Round 1 Day 2 - Max's Date (2/2)

“That actually really hit the spot,” Matt hummed in satisfaction, licking his fingers and then wiping his hands and face with a paper napkin, “I hope you didn’t plan anything too strenuous for the afternoon though, I’m stuffed. How about you?”

“Still hungry,” Max shrugged. She’d finished her own meal a little while ago, and had been nursing the dregs of the milkshake since then. “More food isn't going to help with that though.”

“What do you mean?”

She gave him a look that was half smouldering seduction and half disbelief. “Don’t tell me you forgot my transformation already? I’m gonna be hungry until you quit the teasing and let me swallow your load.”

“Ah,” Matt grimaced, rubbing the back of his head with one hand, “Sorry. How bad is it?”

Max’s eyes locked onto his with an intensity that was almost scary, and for a brief moment he found himself bracing for her to launch across the table at him, but then the look softened with a small smirk and she shrugged.

“I’m coping. Not gonna go feral on you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Not until you let me.” She finished the last of the milkshake with a loud slurp, wiped her face off with a napkin, then pulled a tube of lipstick out of her pocket and reapplied the purple that threw the first punch at the riot.

“You’ll get your chance later,” he said, his voice low with promise. It was almost intoxicating to be wanted so badly, though not so much that he entirely stopped worrying. “But seriously, let me know if it gets too much.”

“Sure,” Max snorted, smacking her lips as she finished fixing the makeup, then launching herself to her feet and heading for the exit without waiting. “Let’s go then.”

“Where are we off to?” Matt asked, unfolding from the booth and catching up with only a couple of long strides.

“Golf,” came the answer that would have ranked somewhere in the bottom percentile of likely responses.

“Golf,” Matt said in flat disbelief, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“What, a girl from Brixton can’t play the white man’s game?” she shot back with a challenging expression.

“I didn’t say that,” Matt gave her an unimpressed look, covering up a smirk at the obvious bait, “You know I didn’t say that. I’m more shocked that the punk plays the game with the closest ties to the establishment since fox hunting.”

“Dude, I work for the same bank as you,” she shook her head and chuckled, but without much humour, “I am the establishment, and a godawful punk.”

“Eh, you’re doing better at consistent worldviews than a socialist investment banker,” Matt shrugged nonchalantly.

They walked on for several more silent seconds as Matt waited for the surprise, or the snark, while Max completely refused to give him the satisfaction. Matt eventually broke first, letting out a sigh and giving Max a curious smile.

“Not gonna comment on that?”

“I manage the database, I’ve seen your portfolio,” she pointed out, “Everyone else in your department is earning dividends from Orphan Grinders Ltd, your clients get their money chucked at green tech firms and housing projects. You’re not subtle about your politics.”

“Fair enough,” he let the topic slip away and looped back to his earlier query, “Golf though?”

“I’ve been to a few of the company's open days at the golf course,” Max said with a defensive prickle, “I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m sure you do.”

---

Max had no idea what she was doing. She’d held a golf club before, could reliably hit the ball, but sending it in the direction she wanted was a skill she’d apparently lost in the years since the last time she’d bothered. The sun was high in the sky, illuminating the wide open space of the course, the imposing fortifications of the castle hotel, and the lush green of the treeline as her first ball went sailing off deep into the forest to be lost forever.

“I think I’m gonna just take that one again,” Max winced, holding the club across her shoulders.

“Sure, have a free one if you like,” Matt offered with an easy smile.

He was standing off to one side beside the snickering goblin caddy and the bag of clubs, but there was an intensity about his gaze. Something analytical, but more like scientific curiosity than snooty judgement. Max wasn’t sure if she liked it, either way. She pulled a spare ball from her pocket and reset the tee, took up her stance, and swung. The ball flew low, fast, and directly into a tree, then rebounded off to somewhere unseen. Max stared at where it had disappeared to and flexed the handle of the club between her hands.

“Do you want advice, commiseration, or for me to shut the fuck up?” Matt asked in a cautious voice.

The club flexed again until Max could feel the strain of it trying to snap back to straight, then she slowly released the tension and let out a sharp laugh. “I’ll take some advice, I guess.”

