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Old 07-10-2014 at 11:30 PM
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Max Slate

“That will be--” the bartender said as she spun around to face him with his drink in her hand. But Max only half heard her. He did, thankful, to move his eyes up towards her face as she moved in an effort to prevent her from catching him gaping so openly. But that plan only half work. The effort to take up the slack in his jaw only progressed so far once he was greeted with the frontal vista. Hips weren't the only right places God had graced her with curves. The line of her silhouette dipped in at the waist and back out at the rib cage in a way that made Max shift unconsciously in his seat. And the fact that she was holding a glass of his favorite drink wasn't hurting the view any. Without meaning to he found his gazes newly riveted. Get your mind out the gutter. Her face, okay, he was staring at her face.

Considering all the "big" unanswered questions in Max's life, the debate over whether or not he was a chauvinistic, lecherous, misogynist (or something else in that despicable vein) was very much a small matter. He knew he was straight obviously, that one hadn't taken rocket science to solve. One of the fellow "patients" at the nut house he had previous resided in had somehow smuggled in porn and almost immediately he was able to pretty effectively cross that question off the list of things to wonder. But he was not a man without conscience. In fact conscience and instinct seemed to be the parts of “him” that were actually still rattling around in the grey stuff between his ears. So call it the good kind of human nature, or maybe even a remnant of a forgotten but well founded upbringing , but he tried to treat women with respect. That didn’t always mean he committed their names to memory before falling into bed with them, but most the time in those cases they were the ones slinking off before breakfast so it seemed alright. Even without a needle on his moral compass (and frankly even if there had been what exactly would it point at?) he still felt the need to be respectful women, and had thrown a punch of two in his time to defend one’s honor in a bar fight. Staring at the black hair falling like ebony waves around the bartender’s face and red lips that called to mind corny lines of bad poetry about ripe fruit he didn’t have to ask himself why. Creatures that possessed beauty like which could stir such feelings in his –erm… stomach among other places deserved only the best. Hell if he thought he was a religious person he would break out the lumber and nails and start building an altar to her if it would mean he was allowed to pressed his lips against hers or maybe even bite ever so gently against on that bottom lip that protruded as her mouth dropped open and—

In truth it was probably for the best that that particular line of thought had been interrupted. But the jolt was still a little too sudden for his taste and nearly sent him literally reeling as all the color drained from the beautiful face he had just been admiring and she gasped as though she had seen a ghost. If that hadn’t been enough to make his stomach clench into knot and his blood run cold the shattering of the glass in her hand that had previously held what was intended to be his bourbon would have done the trick. Max flinched and ducked at the sound, his hand flying up to shield his face reflexively from the splintering glass as he cried “Christ!” But even with her reaction and his response she held his gaze steadfastly and he couldn’t make himself look away. Not even if he wanted to. And there was a big part of him that wanted to.

Guilt is an odd concept to someone with his unusual condition. And this thought was one he had wrestled with perhaps more than any other during his not quite voluntary commitment. What if he was, or at least had been, a bad person? What if he had done bad things? Was he still supposed to feel bad about something he didn’t remember? As the days ticked by the question of if there were people who loved him seemed to answer itself. Ever wonder how a silence can be deafening? Listen to it as you sit in a eight foot by eight foot practically padded cell waiting for someone—anyone—to tell you who are. You’ll get the idea. But what’s the only thing worse than no one seeming to know who you are (including yourself)? Wondering if one day you actually will miraculously find someone who does know you… and hates you. Max attempted to swallow nervously only to find that his throat was too tight for the action and his mouth felt like it was filled with sandpaper.

