So when he invited her to sit, she did not hesitate, and she moved over to the chair, as comfortable as the nerves allowed her to be. She knew the outcome would be amazing! But the process, that was a bit nerve-wracking. However, his creations did well to pull her from that. Leaning forward, she tilted her head so that she could look over each floral design he presented her. She had to give it to him. Maxim truly had talent in this division. She could already imagine it on her body, and it would look amazing.

Starting from a look to surprise quickly to excited awe, she allowed him to speak, struggling to steal her glance from the screen. However, when she did, the bright grin pulled on her lips. "Maxim. I'm Davina" Ah! Now that was his name! Yes, she did place him right. It all finally added up to that memory of a rather rebellious man with a growing infection she healed. Craning her neck, she looked at his forehead, smiling at how untouched it seemed. Playfully, she adds. "Yes. It's nice to see you without a gash on your forehead. You look much better this way."

Watching him, she paused for a second before letting her gaze go back to the tablet. "Yea.. It is my first." She responded. Davina had been impressed with the first design, but each one of his clearly showcased both skill and creativity. However, she did too see herself more interested in the first design that had shown up, pleased with the delicate pink, peonies. Finally, she reached, gently flicking back to the first drawing. "I know. I like this one. Will it be long enough to go along my back? If so, I am happy with it."

“Yeah…”, his voice trailed off slightly while his fingers senselessly tapped on the device, “Thank you for that, by the way.” Maxim wasn’t a nice person by definition; verbalizing gratitude didn’t come easy to him. But if he had the opportunity to repay kindness in a way that didn’t require words, he would. This better be the best damn tattoo he’d ever do. 

His eyebrows raised slightly, and he offered her a faint nod of respect at the revelation that this would mark her first tattoo. Usually, patrons would opt for a smaller piece to test the waters. Therefore, the fact that someone who looked so dainty and innocent decided to go for a back piece of this size was impressive to him. 

The movement of her fingers drew his attention. In a motion that told her to go ahead, he nudged the tablet closer to her before he leaned in slightly to get a better look at the design she was talking about. He just knew this was going to be fun. Whether it was the prospect of adding something more delicate and colorful to his portfolio for the first time in a while, or the fact that the piece was his favorite out of all designs. Maxim wasn’t sure which, but one of those reasons tugged at the corners of his lips and made the faintest smile rise to his features. 

“It would, but…” his fingers slid across the screen again, zooming ever so slightly in on the bottom part, “if we make it bigger, this part might need to wrap around the side.” He straightened his back to point towards his own side to approximate how far it’d go. “Otherwise it might look a bit…uh…” teeth bit onto his tongue in a relatively fresh habit that came out when he struggled to translate his thoughts, “…stiff?” The word sounded like a question, only because it was. When it came to his art, Maxim was nothing short of a perfectionist, and he wanted to make sure that they were both on the same page before he even printed the stencil. 

“It’s also possible to only have it on your back, if you prefer that, but I would cut out this bottom part here.” he circled part of one flower and a cluster of leaves to show her what exactly it was he was talking about. “…or we could just keep everything on your back, depending on how far you’re willing to go down.” Despite the lack of intonation in his words, his voice sounded completely professional. His eyebrows raised to silently question which option she’d prefer.

“That kind of depends on your pain tolerance, I guess.” Although he was very familiar with the pain of the tattoo machine gliding across his own skin, Maxim learned very early on that everybody feels pain different. He’s encountered people looking like they’d eat nails for breakfast who started trembling before he even sat down. On the other end of the spectrum, he remembered the little girl who didn’t even flinch when he traced the lines of the butterfly on her shoulder. It’s been years since that day, yet it still made him feel nauseous to just think about it.

So instead, he willed himself to get his thoughts back into the matter at hand. “The back is usually a safe zone to tattoo on, but if it hurts too much at any point, speak up. Especially the closer we get to your spine because that’ll hurt most.” His tone was the gentlest it’s been throughout their entire interaction, yet there was still something cold and professional about it. 

Athena smiled when the young man reappeared. He had chosen the perfect outfit, comfortable and non-ostentatious, two things that she appreciated. She loved to dress up and always wore elegant outfits when teaching but training days were for easy clothes.

The goddess served the coffee into two clean mugs she had found in the cupboards, handing one to Maxim before adding a pinch of sugar and a could of milk to hers. The bitter aroma was a real wake-up call and she felt rejuvenated as she drank. 

"Your mind, yes." She chuckled at the boy's remark, refraining from reaching to smooth his hair. "Oh Maxim, I do not think that you are ready for that yet. The time will come for you to try again but it is not for today. Especially not with an unwilling person." If they could find a willing guinea pig, this would make everything simpler and it would be possible to guide both Maxim and his 'victim'. A good exercise.

Her question seemed to have surprised Maxim so Athena waited as he thought, observing his facial expressions and the way he held himself. He remained calm but she could almost hear the gear turning into his head. It made her even more curious to know the answer. 

The old tower. She had seen it a few times, looking for the perfect place for her Parthenon. It looked like it had been abandoned centuries ago and a gloomy atmosphere came from it. Even more with the forest so close. But, for some reasons, she found the place fitting for the young man and could understand why Maxim liked the place. 

