvas; setting the standard for any subsequent designs. 

“I‘ve looked at the inspiration pictures you sent in and prepared some possible designs in my style. You can look at them, tell me which one you prefer most and whether there are parts you‘d like to change or adjust.“ Without even a glance down to the device on the table, he slid a finger across the screen to show the next idea he drew. Flowers, whose names he could only name in his native language, formed a dainty bouquet in a fineline style. The colors were darker and more saturated, ranging from reds to purples and pinks with varying shades of green making up the leaves. 

“You‘re not going to hurt my feelings if you don‘t like something. Be honest with me and yourself and tell me if you don‘t like parts of the designs. I can change it as much as I need to on this,“ he nudged the tablet closer to her, bringing attention to the device he was referring to, “but not when it‘s under your skin.“ The words came out studied and emotionless - he repeated the previous passage over and over again. In fact, he made the exact same statement every time he was working with an unfamiliar client. 

Sliding through the designs, he made sure to give her some time to take a proper look at each before he raised an eyebrow in a question that remained silent until he spoke again. “Any of them look like what you imagined?”

Davina had wanted for a while to get a tattoo, even as a young girl. Raised by four beautiful women, one of her nannies had been native to Hawaii, and she had the most beautiful tattoo that covered her upper back and arms. If she had been allowed to, she would have had one ages ago, as she respected that woman and her reasoning behind a tattoo. However, it was forbidden by her father, and the women would never go against those rules.

By the time she got to the island, Davina was immediately thrusted into work. So busy with her life, that desire had not even registered nor the freedom to make that choice either. Davina finally found herself at a point in her life that everything was calmed, and after spotting someone else with one, she finally decided it was her chance to get one. Something simple and cute, especially that included flowers and plants. So, she did not hesitate to make the appointment.

When the day came, she started her day with a tea geared to help her with pain, knowing it should not cause any issues for her artist. So, she came to the tattoo parlor prepared and dressed for the occasion. Walking in the doors of the parlor, she spotted the man before her. Her eyes widened in recognition. Did she know his name? Absolutely, not. She did know that she had healed whim with her hands, some infection or ailment months, well at year ago? It had been some time.

Nodding her head, she looked down at him. The demigoddess could not remember much of what happened then, other than he had a bit of attitude. But, people aren't themselves when sick. Maybe, she still had a chance for a good experience. "Yes. My name is Davina. I'm here for my tattoo."

[mpxmaxim]

He expects nothing less of Kaz's presence than to be a natural cure for his headache. Which is exactly why, his troubles are nearly forgotten by the time the door swings open and his best friend loudly announces his presence. Despite the sigh that forms itself with a breath, the curve of his lips shows itself in an unmistakable smile. “Buckle up if you want to live.” The words sounded too matter-of-fact to be a request, yet too calm to sound like a command. Maxim isn’t a bad driver by any means—in fact, he has been operating a variety of vehicles throughout his life—but the word ‘careful’ doesn’t even come to mind when talking about his driving style. Still, without checking whether his boss fastened his seatbelt, the engine roars with the shift of his gear—he just had to—before they finally drive off.

Something between a huff and a chuckle escapes him when he rolls his eyes. “Who the fuck goes camping without a tent?” The question is ironic in the sense that he didn't bring a tent either. Though, at that particular moment, Maxim is still in the blissful delusion that he packed it. “I might share if it rains.” A smile unmistakably lightens the tone of his voice. “Otherwise, you're fucked.” With a glance towards Kaz, it's clear that he's joking. Maxim leans into his seat, eyes glued to the road, and the hand that previously rested on the gear shift lifts to form its fingers into a middle finger directed at his boss. Before he can say something, though, he quickly holds onto the steering wheel again to keep balance against the shove. Would this be anybody else, he would've stopped the car and made them get out. But this is Kaz and even though Maxim would never admit it, Kaz’s loyalty grants him special privileges. Besides, it’s funny as hell to him, visible by the wide grin on his face. He is eager to get their trip properly started and with a playful side that he has only ever shown to his siblings and Kaz, he punches his friend's shoulder back harder in equal excitement.

When they finally do arrive at a camping ground—empty because people usually don't go camping at this time of year—Maxim takes a moment to enjoy the fresh air and watch the descending sun hide behind a cloud. The familiar sounds of birds chirping and leaves rustling in the wind are a stark but more than welcome contrast to the buzzing outside his apartment. “Finally…” his voice was a low mumble, “…some fucking peace and quiet.” Hiding the almost childlike excitement beneath a mask of impatience, Maxim moves to the trunk of the car and, despite opening it, doesn’t look at its content just yet. “By the way, did you bring food?”

When you walk into Kaz's house it is.... almost like walking into a whole other universe. Because of how many plants he has, the majority of his walls in all the main rooms are windows, mostly covered by the plants that absolutely litter the room. Genuinely the amount of vines and stems of leaves sprouting from pots on the walls and the floors make it hard to walk without hitting any of them. The only place safe from possibly pissing Kaz off by hitting a perfectly grown leaf, is the kitchen and living room. Cut in half to partially join the rooms together, Kaz's art covers every space in so many ways that the black paint underneath can barely be seen. Because of this fact, even with the amount of sunlight dripping through bouts of green, and the singular yellow velvet chesterfield couch, the house had such a dark ambiance to it. While his house is full of his talent, and plenty of beauty, it is not the normal place of hanging out since.... well it's so fucking easy to knock something over in his maximalist ass house. So while he leaves Max to wait in this doom living room, of course flipping him off in the process, he almost hopes he comes back to max having fucked something up so he can slap him up a little for interrupting. Alas, Max has been good this time. He's spared, but he does get a weird ass look from the goth. Not opposition though.