He wanted to laugh it off. Make some smart-ass remark about the drink. Like…. Like he didn’t know because nothing, at all, was coming to mind as she stared at him. That was until she started blinking and lifted her hand slowly. It was like something out a horror movie. Literally, as the blood dripped from her hand that she had cut when the glass shattered as she raised it to point a solitary finger at him and said in a haunted tone, “You-“. Wes Craven could have been behind the bar directing. His brain suddenly jumped into high gear with one single word flashing in screaming red neon across his instincts. “RUN!” Now lacking any of the traditional teachers like experience Max relied almost exclusively on his instinct and had never remember (in all five years of what he could remember) disregarding its warning. Until now. Even as he felt all the blood drain from his face and a jolt of electricity shoot through his body (as though even his physical being expected him to blindly follow the suggestion), his brow furrowed and his heart skipped a beat with… hope? Holding his breath he waited and watched. Me? he thought, Me who?!? But as he watched her roll her eyes roll up toward the ceiling (in pain from the glass perhaps). He bit his lower lip lightly expecting the next foot to fall, and fall hard, probably right in his gut.

That didn’t happen. Like the proverbial pin to a balloon in a cartoon the moment seemed to pop and disappear. The bartender shook her head, through her hair over her shoulder and stated cleaning up the mess. “Uhm. I’ll get you another one," she said in a quiet tone, the only remnant of the moment that had passed a weary look in her eye as she gazed in his direction. "On the house.” Max felt vaguely like he had missed a step going down a flight of stairs and free fell out into nothing. He blinked repeatedly and spread his hands out, palms up, on the bar leaning towards her slightly expecting something—anything more. But it didn’t immediately come.

“That’s it?!” he balked incredulously, “That’s all you are going to say?” He closed his eyes and shook his head trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. Had he actually been recognized? By some one he had no recollection of meeting? Frankly he was beginning to think that was impossible. That his reality was less like he simply didn’t remember anything before five years ago, it was more like he had failed to exist before five years ago. That was how he lived his life and it was working for him, that is right up until this moment. “Like hell…” he muttered to himself turning his hands over and slapping the sticky bar top lightly. “Look madame I will pay for the drink—hell I’ll buy the whole damned bottle if you’ll just answer one question for me,” okay it was entirely possible that the desperation in his tone made him sound a little deranged, but that was appropriate since he was feeling more like he was losing his mind at this moment that he ever had on the funny farm. Max swallowed hard and dug a breath from the depths of his chest where it had seemed to hide. “Have we--you know—met?” just trying to form the words felt like a hand tightening around his throat, “I mean… Do you…” his shoulder rose and fell rapidly as though he was out of breath as voice became a small almost strangled sound. “Do you…know who I am?”




Max | Pieter | Polaris | Phoenix | Protagonist | I love Sam <3
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Old 07-14-2014 at 07:15 PM
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 Post [72] »


Valentina Favalora

"That's it?!"

The man of her dreams, and not in a romantic sense but in an all too creepy way, barked at her, as Valentina perpetuated to wipe away at the bar. Clearly her performance of bartender having what looked like to be a seizure didn't settle well with her one man audience.

"That's all you're going to say?"

Keeping her head down, she winced at the question. That was all there could be. Valentina had not told anyone of anything about her… Well, power? Gift? Curse? Ultimately, that had not been decided yet. It made her feel different than the world and almost closed off. Intuition everyone had. Why was hers so strong, so abnormal, and making her look like babbeo in public. Especially tonight. In fact, this was the worst it was. So uncontrollable and powerful, nearly knocking her off her feet and slitting off her hand. She could not tell him anything else. That would be too close. They would throw her away and lock her up. He would point, call her names, and the entire bar would know that she was some strange wannabe witch, or at least claiming to be.

Plus, she could not risk even trusting him. Valentina’s dreams were not to be taken lightly. She had learned that ever since she was a little girl. The biggest of them all was the fire where she had watched her only true love burn away along with his home. She had continued to have dreams of fire. Every time she would gaze into his eyes all she saw was ash and flame. Valentina should have trusted herself more. She could have saved him if she only believed in herself more. This man, the only thing knowing of him that he liked bourbon, was continuously in her dreams. His brains scattered and blood on her hands and arms. This meant something. It could mean everything.

She wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

His hands slapping the bar made her stop wiping like a neurotic person and look up at him. Obviously he was frustrated. His breathing began growing in beats, and his eyes looked confused and frazzled. Valentina could sense and feel in her gut the urgency and heightened tension spewing at her like electrical sparks. She couldn’t help but to join in with his breathing pattern, sitting on the edge of a cliff waiting for his next words.

“Look madame,” Well that made her feel old, “I will pay for the drink—hell I’ll buy the whole damned bottle if you’ll just answer one question for me.”

She hadn’t blinked yet. He had her frozen. The upcoming question burned in her chest. Their eyes were locked.

“Have we--you know—met?”

Valentina, her eyes still wide with a dark seeded confusion, turned worried and concerned. This was more than him thinking she was insane or questioning what had just happened. He needed to know… If they had met? How confusing could this be? Wouldn't he have known? It felt like they had met to her because of her dreams, but… Did this mean he had no idea or was he just confused because he had met so many people? Had her episode scared him into confusion?

The way his shoulders rose and fall in distress, his vocal chords straining to get sound out, and the desperation in his eyes… It felt like something more.


“I mean… Do you…Do you…know who I am?”

Figure out my puzzle.

He's my puzzle.

Valentina, her entire mind and spirit moving way ahead of her mind, leaned in closer. She grasped her edge of the bar tightly with her hands, and lowered her heads so clearly her eyes were looking deep into him. She picked a spot. His third eye. The Brow Chakra. The blacks of her whites became larger, as she set in her mind, his face and his body against a plain white background. Valentina concentrated on the spot of him. She allowed herself to open up to him. She could feel her body feel as it were floating, until she felt like nothing but an observer of his light. The background flashed. It flashed colors that were hitting her like colored bulbs exploding into her eyes. Valentina whimpered out loud, wincing, digging her nails into the wood.

His aura was everything and then… nothing.

She jolted backward, now the world coming back into her view and he became softly focused with the environment. In all her years of practicing with auras and meditation, Valentina had never experienced that.

"You are nothing." She couldn't help but whisper, still in shock and amazed at what had just happened. Then the reality of it wiped away at the amazement. There was something wrong with this man in her dreams, with no color, with no life. Valentina needed to get away from him. Her reactions were going to make him wonder and question. She had spent years hiding this, it was not about to be about by this demon sitting across from her that invaded her dreams.

"My shift is through." She said without emotion, throwing down her rag, and beginning to walk out from behind the bar, ducking under it. Valentina had to walk past him to get to the door. She threw her purse over her shoulder, holding her dried bloodied hand with her other, and prepared herself to walk past him, hoping that he would let her leave.
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Old 07-14-2014 at 09:03 PM
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 Post [73] »


OOC: Omg! Look what I found! It's a muse! *pets lovingly* I forgot how warm and soft and cuddly they could be. So glad it decided to come out and play! BIC:

Max Slate

Max was only vaguely aware of the fact that he had stopping breathing. It was too difficult. It felt as though a massive unseen hand had grabbed his chest and was squeezing, trying to get the proverbial blood from the proverbial stone. Frankly he couldn't be bothered to care as he stared at her, mouth slightly agape. He didn't know what he was expecting her to say, or even what he wanted her to say. Some might argue than anything was better than what he had which was a fat stinking pile of nothing. But as much as he would have liked to believe that, he wasn't buying it. And as the second hand of the clock seemed to grind to a deafening halt while he waited for her to respond, for better or worse, he was knew it was both fear and hope that had seized his stomach and contorted it into this inextricable knot. But she didn't respond, not with words at least.