His eyebrow shot up, and although he looked almost peeved when she chuckled at what he said, the smallest curve in the corner of his lips softened his expression and emphasized the ease he felt around her. At least he felt it whenever he didn’t just mess up royally. “Fair enough.” Despite his best effort to let indifference dominate his tone, his relief was audible in the sigh that followed.

With another bite of baklava, Maxim finished the small piece he held and let his gaze focus on the remaining slices. For a moment, his mind struggled to give him a straight answer on whether he wanted to eat more now or save the rest for later. Ever since coming to Mount Phoenix, he often found himself asking that question. Sometimes he’d decide to another piece of whatever was in front of him. But most times, Maxim would put it away to save for later. For when everything inevitably goes wrong, and he’d have to go multiple days in a row without eating. Just like he did when he was younger. Though, of course, back then it wasn’t up to him whether he was allowed to eat or had to give a week’s worth of his food to the pigs as a form of punishment.

Maxim hadn’t noticed that he must’ve zoned out while looking at the sweet dessert and simply blinked to look back over to his mentor. “Meditation, huh?” A small nod accompanied his question, though he heard and understood her the first time. It only served to distract from the trance he got caught in. He took another sip of his coffee, its heat burning a spot on his tongue. The demigod was eager to start and with a nod that looked reassured this time, he stood up. “Let’s go then. I’m ready.”

When one wakes before their alarm, reality already seems a bit off while also not simultaneously. One believes they have a few more minutes or a couple hours left to snooze or gradually waken themselves, readying for the day. Perhaps that was the impression Maxim received initially upon waking this day. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in his room, nothing at all. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the way the sheets and the pillows felt--all of it as one would expect it to be. Everything was in its place, just as remembered before falling asleep...

...except...

Those eyes.

At some point, when Maxim dared to look to the side, he would find a pair of eyes peeking over the edge of his mattress; eyes that were otherworldly; eyes that reflected the night sky, shimmering stars against a blanket of midnight, constellations ever shifting; eyes that saw infinity; eyes that saw him, his innermost desires and secrets. Once those eyes locked with Maxim's--whatever the demigod's reaction may be--the owner of that gaze calmly and gradually rose.

Eyes...nose...lips...face...chin...shoulders...torso...waist...legs...

A tall figure loomed over the young man. Though kept in a messy bun, locks of his hair did escape and floated about him as though the god himself was suspended in water and carried on a subtle current; the fabric of his coat followed the same pattern, draped over him like ethereal shadows; the lining, when visible, seemed made of threads spun from the night sky itself, ever shifting with constellations, nebulas, auroras, as a universe trapped within cloth.

After a beat, Morpheus spoke; his voice was gentle, purring, scarcely above a whisper; a voice one might think they heard once. And that voice spoke a name, a name perhaps Maxim had not heard in some time...the demigod's true name.

Or at least that was the reality he seemed to be trapped in. Though, he would only find that little detail out much later. 

Maxim was unsure what exactly tipped him off that something was wrong, but for a fraction of a second, he could’ve sworn he felt a wave of paranoia cloud his mind. And even though he knew it was a bad idea to move when he didn’t know whether there was a threat in the first place, he turned his head to look behind him. 

The sigh, when he finally got himself to release it, was visible with the rise and fall of his chest. A genuine sign of relief. It was enough to make one corner of his lips twitch up briefly when he saw Pushkin still fast asleep next to him, unharmed and peaceful as ever. The dog's tongue stuck out slightly, and for a moment that didn’t even last long enough to classify as a blink, Maxim almost forgot about the paranoia he felt just a second ago. 

His heart was hammering in his chest when he sat up, his gaze fixing itself on a pair of eyes that looked like black holes, infinite in their depth and eerily unsettling. It took him a considerable chunk of composure to not make any sudden movements and hide the pit that laid heavy in his gut. 

This time wouldn’t mark the first time that the place he’d been living in would be broken into. However, it would be the first time that it happened in Mount Phoenix. 

Maxim’s eyes were glued to the black holes until the intruder rose fully. Only then did he allow himself to take quick glances at the stranger’s hair, clothes, hands—anything that would make it easier for him to recognize the robber later. 

His face was a permanent scowl, openly showing contempt towards the situation and hiding any potential emotions or surprise behind it. 

Truth be told, he already expected one or multiple of his victims to send someone to take revenge on their behalf. After all, he rarely held back when he used his powers. 

His lips parted to speak up; to ask who his opponent was and what his mission was. But when he heard that name, it was like everything froze. Almost in a literal sense, when he felt a cold sweat run down his back. Who was the man standing in front of him? None of Maxim’s victims ever heard his real name. In fact, the only people who know about it are the folks back in his village and his family members. It was unlikely that the intruder learned that information about the demigod from his neighbors or people he went to school with, but it was even more unlikely that he heard it from his siblings. 

So, how did that stranger know about his name? 

“Who are you?” his voice sounded scratchy and dry, not yet caught up with his hypervigilance. “How do you know that name?” Maxim’s tone was filled with venom and nothing short of accusatory. He didn’t claim that name, but it still ticked him off that someone knew of its existence.