"Fuck it." He doesn't even take the time to see Max leave or honestly even wait until that sentence is over. He's cutting his employee off with his movements by disappearing into the other room to pack some shit. A good amount of shit. ~~ The next time Max sees him, Kaz is opening the back seat of the car and tossing his-very large-SprayGround duffel into the back before basically tossing himself into the front seat. Not buckled. "Hope you have a big ass tent or an extra coz I ain't got one. I did bring edibles though." To be honest anyone else might think camping might be Kaz's living nightmare. Walking in the woods in platforms? Trying to wash off and reapply makeup every day without a shower? Of course Kaz thought of these things, but, "To be honest, bro I'm mad down to be in the middle of the woods high as fuck." That would really be nice he thinks. "And I guess you'd be cool to have around too." He rolls his eyes and playfully-yes while Max is driving, no he does not care-shoves Max's shoulder pretty hard. He has to hit him. Because he knows, that Max knows, that really he's actually mad excited to camp with Max, but because Kaz knows Max knows this, he absolutely must hit him.

[mpxmaxim]

The compliment, though faint and muffled from where Maxim stood, managed to evoke a small, prideful smile on his lips. It hadn't occurred to him that his art could be showcased as decoration until his best friend more or less forced him to. Notably, it might’ve never occurred to him because his apartment would mark the first time he’d gotten to know the luxury of having his own personal space.

As water dripped down his still-soaked hair, the mark it left was imperceptible against the backdrop of his slightly oversized, black shirt. His attire maintained a monochrome theme, with a red and white print adorning the back of his shirt and a tiny embroidery of a brand logo near the pocket of his sweatpants. It was a simple yet comfortable ensemble, perfectly suited to the spontaneity of the day.

The sound of a breath filled the space that was reserved for words when he opened his mouth to speak but got momentarily distracted by the tiny owl’s greeting. His eyes followed Athena’s feathered companion up until it got comfortable on her shoulder, the gentle smile of a friend of animals reflecting on his lips. 

Finally, —it took him a second to regain focus—he blinked and looked back at the goddess with an indifferent shake of his head. “I’m good. I take my coffee black.” 

Maxim's method of drying his hair with a towel was reckless, lacking structure or caution, resulting in random strands wildly pointing away from his head. He didn't bother adjusting the chaotic style, hanging the cloth around his neck before settling on the chair closest to him, never facing away from her. “My mind?” the question blurted out before he ever had the chance to adjust his tone, giving away just how unexpected Athena’s statement was to him. “Do you mean that I get to enter someone else’s dream again?” The smug grin that rose with his words matched the reputation he has earned but failed to block out the knot that tightened his stomach at the idea of guiding another nightmare. Despite his genuine fascination with people’s oneiric encounters, his mind betrayed him with images of past consequences, sending a sharp pain to his right shoulder. 

Taking a sip of his coffee, Maxim grabbed a small piece of baklava, studying it as if trying to recall whether he had tasted the delicacy before.

“My favorite place, huh?” he repeated her words as if to confirm it to himself. One spot came to mind immediately, but he hesitated to voice it, uncertain whether he wanted to give away his tiny oasis of privacy so carelessly. Maxim looked away from the dessert in his hand to look at her, his calm expression standing in direct contrast with his racing thoughts. It almost felt as if just glancing at the goddess reminded him of who he was talking to. She was his mentor; one of the very few people on the island he trusted to not use his secrets against him. 

He bit off a tiny piece of the pastry, leaving his question to linger in the air for a few more seconds while he savored the sweet taste. When he was finally done, however, he nodded tentatively before he spoke again. “There’s an old, abandoned…uh…” Maxim paused briefly, trying to translate the word out of his native language and into the one they were speaking. “…tower. I think it used to be a watchtower. It’s close to the mountains.” To be more precise, he had found the grim-looking structure right at the cusp between the mountains and the forest they were warned not to enter alone. A dingy little structure close to the island’s borders. 

Somewhere in the presumed danger of it, he found peace. No matter how many times he’s visited his special spot, he had never encountered anyone going there or coming back from it. A perfect hideout for whenever he wanted to be by himself.

“What kind of ‘mind training’ are we talking about, though?” he raised his eyebrows, emphasizing his question before popping another piece of baklava into his mouth.

A messy apartment wouldn't be a reason for Athena to drop a pupil but she believed that people had a clearer mind when living in a clean space. Maxim seemed to be on the good way in that aspect and she spent a few minutes looking at the decorations and drawings. They were exquisite. "Are they yours ?" she asked, raising her voice just slightly so he could hear her. "I love them."

Sarcasm could be a powerful weapon, like any kind of words and wit. She wasn't the most affectionate person so she showed her attachment in other ways and this was one of them. That and fighting wars for them. She had done so for many heroes and she would do it for Maxim too. Without hesitation.

"Coffee it is then"  she answered, taking two cups and carefully depositing them on the kitchen's counter. She then prepared the coffee, the delicious and energizing aroma wafting through the apartment. Shen then found a nice plate and disposed the baklava onto it. She hummed softly as she worked, waiting for her pupil to be ready. 

"Do not worry about the milk, unless you need some ? I could ask Noctua to bring a carton." As on cue when she heard her name, the little owl flew in Maxim's kitchen, gently pecking the boy's head in greetings before perching herself on the goddess' shoulder. She softly hooted, ready for any mission she could be given. 

Athena sat on the counter, pushing his cup towards Maxim before slowly sipping on her coffee. It was hot and strong, the perfect wake-me-up for such a day."I know that you can, I have talked with your doctor. But after what happened, I think that your mind needs more training now." It's not that the young man's spirit was bad but after what had happened, it needed as much repair as his body. 

"For now, we will have breakfast. And while you eat, you will choose your favorite outdoor place on the island." Fresh air would be good for him, especially after staying in a hospital room for so long.

[mpxmaxim]

Blooming Ink

for the lovely new client @mpxdavina

Maxim, though not a perfectionist in his personal life, approached his craft with unwavering seriousness. His work station reflected this dedication, with meticulously organized instruments, freshly mixed colors, and pristine needles neatly arranged. He made sure to check the inspiration pictures he was given multiple times to properly prepare for his upcoming appointment, incorporating as many details and adjustments as he could without changing too much.

