max goldstein .

She accepted the cigarette between her fingers like it was a dare, brushing past his hand just enough to linger. Charity didn’t look away as she took a drag, eyes fixed on him through the curl of smoke before handing it back. “My next move?” she echoed, stepping closer until the space between them was more suggestion than distance. Her shoulder nearly brushed his chest, her voice a low tease. “You think I dragged you out here with a plan? Maybe I just missed the company.”

Max's lips lifted a quiet smile, watching her as she dragged out her first exhale. "You took me out of there for what? No plan? I don't believe that." But anything would be more exciting especially when it pertained to Charity. A couple of years had passed between them, but he could easily remember their days in New York. It was wild and unmatched. He felt like he found someone who craved the same intensity and fire that he did. "I've never stopped being fun," he said dryly. A smile tugged to his lips and he draped an arm over her shoulders as they walked. "Tell me more about the after-party."

"Your cousin, the Scamander girl?" Felicity remembered him mentioning her back in New York. She missed those days still, sometimes she dreamed of nights spent together in his apartment. Not even just the sexy parts, just the normal every day things. Those she missed the most. "You're staying with her while you're here, aren't you? My cousin, Pandora, she's over at mine all the time now."

"Yeah, her," Max said, forgetting when he mentioned his cousin. She was his only cousin and while the family name had a reputation on both ends of the world, the family was quite small. "Not for too long," he nods. "Yeah, just going to use her couch and help her with stuff before finding my own place. I didn't come here with a plan. But I always land on my feet. What's your cousin like? Are you close with your family?" These would be the usual first date questions he would ask, but there was nothing normal about this. Max didn't know how many dates they went on and he knew what they were doing. Dancing around the question at the heart of all of this in hopes they could walk blindly ahead. Max was doing his part by scoping her with easy questions and was too in his head that he didn't notice he was standing closer to her now.

Madhuri had been leaning back on the couch, one leg folded under the other, swirling her wand between her fingers like a drumstick when Max started talking like that. She didn’t say anything at first. Just listened. That was kind of her thing, even if most people mistook her for a chatterbox. She could be both. Playful didn’t mean shallow. It just meant she knew life was hard, and she liked to make it lighter for the people she loved.

Words thrown carelessly into the room, toward the front and damn, had it come crashing back. "Alright, that wasn't the nicest way of putting it." Estelle could admit as much. "Not a fan of being stared at lately." She let out a sigh as she leaned back. "Sorry for snapping at you." Despite the amused tone, she meant it. What was the point in snapping at the bartender in question.

Max was used to people like her. They saw right through him as he just patrolled behind the bar and served them whatever they wanted to drink. He was invisible. It came in handy most of the times, but it did mean being baptized by fire with comments that proved his point. "Not a people person, are you?" He asked like he wasn't looking for an answer. Even though she dressed up the comment with an apology, he still considered the first impression. "Don't expect me to care about whatever you want to talk about." He pushed forward a drink. "We do accept tips though."

Lydia held her newly filled glass to her chest as if it would shield her from the mistakes she'd made. Marcus wouldn't think it was a mistake. Marcus would be so proud of her if he found out. She wasn't sure how that made her feel.

"Yeah? You a bartender too? Wouldn't mind being on your side of the counter sometimes, too," he said, nodding at her. Max thought that he could throw some common questions at her to get her settled into the conversation before he probed her mind even more. She was drinking which made it easier, made the thoughts more loose. Max rolled the name she kept thinking of over and over. Marcus. Where did he know that name? Did he know it? He leaned against the counter and poured himself a shot too. He doubted anyone would report on him since the other patrons seemed too engrossed in their own conversations. "Unpleasant? What do you mean? You can't get out of it?"

Evan exhaled smoke through his nose, slow and quiet, like he was answering a question the other hadn’t asked.“Don’t mistake me,” he said, eyes drifting back to the betting table, lingering just long enough. “I care very much about bets.” His voice was calm, laced with that maddening sort of detachment that made it unclear if he was serious. But his eyes— those were sharp. Watching. Measuring.

Max knew there were several people around them, but they were all the same. People who came to these haunts shared the same thoughts, the same loss, the same wins. Max didn't even need to walk into their minds to see what they were incapable of. That was why he didn't react to the other man defending himself. "A shop?" he echoed back. "I prefer to watch what people do when they win." It was always good to come to these places. New York, London. Everywhere had a place like this and Max was a bloodhound to always find it. He had come here at least three nights a week since he moved over the ocean and by being a regular, was able to spot others like him. "I like to play my cards on the table. Not in my hands," he shrugged. Max felt the opposite, though, hiding as much as he could and playing an Ace when he was only ready. "Have a name?"

