Old Town Look in thy glass

[Max Kuryakin]

Outfit

The Saddlery used to be a stable and had enough subtle horse-tack related decor to make that clear without being kitsch. In comparison, the rest of the interior dominated, however. It was bare brick and industrial-style fittings, telling of a place that was trying to be on the sharpest edge of what was fashionable. It was charming enough, possibly thanks to the indulgence in the buildings' past.

Max didn't really care about the interior decorating. The draw was Saddlery's smaller size, less rowdiness, and the crucial absence of strange, perhaps supernatural women trying to ruin his day. Barbarous usually failed on all those counts. The drawback of being the best place to pull, maybe.

He'd been to the Saddlery a few times before and he'd picked up that it was a stop for flight attendants and pilots. Usually they were only passing through one or two night at a nearby hotel before heading out again. He'd never been to the small airport further north, but sometimes he'd chat to the pilots fresh from their connecting flight from Boston Logan or elsewhere, and heading out again the next day. To hear them tell it, it was only just large enough for the smaller passenger planes, but busy enough to see regular business.

Sometimes he'd spot some weary soul who'd obviously just hopped off the plane and either couldn't check into their hotels yet or didn't for whatever reason of their own. Max usually left them alone, but sometimes he couldn't resist. Today felt like one of those days, a restless energy curling in his chest. Maybe it was that he hadn't found the time to actually go out in a while, either to a bar or out to the woods to shift and run. Emily might've been getting sick of his restless energy, so he'd wisely stopped bothering her for the week.

Today Max was comfortably on a barstool with his back to the bartender, leaning comfortably with one elbow holding him up. He was people watching, facing the door and subtly looking over those who entered, making little guesses about why they were there and what they worked with. He wasn't so interested in being right, but he always enjoyed it when he was. Sometimes, he'd turn it into a pickup line, something he'd had moderate success with. Usually, they just appreciated his boldness.

Sometimes, when he caught someone staring, he wondered what measure they took of him. A couple of times he'd come in with his uniform still on, obviously a paramedic. Then, he was only looking for a quick drink rather than anything else. Today he was lingering, the warming weather warranting a short-sleeved black button-up with a few too many buttons undone–showing off his arms, because sometimes he applied strategy to something that wasn't a fight. The slacks he wore were a dark grey, a nice cut without being flashy.

As the door swung open again, Max lifted his drink for a sip, eyes sliding slowly over to the door–a curious look rather than anything too prying–as he took in the new arrival.

[Wil Carter]

The flight from Heathrow to Boston Logan International was long, boring and uncomfortable. Wil had the misfortune of booking a centre seat in a section of three, so no easy access to the aisle and no window. It was one of the last spots available without having to sit in the tail of the plane, which he'd heard wasn't ideal if there should be a crash. Of course, if the plane went down over the Atlantic, it probably didn't matter where he was sitting.

He began his journey drinking bottled water in order to keep hydrated. He'd read somewhere that was important while cruising at a high altitude, but after the woman on his left started showing him photos of her holiday in Brighton and the man to his right had elbowed him several times in an effort to find a sleeping position, Wil had pushed the bell for the flight attendant and ordered a whisky. He was provided with a small bottle - Jack Daniel's Single Barrel - and a plastic cup. Classy. He supposed they couldn't use items made of glass for fear an irate passenger would break it and threaten to slice the throat of the noisy bugger in the window seat beside them. No matter. He'd downed the alcohol without hesitation and ordered another one.

Four drinks later, the woman had run out of photos and Wil had nodded off. Unfortunately, he had a crick in his neck when he was suddenly awakened, thanks to some turbulence off the American coast, and he needed to use the lavatory. After a slight delay when his feet became entangled in the woman's bag, he made it there and back in record time. Then it was seatbelts on and a sharp drop that left his stomach somewhere in the overhead storage compartment. His ears popped, too, which would have been more annoying if he had been completely sober.

Once they had landed and taxied to their designated departure platform or umbilical cord or whatever it was called, the real battle began. It was every person for themselves, despite the attendants attempting to have the passengers depart in an orderly manner. The woman beside him was taking no prisoners and he followed in her wake. He pulled his backpack from under the seat in front of him and stood to retrieve his duffle bag, briefly detaining everyone in the plane behind him. Not wishing to be trampled, he didn't waste any time. He made the slow shuffle off the plane due to the bottleneck ahead of him, but once he was clear of the herd, he strode as quickly as he could through the terminal to catch a connecting flight to an airfield just north of Easthaven, Massachusetts. He didn't have any luggage to collect. Everything he had brought with him was in the two bags he carried.

The short flight was a more pleasant experience. It was a smaller plane, he had a window seat and no one nattering or snoring beside him. Bliss. It was dark so there wasn't much to see except the occasional lights of civilization. He must have nodded off again, for in no time, they were landing. He felt better on the ground, glad he didn't have to fly any time soon.

