maximumcake | [Meme Overflow]

Continued from HERE.

"You say that now," says Max with much trepidation. "But, I feel like if you knew the whole story you might not be able to stick to that."

"Stick to what?" Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Erik makes his way toward their booth. He's changed his shirt and tie and lost a suit jacket since the last time Klement saw him. Fortunately, blood doesn't show up on black trousers noticeably. The casual way in which he strolls to them shows no hints that not so long ago, he'd been engaged with tearing out the throat of his enemies.

"What an interesting coincidence this is," says the vampire cooly, "the two of you meeting here."

"M-master!" Max jumps up at attention and dips a bow for his vampire lord. "I'm happy you are safe."

"Yes, Max. As I am glad to see you safe as well. But, I am also very surprised by the company you keep." The vampire's gaze slides to Klement. "Mr. Devereux, I am relieved to see you are well. I must apologize for how our business was interrupted." He makes it sound as casual as if he'd simply take a call.

"And, I see you have met my Pet, Max."

Max is practically bouncing around the kitchen this morning. He's a ball of energy. And why? Because today is shopping day! Erik promised them a day to go out on the town to enjoy the spirit of the winter holidays, and to pick up some gifts in person.

Max is especially looking forward to finding the ingredients to make some old fashioned wassail because this year he won't be drinking it alone. Honestly, he's not sure there any other gift in the world that could compare to that. Matthew's presence in the house is all the joy he could ever ask for. (Which means he really needs to find something for Matthew that will express just how happy he's made Max.)

But first, they need to fuel up with some good food. Can't shop hungry, right? Matthew's idea has Max buzzing with just as much excitement. An excuse to eat fried food all week? Hell yes.

As he looks to his partner in crime across the kitchen, he asks, "What will it be today? Should we do the donuts? I've been looking forward to those."

"We absolutely should do the donuts today. What fillings do you have in mind for them? I'm not going to be a stickler for tradition if you decide you want custard-filled sufganiyot--or even white chocolate."

They'd discovered that white chocolate is safe for Matthew, and while it's not quite enough to get rid of all his cravings, he's gotten used to it. Between that and things like peanut butter fudge, Max has been able to indulge Matthew, all as part of a proper meal plan meant to help him get healthy again.

And he is much healthier now than when he arrived, for certain, and happy to be here too. Their household has become a surrogate family for him, and he's taken every opportunity to express his gratitude, verbally and otherwise.

Hazel eyes flicker from Max's cautious words of warning and towards the other familiar smoothness of the voice now joining them. It's a tone that forces Klement to sit up a bit straighter out of habit – not all clients can be treated so casually unless a long bond has formed, after all – poised and professional as if they were to continue their business here at the lonely booth in a lonely Denny's.

"Mr. Osborne," the Antiquary greets, also getting to his feet with practiced grace to properly welcome the master back after their previous meeting. He does notice the difference in Erik's wardrobe, but he feels it's for the better since having obvious blood stains in the early hours of morning will still bring about many questions from strangers.

Although he pauses when Erik introduces Max as his 'pet,' he still smiles, nodding in confirmation. "It is also good to see you are doing well," comes his reply without hesitation, gesturing for all of them to sit again so that they wouldn't be standing around awkwardly. "Please, there is no need to apologize, sir. Business tends to come with some surprises, after all.

"And Mr. Maximum has been wonderful company tonight – to be honest, I did not think anyone would be here, considering the time."

Erik inclines his head politely when Klement stands to greet him. This is one thing that makes the Antiquary so pleasant to do dealings with, he has the proper respect for decorum.

"Yes, I had the same notion. Which is why I instructed Max to wait for me here. Great minds think alike, it seems."

Erik slides gracefully into the booth. Max sits down beside him, pressing in close enough that their thighs touch beneath the table. That brings a momentary pitying smile to the Vampire's face. Max had obviously been fretting, he still smelled strongly of fear.

Erik pats Max's arm, above the table where Klement can see. "Yes, Max is incredibly good at making fast friends."