Lydia had practically been cuddling her glass, turning the predicament she'd found herself in over and over in her mind. No matter what angle she came at it, she couldn't find a good way out without hurting someone. If she asked Rabastan for help, would that make her a coward? Rab didn't like cowards and she didn't want to lose his friendship. If she asked Marlene, she'd surely be furious. Maybe Dorcas? Or Maddy?

As Max neared, he could hear her thoughts with more clarity. Max had been working on reading minds from a few steps away, but across the counter always came easy. He didn't know who she was thinking about, noting down Rabastan as the name had a ring of familiarity. His eyes sharply looked up when he heard his cousin's name. There was a quick wave of protectiveness take over, urging him to find out more, especially when there were tones of someone getting hurt. "Good place for those kinds of days," he said as he reached for the bottle to refill her glass. "So, what's going on?"

"Don't you get ideas." She said with a laugh, her eyes light and dancing. Oh how badly Flick wanted to reach out and take his hand. She had missed him so much. Now having him so close yet just out of reach made her heart ache.

"I wouldn't steal this one," he says, glancing off. "It wouldn't go with my flat and doubt my cousin would vote it down." Max felt the reminiscent feelings he had back in New York. There she was, with a different name, but seemed the same nonetheless. He was lost in thoughts about their first date, comparing it like contrasted colors on a painting. Max wondered if he could let her in again. Part of him wanted to which is why he asked and showed up today. The other part was hesitating outside the open door, waiting for the stone to drop. Maybe it was too good to be true.

Max's first instinct was to throw up guards, both around his mind and his other defenses. Preparing to be in a fighting stance was all too familiar in moments of tension and there were other ways to fight than using his wand, tucked in his back pocket. Max stepped to the side, his eyes remaining on the witch. There was also something particular about her that Max couldn't find. It was like knocking on a wooden door to her mind with no answer. It wasn't unusual but he could at least steal two good thoughts before a person felt someone in their mind. Hers was a forcefield. Max stilled in his pace, his head tilting to the side in thought. "That would be great if we were," he lied easily though some people were keen to know his family's history and how the ability skipped through generations like a rock sliding over water. Sometimes it skipped one generation, sometimes two, there was once it skipped five. "It was nice meeting you though...Miss Lestrange."

Max's retreat was thrilling. He stepped away and Bellatrix smiled, a moth to a flame. He was a good liar, indeed. But it took one to know one. She didn't believe him at all, searching his features like a claw raking into glass, seeking weakness or revelation. She found neither. Their absence only piqued her delight, causing heady breath to catch against her throat in oblique anticipation. She paused. Silence swelled at his dismissal, not offended but bristling. "Mrs," she corrected, joining him in his newly instated space. She trailed a finger over a dusty shelf as she went, examining it distastefully, as though the heedless action had consumed her thoughts. It had - for that second - until she reached his side and leant close to his ear. Whispered words fell promptly, both accusatory and full with admiration. "I can feel you trying to break through. Better luck next time." She pulled back, lips curved into a scandalous beam. "Goodbye for now, Mister Goldstein."

Max's first instinct was to throw up guards, both around his mind and his other defenses. Preparing to be in a fighting stance was all too familiar in moments of tension and there were other ways to fight than using his wand, tucked in his back pocket. Max stepped to the side, his eyes remaining on the witch. There was also something particular about her that Max couldn't find. It was like knocking on a wooden door to her mind with no answer. It wasn't unusual but he could at least steal two good thoughts before a person felt someone in their mind. Hers was a forcefield. Max stilled in his pace, his head tilting to the side in thought. "That would be great if we were," he lied easily though some people were keen to know his family's history and how the ability skipped through generations like a rock sliding over water. Sometimes it skipped one generation, sometimes two, there was once it skipped five. "It was nice meeting you though...Miss Lestrange."

Max's retreat was thrilling. He stepped away and Bellatrix smiled, a moth to a flame. He was a good liar, indeed. But it took one to know one. She didn't believe him at all, searching his features like a claw raking into glass, seeking weakness or revelation. She found neither. Their absence only piqued her delight, causing heady breath to catch against her throat in oblique anticipation. She paused. Silence swelled at his dismissal, not offended but bristling. "Mrs," she corrected, joining him in his newly instated space. She trailed a finger over a dusty shelf as she went, examining it distastefully, as though the heedless action had consumed her thoughts. It had - for that second - until she reached his side and leant close to his ear. Whispered words fell promptly, both accusatory and full with admiration. "I can feel you trying to break through. Better luck next time." She pulled back, lips curved into a scandalous beam. "Goodbye for now, Mister Goldstein."