Still feel as though the world was moving in slow motion the bartender leaned towards his and he fought the concurrent and conflicted desires to back away and lean in closer, instead remaining in stone-like stillness. He caught himself glancing down at her white-knuckled grip on the bar edge but when he looked back up to try to meet her eye he found instead that she seemed to be staring instead at the middle of his forehead. His brow began to furrow but even the slight movement sent an electric chill coursing down the length of his spine as surely as if she had reached to let her fingers dance gently as his skin. Max let out the breath that he had been holding in a ragged gasp while at the same moment the dark, increasingly mysterious, woman across from his made a sudden whimpering sound like a wounded animal before quickly jumping backwards as though he'd struck her. Max recoiled reflexively from the sound, glancing uncertainly at his own hands still flat against the bar as though he possibly could have done something without realizing it. He wasn't feeling the most control of himself at this moment as the world spun slightly and the shapes and colors outside what was happening in the electrified air between them had seemed to fade.

"You are nothing," she said in a whisper so quiet that Max would have sworn he had felt as much as heard the words. Obviously any sane person would take such a statement from a perfect stranger as an insult. But the fact was that Max wasn't exactly sane, he might have believed he was insane until about sixty seconds ago, but he was quite literally not all there. And beyond that he wasn't so certain that she was a perfect stranger. Beyond the fact that she had never actually answered his question of if she knew him there was something about her simple statement that had made him feel exposed such a visceral way that he had finally come to understand what all the other whack jobs had been talking about in group therapy about the dream of showing up to school naked. He didn't feel insulted. He felt as though she had reached into thin air and slapped him in the face with his darkest secret. His medical condition was well documented on more medical charts and police reports than he could probably count. But the emptiness that resided in the pit of his stomach on those quiet moments when he would let his mind wander only to discover there was no place for it to go in the black. The lack of bearing towards what had made him who he was and what that final product was exactly was something he didn't discuss with anyone. To do so would mean giving voice to the only great fear that he harbored and chose to ignore instead. What if he never discovered, never remembered, what if that really was all that he was... nothing?

Max was attempting to wrap his brain around the realization that she knew something she shouldn't, the possibility that she knew something he didn't, and the effort it took to suppress his fear as he pressed his hands hard against the smooth wood of the bar and felt his heart and stomach race each other into his throat. Suddenly she threw he towel down on the bar and declared out of nowhere, "My shift is through." Had someone dumped a bucket of cold water over his head he couldn't have been more surprised than he was at that moment as time suddenly sprung to life with a whip-lash inducing speed that made his head spin violently. "No," he whispered pitifully to himself through dry lips as she ducked under the counter at the end of the bar and quickly and resolutely turned towards the exit. "No," he said again more firmly as she threw her purse over her shoulder and started past him though she seemed not to hear. Or perhaps it was him who wasn't hearing over the persistent pounding of his heart in his ears. "NO!" he said finally and defiantly as she was a step beyond him.

Without thinking he leapt from his stool and reached out desperately grabbing her hand at the wrist, not realizing until he felt the warm wetness of blood on his fingertips that he had inadvertently grabbed her injury. Perhaps it was this realization, perhaps it was the final tangible feel of her skin against his, or maybe, just maybe it was the how in the same instant he was ashamed of himself in that untanglible way for doing anything that might be mistaken as rough treatment of a woman. "I'm sorry," he muttered even though he couldn't bring himself to let go just yet as he scrambled to place his much large frame between her and escape. "You can't leave," he pleaded. "Please, don't go." Max swallowed hard and finally let go of her hand as he glanced around at the narrowing and not discreetly threatening gaze of some of the regular patrons watching him closely. But he couldn't shake this feeling that this woman who's name he didn't even know had reached into the depths of his soul and exposed so secret he hadn't even been aware of how important it was to him until she had brought it roughly into the light. Swallowing hard and raising his own now blood tinged palms up in surrender his tilted his head in slightly and whispered, "How could you possibly know? About the... the nothing... Do you know me? How?" He turn his chin slighlty to look down on her imploringly, all the color drained from his face. He wasn't certain he could stop her again if she chose to go but he prayed she wouldn't. Some indescribable instinct, which he always trusted, told him that this woman who poured drinks at a dingy hole in the wall on Paris' 'bad side' could possibly be the salvation he hadn't let himself hope existed. Though it was equally possible, as impossible as both seemed, that she could be his damnation.