“It’s your shoulders,” he said, immediately but kindly, “You’re twisting them too much as you swing, so you’re not centred when you hit the ball.” He stepped up behind her, gestured for her to hold the club ready again, then placed his hands on her shoulders. “Hold them straight, but not tight. They should be part of the same fluid motion as the rest of you.”

He adjusted Max’s stance with firm pressure. Then he slid his hands down onto her upper arms, fingers slipping between the spikes on her jacket, and guided her through a slow practice swing. She allowed it, then leaned back before he could continue, pressing her body against his. Time for a distraction.

“You want to show me that one again?” she asked with a grin, tipping her head to one side and craning her neck around to look up at him.

Matt chuckled as he realised what she was doing, lowered his hands further to meet each other at her waist, and brought his lips close to her ear. “Have a little more patience, if you can manage, and I promise I’ll make it worth the wait.”

Max laughed lightly and prepared for a riposte, but her response was cut off as Matt suddenly dipped his head and nipped at her neck, catching part of the delicate brown skin between his teeth. She gasped, then stumbled back as Matt released her and quickly retreated to where he had come from. She spun about to face him, and pointed at his smug expression with the handle of the club.

“You’re a fucking clit-tease,” she accused in an impressed tone of voice, “And you’re setting yourself a really damn high bar to clear when we finally get started.”

“Who says we haven’t started already?” he smirked back at her, “I’ve never believed in putting a time limit on foreplay.”

“You’re playing with fire, Hawkins,” she growled, grinned, then turned back and set up for a third attempt at her first shot, “I’ll show you foreplay.”

She swung, quick and aggressive, and whether it was Matt’s advice somehow sticking or just sheer dumb luck the ball flew directly up the middle of the fairway to land about halfway down.

“Better,” he nodded approvingly, “But you’re not following through.”

“Neither are you,” Max said with a snort of laughter, meandering away from the tee, “Whatever, I guess we can start the game now at least.”

Matt gave her a wink and slowly walked over to take her place, set up the ball on the tee, gave his driver a few test swings, then prepared for his first stroke. “Watch where my arms end up after the swing, and how I get there,” he suggested, then swished the head of the club through a smooth but rapid arc. There was a sharp crack, and the ball soared away - travelling easily twice the distance and landing cleanly on the green. He gave a grunt of satisfaction. Not quite a hole in one, but he’d probably sink it in a single putt.

“Nice,” Max said, her eyes firmly glued to his backside.

Matt noted her tone, laughed, but then examined her curiously. She didn’t seem to have actually been watching his technique, only his ass. She didn’t seem to care that much about the shot. She just looked impatient. Something wasn’t right.

“Why are we here?” he asked, turning serious for a moment, “I’m getting the feeling you don’t actually have any interest in golf, and there are easier games if you just wanted something to do while flirting.”

Max blinked, looked surprised for a moment at being caught out, then shoved her hands in her pockets and shrugged. “I dunno. I just thought you might enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it?” Matt let out an incredulous laugh, “Max, I hate golf. It’s just a way of spoiling a nice walk.”

“No, but...” she glanced up at the green where his ball had landed, then back to him. She narrowed her eyes, and furrowed her forehead. “You go all the time. And that was a pretty good shot, right? You’re good at this?”

“Being good at something doesn't mean I enjoy it. Do you have any idea how many clients I’ve won by being able to stay two shots behind them for eighteen holes?” he shrugged, “It’s practically part of the job description.”

“You still said yes,” she accused.

“You asked me,” he countered, “I thought you wanted to, or at least wanted to learn.”

They stared at each other in disbelief at the situation. Then one of them, neither could be sure which, started giggling, and before long they were both shaking with laughter.

“Ah, fuck it,” Max wheezed, “What now then?”

“Well I don’t think we’re finishing this game,” Matt said, chuckles fading away, “We barely even started it. Anything else you’d actually enjoy?”

“Oh I can think of a few things I’d enjoy,” she winked, starting to catch her breath.

“Come on, Max,” he chastised her gently, “We’ll get there. Be patient. I just want to get to know you a bit better before then, outside of work stuff. What’s something you do for fun?”

“I dunno, other than the obvious,” she shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable, “I don’t exactly have a lot of hobbies. Less of them you’d be interested in.”