Nothing in Erik's tone or demeanor really seems to perceptibly change, and yet, it's as if the temperature in the room has dropped a degree, "And, it seems he's already gotten quite comfortable speaking with you about certain personal topics."

Through the connection of their thighs, Erik can feel the muscles in Max tense. The human's eyes cast down to the table immediately, as if he's been harshly reprimanded.

Max is happy enough that they had found a few things. The hunt for other comparable foods isn't over in his book either but, of course, he doesn't want to accidentally poison his only friend. Max has taken his job as primary cook for the both of them very seriously. He's approached the task with a kind of vigor that borders on obsessive. As if it wasn't already.

Seeing Matthew thrive has been the greatest reward of them all. The werewolf tells him all the time how grateful he is, and Max can only return the sentiment whole-heartedly. They already feel like famiy and this finally feels like home.

"I think strawberry jelly sounds good? Shame about you being allergic to raspberry; that's my favorite kind of filling. But, oh well. Can't have it all." He shrugs and starts pulling out the fryer and the oil.

"While I'm doing this, let's make some plans? Because let me tell you, shopping for an immortal vampire who's already got everything-hooboy. That's a conundrum. I could use some fresh ideas. Josiah, at least, is easy. I have a tradition of getting him a new novelty deck of cards every year. The weirder, the better."

"I'm not going to steal your tradition with Josiah, but something in the same vein might work." He's gotten to the point where blood puns just happen and tend to go unremarked. "Maybe knives. Find some new and interesting knife to give him each year. He'd appreciate that. As for Erik...I don't even know what to do there. A nice pair of slippers so I can fetch them for him every morning?"

Like the loyal dog he is.

He stays out of the way of Max with the fryer, unless he requests help--but gives that help eagerly if it's requested. "As long as everything's clearly labeled, you could make raspberry ones for yourself?

Klement sits down once they get comfortable (or as comfortable as a master and pet can get in the presence of company), blissfully unaware of the cues that are happening under the table. The arm-pat he does notice, taking it into account as Erik replies to his earlier commendations.

While he knows the air-conditioning units are always on in some restaurants, he can't help but feel a chill run down his spine. His expression, however, mentions nothing of it, letting his gaze linger between Max and Erik before speaking again.

"Then I should apologize, Mr. Osborne. I believe I am at fault for getting into such details," he insists, hands spread with his palms open as they hover inches above the tabletop. "Having you as a connection was unexpected at best, and it was only natural to be worried when you disappeared shortly after our meeting ended prematurely." His palms are then gently pressed together in asking for forgiveness. "My curiosity piques where it should not, and scenes like the one tonight have a way of staying fresh in memory."

By chance and good fortune alone, the vampire lord of this manor had caught the woman unawares and snagged her alive, before she could use her terrifying power on him. Now, he has her captive in his basement, unconscious for the moment. But this is a delicate case. He cannot face her himself, not without fear of her deadly light. So, he must trust this to his human servant, Max.

Max is sitting beside her where she lays on the bed in the center of his own basement room. She's still completely clothed, but she has been tucked under the red silk comforter in an attempt to make her more comfortable.

The bedroom is furnished with warm cherrywood furniture, save for the bed which is four-posted and made of wrought iron. No expense seems to have been spared in decoration, nor in the finery of Max's clothes. He's dressed in an expensive black suit with a bloodred tie nearly the same color as the bedsheets. He's sitting there idly browsing his phone.

Waking up is a slow process for Christine, but when she does it becomes clear immediately that what she's just experienced wasn't some nightmare after all. She's in a completely foreign location with a stranger close by. She sits up, the silk comforter falling to her waist as she takes it all in. There's an instinct to run, to scream, to do anything besides continue to sit here and accept it, but when times are at their most tense, Christine buries her emotions and stays calm. It comes naturally to her. The freak outs come later, once the situation has passed.

"Where am I?" First things first: establish if she's still in danger from that vampire. Second thing second: establish who the hell this guy is and if he's a danger too.

The phone clicks lightly as he locks the screen, and turns to look at her. His expression is compassionate but cautious.