Anticipating a long day—possibly two, depending on his client's cooperation—Maxim felt a secret excitement rising within him. It was a departure from his usual repertoire; his work often veered towards the dark and grotesque.

Perhaps it was coincidental or intentional, but he rarely found himself creating colored or soft-looking tattoos. The gloomy and dark vibes he exuded seemed to attract requests for harsh-lined and nightmarish caricatures. Some of which he was directly responsible for. And although he enjoyed toying with the opportunities he was given, he oftentimes found himself looking for a challenge.

One that presented itself in a sweet and dainty design—colorful with soft lines and minimal shading. A design that embodied flowers, delicacy, and grace.

Normally indifferent to the identities of those seeking his art, Maxim found himself intrigued by the client who commissioned such a piece from him. What were their motives for choosing an art piece like that? Would this be their first time getting inked? Were they prepared to sit still for hours on end?

The chair swiveled around from side to side as he waited, his eyes glued on the tablet in his lap while he compared the inspiration with his own designs. A total of three alternatives with slightly different features to pick and select from should be enough, right?

Only when he heard the door open and caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, did he look up. Beneath his emotionless—almost bored—expression, his mind was reeling to come up with a memory that was just out of reach.

He knew her. He was sure he did. But for some reason, he couldn’t remember how he knew her.

His back straightened, and he instinctively turned off the tablet screen without breaking eye contact. “Hey,” he greeted, his words deliberate, a slight hesitation giving away his subtle attempt to recall something just out of reach. “Are you… uh…” The sentence hung in the air, trailing off as he leaned over to glance at the schedule on his computer. “…Davina?” Maxim looked back at her with an expression that underlined his question, waiting to see if her features would give him a confirmation before her voice did.

[mpxmaxim]

Despite being on the island for over a year, Maxim only noticed when he spoke the stranger's name that he made no such effort towards the previous archivist. They weren't friends—far from it—but the familiarity felt comfortable in a way. He knew which buttons to push to get exactly what he wanted, or what to say to get the response he desired. And on the rare occasions that Vitas's predecessor wouldn't give in, Maxim was only too happy to practice his powers on a target like that. Anxiety was a powerful tool if used correctly, especially when backed with a few words of—let's say—persuasion and just a dash of extortion. However, something told him that the stoic man in front of him might not be as susceptible to his usual tactics as his previous victim. Even if he would be, though, he didn't seem like the type of person to let it sway his judgment anyway.

Maxim felt something run down his spine when the stranger’s gaze lifted. It wasn’t a cold sweat, and yet it wasn’t far from it. Whatever it was, it felt less than pleasant. Regardless of that particular feeling or the effort to keep his expression as blank as possible, the son of Phobetor returned the stare. His own eyes, once unflatteringly described to be colored like ‘mud so dark and dirty that sand would be embarrassed to be related to it’, looked almost relaxed despite the tenseness that kept them from looking away. He would struggle to remember whether he dared to blink during that time. 

It took all the muscles in his face to keep himself from making a face at the sound of the explanation. The urge to mock Vitas’s words was strong, but even he knew that it would be utterly misplaced in this scenario. And more importantly, it wouldn’t help his cause in the slightest. Still, for a moment, his nose wrinkled just enough on one side to lift a part of his lip into a grimace of disapproval. He really didn’t want to give up his name. So—he didn’t. Not at that moment, at least. 

Instead, he waited silently, the tapping of the archivist’s fingertips against the keyboard providing the only source of sound. That was until Vitas spoke up again and, with the sheer possibility of receiving a translation of works he wasn’t able to read before, Maxim’s eyes widened briefly. The opportunity to finally study the transcripts, he asked the previous employee multiple times about. 

Finally, his eyebrows furrowed and broke the facade of his once again blank expression at the question. His lips parted and carried the sound of a breath being drawn to speak up, but his voice didn’t reach the air.

A lilt? The frown that he held back earlier now openly painted itself over his features, partly impressed, partly skeptical of that observation. Despite his best efforts to minimize any trace of it, he knew that his native language could be heard through his voice. Even more so—he noticed—ever since his siblings reached the island, and they primarily conversed in Russian.

“I don’t read Greek.” he could hear the lilt clearly now after it had been pointed out. Still, the tattoo artist made sure to show as little irritation about it on his face as possible. While his Korean skills were proficient enough to get him through his day-to-day life, he preferred to read in his native language to ensure he wouldn’t miss crucial details. “I would prefer to read it in Russian, then. Since you’re already offering.” The smile that tugged on his lips was cold, dead and didn’t reach his eyes whatsoever. A taunt in itself.

Below the layer of annoyance about the situation, bloomed a seedling of respect for the man in front of him. More than he ever graced his predecessor with. Despite that, however, Maxim was far from admitting something like that. Even to himself. His voice hugged the letters of his words, the name sounding familiar on his tongue with the Russian pronunciation he attached. “Dimitriy.” he paused just long enough to make it sound like he was letting the name fill the room it warranted before he gave the same attention to the last name. “Zolotov.” Granted, it wasn’t his own name. In fact, the combination of both first and last names was completely unfamiliar to him. A fusion between the first name of three of the boys that lived on his street—a very popular name in their area—and the last name of his favorite teacher growing up. 

“We good now? Do I get access to that infinite wealth of knowledge that has spurned and quelled wars?” his expression shifted to emphasize his question, an eyebrow ticking upwards in a challenge. Maxim paid attention to the archivist’s words earlier and did his best to recite them in a similarly flat tone. 

Despite the fake name and his rather abrasive behavior, he appreciated the knowledge and his personal quiet time too much to be rough with the material that would be handed to him. After all, no matter the outcome of their conversation, this was neither the first nor would it be the last time he’d try to acquire texts pertaining to his heritage. 