“Try me,” he challenged, folding his arms in front of him.

“I mean...” Max’s good humour fully dissipated into an awkward nervousness that was very unlike her. “I’m in an axe throwing league?” she admitted uncertainly, “There’s a range around here somewhere. I did a couple of rounds by myself yesterday, when I was bored.”

“Axe throwing?” he raised an eyebrow, but nodded. That sounded much more like something Max might have actually enjoyed. “Sure. Never tried, but it sounds fun.”

“Okay, cool,” she nodded, still awkward, “Let’s go then.”

Max dropped her club on the ground without ceremony, then set off in a stiff stride back towards the castle, letting Matt catch up on his own and not looking back at him. The goblin caddy watched them leave, her silent snickering lasting for a full minute after they had gone out of sight. Then she looked at the discarded clubs, peered into the distance at the ball that was all the way over on the green, shrugged, and wandered off into the forest, leaving all the equipment behind.

---

Sarah was in a surprisingly good mood that afternoon, given that her husband was on a date with another woman. To avoid spoiling that good mood, she decided she would approach Poppy first for Matt’s request, rather than Emma. The tiny woman was much less intimidating, and the fact that she was magically compelled to tell the truth would be useful. She’d be able to find out what Emma was actually like now, without twisting or exaggerating the facts, and if she was right and Emma hadn’t really changed then maybe she could even help poor Poppy realise some things by getting her to speak them aloud.

The problem with that was finding her. Sarah had missed the group breakfast, Eleanor was the only one who came back to the central buffet for a quick lunch before disappearing again without a word, and after dinner there was a chance she’d just go back to the bedroom she shared with Chrissy. That left her only option as wandering the endless hotel and hoping to get lucky. The Hotel seemed to be on her side though, and it wasn’t long before her luck came good.

Through a small side door was a small ornamental garden, and a small asian woman was taking a picture of a small yellow butterfly as it perched on a small red flower, using an unusually small camera with a big lens. Sarah spotted her immediately, and made a small coughing noise to try and attract her attention. It didn’t work. Poppy adjusted her position, crouching low, shooting upwards, framing the butterfly and the flower against the fluffy white clouds in the sky. She didn’t notice that she wasn’t alone anymore.

“Um, hello? Poppy?” Sarah tried.

The butterfly took off, and Poppy tracked its flight, twisting her body around with the shutter of the camera clicking again and again to catch every flutter of its wings. She still didn’t acknowledge the other woman in the garden.

Sarah prepared to try again, but paused as a curious sensation suddenly came over her. She felt a warmth envelope her body, something pressing against her from behind, arms wrapped around her waist. She yelped in surprise and whirled around, but there was nobody there and the sensation didn’t change.

“Matt?!” she whispered as she recognised the feeling for what it was, even though she knew he couldn’t hear her. This was too soon. After lunch had passed without incident, she hadn’t expected anything from Lust Link until the evening.

Breath against her ear made her gasp, and then she couldn’t stop the moan that escaped when she felt teeth on her neck. She touched the skin to confirm for herself that it hadn’t actually happened. It had felt so real, but the only place it could have come from the transformation she had bought for herself. Oh no. What was he doing?

“Are you okay?” asked Poppy, standing up now, facing Sarah, staring with curious eyes and her camera held loosely in front of her.

“I... um...” Sarah stumbled over words, face turning bright red, her throat closing up.

Poppy just tilted her head to one side, still staring. Without another word, Sarah turned and fled. The small side door slammed shut behind her.

“Oh,” said Poppy, to nobody in particular. That had been interesting. She was pretty sure she knew what those noises were, but had no idea why Sarah would be making them while fully clothed and on her own. She’d have to ask about that later, once she’d checked in with Emma to make sure it wasn’t going to upset anyone if she did. She shrugged to herself and spent some time flicking through the pictures she had just taken. The camera seemed to be working just as well as it always had, which was surprising considering it had somehow shrunk in proportion with her new body, along with all the spare batteries, memory cards, and all the accessories.