By the time she got to the island, Davina was immediately thrusted into work. So busy with her life, that desire had not even registered nor the freedom to make that choice either. Davina finally found herself at a point in her life that everything was calmed, and after spotting someone else with one, she finally decided it was her chance to get one. Something simple and cute, especially that included flowers and plants. So, she did not hesitate to make the appointment.

When the day came, she started her day with a tea geared to help her with pain, knowing it should not cause any issues for her artist. So, she came to the tattoo parlor prepared and dressed for the occasion. Walking in the doors of the parlor, she spotted the man before her. Her eyes widened in recognition. Did she know his name? Absolutely, not. She did know that she had healed whim with her hands, some infection or ailment months, well at year ago? It had been some time.

That voice. He knew her.

Distant images of a fight and the memory of blood stinging in his eyes while he dragged himself to the hospital painted themselves across his mind. Just a split second later, he was able to pinpoint how he remembered her. 

A blink ended his mind‘s short mission to recall that time and Maxim‘s focus drew back over to her. The whole ordeal lasted barely a second and if she wasn‘t paying close attention to him, she might‘ve missed his absent state. The nagging feeling of recognition finally dissipated without his expression ever allowing any emotions to play out. "Alright then. Sit.“ His tone lacked the edge that would make his offered invitation sound like a command; nestled somewhere in the vast gap between disinterested and welcoming. Similar to how one might declare the time of day or talk about the news in the papers. 

Nodding towards the chair on the other side of the desk, Maxim unlocked and placed the tablet in front of her. The display lit up to show his first suggestion. A delicate floral design that stretched out vertically across the screen. Light pink peonies contrasted the rich, green color of the leaves and stems. While he had to admit he was proud of all the choices he was about to present to her, he liked the combination of colors for this particular one the most. 

After a fleeting glance at the display, Maxim looked over to her, his expression softening ever so slightly. He wanted to see her reaction, the slightest shift in her demeanor. „I‘d like to go over some points with you.“ Despite his voice keeping the even tone from earlier, there was something gentle in his words. 

Admittedly, bringing kindness across by conversing was never his forté and luckily neither of his jobs required much talking in the first place. But if he could show his appreciation for her help - to let her know that he didn‘t forget about the extra mile she went to make him feel better - the least he could do was use a kinder tone. Then again, it might also be the most he could do. 

“First off, I‘m Maxim. We might‘ve met a while back.“ His expression didn‘t show any signs of the question blaring through his mind and making him wonder just why he just said that. Even the part about his name, he‘d like to take back. Just for good measure.

“Is this your first tattoo?“ Part of him was hoping it was. There was something exciting about working with a blank canvas; setting the standard for any subsequent designs. 

“I‘ve looked at the inspiration pictures you sent in and prepared some possible designs in my style. You can look at them, tell me which one you prefer most and whether there are parts you‘d like to change or adjust.“ Without even a glance down to the device on the table, he slid a finger across the screen to show the next idea he drew. Flowers, whose names he could only name in his native language, formed a dainty bouquet in a fineline style. The colors were darker and more saturated, ranging from reds to purples and pinks with varying shades of green making up the leaves. 

“You‘re not going to hurt my feelings if you don‘t like something. Be honest with me and yourself and tell me if you don‘t like parts of the designs. I can change it as much as I need to on this,“ he nudged the tablet closer to her, bringing attention to the device he was referring to, “but not when it‘s under your skin.“ The words came out studied and emotionless - he repeated the previous passage over and over again. In fact, he made the exact same statement every time he was working with an unfamiliar client. 

Something between a huff and a chuckle escapes him when he rolls his eyes. “Who the fuck goes camping without a tent?” The question is ironic in the sense that he didn't bring a tent either. Though, at that particular moment, Maxim is still in the blissful delusion that he packed it. “I might share if it rains.” A smile unmistakably lightens the tone of his voice. “Otherwise, you're fucked.” With a glance towards Kaz, it's clear that he's joking. Maxim leans into his seat, eyes glued to the road, and the hand that previously rested on the gear shift lifts to form its fingers into a middle finger directed at his boss. Before he can say something, though, he quickly holds onto the steering wheel again to keep balance against the shove. Would this be anybody else, he would've stopped the car and made them get out. But this is Kaz and even though Maxim would never admit it, Kaz’s loyalty grants him special privileges. Besides, it’s funny as hell to him, visible by the wide grin on his face. He is eager to get their trip properly started and with a playful side that he has only ever shown to his siblings and Kaz, he punches his friend's shoulder back harder in equal excitement.

Sarcasm could be a powerful weapon, like any kind of words and wit. She wasn't the most affectionate person so she showed her attachment in other ways and this was one of them. That and fighting wars for them. She had done so for many heroes and she would do it for Maxim too. Without hesitation.

"Coffee it is then"  she answered, taking two cups and carefully depositing them on the kitchen's counter. She then prepared the coffee, the delicious and energizing aroma wafting through the apartment. Shen then found a nice plate and disposed the baklava onto it. She hummed softly as she worked, waiting for her pupil to be ready. 

