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Max Maximum

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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.

Christine lets out a huff. "I'm used to being on call," she replies, not looking back at him but rather examining the cake stand. "I can keep weird hours just fine."

But coffee sounds really good right now. She practically lives off the stuff, and she knows she'll have to accept nourishment eventually so there's no point staging a hunger protest over things. She's practical that way.

"I could do with some coffee," she replies, before turning to acknowledge his existence. "There seems to be a baked goods theme around here. Got anything to go with the coffee?"

Even though Max has on an all-black suit, it's like his color setting gets turned up the moment she asks about the desserts. He's suddenly so animated and bright. She's found his absolute favorite topic, baking.

"Oh! Yes. Do you like chocolate? I made those cupcakes pretty recently. Still good an' fresh. I have some sugar cookies too, in case you'd like those better? I can make anything else you want, too. Just say the word."

He bustles into the kitchen, breezing past her to busy himself with the coffee maker, brewing a fresh, strong, pot of it. Next, he'll grab some plates and utensils for them both. He'll hardly wait for her reply before he starts plating a cupcake for each of them.

"You say you're on call? What do you do?"

"Um," Oh, there he goes. Christine has to admit she's surprised. Here she'd just assumed he had stuff delivered from a bakery, or the vampire set someone off to get it for him. He made all this stuff? Well, she'll have to see how it tastes.

"O.R. Nurse," she replies, before moving out of the way. "Guess I'm not anymore." Her friends will look for her, surely. They're supernatural people themselves so they must have contacts who can reveal who took her. But until that point she's another person who's just gone missing.

"Wow. A nurse. You probably are really used to odd hours then." His brow furrows sympathetically. And his voice is tinged with true regret when he adds, "I'm so sorry. I... know this hurts so much. To be taken away from everything you knew. Your purpose in life. It's not fair."

He sets the cupcake down in front of her and then follows shortly after with a fresh mug of coffee. A jug of milk joins them on the table in case she doesn't drink hers black like he does.

"I wish I could say something to make this better. But, the truth is, this sucks. You didn't deserve to be snatched away from your life. But it was the only way my Master could keep you safe in the short term. You're a marked woman Christine. They were going to assassinate you. My Master got there first."

Christine sits at the table and crosses her arms on it to stare down at its surface. Everything he says is kind, and probably something he thinks she needs to hear. Maybe she'd do similar if their places were reversed. But what she'd rather hear is that he's been working on some sort of escape plan. This acceptance of his — along with calling that vampire "Master" —just rubs her the wrong way.

"So why are you here?"

"Because I'm a marked man too," he says with a heavy sigh. "I'm here for my own protection as much as you are."

He doesn't have to plan an escape. He knows the codes to all the doors. He could leave at any time. But if he did, he'd be dead in a day. Only his status as Erik's Pet keeps him safe.

"I have to stay here if I want to live."

"Who knew vampires were such assholes, huh?" It's meant as a joke and she ends it with a little laugh, but as she does so tears prick the corners of her eyes and she bows her head to pick at the cupcake's paper wrapper.

"Didn't know they even existed til recently." She sniffs and takes a bite of the cupcake, firmly telling herself that she's not going to cry in front of him.

She's not really fooling him. He can hear the sniffles, see the shine of tears gathering in her eyes. But, he politely pretends not to, while pushing a paper towel toward her. For the cupcake, of course.

"It was sudden for me too. I was in my junior year of college. I met this woman at a new years eve party. Only, she wasn't just a woman. She was a vampire. She was my Master's twin sister, actually.

"She tried to eat me. I fought back. I didn't mean to kill her, it just... happened. Now, all of her followers, her allies, want me dead. The only person who has a claim to my life that supersedes theirs is Erik. As long as he claims me, they have to let me live.

"That was six years ago. I've been here ever since." From a week past his twenty-first birthday, to now. This is all he's ever known. "My family thinks I died in a fire. You probably guessed, Max Maximum isn't my real name."

"He must not have liked his sister much," she replies after taking a small bite of the cupcake. It's good; like something she would make. A lot of cupcakes taste of chemicals from the preservatives in them meant to stretch out their shelf date by a few more days, but this tastes chocolatey and has the perfect fluffy texture.

"So does this mean he's gonna give me a stupid name too?" A pause. "Sorry." That was rather tactless of her. Usually Christine can summon that Southern politeness that everyone's mawmaw taught them.

