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

The minute hand on Matt’s watch ticked around, and he reluctantly slipped the bookmark back between the pages and put the book down on the side table. He was hopelessly invested now, after finding out how that particular name had ended up on the wedding invitation, but he had a date to prepare for and had no chance of catching up that day (even if the book hadn’t been growing longer as he read it). He stood, stretched, and thought through his approach as he returned to the bedroom and opened the wardrobe.

What would Max need him to be? He briefly eyed the business suits he usually wore around the office, and contemplated the comfort of their armour, but he should try and move past the person she knew from work. Keep the jeans he was currently wearing, but swap the casual tee for a checkered shirt that showed a little more effort. Doc martens on his feet, which he hoped she’d appreciate. A blue sports coat, left open, because he couldn’t go entirely without his beloved suits. The watch was probably fine. His face... he suddenly remembered that his grooming routine had been interrupted twice in a row. He finished changing into the new outfit, then went to examine himself in the bathroom mirror.

Two full days of stubble grew on Matt’s cheeks and chin, and he reached for his shaving kit to deal with that, but hesitated. It wasn’t a bad look, actually, if he was trying to show Max he was more than what she saw of him in the office. He considered his reflection, then picked up the electric razor, flicked it on and ran it around his neck, neatening the edges but leaving the majority of the growth intact. He finished up, washed his face with a damp cloth, and critically examined the results. Not bad.

He applied some cologne, the one that was heavy on sandalwood, then stepped back for the final part of the day’s outfit. Straighten the spine, shoulders up and back, then relax into it and lose the stiffness. The finishing touch was a wolfish grin, a little cockier than the one he usually pulled out for work, but a closer match for Max’s energy.

“I can do this,” said the man in the mirror, and he looked so sure of himself that Matt almost believed him.

A heavy knock came at the suite’s door exactly as Matt finished up, and he took one final deep breath and went to open it. By the time he’d crossed the huge library space of the main room, his stride had evened out and the anxiety had mostly mellowed into a nervous excitement.

He expected Max to come on strong. She'd been flirting with him for years, and if he was honest then he had been both enjoying it and flirting back. He'd always tried to make clear that it could never go any further than that, and even the one time she'd tried he had turned her down, but he couldn't pretend there wasn't some tension between them. Now the show had pointed her squarely in his direction once more, and given her the excuse to try again. She'd been pretty blatant about her intentions, and she wasn't likely to be starting out their date with a new tendency for subtlety.

How to respond though? Take the excuse, and Sarah's permission, for what it was? Give Max what she wanted? No. That wasn't fair to him, to fundamentally change their relationship in an instant. It wasn't fair to Sarah, to leap at the soonest opportunity to cheat on her without consequence. It wasn't fair to Max, to let her believe that was all she would be to him. Better for everyone to slow things down. It could even be fun, dating someone new for the first time in a decade. Flirting without having to hold back and pump the brakes if it looked like it was going too far.

Matt swung the door open and Max was revealed, leaning with one arm against the doorframe. Ripped jeans, the t-shirt from a band he’d never heard of, the studded leather jacket that looked like the cow had grown up on the wrong side of town, and boots in a similar style but much more battered state than Matt’s. Her dark skin flashed with silver rings where it was pierced on her lips, nose, ears and eyebrows. Her violently green hair was shaved close on one side and swept over to the other.

It was exactly the Max he was used to, except that this time she was wearing makeup and had a canvas bag slung over one shoulder. Her eyelashes were plushed up with mascara, and her lips coloured in a purple that would smash a bottle over your head if you spilled its drink. The lips parted in a dangerous smile, and she gave Matt the elevator look, taking him in from the head to the feet.

“Nice shoes,” she commented, “You wanna drop your trousers now, or would you prefer to close the door first?”

Matt took a moment to recalibrate as the opening broadside came in more explosively than he had been prepared for, even with expecting it in advance, but he didn't let it visibly phase him.

“Come on, Max, at least treat a guy to dinner first,” he tried, still grinning that wolfish grin that he’d checked in the mirror, “I promise I’m worth the effort.”

Max snorted a laugh. “You cocky bastard. That was almost good, for a let down.” Her smile faltered. She hadn’t really expected it to work, but she had been hoping anyway. She took a moment to recalibrate as Matt watched it happen and tried not to panic.

She looked disappointed, definitely, but something deeper too. Not annoyed, which Matt found surprising. Worried, maybe, or perhaps a little sad. He replayed what had just happened, ran through the limited personal things he knew about Max, trying to figure out what had gone wrong, where he had messed up, how he could fix it. The advice from the book hadn’t worked. He’d hurt her. He’d broken her within seconds.