Max | Pieter | Polaris | Phoenix | Protagonist | I love Sam <3
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Old 07-14-2014 at 10:00 PM
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 Post [74] »


ooc: I wanna pet that muse too ;) … BIC:


Valentina Favalora

"NO!"

She quickened her steps.

The exit to so many things right now was so close. The pain that suddenly erupted in her hand made the exit an impossible reach, and for Valentina to let out a growl. She was now being turned and faced with the man of her dreams, almost chest to chest. So, shouldn't this moment be the perfect moment in a girls life? Being stopped by the man of her dreams. Yeah, Valentina wasn't every girl, and this was now that motion picture perfect everyone had dreamed up of. Unless, the man of their dreams was the man whose brains were all around her, covering her body, then she supposed it was the same thing. Valentina could feel the tears welling in her eyes from the pain, but also being a somewhat prisoner with him. There were too many things to deal with right now. She needed air. She needed a freaking bandage. No one could grab her like that. She felt the anger boiling in her stomach. It was put on hold with the desperation in his eyes. It was genuine. It was saddening.

"I'm sorry," He said and she believed him. Valentina felt his hot hand against her blood, and this was way too close of a connection than she wanted with him. It was almost like a metaphor for a blood pact. Something she suddenly wanted to vomit from the thought of. "You can't leave. Please don't go."

She wouldn't. Yes, she would leave this bar, go home, and dig through her books, her dream diaries, her everything she had to conjure up what this could all mean. But she would go back to him. Valentina knew better than to hide away from a gut feeling or a dream. Plus, his connection was strong. His emotions and actions were too questionable to think he was just a somebody with a psycho agenda. Plus, as awful as this was to give into…. He was, in fact, her puzzle. Funny how the world and fate can make you claim ownership of someone unwillingly.

He released her hand, putting his up apologetically and pleadingly. Valentina watched the blood, her blood, drip from his fingertips. The image was almost that of a painting. His desperation glowing behind his icy eyes that gripped hers and would not let her get past him. Wouldn't let her go. Haunted her. They were strong but seemed so lost…

"How could you possibly know? About the... the nothing... Do you know me? How?"

About the nothing. Valentina's mouth opened, and she halfway shook her head, looking at him with puzzlement. Did he know he was nothing? That his aura was completely blank? Of course he probably couldn't read into that like she could, but something was not being said here about this man that he knew about and she was getting at. Did he think he was nothing too?

Valentina knew she was in this now. There was no turning back.

Before she replied, Valentina looked around her to see the owner behind the bar, looking like he wanted to pounce on him. She held up her bloodied hand to stop him from worrying. She got this. Plus, she could not feel the pain. She had worse and would get worse. Well, that was a thought…

"First off, if you ever touch me again I will slit your penis off, and keep it as my pet." She said through gritted teeth and serious eyes. Then, her face changed into calm and hesitant.

Because she knew what she had to do.

"I'm not talking about this here." Valentina could not believe she was doing this, but the prodding in her brain was telling her it was the only thing to do. She grabbed his bloody hand, well, her blood on his hand, and grabbed a pen clicking it against her stomach and began to write down an address on his forearm where there wasn't any blood. "Meet me at this address. Do not bring your phone, do not bring anyone, and if you bring something for protection, I promise it will be used on you and not me. Three in the morning. Knock four times, the last knock louder than the three." It was for her security.