The weather was nice, as spring seemed to have taken hold, and he took a deep breath to savour the air. Not too shabby. The bus was next, heading south to his destination. There weren't many people on the bus. Wil activated his phone and checked for emails; nothing important, which was fine. He noted the vehicles passing in the other direction and wondered, not for the first time, why Americans had to drive on the wrong side of the road. He supposed he'd get used to it if he decided to hire a car. For now, he was content to just be here, starting something new, eager for the challenge and perhaps a bit terrified.

The city lights finally prevailed in the darkness and he disembarked at something the driver had announced as Old Town. It was as good a spot as any. Slinging his backpack over one shoulder and lifting the duffle over his head so the strap sliced across his chest diagonally, he started to walk. He knew he needed to find a hotel or some such, but he wanted something else more than sleep. He wanted a drink. Well, [i]another[/] drink.

An establishment presented itself not long after: The Saddlery. At least he didn't have to worry about a dress code. A bar was a bar, not a posh eatery. He was wearing the same clothes he'd put on the day before: black jeans, a dark grey, V-neck sweater and his brown, leather jacket. Black socks and black runners completed his look, not that he really cared if he was presentable. Still, Wil paused outside the bar to check his hair in the window and dragged a hand through it to see if it made him look any less rumpled. It didn't. He sighed, straightened, opened the door and walked inside.

The decor reminded him of a stable, not that he'd been in very many but it was hard to mistake it for anything else. A stable crossed with some sort of high-end condo, what with the exposed brick walls and industrial fixtures. Whatever. Wil crossed to the bar, aware there were other patrons but not really paying attention to them. He reached a stool, let his backpack slide down to his feet and lifted the strap of his duffle over his head before setting it on the floor, too. Then he sat, tired and a still a little buzzed from the tiny bottles he'd consumed over the ocean. Time for more so he could shut down his brain and eventually get some rest. He hadn't bothered to place a brown contact lens on his blue left eye that morning. Sleeping with those things was horrible. Well, it wasn't as if he was here to ensure people didn't freak out about his eyes. He signaled the bar tender and said, in his soft, British accent, “Scotch, neat, if you'd be so kind.”

[Max Kuryakin]

Strike (Preternatural Senses) Exceptional success

The new arrival looked tired, but a little loaded up from the flight, looked like. He had the gait of someone who'd had a few, but not enough to be drunk. He'd still get served, and the man definitely looked like he was aiming to order with the way he went for the bar above all else, not looking for a seat elsewhere. Right next to Max, so it happened, who caught the whiff of whiskey from the man's breath as he spoke. Something only someone with a sensitive nose like him would pick up, unless they were right up in the man's business.

The accent marked the man was foreign, Max's time in Europe roughly classifying it as the most common British English he'd heard, but with a little twist to it. Cockney, maybe? He didn't really have the trained ear to differentiate the Queen's English from the rest if the accents weren't strong.

It was enough to get Max a little interested, even if he knew it wasn't all that odd anymore to run into expats. He didn't shift his stance, comfortably leaned against the bar, but he twisted his torso enough to talk to the guy comfortably.

“Sounds like you've had a long flight,” the werewolf said, flashing a friendly grin with just enough quirk to the corner of his mouth to be a little teasing as well. Max angled his head to get a good look at the guy's face, spotting the heterochromatic eyes and the handsome boyish face. “Passing through, or is this your last stop, if you don't mind me asking?”

His Boston accent was still buried under the more neutral American accent he'd gained through serving abroad, but any sharp ears might still pick it up. Max was hardly self-conscious about it, but so many years away left its mark.

[Wil Carter]

` Cinder Empathy, partial failure`

The bar tender nodded and got to work. It usually took quite a few drinks for Wil to get himself hammered and he wasn't sure if that was the direction he was going to take tonight or not. He'd see how things progressed.

He was aware that someone was sitting on the stool beside him, but the details just hadn't registered. Now the man seemed to be talking. To him.

He turned his head to look at the fellow and noticed the friendly posture and blue eyes. He probably got laid a lot with eyes like that. Wil was usually pretty good at reading people, but any further hints about this man's character were not forthcoming. Wil figured he was either too tired, sufficiently drunk or hadn't had enough to eat in the last twenty-four hours. Possibly all three.

“Uh, yeah, very long. Bus, plane, plane bus, in that order.” A cocktail napkin was placed on the bar top, followed by a glass of one of his favourite demons. Did he mind being asked questions by a random man in a random bar? Not like it hadn't happened before. “I've reached my destination,” he said and with a small flourish, he picked up his drink and tossed it back, carefully setting the glass on the bar top when he was finished.

[Max Kuryakin]

Max's eyebrows inched up when the man downed his drink in one go, grin curving into a bit of a smirk. It had the air of someone not just coming off a long flight, but a very long one. With connections. Possibly annoying seatmates. He tipped his own drink in quiet sympathy, tamping down on the smirk, before he lifted it for a quick sip. He'd settled for a dark n' stormy and had been nursing it for much of the evening. These days, it took more for him to feel the buzz, so he didn't try too hard.