"Do not worry about the milk, unless you need some ? I could ask Noctua to bring a carton." As on cue when she heard her name, the little owl flew in Maxim's kitchen, gently pecking the boy's head in greetings before perching herself on the goddess' shoulder. She softly hooted, ready for any mission she could be given. 

Athena sat on the counter, pushing his cup towards Maxim before slowly sipping on her coffee. It was hot and strong, the perfect wake-me-up for such a day."I know that you can, I have talked with your doctor. But after what happened, I think that your mind needs more training now." It's not that the young man's spirit was bad but after what had happened, it needed as much repair as his body. 

As water dripped down his still-soaked hair, the mark it left was imperceptible against the backdrop of his slightly oversized, black shirt. His attire maintained a monochrome theme, with a red and white print adorning the back of his shirt and a tiny embroidery of a brand logo near the pocket of his sweatpants. It was a simple yet comfortable ensemble, perfectly suited to the spontaneity of the day.

The sound of a breath filled the space that was reserved for words when he opened his mouth to speak but got momentarily distracted by the tiny owl’s greeting. His eyes followed Athena’s feathered companion up until it got comfortable on her shoulder, the gentle smile of a friend of animals reflecting on his lips. 

Finally, —it took him a second to regain focus—he blinked and looked back at the goddess with an indifferent shake of his head. “I’m good. I take my coffee black.” 

Maxim's method of drying his hair with a towel was reckless, lacking structure or caution, resulting in random strands wildly pointing away from his head. He didn't bother adjusting the chaotic style, hanging the cloth around his neck before settling on the chair closest to him, never facing away from her. “My mind?” the question blurted out before he ever had the chance to adjust his tone, giving away just how unexpected Athena’s statement was to him. “Do you mean that I get to enter someone else’s dream again?” The smug grin that rose with his words matched the reputation he has earned but failed to block out the knot that tightened his stomach at the idea of guiding another nightmare. Despite his genuine fascination with people’s oneiric encounters, his mind betrayed him with images of past consequences, sending a sharp pain to his right shoulder. 

Taking a sip of his coffee, Maxim grabbed a small piece of baklava, studying it as if trying to recall whether he had tasted the delicacy before.

“My favorite place, huh?” he repeated her words as if to confirm it to himself. One spot came to mind immediately, but he hesitated to voice it, uncertain whether he wanted to give away his tiny oasis of privacy so carelessly. Maxim looked away from the dessert in his hand to look at her, his calm expression standing in direct contrast with his racing thoughts. It almost felt as if just glancing at the goddess reminded him of who he was talking to. She was his mentor; one of the very few people on the island he trusted to not use his secrets against him. 

He bit off a tiny piece of the pastry, leaving his question to linger in the air for a few more seconds while he savored the sweet taste. When he was finally done, however, he nodded tentatively before he spoke again. “There’s an old, abandoned…uh…” Maxim paused briefly, trying to translate the word out of his native language and into the one they were speaking. “…tower. I think it used to be a watchtower. It’s close to the mountains.” To be more precise, he had found the grim-looking structure right at the cusp between the mountains and the forest they were warned not to enter alone. A dingy little structure close to the island’s borders. 

Somewhere in the presumed danger of it, he found peace. No matter how many times he’s visited his special spot, he had never encountered anyone going there or coming back from it. A perfect hideout for whenever he wanted to be by himself.

Though his left eye was somewhat hidden behind a half veil of hair, his right eye stared at this stranger, midnight gaze so black it was nearly impossible to tell where iris ended and pupil began. That stare seemed infinite, gave the impression he could see within this person, see his soul, see what was beyond that soul--it was a stare that everyone in his life prior to Mount Phoenix had found unnerving, eerie, as though Death itself tore them open to read every moment of their lives, every indiscretion and sin laid bare, every hidden secret and desire they feared the world ever knowing.

"Your name is required for the purposes of liability should damage to the materials occur during your research." Again, his voice was even and quiet, downright mechanical in its baritone.

But, just like that, the stare was over. His gaze returned to the monitor, his fingers still tapping fluidly at the keys, unhindered, clearly a multitasker. He continued to listen to the man make his request, not at all bothered by the tone; in fact, he appreciated the fact this patron was so direct.

"That is an extensive request. Do you read Greek?" he asked flatly. "If not, then I will translate the documents for you while you investigate materials available in Korean. Or Russian." Yet before this patron could ask, Vitas explained as though anticipating the stranger would ask how he knew about the native tongue. "You have a lilt."

When the stranger spoke his name, again, Vitas appeared unfazed--mostly because he had a very logical way of thinking; his name was on his ID badge, which was clearly visible, and honestly it was more of a convenience to him for others to read it and remember it--and if they mispronounced it, then he would correct them; but this stranger had said it correctly, which was a nice change. Somewhat.

Maxim felt something run down his spine when the stranger’s gaze lifted. It wasn’t a cold sweat, and yet it wasn’t far from it. Whatever it was, it felt less than pleasant. Regardless of that particular feeling or the effort to keep his expression as blank as possible, the son of Phobetor returned the stare. His own eyes, once unflatteringly described to be colored like ‘mud so dark and dirty that sand would be embarrassed to be related to it’, looked almost relaxed despite the tenseness that kept them from looking away. He would struggle to remember whether he dared to blink during that time. 