"Oh, hey. You're up. I was beginning to wonder." His tone is friendly, light, and not seeming to match with the obvious problem of her being kidnapped and presumably a hostage.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but you've been captured by my master. You're in his mansion. Technically, you're in my room. My name is Max Maximum. He didn't... actually tell me yours yet."

Christine stares for a good long moment, then laughs. Not an amused laugh, but one of utter disbelief. Maybe it shouldn't be so. Maybe she should have realized it was inevitably that she'd end up this way. But this whole situation is crazy. Up until a few weeks ago, she hadn't even believed vampires were real.

"It's sad how the most unbelievable thing out of all of that is the fact that's your name."

Look, she can normally be polite, but these aren't normal circumstances. She tosses the comforter aside and swings her legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up and groaning. A hand presses to her forehead, then her cheeks and the nape of her neck so she can gauge her temperature.

"Was I drugged?"

"Goddammit Erik," Max mutters under his breath. This fucking name. His Master had chosen it because it was both humiliating and descriptive in a way that came back around to being humiliating.

"Just call me Max," he grouses.

"And, yes. Sorry. It was in your drink. Can get you some water? It'll be a sealed water bottle."

"No," she replies quickly. Christine doesn't want anything from a guy who's just so casually sitting there and basically saying: Sorry, you're a prisoner now. Logically, she knows if there's no escape that she'll have to fold eventually to eat and drink, but at the moment she's going to be stubborn, thank you very much.

She wants to stand, but has the feeling that she may just pass out if she does. So instead she crosses her arms and looks around the space.

"So what's the deal here?" Is that Erik guy getting a saw so he can cut her hands off? Is he out digging a six foot hole?

He can't say he's surprised. She will eventually have to come around but she only did just wake up.

"Look, Miss...?" He prompts her for a name here since she still hasn't said.

"This isn't what you want to hear, but you've been marked for death by a whole lot of vampires. My Master brought you here to keep anyone else from getting to you first. You're safe here. We aren't going to hurt you. But we also can't let you leave.

"I've been tasked with keeping you comfortable. I'll do the best I can to help you make the best out of this situation. Believe me, I understand it."

"I was already being kept safe somewhere!" she protests, voice raising slightly. But the gravity of the situation comes crashing down on her a moment later and her shoulders slump along with it. "For all the good it did." Clearly she couldn't step a foot outside or she was dead meat.

Now all the more determined to not stay idle, she pushes herself up to her feet and takes a few steps. So far, so good. She needed to see the rest of this prison. If the bedroom is anything to go by, it's pretty fancy.

And then, as more of an afterthought: "Christine."

He could have pointed out to her that, clearly, it wasn't enough if his Master was able to get to her, but the slump of her shoulders tells him she already realizes that. No need to salt the wound.

"Christine," he calls after he as she begins to stand and move further away from the bed "Be careful, I don't want you to push yourself too soon."

He can see the determination in her eyes, so rather than try to force her back to bed, he offers his arm. "At least, let me help you. Can I give you the tour?"

There's two doors in this room, both closed. One leads out to a hallway that connects a bathroom, living room and small kitchen on one end and a large fitness center on the other. An identical second door leads to a walk-in closet full of suits and business shirts and slacks, along with all necessary accessories.

"Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

She huffs out another of those mirthless laughs at his care and attention. Usually she's the one telling patients to be careful when she checks in on them in post-op.

"Fine," she manages, trying to maintain a calm exterior while her mind is screaming. "May as well." Meaning the tour. She waves him away, however, not wanting to get too close to him. She absolutely is not going to let herself get a case of Stockholm Syndrome here. It doesn't matter how nice he's being.

Max hates himself for thinking those noises are cute. Even if it's supposed to be his job to make her relax and behave... he hates that he's enjoying it. That only makes him feel worse about all of this.

He awkwardly drops his arm and nods to the door on the left. "That one goes out."

He opens it and steps ahead of her. Part of him realizes this will put his back to her for a few seconds, giving her an opportunity to try something if she wants. He hopes she won't, but if she's going to be that kind of captive he may as well find out about it sooner than later.