His predecessor in the archives did NOT have a good cataloguing system; but now that Vitas had taken over, everything was neatly organized and efficient. Unfortunately, some delicate documents had been damaged prior to his arrival, again, due to his predecessor's haphazard ways and lackadaisical management of how others handled those rare materials. Vitas fully intended to rectify this, so he was a stickler to the protocols. Thus, when this stranger refused to give his name, his fingers continued to type as he briefly looked away from his monitor.

Though his left eye was somewhat hidden behind a half veil of hair, his right eye stared at this stranger, midnight gaze so black it was nearly impossible to tell where iris ended and pupil began. That stare seemed infinite, gave the impression he could see within this person, see his soul, see what was beyond that soul--it was a stare that everyone in his life prior to Mount Phoenix had found unnerving, eerie, as though Death itself tore them open to read every moment of their lives, every indiscretion and sin laid bare, every hidden secret and desire they feared the world ever knowing.

"Your name is required for the purposes of liability should damage to the materials occur during your research." Again, his voice was even and quiet, downright mechanical in its baritone.

But, just like that, the stare was over. His gaze returned to the monitor, his fingers still tapping fluidly at the keys, unhindered, clearly a multitasker. He continued to listen to the man make his request, not at all bothered by the tone; in fact, he appreciated the fact this patron was so direct.

"That is an extensive request. Do you read Greek?" he asked flatly. "If not, then I will translate the documents for you while you investigate materials available in Korean. Or Russian." Yet before this patron could ask, Vitas explained as though anticipating the stranger would ask how he knew about the native tongue. "You have a lilt."

When the stranger spoke his name, again, Vitas appeared unfazed--mostly because he had a very logical way of thinking; his name was on his ID badge, which was clearly visible, and honestly it was more of a convenience to him for others to read it and remember it--and if they mispronounced it, then he would correct them; but this stranger had said it correctly, which was a nice change. Somewhat.

Any chance Vitas could help him? "Suuuuuuuure," he replied slowly, continuing his typing. "Once I have your name," he added. "Here, you have access to the infinite wealth of knowledge pertaining to the gods to learn and implement as you wish, knowledge that has spurned and quelled wars, destroyed realms and created new worlds. All that is asked in return is your name."

[mpxmaxim]

There it was. Something in Maxim sparked when he heard In-Soo talk about his determination. A feeling he tended to dismiss until it got too obvious to ignore. Proper and unfiltered respect. If he had had someone to track down his sister back in the day—even if it was just to confirm she was alive and safe—he would've given everything he had to make it happen. Unfortunately for his younger self, it would still take years for him to find out the truth. He could only hope that his victim-turned-acquaintance wouldn't have to suffer the same fate. His focus was broken once more when he watched In-Soo signal a request to the bartender and would his siblings not keep an eye on him, Maxim might've risked the same. One sip couldn't hurt, right? Especially on such a joyous occasion of settling for peace with a foe. But his family was brutal and—given that the rest of his siblings would know about it too before the night would be over—ready to make him pay severely for a misstep like this. Just like he made them promise they would when he swore off the poison. “No.” It took a good chunk of his willpower to tear his gaze off the temptation and look at In-Soo instead, his stoic demeanor and tendency to be stingy on words giving up no clue what he meant. That is, until he spoke up again. “No dreams doesn't mean death.” Maxim glanced at the glass in his hand, carefully swirling the last bit of the drink around in an act of utter poise. A distraction more so for himself than anyone else. He didn't want to admit the possible alternative to his counterpart in parts frustration and parts shame. Nevertheless, he rolled his shoulders back to straighten his spine—a habit to stall he thought he dropped years ago—and looked at In-Soo when he spoke, “He might just be too far for me to reach.” Unlike those of his biological father, Maxim's abilities had limitations that he didn't intend to mention to anyone, let alone someone who was still well within their rights to hold resentment against him. If he were kinder, the son of Phobetor would've admitted that Hua wouldn't even have to be too far away to escape his powers. But the word ‘kind’ only occurred in the same sentence as his name when it was followed by ‘of’ and a myriad of unflattering adjectives. So he kept quiet for a moment, not speaking while he diverted his full attention to his counterpart; waiting for him to decide whether he'd like to proceed with his plans. When he chose not to, a small spark of relief rustled in his chest. He wouldn't have minded entering In-Soo's dreams again if he had asked him to. But the possibility of inducing a nightmare just for a chance to get more information and ultimately still failing to show any progress, left a bad taste in his mouth. For just a blink of a second, his eyes widened at the sound of gratitude. Whatever he expected, this certainly wasn't it. He wanted to speak up and say that he wasn't looking purely because he felt like he owed it to his past victim. Maxim promised his mentor, Athena, that he would apologize to In-Soo for the torment he put him through and seeing as he was utterly hopeless with verbal apologies, actions felt like a much easier way to ask for forgiveness.

A small nod confirmed his acknowledgement of the instructions before he drank the last bit of his drink and stood up. It would confuse him later just as much as it did at the moment as to why his hand raised to grab onto In-Soo''s shoulder in an unintentionally rough but intentionally reassuring manner. “You have no reason to trust me on this, but I know how you're feeling right now.” Unhurried and with a quick glance towards the bartender and back at the man in the other seat, Maxim stood up. “And letting go of him is the best thing you can do. Because if you don't,” his hands travelled into the pocket of his costume, fishing out a small pack of cigarettes to grab one of the remaining few and put the box back where it came from. “…you're going to destroy yourself without ever getting a step closer to him.” It might've not been the optimistic talk anyone in In-Soo's situation might've needed—uplifting wasn't exactly a description attached to the son of Phobetor—but it was at least honest. With a final nod towards the shape-shifter, Maxim walked away from the bar and towards the exit of the hall.

Unfortunately for him, In-Soo had discovered that alcohol made everything easier, at least for him. Hua's disappearance, his pain, his loneliness. Everything was more bearable, more acceptable with a glass of liquor or a fancy, colorful cocktail. Not even the following hangovers or headaches couldn't stop him to fall back into temptation.