“Whatever, let’s go,” Max said, derailing Matt’s runaway train of thought with an apathetic head shake, the dangerous smile returning as though the moment had never happened, “Can I leave this here while we’re out?” She held up the canvas bag with a clink of metal and glass.

“I guess so,” he blinked, keeping the turmoil hidden as his heartrate began to slow again. He took the bag from her to place it down just inside the doorway, carefully resisting the urge to ask what it was. “You have a backup plan then, or was that not a serious offer and this was the plan all along?”

“Oh it was definitely serious, and feel free to change your mind whenever and wherever, but I’m not surprised you’re not down for it right away,” she shrugged, already descending the spiral staircase, “You know your wife and your ex both told me not to come at you like that?”

“It’s like they know me, or something,” Matt closed the door, then hurried to catch up to Max. The familiar cadence of their workplace banter was easy to slip into, even with the massively different subject matter. It was almost comforting, in a weird way, especially after the panicky start to their interaction. He hadn’t broken anything. The advice may have been right after all.

“More like they don’t trust you to say no,” she said with an eye roll, “You already said no to me once though, hard as that is to believe. I knew you’d turn me down again if you still weren’t interested.”

“Never said I wasn’t interested,” Matt corrected her, bumping her shoulder with his arm as they reached the bottom of the stairs. The spikes only hurt a little. “You look great, by the way, but I’m a married man. Happily married. Give me a chance to build up to it before I jump in the deep end.”

“Give me a chance to wear you down, and you can see just how deep my end goes,” she countered with a salacious wink.

“That,” he pointed an accusatory finger, “Was awful.”

“You won’t be saying that later,” was the immediate response.

They passed through the common room and Matt couldn’t help but laugh out loud, but even that wasn’t enough to draw Eleanor’s attention away from the vast tome that she was reading in the far corner. Max steered them past the bar and the buffet, and deeper into the hotel.

“Where are we going then?” Matt asked as they left the most obvious source of lunch behind.

“Burger place I found yesterday. There’s all sorts out here, but I fancy something greasy.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he mused, thinking back on the time he’d spent exploring, “Sarah and I found so many different things, never ran into anyone else, and there was always more to find around the next corner. I think this place might actually be endless.”

“You found a trope too, right?” Max asked curiously.

Matt cocked his head at her. “How did you know that?”

“The princess found her phone, and you can get at the scoreboard through them. We figured the first load of points was from a trope, unless you and wifey went for two rounds.”

“Not that time, for once,” the admission slipped casually out before Matt could stop it, but he carried on just as casually to answer the unasked question and hope it would serve as a distraction, “The trope was weird. It came on suddenly, and then it was like I was a different version of myself. We just followed along with the script, not realising any of it was strange until it was over.”

“Huh,” she pursed her purple lips thoughtfully, “I wonder if all the tropes will be like that?”

“Maybe. Hard to say, based on only one of them.”

They continued on for a little while, turning two corners that Matt could have sworn weren’t there yesterday, and enough time passed that he thought his accidental admission had gone unnoticed. It hadn’t. Max was just biding her time.

“So ‘for once’ huh? The blondie wasn’t bullshitting about your bedroom prowess then?” she commented dryly, just when she judged he had started to let his guard down.

Matt didn’t stumble, didn’t blush, didn’t stammer out an awkward response, but it was a close thing on all counts. He kept his stride even, gave his colleague a sideways glance, and raised an eyebrow.

“Depends what exactly Emma said, but she’s not the type to exaggerate,” he said smoothly.

“You’re giving me high expectations, Hawkins,” a dangerous glint flashed through Max’s eyes, “Now let’s get you filled up, so you can fill me up later.”

The burger place was a little hole-in-the wall joint that was coated in twenty years of grease and suffused with the scent of decades of fried meat and onion. The faded front was very out of place surrounded by medieval stonework, and the inside even more so as Max crossed the grubby vinyl floor and slid sideways across the cracked pleather seat into one of the cramped booths. Matt slipped in opposite her, and picked up a faded menu with the lamination peeling on one corner.

“So what are you thinking of ordering?” he asked, skimming through the options in seconds. No real surprises, just the typical selection of heart attacks on a plate.

“I wanted to try something weird, actually,” Max said, ignoring the menu and peering down the length of the narrow diner. A scraping sound was coming from the back of the room, and edging closer.

Matt twisted around to look over his shoulder, and watched with some confusion as a tall stool crept nearer and nearer, until it stopped right in front of their table. With a huff of effort, a goblin in a black blouse and skirt with a white apron around her waist heaved herself up from the floor to stand on top of it, pulled out a notepad and pencil from the apron pocket, and looked questioningly at the two customers. Max blinked in surprise, laughed in amusement, and placed her order.

“A burger and a milkshake,” she said simply.

The waitress narrowed her eyes, but after a few moments her face split in an uncomfortably wide grin. She nodded, and then scribbled something down in the notepad.

