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"Pretty nice, right? Didn't come with a coffee pot or a toaster, though. I'll have to go find those on my own." Not that he's really complaining, they gave him pots, pans and cutlery.

"Hey, so... this is awkward, and I'm not great with languages, but I'd like to give it a shot if I can. Can you do what you just did again?"

Oh! She perks up and nods, putting down her coffee to pull out her tome.

WOW

She taps the word and demonstrates the sign again, bigger and slower so Max can imitate it.

He mimics her, while also mouthing the word. It's kind of a fun motion, actually.

"So, I guess this might be a good segue into another, uh, thing I was wondering about. If we do decide to do more with each other, this morning or maybe some other time... I mean, I assume you'll have signals for telling me when I'm doing an okay job. But, I'd like to make sure I know what you'll do if you need me to stop."

Max is pretty vocal. And he's used to vocal partners. That's nothing against Chell at all, he's just less confident in himself with someone who might not be able to cry out if he's hurting her. Maybe she'll just do like Milla said that one time, and punch him.

"Sorry if I'm making it weird?"

Chell shakes her head firmly to that last question. Not weird! She leans against the counter and picks up the tome to write again.

If you do something I really don't like I'll hit you. You'll notice.

I can teach you a couple signs we can use tho. She taps the pen on her lips thoughtfully and then writes:

YES
NO
STOP
MORE
?

"Okay. Good." This might be the most relieved he's ever been to hear someone say they would hit him.

He nods looking over the list. "Those look like good ones to know in general. So, yes. Start from the top?"

Thumbs up!

They're all pretty easy; yes and no are one-handed signs. Stop takes both hands, and she repeats it a few times to make sure Max gets it.

As for more -- she gestures for him to come closer and give her his hands, with a small, mischievous smile.

Max has such a studious expression on his face while he carefully motions along with her. He wants to make sure he really gets it. Thankfully, the one for stop is pretty clear and easy to remember. It looks like a karate chop. Chop means stop he says in his head.

He's being so serious right now he almost misses that mischeivous smiole on her face. Almost. ... His pulse speeds up a little as he comes closer and gives her his hands.

Let's be real: it's an excuse to touch him. Chell takes Max's hands and moves them into the right shape, then taps his fingertips together, with her hands still encircling his. More, she signs. More.

"I like that one." He likes her guiding hands on him too. "Hope I see it a lot."

Her hands are warm around his, soft but strong. Chell smirks, nodding -- and now that he's close, she leans forward and gives him a light kiss on the lips. Testing the waters.

When she leans back, she quirks an eyebrow and signs, More?

He grins and signs back Yes.

Then he leans in to kiss her again, this time with his lips slightly parted, inviting her to take it even further.

Aw, she loves it when they learn fast.

She can't entirely keep herself from grinning as she kisses him back, going up on her tiptoes and flicking her tongue against his lips. Without her Long Fall Boots, he's got a full foot of height on her, which may eventually become a problem -- but she has several ideas about approaching that.

Tall guy problems... fortunately, he's used to bending down for his partners.

Her tongue across his lips sends an instant spike of heat through him. Suddenly, he's thinking it's a good thing he has a microwave now because their coffee may just go cold.

His hands caress along her back, up her spine to the back of her head. If she lets him, he'll thread his fingers into her hair and scrape his nails lightly against her scalp.

Oh, more than let him. She arches against him at the touch of his nails, her breath catching pleasantly. Breaking the kiss for a moment, she points to his hand in her hair and signs Yes enthusiastically. Hair playing? A little hair pulling? Yes, please.

In fact, as she goes back in for another kiss, she returns the favor -- slides her hand up the back of his neck to play with his hair.

Along the way, though, her fingers encounter the unexpected feeling of scar tissue. Her touch stutters, and she breaks the kiss again with a surprised look.

Max is delighted to see her sign 'yes.' His face lights up with glee. He loves playing with hair and will certainly enjoy hers. He is also a fan of it for himself but there's always just one small problem.

And she's just found it.

Max goes rigid when he feels her touch across the scar. And the smile is gone by the time she pulls away to look at her.

"I-it's nothing," he tries to reassure her. "Just an old injury. Nothing to worry about." There's a little too much fear in his tone for that to be truly believable.

The scar is no accident. It's the seal of his master. A round brand as large as a silver dollar that bears the burned but distinguishable shape of a griffin and a shield crossed with a sword.

Even a trusting dummy like Chell can see that that's a deflection. She takes her hand away from the scar, frowning, and reaches for the tome she'd discarded on the counter. She doesn't want to pull away, but she does need both hands and space to write -- god, do people who can talk even know how easy they have it?

Hurts Y/N?

He makes a frustrated sound when she pulls away, but he knows it's for good reason. The scar always leads to... this discussion.

He reads her words and shakes his head. "No, it doesn't hurt. It's just... bad memories."

He leans his hip against the countertop and reaches for his coffee, feeling suddenly cold.

Still frowning a little:

Me too
Want to talk about it?
You don't have to

"You too?" He looks at her alarmed. She did say she was tested on... god, did they really?

"I.. I guess I could talk about it a little. It's not a very sexy conversation."

She sighs and shakes her head no, agreeing with him. It's really not, is it. Never is.

She taps the sentence You don't have to again. Maybe the mood's already past saving, but she may as well reiterate. He doesn't have to talk, regardless of whether she gets to keep making out with him.

As for the rest -- she shrugs, leans down, and hikes one pant leg up past her knee. There's an old, old mess of scar tissue on either side of her calves, as if something was attached there and removed without much care. Then, straightening up, she reaches for one of his wrists with a quizzical look. Can she have his hand for a second?

"No, it's okay. I can talk about it." He sighs. "It's just not a good story."

His eyes go wide when he sees the scar tissue on her leg. That looks like whatever caused it must have been horribly painful.

"Oh, Chell..." he starts to say. The she reaches for him. He nods and lets his arm go loose so she can guide his hand where she wants it.

Eh, she was unconscious for it, it's fine.

The other set, though, she was super conscious for. She guides his hand under the hem of her shirt on the left side: there, under his fingers, he'll find healed-over scars from where something big clawed her.

Everything's healed up, and she doesn't show any discomfort when he touches them. To the contrary, her gaze is fixed on his face, and her expression is more rueful than anything.

Once she's guided his hand to her side, once she's sure he's picked up what she's pointed out, she lets go and picks up the tome again.

Shit happens to us.
We lived.
I'm sorry shit did happen to you though.

His brow furrows slightly when his fingers graze over her scars. His gaze meets her, and he's wearing an expression much like hers. Life can be so cruel. But the two of them are kindred spirits in this way, aren't they? They take the hits and they keep on going. They're survivors. They haven't been broken by it.

"Did happen," he says slowly, "still happening, I guess, technically."

He takes his hand back so he can turn slightly away from her and bend down. He taps the nape of his neck to direct her attention to the round burned coat of arms there.

"This is my master's mark. Remember how I said I work for a vampire? I do... but it isn't voluntary employment." Which is just a prettier way of saying he's a slave.

He'll wait until he's sure she's had a good look, then he'll turn around to face her again.

Her expression, when he turns back around, is a lot stormier than before. She writes her next question like she's mad at the page.

He marked you. Why?

Not like she can't guess. It's so he can't forget. Even -- especially -- when he's in situations like this.

He sighs, resigned to the anger. It's always like this. And they have a right to it. He'd be pissed too. He should be. But, really, he's just tired.

"Protection. Believe it or not. This," he taps the back of his neck, "means I belong to him. It also means that if any other vampires fuck with me, they'll answer to him directly. He's powerful. The threat has a lot of weight behind it."

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