The vet didn't say anything, observing Maxim as he looked around him, following his gaze towards the partying crowd, the laughters and clinging of glasses resonating around them. He noticed the young man and woman but he didn't ask about them. It was the other man's own world that he didn't want to invade. 

Not being invited to someone's world was something he had the utmost respect for. 

"I certainly hope I do" In-Soo answered, grinning. The sarcasm didn't bother him, the vodka in his veins like a shield against people's words. "I did. I can be a wolf, I don't need to be a werewolf." He kept observing Maxim as he drank, the way he was looking at the offered alcohol. He could feel the other's tension, the desire he kept pushing away. In a way, he admired the determination he himself lacked. 

"I get it. People dream, even if they don't always remember it. So no dreams means death, doesn't it ?" the vet added, shifting on his seat to look in front of him, his eyes fixed on the bottles and mirrors behind the bar. "But I know that he's still alive, I feel it in my guts." He finished his vodka, beckoning the bartender closer for another one.

In-Soo listened and though his mind agreed with Maxim, his heart was screaming for him to try. He knew it would be the worst idea of all his worst ideas but he couldn't stop entertaining the thought. He would disappoint so much people though. Juyeon, Chang'e, Sundrop. Maybe  Kaz, Angela and even Mai. His sanity was already too far gone to risk losing what was left of it.

So maybe, for once, he should trust the other and listen to his advices. After all, he knew about the risks of his powers more than anyone else.

"Thank you for your sincerity, Maxim" the vet simply said, sighing. "But it's not fair of me to keep asking this of you. So maybe try for a few more days then let it go. That's why I must learn to do too."

[mpxmaxim]

Although it often felt like his safe place, Maxim hadn’t had the chance to visit the library in a while; too caught up in his daily life. Between two jobs, training sessions multiple times a week and the annoying but growing habit of at least trying to socialize, there wasn’t much time left to spend on his studies. Nevertheless, he made an effort to set aside some time at least once a week to stop by his favorite sanctuary of knowledge. His studies were crucial to his personal goal to find out more about his heritage and subsequently master his powers. After all, brute strength and luck weren’t going to be enough to taste the sweet revenge he promised himself he’d get. 

The tattoo artist had grown to understand the sorting system, making it easy for him to find exactly what he’s been looking for. However, when he stood in front of the shelves he frequented for the first time in a while, nothing made sense to him. Everything was wrong, scattered, lost. For a long while, he stood there frozen, eyebrows furrowed, while his gaze scanned the archives that were filed in a way that had yet to make any sense to him. 

Ultimately, though, his pride was pushed aside with a deep sigh to allow his longing for vengeance to flourish. Unhurried, but visibly annoyed, he made his way towards the employee he registered when he entered. Given that he spent a considerable amount of his free time at the library, it was safe to say that he had seen every employee or volunteer at least once. Hell, Maxim recognized frequent visitors on the streets just because he spent countless hours reading and throwing dirty looks to anyone who kept him from it. So when he spotted the unfamiliar worker sitting at his desk, he was sure he was new to his job. Was he the one who messed up the chaotic system Maxim was so accustomed to?

His lips parted to speak, but only a silent breath escaped when the other spoke up instead. He sounded bored, but not yet disinterested. As if he wanted to help Maxim, but only to get back to whatever it was he was doing as soon as possible. 

“You don’t need my name.” The words sounded like a fact, his voice cold and steady, making it clear that he had no intention to give out any personal information to a stranger. No matter how much he depended on his help to find what he was looking for. “I need information about the Oneiroi. Anything you’ve got. Books, scrolls, scripts, I don't care.” While his request seemed more like a demand, there was a clear lack of impatience or hostility in his tone. The ID badge caught his eyes for a fraction of a second before his lips tugged into a hint of a lopsided sneer and his gaze danced around the employee’s face. Although he promised Athena to never again enter and subsequently ruin a stranger’s dreams for his own amusement, his habit, of scanning their every feature and etching their image into his mind, was hard to shake. “Any chance you could help me, Vitas?” The name sounded mockingly familiar on his tongue, a sugarcoated taunt to magnify his knowledge over the other’s name, however insignificant that detail might be for now.

Shadow Feathers

Closed starter for the nightmare on a mission @mpxmaxim

It was a quiet day in the archives. Foot traffic had been minimal at best which was how Vitas liked it. His third day on the job and he had already recategorized, reorganized, and rearranged he entire archives into a far more efficient and superior system than it had been prior to his arrival. The quiet did not bother him in the slightest, it gave him leeway to complete his tasks unhindered. Most patrons preferred to keep to the upper levels for their research, rarely had subjects for which they needed deeper investigations into the more antiquated aspects of history, so Vitas spent his time this day scanning documents and translating them.

Midnight eyes stared at the laptop monitor that reflected his current project upon the lenses of his silver-rimmed glasses. The tall and pale waif of a figure sat at his desk that was perfectly organized and devoid of any personal affects--just a computer and a lamp. The desk sat ahead of rows upon rows and aisles upon aisles of shelves filled with documents and artifacts and boxes filled with KNOWLEDGE. And the person sitting at the desk's comfortable swivel chair seemed as clean as his space, albeit nearly swallowed by the dark grey cardigan that covered the black turtleneck and slacks, neck-length hair of night just long enough to be pulled back into a very small ponytail at the base of his skull and out of the way of his somewhat limited vision, unbothered by the loose locks that did fall before his left eye. His name was no secret, on plain view via his ID badge which hung from the black lanyard about his neck, a pewter pin in the shape of a raven on either strap. His typing was seamless and quiet, smooth and unburdened by any mistakes as he translated recent scans from Latin to Korean. He did not look away from the screen, however, as someone approached--nor did he appear perturbed by the fact that someone was interrupting his task; he could pick up with his translations at any time, but addressing a patron's inquiries was also part of his job.