“Not going to specify what kind?” Matt asked his date.

“They’re psychic, I don’t have to,” Max shrugged apathetically, though her smile betrayed a little curious excitement, “I want them to bring me what I don’t even know I want.”

“Is that how it works?” he turned to the goblin, who nodded again and tapped the side of her head knowingly. “Well in that case, I suppose I’ll have a burger and a milkshake as well, please.”

The waitress’s grin grew even wider, she scribbled again on the pad, and then hopped down off the stool and scurried away. The door to the kitchen swung back and forth several times as the momentum of her exit slowly oscillated away.

“Well this should be interesting,” Max twitched her eyebrows and leaned back, interlacing her fingers behind her head. She'd take her entertainment where she could, even if it was just in how she ordered her food.

Before Matt could respond, the kitchen door started swinging again. A tray with two plates and two glasses weaved its way across the floor and was shoved onto the end of the booth. The goblin waitress clambered back onto the stool and leaned over the table to distribute the order. In front of Matt: a chocolate milkshake topped with whipped cream, and a massive beef burger on a sesame-coated brioche bun, overflowing with fried onions, piled high with bacon, and dripping with melted cheese. In front of Max: a vanilla milkshake, and a dainty grilled chicken burger on a sourdough bun, with crisp lettuce, juicy tomato, and a sparing portion of mayonnaise that showed the yellow colouring of being made from actual fresh egg yolk.

“...huh,” Matt said, taking in the vast gulf between the two meals.

“Yeah...” Max said distantly. She frowned, but picked up her chicken burger, took a large bit out of it, and chewed thoughtfully. Some tomato seeds dripped down her chin.

Matt took her cue and picked up his own burger, exercising great care not to let any of it spill on his clothes. The first bite was a flavour explosion, each ingredient flying off in a different direction and impacting a different tastebud. It was delicious. It was glorious. He could hear his arteries screaming in fear. A glob of cheese dripped out of the back of the bun and landed on the plate with a splat.

“I mean, it’s good,” Max mumbled, mouth still half full. She swallowed before continuing. “But it’s really not what I was expecting.”

Matt finished his mouthful, nodding in agreement. “Yeah. Are these definitely the right way around?”

He looked at the goblin, who had retreated a short distance but remained close enough to watch them intently. The green woman just nodded and grinned mischievously, tucking a strand of black hair behind a pointed ear with one hand in an expression of pure innocence. Max’s thoughtful frown deepened as she looked back and forth between the burgers. Then she looked at the milkshakes, and realised what was going on.

“Oh fuck off,” she laughed, half amused and half annoyed as she turned her attention to the goblin, “This is some sort of commentary on the two of us, isn’t it?”

The goblin’s grin widened, and she shrugged. She reached behind her back, pulling out a large placard that was way too big to have been concealed there, and held it up above her head. It read, in large, bold letters: THEMES. Matt did a double-take at the size of the sign that had appeared from nowhere, and felt a slight twinge of discomfort between his temples.

“Okay, the burger thing is rude,” Max said pointedly, then gestured to the milkshakes, “But that is borderline racist. You’re just lucky it’s on the right side of the borderline for me.”

Matt’s eyes went wide and he forgot all about the mild headache as he figured out what Max was talking about. One meal was messy and unhealthy, the other neat and nutritious. One milkshake was chocolate, the other vanilla. The waitress snickered silently, put the sign away, then somehow pulled out a mint green milkshake instead and took a slow sip of it through a stripey straw as she wandered nonchalantly away.

“Can’t get the fucking staff these days,” Max grunted, rolled her eyes, and turned back to her date.

“I am so sorry,” Matt said, aghast, “Do you want to swap?”

“Eh, not your fault,” she shrugged, then took another bite out of the chicken burger, “Iff prebby goo’ ‘nyway.”

“I guess, but that’s not exactly a flattering representation of you if that’s what it’s meant to be,” he gestured to the sloppy mess on his plate, but relaxed a little as Max’s good mood seemed to quickly return.

“I don't think you're coming out of this comparison well either, vanilla boy,” she shot him a wink, and then took a long slurp of the thick white milkshake.

“Excuse you, I’m anything but vanilla,” he fired back with a look of mock offence. This was recoverable. Max wasn’t fragile, and she was still having fun.

She smirked and waggled a finger at him. “High expectations,” she warned, raising a pierced eyebrow.

“I’ll do my best to live up to them,” he replied confidently, then dug into the culinary stand-in for the woman sitting across from him. It was a lot, and probably wouldn’t be good for him to regularly overindulge in that sort of thing, but he found himself really enjoying it.