A laugh as dry as the Sahara rasps out of him. "She was planning to overthrow Erik. I did him a favor." And this is Max's wonderful reward. Then again, Erik could have killed him.

The venom from her surprises Max, even if it shouldn't. His eyes go a little wider and he stands up a little straighter. It stings. The name was meant to sting. Perhaps just one more way Max is atoning to Erik for his crime of daring to defend himself against a vampire and win

Still ... somehow Max didn't expect to be taking those barbs from someone like her here and now. His tone is a little more wounded than he means it to be.

"I'm sorry too... I don't know what he plans to do about that. I can try and prevent him from picking anything terrible if that's what he decides."

Then, on a whim, he decides to add, "Jonah. My name was Jonah before..."

It's not like her to lash out, but the situation has made her stressed and her careful mask of control is slipping. She chooses to eat her cupcake silently for a moment rather than stick her foot in her mouth again, but when he tells her his name — his real name — she speaks up.

"And what would you prefer I call you?"

He can't truly hold it against her. She has a right to be upset with him. So, when she goes quiet, he lets it stay that way until she speaks again.

"Max. You should call me Max. The person I was before is gone. It wouldn't be right to call me that anymore."

He drops his gaze to the counter. Jonah is dead. On paper and in his own mind too. He is Max, like it or not.

"Your situation could still be different... I don't know yet. It's too soon to tell."

"Here's hoping." Her gaze falls away to the table and she picks idly at the cupcake liner a moment in quiet reflection before she says, "This is a good cupcake. You're a good baker." It's a little weak as far as compliments go, but she's thinking he won't blame her for not doing the equivalent of writing in a Michelin guide.

"Thank you." His voice is warm, even hinting a bit at affection. Honestly, he appreciates any compliment at all, but especially for his baking.

"You know, it's what I always wanted to do. Be a baker, maybe open my own cafe. It's how I keep myself busy here. But, ironically, you're the first person besides me who's tasted anything I've made for a long, long time. Vampires don't have a taste for anything but blood." Literally. It all tastes like nothing to them.

It's sad to know where life would've taken him had he not got caught up in all this. It's sad that they both had plans on where their lives were going and it's all good now.

"I like to bake," she replies. "And cook. Something about following a recipe just— I don't know. Makes everything feel nice and orderly." And it makes her feel accomplished too, especially when she makes something she never has before.

Sometimes, he tortures himself thinking about what could have been. How things might have gone if he'd finished his senior year of culinary arts school, gotten his degree, and had a chance to use it. It won't change anything. But he can't help where his mind wanders sometimes.

But, to hear her say she enjoys baking too. That it might be a passion and a pastime he can share with her? His heart feels lighter in his chest.

"Yeah?" he asks, eyes sparkling, "Me too. It feels like... being in control of something." A rare thing for him, admittedly, when so much of his life is controlled by another.

"It's sort of zen for me. If that makes sense? And when I nail a recipe I feel like there's something to be proud of."

He slips his hand over hers, "What do you like to cook?"

Christine knows exactly what he means. It's deeply engrained in her to strive for control and now that she doesn't have control over her own life she'll need to put that energy into something else.

"Jambalaya," she answers, not moving her hand away because she's focused on talking about food. "Mac and cheese, quiches, I like making breakfast foods too, especially on my days off. So: omelets, pancakes, waffles, crepes." She pauses, trying to think of more. "Well, there's a lot." It'd be easier to say what she doesn't like to cook.

He leans down over the counter with his chin cradled in his free hand, listening to her list out dishes like he's utterly entranced. Well, he kind of is. What a happy coincidence that they share this passion. If Max had to choose who he became a cohabitor with, he'd want someone like her.

"I love breakfast food best too," he tells her. He's practically swooning by the time she says crepes.

"And, you're in luck. I'm in charge of cooking every meal for myself. So, we'll have every day to make something new. I'd love to take turns cooking with you. You can show me some of your best recipes and I'll show you mine."

He's giddy at the thought of sharing a kitchen with her. This is the best thing that's happened to him in years. Which... he immediately feels guilty about. Because it's certainly one of the worst things that's happened to her. Having fun in the kitchen doesn't really make up for being kidnapped, does it?

He does his best to shove that thought away. "Erik has a huge industrial kitchen upstairs we can use. The one here is really just for light cooking."

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