FRICTION.

                             M A E V E     -    W E S T

Name: Maeve Joanna West Nickname: Mae, MeeVee (by her father) Age: 34 Birthday: December 22nd Zodiac: Capricorn Occupation: Owner of TRANSCEND Gym Current Location: Vancouver (15 years) Sexuality: Bisexual Relationship Status: Single  

“Course y’own it.” Dean says after a moment, having operated on the assumption that she was a trainer there. Owner made more sense the more he thought about it. Even with how things had gone between them, he had few doubts that she was going places. 

( The only thing that had been unexpected was that he hadn’t been given the chance to stick around and see it. ) 

“Appreciate the offer, but I’ll stick the membership out. I like the place.” Maybe a little more now that he was fully looped in. “How long you been running it?” 

Ghosts are common in her life. They live in the ache of her joints, the bruises on her body -- some fresher than others, but Dean is a bruise that lives deep in her chest. One that didn’t hurt, just throbbed, in the years of unspoken words and distance.

Eventually karma would find her. The ball is in his court to condemn or free her.

CITY BREW PUB w/ @vancitystarters​

“Chocolate tequila? They really will make anything, won’t they?”

“Chocolate wine is arguably worse. Someone gifted it to me during last year’s holidays. I’d rather them just tell me to go fuck myself upfront.”

“Just say the word.” He shoots back, grin on his face. He isn’t beyond a mercy killing or two, though those moments have been reserved for special occasions. He likes Maeve. She doesn’t ask questions, and while Butterly and his podcasts tell him vulnerability is important for relationships, he feels their read between the lines silence is vulnerable enough. 

“You mean American Psycho? It’s on my list. I’ve been watching the modern ones first.” There’s a sense of pride in the statement, and whether it’s from acclimating all on his own or watching her actually entertain his silly hobby, he isn’t sure. “They do, and they are. I anodized them myself.” Another sense of pride as he takes a drag, letting it dangle from his lips as he takes aim once more. “I think I was fifteen? Sixteen maybe when I made these?” A whistle through the air as he flings the knife across the way, a way to pause as he assesses the situation. “I know what I’m doing out here, but what are you doing out here?” 

-

“No, not American Psycho -- but close enough. You’re in the right direction of iconic characters who appreciate knives,” Maeve corrects without much conviction, though she’s more than happy to observe what’s on display. While she may not understand it, she does admire it -- the craftsmenship and dedication, even if it’s something others may not quite connect with. Most people barely connect with her need to pummel faces. It’s just how her life works.

“That young?” she asks, allowing that aloof tone to slip from surprise. “Did you learn by trade or on your own?” The blonde gives a one-shoulder shrug, contemplating her response as she watches the silver wizz by. “I like walking. I hate crowds. Less people the further in you go and I’m not superstitious about spirits.”

“I’m not all that sure.” That, at least, is the truth. With a gym bag hanging from a strap on his right shoulder, Dean had been forced to switch up gyms after a fire had (ironically) put his regular base out of commission for the new couple of months. That left his nearest option being Transcend, which he actively avoiding joining in the past for avoiding the run in he had decided to orchestrate. 

“I just signed up for here, which means there’s a higher than usual likelihood that we’ll run into each other and I wanted to give you a heads up on that.”

( Which was more than she had afforded him when she decided to all but vanish from his life. )  

-

A head’s up. The offer is generous in comparison to what little thought she gave to him years ago, only to show up on her sanctuary doorstep. Then again, from what she can scramble from memory, Dean’s a generous person. 

He’s also someone that’s very hard to forget.

“I would say it’s inevitable,” she corrects, “since I own it.”

Maeve can count on one hand for the amount of times she’s been caught off guard. Rounding the corner of her office to find herself standing in front of a ghost is one of them --- and she’ll play ignorant, just as she always does, until she can’t any longer.

“What’s so great about–are you kidding?” Sawyer waved her hands out towards the carnival, as if to let it speak for itself. “It’s a carnival! Foods that you’d never even think about deep frying! Rides that are probably missing at least three important screws! People eating their body weight in pie! Please tell me you’ve been to a carnival before.” Having sensed this may take some extra convincing, Sawyer added, “I figured we could start with the haunted house…maybe see some people try to fight the scary actors…” Sawyer nudged Maeve gently. “We can critique their form…” First thing Sawyer had learned from the older woman was the importance of proper form.

-

Had she been to a carnival before? Sure, the ones that offered a little less savory entertainment. Some that, right behind a ferris wheel, touted screaming matches for grown men to flip each other over on a wet patch of leaves. As far as she can see, this carnival is wholesome. Quiet, but not silent. Re-writing those not-so fond memories with someone as eager as Sawyer actually felt... nice. New, and overall just nice.

“I had a deep-fried Oreo before. That’s about as far as my knowledge of that goes,” she supplies, “but I know for sure we are not going on a ride with three screws loose. You should have led with ‘watch people try to fight scare actors’.” Because, above all else, that sounds entertaining. “I’ll let you choose. Teach me the right way to carnival.”

It’s an excuse given like an afterthought, not truly trying to convince but rather simply to circumvent that which they both know is the obvious answer — and that’s alright with him. “Really?” The corner of his lips quirk with amusement. “Now THAT’S a wild recurring coincidence.” Still, there was no need to dwell on lack of leisure activity when they were CURRENTLY in the middle of one, so he drops the subject. “I’ll take it to my grave, you have my word.”

Brow raised at the suggestion, Jude’s eyes trail from her face to the group then to the diverging trails ahead, then back to meet her gaze. “I like the way you think.” He points to the sign ahead, denoting various trails almost all leading to the same place. “We could probably take any of those and still get there faster than this lot.”

-

“Wild, but entirely plausible,” she responds in a near sing-song tune, allowing the disagreement to die on her tongue when he promises not to tell a soul. Something swells in her chest, though she can’t quite put a finger on the feeling. Pride? Appreciation? So many people felt the need to poke and prod, but Jude? There didn’t need to be exchange of long conversations. Maeve felt at peace knowing she could simply be here and not have to answer for a single thing if she chose not to.