The ambush came without warning. April was wandering aimlessly through the corridors of the hotel, her cat ears twitching about to track any little noises they picked up, when suddenly there was another set of cat ears in front of her at head height - protruding from a messy nest of bright red hair.

“Hi!” said Scarlet with a broad grin.

“Eep!” said April, leaping backwards, her tail standing up on end with its fur puffed out.

The two stared at each other, Scarlet’s avian orbs gleaming with glee while April’s brown eyes were wide with surprise. Nothing happened. Scarlet didn’t move. Slowly, April came down off the balls of her feet, while her tail lowered and thrashed back and forth behind her.

“Um,” she said, “Can I help you?”

“There’s been a call for fan mail from another season,” the Host finally moved, beginning her explanation with an excited bounce, “Can you write a letter to one of their contestants? It’s a girl called Mallory.”

“I guess so,” the catgirl said uncertainly, “Why me though?”

Scarlet’s grin widened. “Everyone is doing one to a different member of their cast, even me, but I don’t think we’ll bother with a scene for me asking the others. I just thought you might have a particular interest in this season.”

“Okay? Why?”

“If you want to find out, then the book is in the common room,” Scarlet indicated the direction with her head. The cat ears poking up through her ginger hair slipped slightly to one side. “The one called Bed and Breakfast Edition. Give it a read. You should be able to catch up in a day or two even if you don’t read as freakishly fast as the Master does, and I’m pretty sure you’ll enjoy it.”

“...sure,” April agreed. She hadn’t had any particular plans for the day anyway. “What’s with the ears though?”

Scarlet squinted in confusion, clapped her hands onto the sides of her head and felt her own ears for anything wrong with them, then her fingers walked up to the top of her head and the feline ears that still stood almost straight up. Her expression turned into one of realisation.

“Oh, right! I almost forgot.” She tugged at one cat ear, and they both came off together along with the headband they were attached to, then she handed them to April, “Here, they’re symbolic of mischief. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Mischief? What am I meant to do with these?” April asked, examining the headband as she turned it over between her hands. The ears were disturbingly realistic, and she almost thought they were swivelling towards the sound of her voice, but the headband itself was otherwise plain and uninteresting.

No response was forthcoming, and April lifted her head to ask again, but Scarlet was nowhere to be found. She frowned, and tried slipping the headband on, but just felt silly with two sets of ears on top of her head. She pulled it off again and set off back towards the common room.

The common room was warm and cosy, feeling like a snug evening even though it was only early afternoon, but it wasn’t empty. Eleanor was on one of the sofas, sitting beside an enormous book and slowly turning a tube of lipstick over and over between her fingers. She startled when April entered, almost dropping the lipstick, but recovered and schooled her face into an expression of quiet dignity.

“Can I help you?” the heiress asked, cool and calm.

“Oh, um, did Scarlet just give you that?” April gestured towards the lipstick, and held up the headband.

“She did,” Eleanor relaxed, “Some sort of gift, apparently. Have you been asked to do fan mail too?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “I was just looking for the season we’re writing to, so I can figure out what to say.”

“Really? She just gave me a summary.” The goth pursed her lips. “I guess it’s probably more your sort of thing than mine. I think I saw it over there, the third shelf from the top.”

“Thank you,” April nodded again and went off to check the indicated shelf. She identified the book quickly, and pulled it down. It was fairly slim and light, and smelled faintly floral. Lilies, maybe, which made a change from the scent of roses she was being steeped in every night.

The catgirl settled onto one of the sofas, across from Eleanor rather than next to her, and curled her feet up underneath her as she began to read. Eleanor herself put down the lipstick and picked up the weighty tome beside her instead, opening at a bookmark and picking up wherever she had left off.

“Do you read things like this a lot?” April found herself asking, trying to make conversation.

“No!” the other girl responded a little too quickly and insistently, her book snapping shut in her lap. She took a moment, then continued a little more calmly. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but it’s not something I’m interested in. I’m only trying to learn a little more about our situation.”

“Oh, right,” April shuffled awkwardly. “Same here,” she lied.

She gave up on trying to make conversation, and pretended not to notice when Eleanor carefully reopened her own light reading and buried herself in it once more. The Bed and Breakfast Edition had a very different start than the season they were on, but equally interesting contestants. April paid close attention to the contestant she had been asked to write to, blushing a little as she thought she realised why she’d been assigned to her specifically, but also found herself empathising with the man who seemed to be the master. She’d been there herself: at a low point, struggling for money, not knowing how anything was going to get better. It was a very familiar feeling. Then she reached the first transformation.

“Oh!” she gasped quietly, pressing a hand to her mouth. That explained why Scarlet thought she would like this season. She glanced up, but Eleanor wasn’t paying her any attention. “Well good for you,” she muttered to the woman on the page, a small smile growing on her face. She’d definitely be reading this one, regardless of any fan mail.