"Your name and request," he stated flatly with a quiet and emotionless baritone, not looking to the stranger that had arrived at his desk, still typing.

[mpxmaxim]

&. 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 (𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬?) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

(  various  dialogue  prompts  to  send  to  your  worst  enemy  (affectionate).  feel  free  to  change  how  you  seem  fit.  )

❛ oh great, it's you again. ❜

❛ you? kill me? that's funny. ❜

❛ for being someone you hate, i'm sure on your mind a lot. ❜

❛ you're the last person i wanted to see, actually. ❜

❛ do us both a favor. stay away from me. ❜

❛ you really are an asshole, you know that? ❜

❛ i'm the asshole? what does that make you then? ❜

❛ sometimes i think you must hate me. ❜

❛ i thought you said you never wanted to see me again. ❜

❛ if you want me to go, then you have to tell me to leave. ❜

❛ well, someone's cranky today. ❜

❛ well, someone needs to shut the fuck up. ❜

❛ just stay out of my way. ❜

❛ of all the idiots in the world, i'm stuck with you. ❜

❛ what is it you want this time? ❜

❛ sometimes i wonder if you're in love with me. ❜

❛ do you honestly think this is easy for me? ❜

❛ why would i ever want to be friends with you? ❜

❛ can we please just talk? ❜

❛ there is nothing for us to talk about. ❜

❛ you can yell at me later. just let me help you. ❜

❛ touch me, and you're dead. ❜

❛ oh, so now you care? ❜

❛ there is something deeply wrong with you. ❜

❛ i know i'm the last person you probably want to see, but... ❜

❛ you don't think we could be friends, do you? ❜

❛ i'm tired of fighting against you. ❜

❛ don't pretend you give a shit about me. ❜

❛ you're an idiot, but... i trust you. ❜

❛ oh, don't be cute. ❜

❛ wait, did you just say that i'm cute? ❜

❛ we're not good for each other. ❜

❛ if i say yes, will you shut up? ❜

❛ don't you have to be stupid somewhere else? ❜

❛ maybe we should kiss just to break the tension. ❜

❛ i'm sorry i can't turn off my feelings as easily as you. ❜

❛ maybe there's a universe out there where we're friends. ❜

❛ how can you be so smart yet so dumb at the same time? ❜

❛ don't think this changes anything between us. ❜

❛ you look ridiculous in that outfit, by the way. ❜

❛ if you die, i'll kill you. ❜

❛ is that a challenge? ❜

❛ ah, so you're not heartless after all. ❜

❛ i don't think i've ever seen you smile. ❜

❛ you never cared about me, so why now? ❜

❛ why didn't you kill me when you had the chance? ❜

❛ i don't even remember why we started fighting. ❜

❛ i don't have time for distractions right now. ❜

❛ you're not as bad as everyone says you are. ❜

❛ enemies make the best lovers, you know. ❜

[mpxmaxim]

Even without the added bonus of his inherited powers to induce anxiety, Maxim knew he had the tendency to intimidate people. Bitter to his core, he has never radiated a positive aura and, frankly, he has never cared for it. Most of the time, he viewed his ability to thread the line between a pessimist and realist as an asset rather than a disadvantage; especially ever since he started working as a security guard. 

He breathed an exasperated sigh that carved his expression into something more rigid—the type of look he usually reserved for clients at his job who went too far—while he waited for the stranger to speak. But when he did, Maxim’s face softened with the way his eyelids twitched up and his lips parted slightly. As if to tell words that carry no sound. Russian. It sounded tender and natural coming from his unexpected housemate, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than that. 

Speechless by the sound of his native language on the island out of anyone’s mouth other than his siblings, Maxim simply stared at the stranger. His expression turned unreadable, hinting at his internal struggle to gather his thoughts. “How…” the words were meant to be a question, but he quickly realized that he didn’t have the slightest clue what it was that he wanted to ask. He’d almost forgotten all about their run, the odd coincidences that led them to where they were standing, in lieu of trying to figure out more about the stranger. Who is he? And why is he at his apartment complex? 

His head turned just far enough to follow the runner’s gesture, not yet ready to fully let him out of his sight. “Home?” The question was another one that trailed into oblivion, never elaborating on it. 

While words have never been his forte, the tattoo artist has learned how to weaponize silence. So after he listened to the stranger’s explanation, he didn’t speak up or move in order to stretch out a few more seconds. To make him wait for his decision or any kind of reaction. First would come a deep exhale, then his arms would uncross and fall back to his side before he’d take a step back to allow his housemate entry. “You must be new here. How come you speak Russian?” despite the rather harmless nature of his question, Maxim’s tone remained just as icy and emotionless as before. It wasn’t anything personal, though; his voice rarely sounds warm, regardless of the situation.

“You didn’t offend me.” Would he be kinder, he’d elaborate on his statement and tell him that his behavior caught him off guard and left him confused for a bit. On this island, people seemed to be unpredictable, and Maxim was unsure whether this was a joke he wasn’t in on or some playfully innocent act. But ‘kind’ was low on the list of descriptive words that would fit the artist. So instead, he simply left it hanging in the air as a fact before he fished his keys out of a small pocket on the inside of his jacket and turned to walk towards his apartment. “But don’t do it again.”

Maybe they’d be on completely different floors to make their co-existence easier. It was a silent request he put out into the universe. And while whoever was in charge of his fate seemed to enjoy seeing him suffer, perhaps this time he’d be in luck.

All right, in retrospect, maybe it hadn't been the wisest of decisions; if he had known that his silly antics and playfulness would have elicited such a heated response, then maybe Leto would have run toward the police department instead rather than giving this stranger the benefit of a doubt. Still, he held the door open for the man, letting him in first--but when Leto himself was ultimately denied entry by the physical block of the stranger's body and a verbal barrage, he took a quick step back to distance himself and the smile completely vanished from his countenance.