It took all the muscles in his face to keep himself from making a face at the sound of the explanation. The urge to mock Vitas’s words was strong, but even he knew that it would be utterly misplaced in this scenario. And more importantly, it wouldn’t help his cause in the slightest. Still, for a moment, his nose wrinkled just enough on one side to lift a part of his lip into a grimace of disapproval. He really didn’t want to give up his name. So—he didn’t. Not at that moment, at least. 

Instead, he waited silently, the tapping of the archivist’s fingertips against the keyboard providing the only source of sound. That was until Vitas spoke up again and, with the sheer possibility of receiving a translation of works he wasn’t able to read before, Maxim’s eyes widened briefly. The opportunity to finally study the transcripts, he asked the previous employee multiple times about. 

Finally, his eyebrows furrowed and broke the facade of his once again blank expression at the question. His lips parted and carried the sound of a breath being drawn to speak up, but his voice didn’t reach the air.

A lilt? The frown that he held back earlier now openly painted itself over his features, partly impressed, partly skeptical of that observation. Despite his best efforts to minimize any trace of it, he knew that his native language could be heard through his voice. Even more so—he noticed—ever since his siblings reached the island, and they primarily conversed in Russian.

“I don’t read Greek.” he could hear the lilt clearly now after it had been pointed out. Still, the tattoo artist made sure to show as little irritation about it on his face as possible. While his Korean skills were proficient enough to get him through his day-to-day life, he preferred to read in his native language to ensure he wouldn’t miss crucial details. “I would prefer to read it in Russian, then. Since you’re already offering.” The smile that tugged on his lips was cold, dead and didn’t reach his eyes whatsoever. A taunt in itself.

Below the layer of annoyance about the situation, bloomed a seedling of respect for the man in front of him. More than he ever graced his predecessor with. Despite that, however, Maxim was far from admitting something like that. Even to himself. His voice hugged the letters of his words, the name sounding familiar on his tongue with the Russian pronunciation he attached. “Dimitriy.” he paused just long enough to make it sound like he was letting the name fill the room it warranted before he gave the same attention to the last name. “Zolotov.” Granted, it wasn’t his own name. In fact, the combination of both first and last names was completely unfamiliar to him. A fusion between the first name of three of the boys that lived on his street—a very popular name in their area—and the last name of his favorite teacher growing up. 

“We good now? Do I get access to that infinite wealth of knowledge that has spurned and quelled wars?” his expression shifted to emphasize his question, an eyebrow ticking upwards in a challenge. Maxim paid attention to the archivist’s words earlier and did his best to recite them in a similarly flat tone. 

The vet didn't say anything, observing Maxim as he looked around him, following his gaze towards the partying crowd, the laughters and clinging of glasses resonating around them. He noticed the young man and woman but he didn't ask about them. It was the other man's own world that he didn't want to invade. 

Not being invited to someone's world was something he had the utmost respect for. 

"I certainly hope I do" In-Soo answered, grinning. The sarcasm didn't bother him, the vodka in his veins like a shield against people's words. "I did. I can be a wolf, I don't need to be a werewolf." He kept observing Maxim as he drank, the way he was looking at the offered alcohol. He could feel the other's tension, the desire he kept pushing away. In a way, he admired the determination he himself lacked. 

"I get it. People dream, even if they don't always remember it. So no dreams means death, doesn't it ?" the vet added, shifting on his seat to look in front of him, his eyes fixed on the bottles and mirrors behind the bar. "But I know that he's still alive, I feel it in my guts." He finished his vodka, beckoning the bartender closer for another one.

In-Soo listened and though his mind agreed with Maxim, his heart was screaming for him to try. He knew it would be the worst idea of all his worst ideas but he couldn't stop entertaining the thought. He would disappoint so much people though. Juyeon, Chang'e, Sundrop. Maybe  Kaz, Angela and even Mai. His sanity was already too far gone to risk losing what was left of it.

So maybe, for once, he should trust the other and listen to his advices. After all, he knew about the risks of his powers more than anyone else.

Closed starter for the nightmare on a mission @mpxmaxim

It was a quiet day in the archives. Foot traffic had been minimal at best which was how Vitas liked it. His third day on the job and he had already recategorized, reorganized, and rearranged he entire archives into a far more efficient and superior system than it had been prior to his arrival. The quiet did not bother him in the slightest, it gave him leeway to complete his tasks unhindered. Most patrons preferred to keep to the upper levels for their research, rarely had subjects for which they needed deeper investigations into the more antiquated aspects of history, so Vitas spent his time this day scanning documents and translating them.