"As he's stepping through, he explains, pointing to the door across the hall from them on the left. That's the bathroom... We only have one so we'll have to take turns..."

Christine had always meant to take self defense classes. She'd always meant to take kickboxing lessons. There had always been things she'd made plans for but always put off for one reason or another. Now as she stares at his back she realizes what waiting gets her. All she can do is follow. He'd said he was a servant, right? Something like that. That guy was his master. So this one is probably not a vampire whose eyes she can burn out.

"So we're... what? Prisoners? Slaves?" She gives the place a critical eye. "This place looks like a fancy hotel."

"Pet," comes his reply, with back still turned.

She hasn't tried anything yet. So, either she's biding her time or she doesn't think she can win. She's right, if it's the latter. He's been training in two types of hand to hand combat three times weekly for five years. He doesn't need to be a vampire to take her down.

"In my case, a very spoiled Pet." He finally turns back to look at her when they have exited the hall into a large open room that is a living and entertainment room (complete with a plush leather couch and platinum TV) on the left and a small kitchen with dine-in counter on the right.

"It's supposed to be comfortable," he adds, "so I miss home less." It doesn't actually work. But, if Max has to choose, he'd rather his life of enslavement be comfortable and not spent in a torturous cold steel prison cell.

Out here in the living room there are more personal touches to be seen. Against the backdrop of expensive furniture stands some oddly Kitschy items. There's a small figurine of the Eifel Tower, next to one of a basket full of colorful macarons, and a few other nick-knacks of a similar nature. Sugar and baking seem to be a theme around the whole place, with pictures on the wall depicting colorful desserts side by side with apparently hand-drawn designs for elaborate cakes. There's even a cake keeper on the kitchen counter currently housing half a dozen cupcakes. The smell of chocolate batter still lingers faintly in the air.

"If there's anything you'd want to get to make yourself more comfortable here, you can tell me and I'll have it ordered. Clothes, too. You'll need more of those."

The word makes her stomach drop and she has to cross her arms in front of her chest as if she needs to physically hold her emotions in. This is so messed up. Completely messed up. Is this what happens to all vampires when they get old? They stop seeing people as people.

Christine forces herself to look around the room once more and notices the personal touches amidst the expensive decor. She moves closer to the little Eiffel Tower, but doesn't touch it. She still needs her arms to hold her feelings down. So he's for sure not an accomplice — unless he's lying — but the fact that he's settled in here so completely doesn't bode well for her, does it? Is a daring rescue from her friends all she has to hope for? How will they ever find her?

Once she's examined the place thoroughly, she notices there's one thing she hasn't seen yet and asks, "Is there another bedroom?"

Max lifts a hand to the back of his neck and scratches the rough patch of skin there nervously. "Uh... no. There isn't. Kind of a... lack of foresight on my master's part." Unless it wasn't.

"B-but, it is a king sized bed and I swear to you I will be a perfect gentleman." He squeezes every ounce of genuine honesty into that.

"I won't do a thing to you. In fact, I can sleep out here on the couch for a while until you get used to me?"

That reply — though seemingly heartfelt — only earns him a withering look from Christine before she quickly turns away and walks to the kitchen. Emotions are welling up inside her and it's all she can do to maintain her composure. She has to pull out her "nurse mode" for this. Professional, calm, and not prone to outbursts. She can do this.

"The couch is nearly a bed itself. I'll take it." Since that asshole vampire didn't bother making accommodations for her while she was passed out, she's going to do the best she can with what she has.

"If you're sure?" Max can see he's really only made things worse now. Fuck. He's never had to do this before. It's always just been him alone!

"But, I should warn you, I'm a pretty early riser. Will I bother you if I come out to fix coffee at five-thirty? I can fix you some too, if that helps? Actually, would you like any now?" Max could do for some, maybe spiked with whiskey.

[Meme Overflow]

Enter Erik

[Closed for Matthew]

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[Closed for Christine]

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