The tiny photographer took a moment to stare at the most recent photo: the beautiful woman with her eyes wide and unseeing, cheeks flushed, mouth parted in a moan, fingers brushing against the side of her neck as though trying to capture a feeling. One for her personal collection, she decided, based on the facial expression alone. Maybe she’d crop it to just the face, in fact, to make it ambiguous what was going on out of frame. Poppy adjusted the exposure time on her camera back up to better suit indoor shots, then wandered back into the castle in search of more subjects for her pictures.

---

The axe throwing range was a ramshackle construction of raw planks and chicken wire, lodged in between the trees. At one end were two targets made of wood and painted with a rough bullseye of concentric coloured rings. The other end was open, with a table off to one side that held a selection of axes about the same length as Matt’s forearm. Max picked one of them up and tested its weight in her hand.

“So you mentioned you were in a league?” Matt asked, watching her movements closely, “I guess that means you know what you’re doing.”

“Yep,” she grinned, tossing the axe end over and and catching it again in one smooth motion.

Matt’s eyes tracked the weapon, trying not to wince when the sharp end passed closest to her hand. “Alright then, what do I need to know, teach?”

“Sharp end,” Max tapped the head, “Goes into that,” she pointed at the target.

“I figured that out, thanks,” he said, dry as a desert, “How though?”

Max laughed, but turned to face him and explain. “Handle into the V between your thumb and your hand, grip it loosely,” she demonstrated, “Face the target head on, axe behind your back with your elbow up,” she took up the position, “Extend your arm, step forward, release when the axe is straight upright.” She ran through the movement once, slowly, then reset and repeated it at full speed. The axe whipped out of her hand, tumbled end over end, and embedded itself in the middle of the target with a loud thunk. She turned back to him and gave an exaggerated bow. “Now you try.”

Matt nodded, thinking hard, replaying the movements he’d just watched as he picked up another axe and judged its heft and balance.

“Use the other lane,” Max instructed, moving off to one side as Matt took up the position he remembered, “You probably want to be like half a step further back than I was because of your height, otherwise it’s going to be at the wrong point in the spin when it hits the target and just bounce off. It probably will the first time anyway but we can adjust from there and-”

Matt stepped, extended his arm, and threw. The axe whirled down the lane and stuck into the wood, dead centre on the target but a couple of handspans too high for a bullseye. Max looked at the target, blinked, then looked at Matt again.

“You’ve done this before,” she accused, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Not once in my life,” he said truthfully, “I had a great teacher though.”

Max snorted a laugh, and shook her head. “Seriously, that was fucking clean. You sure that was your first try?”

“I’m a quick learner,” he admitted with a bashful shrug, “Always have been.”

There was a splintering noise, and they both looked down at the targets to see a goblin hanging from Max’s axe, pulling it out of the wood with a heave of effort. It came loose and she fell to the ground, landing on her back with the sharp head of the axe only barely avoiding her own blunt one in the tumble. She stood, brushed off the dust, then repeated the process with Matt’s target.

“That cannot be safe,” he commented with concern.

“Eh, they’re goblins. If they get hurt it will only be for slapstick humour.”

Matt slowly turned to face Max with an incredulous expression, in disbelief that something so casually cruel could come out of her mouth, but she just rolled her eyes at him. “Come on. Stories, right? That madwoman with the magic feather made it pretty clear everything around here is based on stories. Goblins are usually expendable mooks or comic relief, so that’s probably what she created them for.”

“That... is unfortunate enough that it might be true,” he begrudgingly admitted, “I’m surprised you’ve put that much thought into it.”

“Yeah, people usually are,” she grumbled.

An axe handle was thrust towards Matt from below, before he could respond. He took hold of it, and pressed his lips together as he looked down at the goblin woman, trying to ignore how he could see so deep down her cleavage that he could catch a glimpse of a green belly button.

“Is she right?” he asked.

The mind goblin pursed her lips, cocked her head to one side, and waggled a hand to indicate an uncertain answer. Partly right, partly not.

“You’re not going to split your head open in front of us though, right?” Max interjected.

The goblin folded her arms and shook her head, as if offended by the assertion.

“Because that’s not a good story, is it?”

She nodded this time, and gave a wide smile of approval.

“See?” Max punched Matt lightly in the arm, “Don’t worry so much.”