Midnight eyes stared at the laptop monitor that reflected his current project upon the lenses of his silver-rimmed glasses. The tall and pale waif of a figure sat at his desk that was perfectly organized and devoid of any personal affects--just a computer and a lamp. The desk sat ahead of rows upon rows and aisles upon aisles of shelves filled with documents and artifacts and boxes filled with KNOWLEDGE. And the person sitting at the desk's comfortable swivel chair seemed as clean as his space, albeit nearly swallowed by the dark grey cardigan that covered the black turtleneck and slacks, neck-length hair of night just long enough to be pulled back into a very small ponytail at the base of his skull and out of the way of his somewhat limited vision, unbothered by the loose locks that did fall before his left eye. His name was no secret, on plain view via his ID badge which hung from the black lanyard about his neck, a pewter pin in the shape of a raven on either strap. His typing was seamless and quiet, smooth and unburdened by any mistakes as he translated recent scans from Latin to Korean. He did not look away from the screen, however, as someone approached--nor did he appear perturbed by the fact that someone was interrupting his task; he could pick up with his translations at any time, but addressing a patron's inquiries was also part of his job.

The tattoo artist had grown to understand the sorting system, making it easy for him to find exactly what he’s been looking for. However, when he stood in front of the shelves he frequented for the first time in a while, nothing made sense to him. Everything was wrong, scattered, lost. For a long while, he stood there frozen, eyebrows furrowed, while his gaze scanned the archives that were filed in a way that had yet to make any sense to him. 

Ultimately, though, his pride was pushed aside with a deep sigh to allow his longing for vengeance to flourish. Unhurried, but visibly annoyed, he made his way towards the employee he registered when he entered. Given that he spent a considerable amount of his free time at the library, it was safe to say that he had seen every employee or volunteer at least once. Hell, Maxim recognized frequent visitors on the streets just because he spent countless hours reading and throwing dirty looks to anyone who kept him from it. So when he spotted the unfamiliar worker sitting at his desk, he was sure he was new to his job. Was he the one who messed up the chaotic system Maxim was so accustomed to?

His lips parted to speak, but only a silent breath escaped when the other spoke up instead. He sounded bored, but not yet disinterested. As if he wanted to help Maxim, but only to get back to whatever it was he was doing as soon as possible. 

(  various  dialogue  prompts  to  send  to  your  worst  enemy  (affectionate).  feel  free  to  change  how  you  seem  fit.  )

❛ oh great, it's you again. ❜

❛ you? kill me? that's funny. ❜

❛ for being someone you hate, i'm sure on your mind a lot. ❜

❛ you're the last person i wanted to see, actually. ❜

❛ do us both a favor. stay away from me. ❜

❛ you really are an asshole, you know that? ❜

❛ i'm the asshole? what does that make you then? ❜

❛ sometimes i think you must hate me. ❜

❛ i thought you said you never wanted to see me again. ❜

❛ if you want me to go, then you have to tell me to leave. ❜

❛ well, someone's cranky today. ❜

❛ well, someone needs to shut the fuck up. ❜

❛ just stay out of my way. ❜

❛ of all the idiots in the world, i'm stuck with you. ❜

❛ what is it you want this time? ❜

❛ sometimes i wonder if you're in love with me. ❜

❛ do you honestly think this is easy for me? ❜

❛ why would i ever want to be friends with you? ❜

❛ can we please just talk? ❜

❛ there is nothing for us to talk about. ❜

❛ you can yell at me later. just let me help you. ❜

❛ touch me, and you're dead. ❜

❛ oh, so now you care? ❜

❛ there is something deeply wrong with you. ❜

❛ i know i'm the last person you probably want to see, but... ❜

❛ you don't think we could be friends, do you? ❜

❛ i'm tired of fighting against you. ❜

❛ don't pretend you give a shit about me. ❜

❛ you're an idiot, but... i trust you. ❜

❛ oh, don't be cute. ❜

❛ wait, did you just say that i'm cute? ❜

❛ we're not good for each other. ❜

❛ if i say yes, will you shut up? ❜

❛ don't you have to be stupid somewhere else? ❜

❛ maybe we should kiss just to break the tension. ❜

❛ i'm sorry i can't turn off my feelings as easily as you. ❜

❛ maybe there's a universe out there where we're friends. ❜

❛ how can you be so smart yet so dumb at the same time? ❜

❛ don't think this changes anything between us. ❜

❛ you look ridiculous in that outfit, by the way. ❜

❛ if you die, i'll kill you. ❜

❛ is that a challenge? ❜

❛ ah, so you're not heartless after all. ❜

❛ i don't think i've ever seen you smile. ❜

❛ you never cared about me, so why now? ❜

❛ why didn't you kill me when you had the chance? ❜

❛ i don't even remember why we started fighting. ❜

❛ i don't have time for distractions right now. ❜

❛ you're not as bad as everyone says you are. ❜

For the first time since arriving on the island, he actually felt the cold prickles of fear in his heart, mixed with the tightening of sadness and regret. It hadn't been his intention to upset anyone, and now it was clear this stranger--and seeming neighbor--was downright irate at him and his ridiculous behavior. And now that he knew this guy at least lived in the same building as him, no doubt they would eventually learn which apartment belonged to whom, so it wasn't like he could really escape this guy anyway.

He just wanted to go back to his burrow and hide under his blankets for a while.

