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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."

Chell looks very dubious!!!

Did you sign up for that?

"No. I didn't sign up for any of it. But I don't have a choice if I want to live."

He sips heavily at his coffee. "I killed my master's sister. It was self-defense because she was going to drink me. But vampire's laws aren't the same as human ones. When my master, Erik, saw what I'd done... by vampire law, he should have killed me. He didn't. He decided to take me on as his servant instead. That was his mercy.

"But the problem with that is... vampires hold grudges. His sister had a lot of very devoted followers. They want revenge. They vowed that they'd find me and take it. Without Erik's protection, I'll be tortured to death by them. If I'm lucky. So, it's serve him or... that. All things considered, I'd rather have the damn brand on me."

Hooboy. She hates that. She hates it! She barely knows anything about Max besides that he likes baking and he's kind, and still she hates that.

Still, it ... complicates the story. Frowning, she boosts herself up onto the counter to sit, and scribbles in the tome.

That's not fair.

How does he treat you?

Aside from burning brands into him, which seems unpleasant at best and sadistic at worst, and feeding from him, which seems enjoyable at best and a lot more fucked up than she originally thought at worst.

"No," he sighs. "It's not. But that's life."

How does he treat Max? That is a complicated question.

"He treats me like what I am, his favored Pet. I'm not his equal, and his word will always trump mine. But he isn't cruel. He does listen to me, if I ask for something. He treats me kindly, and he trusts me to run his household affairs. It's a cage, yes. But it's a gilded one. I could be doing much worse."

There is that one tiny (not actually tiny) problem though... and now that he's remembered it, he'll have to explain before they go further.

"I won't lie; he has done questionable things to me. There's still some things that will always be different between a human and a vampire. No one can live as their property for six years and come out of it without... some hang-ups."

Chell lets out a long breath, and reaches out to touch his shoulder gently. "Questionable things" gives her a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. So does "pet."

I've been in some cages. None as long as you + not the same kind, but they make me mad.
What kind of hang ups?

She purses her lips, draws an arrow pointing to "not the same kind," and adds except here

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