@themaxgoldstein the three broomsticks

Max was finishing clearing off someone at the bar, having burned holes through them for their crude behavior. If he got fired, it would be because he hexed someone. In their replacement was a blonde witch. Something about her seemed familiar, but he couldn't place where he knew her from. He stood there, caught between not knowing if he could trust the lure towards her and turning the other way. He must've stared too long and his eyes widened when she snapped at him, but he didn't look away. "I doubt that," he said, giving a stiff nod. "Was going to ask what you need. But nevermind."

Felicity could admit that she’d spent a bit too much time fussing over what she would wear, how she should act, whether or not he’d even show up. It had all felt very teenaged of her and she’d been very glad the only one to see it had been her babysitter. Thankfully the girl had never cared for gossip.

Max did appreciate the beauty of art and what it stood for. There was so much history between each brushstroke. Max remembered going to the museums in New York and getting lost at each one. It was ironic, but it was the only place his fingers didn't twitch with the clash of wanting what he couldn't have. Max glanced to the side at Pandora, giving a quick smile. "Yeah? Is that you encouraging me?" he said and returned his gaze to the art. "It's Italian. During the 16th century...by someone in the middle class who wishes they were rich." There was a time when he would've easily reached out to hold her hand like a well known painting. Instead he took a step in the other direction towards another landscape piece. "Been where? On a date?" he asked with a wry smile. "No, never been here. I do believe it. It feels like your entire life is your work."

"I'm certain the courts can work something out for you. Amelia Bones in particular is known for her level-headed approach to things like this." She couldn't help feeling a little relieved he didn't have the money for a fine, just because it meant he likely hadn't been up to too much mischief while he was here. The Leaky Cauldron paid well, but not that well. Flick did want him to thrive here but she certainly wouldn't mind not meeting behind an interrogation table again.

"What if I promise to not do something like that again? I have a clean record here and I can probably say something about my tragic past causing my current actions. It might need to be workshopped," he said with a careless shrug as if trying on lies was as easy as clothes. Max didn't have to read Felicity's mind. The warmth of her cheeks and her hesitant smile gave away whatever she was thinking about. "Well, when are you off?" he asked confidently with a smug smile that fit around his lips. He was still attached to the table and knew there were probably other Ministry officials watching the interrogation, but he didn't seem to mind. "In a very professional nonwork capacity, yeah," he chimed in, nodding along. "Can I leave now?"

The longer they spoke, the more her eyes drove and danced. Sparkling blue and wildly open, she observed this new acquaintance with the ardour of a cat with a brand new mouse. Whether she would toy or maim remained to be seen. He was certainly keeping her engaged for now, his energy as intriguing as it was admirable. She appreciated a little spark in a wizard. At the question, she rolled a shoulder into an innocent shrug, truthfully having no idea what good he would be as an ally. She simply knew it would be better than a friend. Friends couldn't be used. "Good to meet you, Mister Goldstein," she replied, totally unphased by the lack of common social courtesy. He crossed his arms, and she wracked her brain, trying to recall how she knew of that family. "Are there Goldsteins in England? Seers? No... it's something else. There's something special about your family, isn't there?" Her lips pursed, pupils widening rapaciously. "Legilimens."

Max's first instinct was to throw up guards, both around his mind and his other defenses. Preparing to be in a fighting stance was all too familiar in moments of tension and there were other ways to fight than using his wand, tucked in his back pocket. Max stepped to the side, his eyes remaining on the witch. There was also something particular about her that Max couldn't find. It was like knocking on a wooden door to her mind with no answer. It wasn't unusual but he could at least steal two good thoughts before a person felt someone in their mind. Hers was a forcefield. Max stilled in his pace, his head tilting to the side in thought. "That would be great if we were," he lied easily though some people were keen to know his family's history and how the ability skipped through generations like a rock sliding over water. Sometimes it skipped one generation, sometimes two, there was once it skipped five. "It was nice meeting you though...Miss Lestrange."

Charity smirked at his answer, slow and knowing, like she was already three steps ahead. “Please,” she said, her voice low, lazy with drink and smoke. “You’ve been here long enough to get bored, love. Don’t play coy with me.” As she spoke, her fingers grazed the back of his hand, just a brush, but deliberate. Familiar. Like muscle memory, like something her body hadn’t forgotten even if her mind tried to. The witch stepped in closer, close enough for the scent of her --smoke and sandalwood and something faintly sweet-- to wrap around him.

Max would believe that he held a hard poker face as it was something that he practiced and was unusually good at. He could create a believable lie with easy effort. It was why task forces in New York, both Muggle and No Maj alike, couldn't catch him. His mouth raised into a smirk at her words, feeling like he couldn't lie to her in that moment. He was fresh from his loss and still looked entertained by her. "You'd make a good auror," he grins as he collects his stuff to stand, hellbent on skipping the next fight that was being set up.