Kaz? Invidia? Those names were unfamiliar to him, but he took note of them should he ever encounter this guy again. In the silence the stranger had provided after his questions, Leto did not say anything at first--and perhaps his own quiet pause went a bit too long and might just worsen the other man's anger, but he did answer eventually, with a very slow and soft, somewhat timid baritone confession of "I...don't...know...who those...people are...sorry..." he said, his enchanted pendant translating his speech to the stranger's native tongue, "I just...uhm...I would like to go home...please..." he added with a slight gesture forward, indicating the apartments beyond.

He breathed an exasperated sigh that carved his expression into something more rigid—the type of look he usually reserved for clients at his job who went too far—while he waited for the stranger to speak. But when he did, Maxim’s face softened with the way his eyelids twitched up and his lips parted slightly. As if to tell words that carry no sound. Russian. It sounded tender and natural coming from his unexpected housemate, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than that. 

Speechless by the sound of his native language on the island out of anyone’s mouth other than his siblings, Maxim simply stared at the stranger. His expression turned unreadable, hinting at his internal struggle to gather his thoughts. “How…” the words were meant to be a question, but he quickly realized that he didn’t have the slightest clue what it was that he wanted to ask. He’d almost forgotten all about their run, the odd coincidences that led them to where they were standing, in lieu of trying to figure out more about the stranger. Who is he? And why is he at his apartment complex? 

His head turned just far enough to follow the runner’s gesture, not yet ready to fully let him out of his sight. “Home?” The question was another one that trailed into oblivion, never elaborating on it. 

While words have never been his forte, the tattoo artist has learned how to weaponize silence. So after he listened to the stranger’s explanation, he didn’t speak up or move in order to stretch out a few more seconds. To make him wait for his decision or any kind of reaction. First would come a deep exhale, then his arms would uncross and fall back to his side before he’d take a step back to allow his housemate entry. “You must be new here. How come you speak Russian?” despite the rather harmless nature of his question, Maxim’s tone remained just as icy and emotionless as before. It wasn’t anything personal, though; his voice rarely sounds warm, regardless of the situation.

“You didn’t offend me.” Would he be kinder, he’d elaborate on his statement and tell him that his behavior caught him off guard and left him confused for a bit. On this island, people seemed to be unpredictable, and Maxim was unsure whether this was a joke he wasn’t in on or some playfully innocent act. But ‘kind’ was low on the list of descriptive words that would fit the artist. So instead, he simply left it hanging in the air as a fact before he fished his keys out of a small pocket on the inside of his jacket and turned to walk towards his apartment. “But don’t do it again.”

    Maxim’s little jabs at him hardly distract Invidia’s eyes as they watch the way the other works to write his name across the top of the page. It looks like shit in a handbag but it’s far better than he anticipated it being. There is hope that he’ll recover quite quickly and be able to not only take care of others, but take care of himself well. Invidia doesn’t give a fig about whether or not Maxim is ready to thwart a thief or wrestle down a would-be aggressor at work just yet. Can he fend for himself alone if he needs to? Would he be able to eat well or fix himself something if he was hungry? The rest would follow soon after that.

    Then he’d be helpful at work again.

    “Yeah…” Invidia says so (not) helpfully to the little jab before Maxim is focusing too on his own writing for a bit.

    A bit of time passes with them like that before Maxim is speaking again and saying he thought the sinner wanted to play nurse. A chuckle and a roll of Invidia’s eyes is what the injured receives in reply. “Is that your fantasy? Nurse play? How utterly vanilla and yet somehow surprisingly base for you.”

   He taps the paper as he watches the second attempt at the name. It’s terrible! “Pathetic. Do better. Are you useless or just stupid?” There’s no real fire behind the insults, just urging for the other to try again- the delivery foul in its word choice but Invidia is more for efficiency over gentleness toward Maxim. “I always figured your thing was- don’t hold it so tight.. there you go- I don’t know, wax play or something light like that.”

When he hears Invidia speak up again, one of his shoulders lift with a half-hearted scoff as his gaze jumps from his second attempt to the first one to compare. Maxim briefly looks up at the sinner, but doesn’t speak just yet, his focus quickly drawn back to the way his name is crookedly written on the piece of paper at the sound of the insult. He wouldn’t voice it, but he knows his co-worker is right. While good everyday handwriting and his ability to draw weren’t inherently linked, Maxim knows from experience that he won’t be able to produce anything of value when he still struggles to hold a pen. 

Teeth gnaw on the same spot of his lip again when he kicks off another attempt, his mouth only relaxing at the instructions of holding the pen in a more easygoing manner. 

“My fantasy?” amusement blends into his tone when he finishes writing and looks back up at the sinner. “I wouldn’t say you being a personal nurse would be a fantasy…” He places the pen onto the paper to stretch out fingers that are cramping under the unfamiliarity of the grip. The soft but intentional crack of his joints fills the room in the short moment he doesn’t speak before he picks the pen up again. “If I’d get to choose, I’d rather see you tied up and with your mouth shut somewhere so you couldn’t bother me.” Would it not be for the distant sound of venom and sarcasm in his voice, someone who isn’t familiar with their dynamic might mistake his words as something said in earnest. 