For the first time since arriving on the island, he actually felt the cold prickles of fear in his heart, mixed with the tightening of sadness and regret. It hadn't been his intention to upset anyone, and now it was clear this stranger--and seeming neighbor--was downright irate at him and his ridiculous behavior. And now that he knew this guy at least lived in the same building as him, no doubt they would eventually learn which apartment belonged to whom, so it wasn't like he could really escape this guy anyway.

He just wanted to go back to his burrow and hide under his blankets for a while.

Kaz? Invidia? Those names were unfamiliar to him, but he took note of them should he ever encounter this guy again. In the silence the stranger had provided after his questions, Leto did not say anything at first--and perhaps his own quiet pause went a bit too long and might just worsen the other man's anger, but he did answer eventually, with a very slow and soft, somewhat timid baritone confession of "I...don't...know...who those...people are...sorry..." he said, his enchanted pendant translating his speech to the stranger's native tongue, "I just...uhm...I would like to go home...please..." he added with a slight gesture forward, indicating the apartments beyond.

He pressed his lips together in thought as he watched the fellow rather animatedly ask his next question. So what was the silliness about then? Again, he answered honestly, but with a quiet hesitation. "I noticed we were going the same direction...so...I thought you might light some entertainment...sorry...it wasn't my intention to offend you...sorry..."

[mpxmaxim]

By the time he finally finishes writing his name for the first time, he can taste a faint hint of iron in his mouth. In his concentrated state, he didn't notice how he's been chewing on the inside of his lip. The spot feels raw and bloody under his tongue, reminding him of an involuntary flashback to his childhood, when he used to do it more often. Nowadays, he has replaced that habit with a different, less impractical one. Though it seems like old actions call for old rituals and re-learning how to write is definitely somewhat of a blast from the past. 

When he hears Invidia speak up again, one of his shoulders lift with a half-hearted scoff as his gaze jumps from his second attempt to the first one to compare. Maxim briefly looks up at the sinner, but doesn’t speak just yet, his focus quickly drawn back to the way his name is crookedly written on the piece of paper at the sound of the insult. He wouldn’t voice it, but he knows his co-worker is right. While good everyday handwriting and his ability to draw weren’t inherently linked, Maxim knows from experience that he won’t be able to produce anything of value when he still struggles to hold a pen. 

Teeth gnaw on the same spot of his lip again when he kicks off another attempt, his mouth only relaxing at the instructions of holding the pen in a more easygoing manner. 

“My fantasy?” amusement blends into his tone when he finishes writing and looks back up at the sinner. “I wouldn’t say you being a personal nurse would be a fantasy…” He places the pen onto the paper to stretch out fingers that are cramping under the unfamiliarity of the grip. The soft but intentional crack of his joints fills the room in the short moment he doesn’t speak before he picks the pen up again. “If I’d get to choose, I’d rather see you tied up and with your mouth shut somewhere so you couldn’t bother me.” Would it not be for the distant sound of venom and sarcasm in his voice, someone who isn’t familiar with their dynamic might mistake his words as something said in earnest. 

The innocence of the grin on his lips is just as forced as the handwriting on the paper; bringing emphasis to his jab before he picks the pen up again to start writing. Too lost in his own focus, Maxim only hums quietly in response to his name, not looking up. But when the paper reads ‘Max’ and his hand stops moving, it’s almost as if he’s only now realizing the implications. Quietly and without changing anything about his position, his eyes move from the paper to nothing in particular in front of him, back to the paper, to the bandages on his arm and then finally up to the sinner. It’s only then that he moves and leans back into an upright sitting position against the mattress. 

Confusion, disbelief, and skepticism blend into an expression that closely resembles surprise. There is no malice in his face, only a glint of curiosity in the eyes that meet the sinner’s. Is he being serious? It certainly sounds like it, but why would he like to know?

Swallowing the initial shock, Maxim’s eyebrows furrowed to give his face a pondering touch. “I…” he hesitates, “I haven’t really given much thought about explicit rules, but whoever would agree to it, would be subjected to nightmares whenever I enter their dreams.” The only reason his words sound matter-of-fact is that he’s telling the truth. Giving someone nightmares is a side effect he has no control over, so the practice he’d be getting out of the exercise would be to see how well he can tell a story. How well could he manipulate somebody to dream what he wants them to dream? 

“What I did to In-Soo,” his eyes fall back to the paper and his hand starts moving again to continue writing to distract himself from the distant but growing feeling of shame setting inside of him, “was torture. It was random; I just wanted to learn how to use my powers against someone I know nothing of.” Finally, he looks back up at Invidia, his mask of nonchalance ready to slip back onto his face. “Giving someone nightmares comes easy to me. Controlling them or even just steering them into a certain direction doesn't.” 

The thought of writing fully abandoned at this point, he places the pen onto the paper and searches for something in the sinner’s eyes. An indication that he’s joking or some confirmation whether he’s talking about himself or someone else.   “I mean…yeah.” If his injured shoulder would allow him to, Maxim would shrug. “If I find someone who’s twisted enough to willingly let me mess with their brain, I’d respect their boundaries.” The reason for that isn’t exactly noble. It’s a selfish thing, really. Should he find a volunteer, he’d be foolish to lose his training buddy by deliberately crossing a line.

“Why you asking?” Finally, his face lights up with the usual smug smirk again. “Do you know somebody?”

♮

    Maxim’s little jabs at him hardly distract Invidia’s eyes as they watch the way the other works to write his name across the top of the page. It looks like shit in a handbag but it’s far better than he anticipated it being. There is hope that he’ll recover quite quickly and be able to not only take care of others, but take care of himself well. Invidia doesn’t give a fig about whether or not Maxim is ready to thwart a thief or wrestle down a would-be aggressor at work just yet. Can he fend for himself alone if he needs to? Would he be able to eat well or fix himself something if he was hungry? The rest would follow soon after that.

    Then he’d be helpful at work again.

    “Yeah…” Invidia says so (not) helpfully to the little jab before Maxim is focusing too on his own writing for a bit.

