max "FUK U I'M A DRAGON" kiesler (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
burnination) wrote2015-11-21 08:01 pm
burnination) wrote2015-11-21 08:01 pmfuck captcha
or idk anything else that needs a new place can go here
burnination) wrote2015-11-21 08:01 pm
from here: http://bakerstreet.dreamwidth.org/2938807.html?thread=1454626999#cmt1454626999
absinthe and i are taking a break from each other for a while
beer's fine
no subject
beer it is
be there in 5
no subject
cool. door's open, might be in the shower. i smell like forest.
attack of the tldr
The streets are mostly empty, the damp of rain that came and went too quick making everything smell a bit more. The pavement, the grass, the bushes. The noise of the parties going on around her are somewhat faint; Max has picked well his hotel. Twelve pack hanging from a hand, she walks her way towards it.
The walk gives her some time to go over things, as Harper does whenever she finds the time. And just like every other time where she had inspected her life for these past months Harper realizes she's happy. Truly happy. She knows this because she has never felt anything like it, not even back when her life was his life. Not even with her family, much as she can call them that these days. It's like being grabbed by the guts, unexpected, a bit unsettling, but intense nonetheless. More recently Harper has caught her reflection smiling as she goes along the most banal tasks, finding enjoyment in the simple things. She knows she owes this feeling to Max, first, and then the others that simply took her in as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Sometimes still, Harper thinks it's all undeserved, or a lie, or an illusion, but the fits of panic have become more sparse in time. Going regularly in life-threatening tasks for the sake of strangers have also managed to keep her distracted, of course. It's not the perfect life she had imagined, but is the one she so desperately needed.
Her feet lead her into the hotel without realizing. The man at reception already knows where she's going. Usually it's the entire gang going up, sometimes it's just others, sometimes just Harper. Actually, Harper tends to visit a little more often, but she consciously and unconsciously dismisses this fact, or the fact she usually ends up curled like a cat on a sofa (if not in his bed, of course). He smiles as the elevator door opens. The gesture alone would've angered her in the past, but now it prompts a smile in return. Harper likes being nice. Decent. It's so different from what she was raised to be.
The walk to Max's door is brief, and just as he mentioned, it's not locked. Helping herself in, Harper closes behind, making sure it is locked now. The sound of the shower reaches her. Huh. Harper sets the beers, ice cold, on the kitchen table. ]
I'm here! How long you're gonna take?
yaassss
after sending the text, the phone is tossed onto the bathroom counter, and max steps into the shower, spray hot enough to fog up the mirror and send a warm cloud of damp air out into the hotel room, because what is closing doors ever? it gives him time to think as well, reflect back on what's gotten him here. from the crisp north german air and smell of wheat and horses on the breeze o his mother's farmer, to the dank cell of a basement in the reed compound, to BCR's imposing halls and the bright lights of townie raves, to ashes clinging to his fingers and charcoal in the air as he passed from one fucked up little town to the next, to another cell, to Egypt and Nada and everything that was golden and didn't last, to the shadows and blood splattered corners of the demonic plane, searching for marco, and this.
recovery, it feels like. to a point. tentative recovery, with a healthy dose of waiting for the other shoe to drop. and through the last cycle of horrible, there's been harper, who he hadn't expected to ever see again after leaving school. and certainly hadn't expected to be working with, but there's something they found that resonated, and while it'd been surprising to see just how well they work together, max had realized there'd been a spot missing, until she showed up. like a false safe or a wall to lean on he'd been missing before. he hopes he's been able to provide the same.
or, at least, a warm bed to fall into when she could use the contact from someone she trusts. or, a late night text booty call, you know, whatever.
he doesn't hear the door open over the shower spray, but does hear her calling out to him, eyes blinking open under the water. ] I'll be right out.
[ hair washed, soap applied, he rinses off and cuts the water, stepping out to towel off and wrap the cloth around his hips. even if she weren't here for the whole late night half drunk booty call thing, he'd probably still come out in just a towel. nudity's never been that big of a deal to him, and harper's definitely seen him more bare than this before. on his way out, he snags a beer, and finds harper wherever she's gone to chill, shaking some of the water out of his hair. ] Good taste in beer. Did I teach you that or are you just naturally talented that way?
no subject
Harper shuffles her feet, eyes wandering as she looks for something to pass the time, so by the time he's out she's standing by a window, thumbs stuck into the back pockets of her jeans as she stares at the semi-darkness of the streets. It calls to her, as it has ever since she changed, in more ways than one, but it's not so bad she has to jump from the window and run into the closest woods around (it has been that bad a few times, and the morning phone calls to Max so he could bring her clean clothes that weren't torn everywhere weren't funny to her. To Max though...
She senses him before he speaks. Her sense of smell has grown, expanded; Max's usual tinge of forest and fire has been lessened by the shower, but it remains there. She doesn't even need to check his reflection on the window to know the man is wearing only a towel. Classic Max.
Lifting the beer that was resting on the windowsill, Harper turns around. ]
Much as I want to peg it to my natural talents... I hated beer until you showed me the way.
[ She extends her arm to clink the beer together before taking another sip, but stops herself midway. ]
What should we toast to? And don't say ritual sacrifice; there's still roasted goat in the fridge.