The innocence of the grin on his lips is just as forced as the handwriting on the paper; bringing emphasis to his jab before he picks the pen up again to start writing. Too lost in his own focus, Maxim only hums quietly in response to his name, not looking up. But when the paper reads ‘Max’ and his hand stops moving, it’s almost as if he’s only now realizing the implications. Quietly and without changing anything about his position, his eyes move from the paper to nothing in particular in front of him, back to the paper, to the bandages on his arm and then finally up to the sinner. It’s only then that he moves and leans back into an upright sitting position against the mattress. 

Confusion, disbelief, and skepticism blend into an expression that closely resembles surprise. There is no malice in his face, only a glint of curiosity in the eyes that meet the sinner’s. Is he being serious? It certainly sounds like it, but why would he like to know?

Swallowing the initial shock, Maxim’s eyebrows furrowed to give his face a pondering touch. “I…” he hesitates, “I haven’t really given much thought about explicit rules, but whoever would agree to it, would be subjected to nightmares whenever I enter their dreams.” The only reason his words sound matter-of-fact is that he’s telling the truth. Giving someone nightmares is a side effect he has no control over, so the practice he’d be getting out of the exercise would be to see how well he can tell a story. How well could he manipulate somebody to dream what he wants them to dream? 

“What I did to In-Soo,” his eyes fall back to the paper and his hand starts moving again to continue writing to distract himself from the distant but growing feeling of shame setting inside of him, “was torture. It was random; I just wanted to learn how to use my powers against someone I know nothing of.” Finally, he looks back up at Invidia, his mask of nonchalance ready to slip back onto his face. “Giving someone nightmares comes easy to me. Controlling them or even just steering them into a certain direction doesn't.” 

The thought of writing fully abandoned at this point, he places the pen onto the paper and searches for something in the sinner’s eyes. An indication that he’s joking or some confirmation whether he’s talking about himself or someone else.   “I mean…yeah.” If his injured shoulder would allow him to, Maxim would shrug. “If I find someone who’s twisted enough to willingly let me mess with their brain, I’d respect their boundaries.” The reason for that isn’t exactly noble. It’s a selfish thing, really. Should he find a volunteer, he’d be foolish to lose his training buddy by deliberately crossing a line.

Leto was not an idiot; he had faced stalkers before and had patients who also had stalkers; he knew a variety of precautions to take when one felt threatened. The easiest and most obvious one was, of course, do NOT go home. Find a public space. Hell, even just go straight to the police station if feeling that unsafe. But there was another element at play here--it could merely be coincidence; and what if the stranger was innocent in their synchronized trajectory? What if they really were just simply taking the same route by happenstance? He was supposed to be friendly with the residents of this island and the last thing he wanted to do was make someone feel antagonized or suspected of wrongdoing by appearing in front of police. Other options were to just befriend the stranger, or act completely unhinged, immediately retaliate (not recommended), suddenly dash off in another direction...but he did not do these things.

Oh well. Que sera, sera they say.

Might as well make it fun.

And so...Leto DID.

At least for himself anyway.

Even though the stranger gave him annoyed looks, Leto just let go of his anxiety for a moment by being a little silly. How? He seamlessly turned around, running backward while still keeping pace with the stranger--in fact, he even let his steps fall in time with the guy while flashing a warm smile despite any grimacing he received in return. Now and then, he faced forward again or ran a few paces ahead just so he could loop his arm around a lamp post for a swing about and continue his run; sometimes, he even gave a random spin on his toes, and then...wouldn't you know, before he knew it, they were back at the Manticore apartments and Leto FINALLY stopped.

A deep breath raised his shoulders when he eventually slowed down and turned to walk not far from the entrance. Maxim wanted to use that time to observe; see if the stranger would dare to go to his apartment. Of course, he thought, this would happen on the one and only day when he left his gravity knife at home. The universe—once again—loved to play tricks on him. With another, much more shallow but no less audible exhale, he fixed his eyes on at his involuntary running buddy and wondered what exactly it was he wanted. Out of all residents on the island, the tattoo artist definitely didn’t look approachable and anyone who’d knew him or knew of him, would say words of warnings to newcomers. That was the reputation he held on to his whole life, and it was the very same one he grew to love and appreciate. Because it would allow him to go about his day without any disturbances. At least that was the case until the man at the door ruined it for him.

He would lie if he’d claim he’d never been followed home or pushed into a corner in his life, but the one or two times it did happen, he learned from his mistakes. Apparently not enough to remember to lead the person anywhere but his home. Then again, Maxim didn’t perceive the man holding the door as a threat. More of a nuisance who probably agreed to prank him without knowing how lethal that agreement could turn out to be.

He made sure to wait a bit before he spoke up, in order to regulate his breath and put it into his words. His voice sounded calm and unbothered despite his inner turmoil. Walking past the man, the security guard barely passed the threshold of the door before he abruptly turned around to face him; effectively denying him entry.

“What the fuck do you want? Who sent you? Was it Kaz? Or Invidia?” Before he even finished voicing his questions, Maxim could think of at least three more people who might’ve been the masterminds behind this wicked trick. But he simply raised his eyebrows and silently waited for the newcomer in front of him to deliver some answers.