“No promises,” he responded dryly, drawing a brief laugh from the punk.

“Come on then, show me that wasn’t a fluke,” she demanded. Matt was happy to comply.

---

Grace was on her own, but that was okay. She was used to it, preferred it even, and after the shock of that morning she needed some time without other people around. She’d returned to one of the libraries she had stumbled onto yesterday with April, and found a comfy armchair to curl up into with a cup of tea from the nearby café. Not reading, she didn’t trust any of the books in this place, but just for a quiet place to think.

The morning hadn’t started well. Her panic attacks were bad enough when she was the only one suffering, but an innocent woman didn’t deserve to be thrown to the floor by her magic hair just because Grace hadn’t been expecting to wake up next to her. Grace didn’t deserve the forgiveness and understanding she had been shown in reply. Neither of them deserved to be here, threatened with being warped into something terrible if they didn't...

Her grip tightened around the tea cup, until the heat of it felt like it was burning her bones. The strands of ginger hair, longer than she was tall, writhed around her in empathetic agitation. She wasn’t having a panic attack this time, just the long, slow simmer of anxiety. It was almost worse because it was harder to put a boundary around, with no clear start or end. Something that could only be endured, not escaped. She raised the cup to take a sip, spilling a few tiny droplets as her hands shook and her thoughts spiraled.

“Any plans for your date yet?” asked the other redhead in the hotel.

The tea sloshed, a splash spilling over Grace’s knuckles. Her head whipped around, her hair surging into readiness, but it took her several seconds of frantic searching to spot Scarlet sitting on top of one of the freestanding bookshelves that split the room in half, idly kicking her heels.

“What are you doing here?” Grace hissed at the sudden intrusion into her peace, tensing up on the border between fight and flight.

“Just checking in on you,” the Host shrugged and gave a lazy grin, “You’ve got a few days to get organised, but if there’s anything you need my help with for your date with your dear friend Matthew then just give me a shout.”

“I do not need your help,” Grace growled.

“Well you certainly need someone’s help,” Scarlet arched an eyebrow, “But if you’re sure. Maybe check the store though, if you’re still looking for ideas. There’s a whole bunch of fun bedroom toys in there, or if you don’t want the date to go that way then there’s always your losing transformation to stop you from accidentally saying something that gives him the wrong idea.”

The teacup went sailing through the air over Scarlet’s shoulder and shattered against the ceiling, its contents showering over the books but mostly missing the woman. Grace was on her feet, not even realising she had stood up; teeth gritted, breathing hard, hands clenched into tight fists by her sides. She said nothing, only glared with the fury of a blazing inferno.

“Well I can tell when I’m not wanted,” the fireproof woman ignored the incoming heat and huffed indignantly, waving her quill. The dripping tea evaporated in an instant, the shards of ceramic incinerated into smoke against all logic, and she swung her legs over to the other side of the bookshelf. “See you later, I suppose,” she said over her shoulder, then “...shit!” as she shuffled further, tipped sideways, and then suddenly dropped out of sight.

There was an unpleasant crunch, a short silence, and then a crackle of flames. When the crackle faded it was replaced by a pained groan, a series of grumbled expletives, and then slowly retreating footsteps.

Grace allowed herself one final deep breath as she was finally left alone again, then focused on controlling her breathing back to a regular rhythm. She shouldn’t have let that infuriating woman get to her, but it almost seemed as if Scarlet was deliberately winding her up. Whatever happened to the Host who had first greeted her here, interrupting her panic at the situation to remind her that Matt would never hurt her? She took some time to let the rage fade away, and then went in search of a replacement cup of tea.

---

Matt’s first effort at the axe throwing turned out not to be a fluke, mostly. Consistency was the biggest struggle, his initial throws impacting across most of the board and occasionally bouncing off until several rounds of tips and suggestions from Max narrowed the spread to something she thought might begin to approach competitive. She nodded her approval as he managed two bullseyes in a row, returned to her own half of the range, and issued her challenge.

“Ready to play for points?”

Matt looked thoughtful as he considered it, but the goblin assistant immediately became very excited and dashed off to one side of the range, quickly returning with a chalkboard about as tall as she was. She propped it up against the table that had held the axes, quickly scribbled “Matt” and “Max” across the top, with a line down the middle to make a rudimentary scoreboard. Then, at the bottom of the board: “PRIZE?”