Valentina squeezed her lips shut and looked up at him. "Okay?"
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Old 07-15-2014 at 03:11 AM
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 Post [75] »


Max Slate

Max was chewing his bottom lip in such fitful nervous anticipation of her reply that was certain that at any moment he would draw blood, but he was long past caring about such things. He stared at her face as though trying to look through it, watching for any hint of a reaction. He followed her gaze back towards the bar and the beefy an unamused gentleman now standing there. The young woman held up a hand as though to quell the other man's fear that Max might suddenly loose his grip on his senses and try to hurt her. Of course he wouldn't hurt her, quite to the contrary he felt as though he was the one being put through the wringer. And truth be told there was a growing desire to grab her by the shoulders and shake her into telling her what the hell was going on.

"First off, she said leaning in and saying in a darkly threateningly tone, "if you ever touch me again I will slit your penis off, and keep it as my pet." Okay, well definitely scratch the thought about shaking her, and in fairness he couldn't claim he didn't deserve it at least a little bit. It wasn't that he thought she would actually, could actually do it. But then again the slightly crazed glint in her own eye did belie that should wouldn't at least try in any case. There was a fundamental flaw in a man of his size defending himself against a woman or any size. To do so would most likely involve striking them. Despite Max's aptitude towards violence, he didn't enjoy it, and the mere thought of using it towards the fairer sex made his stomach clench unpleasantly. Surely there had to be a way to get to the bottom of this without resorting to... well--that, in either offense or defense. Max's mouth started to open and close like a fish out of water as his brain spun for a way, any way, to talk her into a reasonable resolution.


"I'm not talking about this here," she said her tone softening almost as suddenly as it had hardened and hope sprung anew in his heart. If she wasn't going to talk about it here that didn't necessarily preclude the possibility of talking about it at all, did it? When she reached out to grab his hand he didn't hesitate or resist afraid to break the spell by which she had decided not to disappear into the night. He watched with confused wonder, his arm as limb as a rag doll's in her hand, as she produced a pen and starting rubbing the ballpoint roughly across his flesh in a looping swirl that his lethargic brain took a moment to recognize as a readable language. "Meet me at this address," she instructed and he nodded dumbly absorbing her every word, not quite sure or believing what was happening right now. "Do not bring your phone, do not bring anyone, and if you bring something for protection, I promise it will be used on you and not me," Max glanced up from his arm to meet her gaze and nodded once more, resolutely, that he understood. "Three in the morning. Knock four times, the last knock louder than the three. Okay?" Max swallowed the lump in his throat and muttered, gazing down at the address now etched on his arm, "Three a.m.... four times."

Max stared at the writing for several more long silent moments, attempting to commit the words to memory but having a hard to making his eyes and his mind focus on it at all. “I understand,” he said finally, “I’ll be there.” Max gingerly push his long sleeve down over the words and wrapped a long hand over his forearm protectively. His mind was spinning like a top; he felt as though he should be thinking a million things but instead he had none… he was back to that dreaded nothing. “By the way,” he thought as one thought finally settled in the whirlwind like stray debris thrown from a tornado, “Max… my name is Max.” He didn’t even glance up to see if she was listening anymore. He didn’t think he could bear watching her actually leave, cause if it turned out she was actually yanking his chain and he never saw her again the sight would haunt his few memories for the rest of his life. Max slunk back towards the barstool he had abandoned and slumped rather than sat back down, folding his muscular arms on the surface and resting a hand on the marked skin beneath the thin cotton as though afraid without constant diligence it might disappear. “I don’t supposed,” he said sourly to the man who was eyeing him warily from behind the bar as though he was still entertaining the idea of knocking out a few of his teeth, “that you could get me a bourbon, huh, and make it a double,” then rethinking his order as a sour feeling of unease settled into this stomach, “Never mind that. Screw the ice and fill up the glass,” he demanded. “It looks like I’ve got some time to kill,” he muttered despondently to no one but himself as a dirty glass was placed on the counter and the amber application made to it.




Max | Pieter | Polaris | Phoenix | Protagonist | I love Sam <3
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