Allhesaid 1 - Blog Posts

That had better be an attempt at flirting, and not an insult, or Mr. Server will find himself bloodier than the cage fighters.

...ah. Yes. Alright. Definitely flirting.

Like practically everything else there is to life, Maxwell is woefully out of practice when it comes to rapport of the amorous variety. He nearly finds himself blushing, which would be ridiculous, and instead leans heavily into "playing it cool" so as to not come across as an absolute fool.

"Don't flatter yourself."

Perhaps he's over-correcting. Whoops.

"You'll get a better tip bringing me my drinks than you will stroking my ego." Debatable.

"Unless you'd care to take a break, sit down, and tell me what you really think."

his gaze is met with a warmer one from will, seemingly unfazed by the stranger's cold behavior. where expectation waits for a rude comment, he's given a surprisingly polite one instead, a nice contrast to his attitude.

" well, that's a shame. all dressed up and you're by yourself? " will can immediately tell the man in the tailored suit is all about pride just from the way he sits up, shows off his outfit. instead of shying away, the writer steps closer, glides the tips of his fingers over one of the shoulder pads.

" custom made, huh? well, you're a sight and a half. it really complements your figure. " turning his attention to the notepad, he writes down the order, takes another look around the room. dar'khol is pretty forgiving, but will doesn't want to lose a customer because he's too busy hitting on someone.

spotting noone intending to order, he resumes the conversation. " so you're a man who likes his suits fashionable and his fighting rough. is that what brings you here, or was it the devilishly handsome server? "

"For now." He's not going to set a limit on how much he drinks today; Maxwell isn't going to deny himself anything for as long as the (admittedly meager) funds he's been provided with last. It's time to celebrate!

...so why isn't his server scurrying off to help him get started?

Max turns from the fight, intending to fix the other man with a cool stare that should help motivate him to leave, but then he notices the way his server is eying his outfit.

"No. I'm here alone."

He sits up taller, straightening out his sleeves and his lapel. He doesn't blame the man for gawking; he cuts a striking figure in his suit.

Thank God he arrived in real clothes as opposed to those rags he had on in the Throneroom.

"It's custom made." Obviously. As if anyone would sell a jacket with those shoulders without it being a special request.

"Banter" has begun to achieved, as long as you count Maxwell talking solely about himself to be worthwhile conversation; it doesn't seem as though he's about to comment on the other man's taste in fashion, or on the other man period.

the fights are part of the reason will wanted to get employed at skullrender. nosy and without the ability to mind his own business, the writer finds brawls such as these fascinating. of course, watching them here sheds him of the guilt included in enjoying the occasional exchange of punches: the participants know what they're getting into, it's the main draw of the establishment.

.. that, and having a chance to meet the most interesting of people. the man that just called him over is unusually well dressed for this sort of afternoon. of course, there's nothing wrong with overdressing for any event, really - will does it all the time - but it was rarer to see in skullrender.

" oh, hi! " the notepad in his hand lifts with a smile, " and will that be all? "

will's gaze darts around, checking for anyone else wanting to order. the rest of the crowd seem to be intensely focused on the fight, so perhaps he can afford bantering for a little bit. " two, hm? are you expecting a date, mister .. ? "

he doesn't move from his spot near the stranger's table. in fact, it looks like will's waiting for something - for him to be looked at, so he may be caught non-discreetly studying the man's outfit.

{ isola starter call ! || @allhesaid ! }

Max clearly isn't the only one in this world who gets a sick sort of comfort out of watching other people suffer. He's entitled to it, as far as he's concerned; after what he's been through, it's only right that he gets to enjoy himself at someone else's expense. It's what They did to him it's what They're doing to Charlie right now and he can pass that pain along as much as he wants to, thank you very much.

(He thinks about the wave of Hounds that came three days before the completion of the portal. The fear in Wilson's eyes hadn't sparked any sort of joy that time, not like it did before. It's a lot harder to want to see someone hurt when they're sacrificing their safety to keep you alive. When they sacrificed everything to give you back your life in the first place--)

But these wannabe gladiators aren't Wilson, and Maxwell doesn't owe them a single thing. Besides, they volunteered for this, probably. All of the fun of watching people get hurt, none of the nagging guilt and regret for his past actions. What could be better!

He waves over his server, his eyes never leaving the fight.

"A Clover Club, please. Two, actually."