“Prize?” Matt queried cautiously, “What sort of prize?”

The goblin just grinned, and underlined the word three times.

“I’m in if you are,” Max said, grinning just as wide. For the first time since that morning, she seemed genuinely excited about something other than him.

“You’re really up for a competition when you don’t know what the prize is for winning?” he asked, not all that surprised, “We’ve got no idea what this place would consider a reward.”

“Something sexy, I bet,” she shrugged, unphased.

“You’re better than me anyway,” he pointed out.

“I’ll play left handed,” she countered, “And are you bothered about winning or worried about the prize?”

Still Matt hesitated. Did he really trust a reward that this Hotel put in front of him? Maybe the prize would just be a cheap plastic trophy, but he doubted it. It couldn't be points, because he couldn't earn those. Most likely Max was right and it would be something “sexy”, but that could be the scariest option given how the show was set up to orbit around him. Which of his interests would be imposed on Max, whether she won or lost?

“Come on, don't pussy out on me, Hawkins,” Max cajoled, “I didn't think I'd been put in the harem of a little bitch.”

Then again, she was literally asking for it. If there was anyone who would probably be safe to inflict some of his darker impulses on...

“You’re on,” he sighed, but smiled. Maybe this could be fun.

“Awesome,” she cackled with glee, “Ten throws, ten points for a bullseye, five for the middle ring, two for outer ring. I’ll go first.”

Without waiting for a response, Max tossed the axe from her right hand to her left, took up her position, and threw. It tumbled less evenly than her previous demonstrations, but still hit the board in the middle ring and stuck convincingly. Matt nodded appraisingly and followed up with his own throw. The blade sank cleanly into the outer edge of the bullseye. The goblin noted the score, then scurried off to recover the axes.

“Thanks for this, by the way,” Matt said as they prepared for the second round, “I never get to play anything competitively for fun anymore. Not in person, at least.”

“Don’t mention it,” Max grunted, threw, hit the bullseye, then waited until Matt was about to throw before continuing, “You can do all sorts with me that your wife won’t let you.”

Matt’s throw went wide, the axe hitting the very edge of the wooden target and bouncing off. He stared at it for a moment, letting his initial reaction die down before giving a response that he’d regret.

“You did that on purpose,” he said, mostly hiding the annoyance, or at least pretending it was from the missed shot.

“Guilty,” Max smirked, looking anything but.

He took some time to think as everything reset, holding off until she was preparing for round three. This was probably as good a time as any to bring up some things that had been lurking in the back of his mind, and if he was going to do that anyway then he might as well get some minor revenge for his own interrupted throw in the process.

“Do you have to be so rude about Sarah?” he asked. Max’s axe didn’t even complete a full rotation as she flinched hard mid-motion, crashing handle-first into the wood, but Matt wasn’t done. “Not only just now either. Earlier, the opening ceremony. Why act like that towards her?” He took his throw while she was still reeling. Bullseye.

“Like what?” She threw her arms out in a wide, exasperated shrug. “Like admitting I want to sleep with you? That’s why we’re all here, and the sooner she gets used to the fact you’re going to cheat on her, the better.” The goblin brought the axes back, Max hurled hers immediately, not even looking at where it landed. “It’s not as if I’m any actual threat to her,” she grumbled quietly.

“It’s not cheating if I have her permission, and if you want that permission then you could stand to be nicer to her,” he pointed out, then threw.

Max snorted a disbelieving laugh at that. “So if I’m a bit rude then you’ll just let me get turned into a human fleshlight? Fuck off.”

“I don’t know,” Matt said, quiet and honest, “I hope it doesn’t come down to that, but I’d rather avoid the choice entirely.” He perked up a little. Another round of throws passed with neither of them paying particular attention to the score. “If you’d just show her a bit of respect, then who knows? This could be good for all of us. This could be something long-term.”

Max rolled her eyes. “I doubt it, but fine. I’ll say please and thank you for generously allowing access to your dick. Whatever. Any of my other failings you want to talk about before we carry on?”