    A bit of time passes with them like that before Maxim is speaking again and saying he thought the sinner wanted to play nurse. A chuckle and a roll of Invidia’s eyes is what the injured receives in reply. “Is that your fantasy? Nurse play? How utterly vanilla and yet somehow surprisingly base for you.”

   He taps the paper as he watches the second attempt at the name. It’s terrible! “Pathetic. Do better. Are you useless or just stupid?” There’s no real fire behind the insults, just urging for the other to try again- the delivery foul in its word choice but Invidia is more for efficiency over gentleness toward Maxim. “I always figured your thing was- don’t hold it so tight.. there you go- I don’t know, wax play or something light like that.”

   Invidia goes back to watching the way letters form as the other writes, his mind thinking on earlier topics carefully as he lets the bit he said float between them. “Max.. what would it mean if someone did agree to let you into their dreams? Would it be like what you did to In-Soo?” His eyes lift from the page then and look to the other. “Would you stop if it hurt or if someone told you not to go into part of their mind?”

[mpxmaxim]

Maxim eyed the stranger briefly but visibly curious. Why was he following him? If what he was doing could be considered following in the first place. His focus shifted to something around them, something invisible and without moving his head, his gaze darted from surrounding buildings to trees to any other place that a camera could be attached to. Because this was the only logical explanation; a prank. One that was being recorded somewhere out of sight. Why else would a completely stranger suddenly turn up and run alongside him? Whoever orchestrated this kind of joke—he could think of a handful of clowns in his life that could be responsible—seemingly wanted a reaction from the otherwise impassive tattoo artist. It would be his pleasure to deprive whoever was behind this of their expected result. Maxim took in a deep breath to even his composure and only slipped up briefly to furrow his eyebrows when he watched the man next to him suddenly turn around. Whether the unknown runner was in on the joke that was currently played on him or not, the son of Phobetor decided at that moment that he didn’t like him. Maybe it was envy over the easy with which he ran alongside him despite the handicap of running backwards, or perhaps it was just sheer annoyance with his existence or maybe that obnoxious smile. For now at least, Maxim was unable to pinpoint what exactly pissed him off most. His only solace was the knowledge, that he was close to home and could lose him there. Perhaps he’d go on another run a while later to make up for this one. However, with each step closer to his apartment, his anger only festered and colored his face a faint shade of red. Who was that guy and more importantly, who exactly did he think he is?

A deep breath raised his shoulders when he eventually slowed down and turned to walk not far from the entrance. Maxim wanted to use that time to observe; see if the stranger would dare to go to his apartment. Of course, he thought, this would happen on the one and only day when he left his gravity knife at home. The universe—once again—loved to play tricks on him. With another, much more shallow but no less audible exhale, he fixed his eyes on at his involuntary running buddy and wondered what exactly it was he wanted. Out of all residents on the island, the tattoo artist definitely didn’t look approachable and anyone who’d knew him or knew of him, would say words of warnings to newcomers. That was the reputation he held on to his whole life, and it was the very same one he grew to love and appreciate. Because it would allow him to go about his day without any disturbances. At least that was the case until the man at the door ruined it for him.

He would lie if he’d claim he’d never been followed home or pushed into a corner in his life, but the one or two times it did happen, he learned from his mistakes. Apparently not enough to remember to lead the person anywhere but his home. Then again, Maxim didn’t perceive the man holding the door as a threat. More of a nuisance who probably agreed to prank him without knowing how lethal that agreement could turn out to be.

He made sure to wait a bit before he spoke up, in order to regulate his breath and put it into his words. His voice sounded calm and unbothered despite his inner turmoil. Walking past the man, the security guard barely passed the threshold of the door before he abruptly turned around to face him; effectively denying him entry.

“What the fuck do you want? Who sent you? Was it Kaz? Or Invidia?” Before he even finished voicing his questions, Maxim could think of at least three more people who might’ve been the masterminds behind this wicked trick. But he simply raised his eyebrows and silently waited for the newcomer in front of him to deliver some answers.

“What was all of…” the words left his mouth before he even realized that he didn’t even know how to describe this odd encounter, so instead, he just waved his hand into the general direction of their running path. “…that about?”

All right, here was an interesting dilemma.

Leto was not an idiot; he had faced stalkers before and had patients who also had stalkers; he knew a variety of precautions to take when one felt threatened. The easiest and most obvious one was, of course, do NOT go home. Find a public space. Hell, even just go straight to the police station if feeling that unsafe. But there was another element at play here--it could merely be coincidence; and what if the stranger was innocent in their synchronized trajectory? What if they really were just simply taking the same route by happenstance? He was supposed to be friendly with the residents of this island and the last thing he wanted to do was make someone feel antagonized or suspected of wrongdoing by appearing in front of police. Other options were to just befriend the stranger, or act completely unhinged, immediately retaliate (not recommended), suddenly dash off in another direction...but he did not do these things.

Oh well. Que sera, sera they say.

Might as well make it fun.

And so...Leto DID.

At least for himself anyway.

Even though the stranger gave him annoyed looks, Leto just let go of his anxiety for a moment by being a little silly. How? He seamlessly turned around, running backward while still keeping pace with the stranger--in fact, he even let his steps fall in time with the guy while flashing a warm smile despite any grimacing he received in return. Now and then, he faced forward again or ran a few paces ahead just so he could loop his arm around a lamp post for a swing about and continue his run; sometimes, he even gave a random spin on his toes, and then...wouldn't you know, before he knew it, they were back at the Manticore apartments and Leto FINALLY stopped.

But only to hold the door open for the stranger. Of course, there was no way for either of them to know whether or not the other actually LIVED in the building; he very well could have purposefully led the stranger back to another pantheon's apartments. But if he DIDN'T live there, then SURELY he wouldn't have followed Leto all the way there unless he had nefarious motives, right? All right, stranger. Your turn. Dare he continue on this path and risk exposing his residents to the childish runner or would he abandon ship?