The axes were returned. Max hefted hers, watched the target, focused again. Matt took a deep breath.

“Just one,” he said at the last possible moment. The axe went so wide it clattered against chicken wire rather than wood.

“Oh for...” Max threw her hands up in the air in frustration, and rounded on him, “I was joking!”

“I wasn’t,” Matt said plainly, taking the excuse of his turn at the game to think through his next question. “What was with the ‘fuck you for asking’ when you were answering about your sexuality?”

It took Max a moment to realise what he was referring to. The opening ceremony. Their compelled answers, magically honest but still flavoured with personality.

“Do we really have to go there?” she sighed. Disappointed, though not in Matt. Maybe in herself.

“Kinda, yeah,” he said seriously, “I’m not sure I like what that could have meant, given the answers from the rest of the har...” he blushed, clearing his throat, “The group.”

“Ugh. It’s nothing,” she looked away, and took another turn. Matt said nothing, until she continued just to fill the silence. “I’m not homophobic, I just... I got asked out for a date, like a minute before I got here. By Amy, that new girl from admin.”

“Huh. Well, good for you.”

“It's not good for me!” she exclaimed, “I’m so fucking horny and I’ve had more interest from women than men for months! Why am I somehow a chick magnet lately when I just want cock? Why do people keep assuming I’m gay just because I dress differently and like to do stuff with my hair?”

“Why does that bother you?” Matt shrugged, “People assume I’m straight all the time because of how I look.”

“Um. What? Are you bi, or something?”

Matt said nothing again, pointedly ignoring her as he took another turn. Another bullseye, though he’d totally lost track of the score by now and didn’t want to spoil the moment by checking the board.

“Not that I have a problem with that!” Max urgently clarified, “I just never thought...”

“No, you didn’t,” he said flatly, turning back towards her, “And no, I’m not. I’m straight, just making a point.”

“...you’re a weird guy, Matt.”

“So I’ve been told,” he grinned, trying to lighten the mood again now he’d covered the topics he’d been worrying about in the background. He was reasonably happy with Max's answers. Enough to let it lie.

Another few rounds passed in silence, the scores surprisingly close as they approached the final. Max was in the lead, but her throws were inconsistent in the quiet as she was too busy thinking to focus. By the final round, Matt was three points ahead.

“Look, I’m an asshole, I know that,” Max said, unusually serious, “But I’m not trying to cause any actual problems for anyone. I’m not Chrissy.” She pulled a face. “Honestly, I wouldn’t even have minded the Amy thing if I wasn’t having such a shitty run of luck with men.” She hit a final bullseye then looked at Matt, pouted her purple lips, and fluttered her eyelashes, “Maybe you can help with that?”

Matt laughed at the ridiculous juxtaposition of the cutesy punk, then winked at her. “If you’re lucky, I can solve that problem for you forever.”

Max’s grin returned, though it faltered a little at the final word. She shook herself, and nudged him in the arm. “Bullseye for the win,” she pointed out.

He nodded, took a deep breath, and threw. The axe landed cleanly in the outer ring.

“Fuck yes!” Max punched the air as her victory was realised, then gasped as her prize was delivered.

A warmth spread through her chest, and her t-shirt began to feel very tight. They both watched as her breasts swelled, growing in size, stretching the fabric until the seams began to tear, then stopping just on the verge of ripping apart completely. Two watermelon-sized orbs were now squished into her top, and a pair of ring-shaped lumps in the band logo revealed that Max’s face wasn’t the only part of her she’d had pierced.

“Well, shit. Glad I didn’t bother with a bra.” She commented dryly, then turned to the goblin, “Are these permanent?” The goblin shook her head. “Will they last until tonight at least?” A nod this time, and Max turned back to Matt with a lecherous smile. “Awesome. Wanna take the new knockers for a test drive?” She shimmied her chest, making her new tits sway and the barely-holding-on seams of her t-shirt creak in complaint.

“Maybe after dinner,” Matt said distantly, unable to tear his eyes away. He was surprised at how grateful he was that the prize had been so relatively harmless. He blinked, reset his posture, and grinned. “Want to see if you can still beat me with your new handicaps?”

“You’re on, Hawkins,” she grinned back at him.