“Looks like you've had a rough trip,” Max teased, inclining his head to the empty glass the man had placed back on the bar top. The coaster the bartender had placed down hadn't even had time to catch any condensation. The werewolf kept enough of a sympathetic tilt to his lips so he didn't look like he was revelling in it. “Are you in Easthaven for business or pleasure?”

[Wil Carter]

Wil contemplated his empty glass then glanced up at the bar tender and tapped the surface of the bar top with two fingers: another, please.

He slid a look at the man beside him. Chatty fellow, but he didn't set off any alarm bells. Wil didn't understand why he was bothering to speak with him, though. Maybe it had been a slow night and he was trying to keep boredom at bay.

“Yeah, you could say that.” He hadn't experienced a lot of flying and after today, he'd be quite happy to not have to board a plane any time soon. Deciding that since he was here for a fresh start and to step outside of his comfort zone, as Rosemary had put it, Wil turned his seat toward the man and held out his right hand. He felt an introduction was warranted before they touched on the reasons for his journey. “Wil.”

[Max Kuryakin]

Max tilted his head when the guy dodged the question, quirking an eyebrow but finding no objection to diving straight into introductions. He shifted on the barstool, finally turning to towards the bar rather than facing the room. The unsettling feeling of not having full oversight of the room shivered down his spine, but he had his sharp ears and the practical assurance that the Saddlery wasn't a place for brawls.

He finished his drink, far less dramatic than the newly introduced Wil considering it was near empty, and Max settled the tumbler on its coaster before answering cheerfully and taking the man's hand. “Max,” he offered, punctuating it with a firm shake of the hand, confident and relaxed.

[Wil Carter]

Max had a firm handshake without being crushing and Wil matched his pressure. It was a welcome contact, without some of the overcompensation some people, especially men, tended toward, as if a handshake was a test and not just a form of 'hello'.

“I've just moved here,” he said, releasing Max's hand and letting his drop comfortably to his thigh. “Well, sort of. Decided it was time to do a little exploring, so I threw a dart at a map, you know? And here I am.” He hadn't actually used a dart to determine the next step in his life, but he figured Max would understand the reference.

[Max Kuryakin]

Those two things could be very different things, Max realised as he pulled back his hand, turning briefly to ask the tender for another drink when he came by with Wil's order. Having moved here implied finding housing, work, settling down. The other a sabbatical from ordinary life decided at random, or from whatever criteria Wil had decided for himself. It didn't actually reveal whether the man was a tourist or an expat coming for a more permanent change.

“So you, 'sort of' moved here?” Max queried, grinning a little as he teased the man, eyebrow quirking at the phrasing Wil had picked. Maybe he'd meant the US in a more general sense. The whole idea felt distant, out of reach for most. Just packing up and leaving to walk the world–if that was what the man meant. Max had only managed that by signing his life off to the army. “What's the plan, then? Float from place to place, explore? Settle down when you find some place you like?”

As they spoke, Max was taking a measure of the guy, but he was also just chatting idly. He was sociable enough that conversations with strangers didn't seem all that strange to him, if they were fully engaged as well. Wil hadn't told him to clear off yet.

[Wil Carter]

If Wil wasn't being very specific about his business, in Easthaven or elsewhere, it wasn't anything new, though he figured he could elaborate a little this time. No harm in that.

“I came here with the intent to find work, Max,” he began, sparing a glance and a nod to the bar tender when another glass of Scotch replaced the empty one. “The plan is to get a change of scenery, not be stagnant, find a challenge, that sort of thing.” He picked up his drink and regarded Max with the intent expression of someone trying to express themselves whilst under the influence. He still wasn't very drunk, just drunk enough.

“I don't have a job. Yet. But I know where I want to go. At least, I think I know where to find the place, so... yeah.” Then Wil smiled a charming, slightly puzzled smile and added, “Have I mentioned it was a really shitty flight?”

[Max Kuryakin]

Max grinned as Wil dived into a little more detail, with the air of someone who'd had a bit too few trying to speak clearly. Uprooting without a plan sounded like stress, but then Wil continued on into the shadow of a plan. Sort of, maybe. The added aside, had Max's eyebrow quirking, amused but picking up the signal.

“You didn't, but I can leave you to your drink?” Max offered, his grin smoothing into an amused smile, taking the switch in the conversation as a polite dismissal and straightening up from his lean on the bar. The words were just ambiguous enough that it might've just been a bit of a tipsy motor-mouth thing, so he made it a question directed at the man.

He was curious about this place the guy had lined up. Maybe it was because it went against every fibre of his being to spontaneously ditch his life for a new one. Even his upcoming job change had been a big decision he'd taken great care to make sure everything aligned and worked out.

[Wil Carter]

Trying to get rid of the fellow wasn't his intention, which, in a way, was a bit of a surprise, given his journey so far. Wil wasn't rude by nature and this man had been nothing but polite, though Wil couldn't fathom quite why he'd merited any attention. He probably looked like Hell warmed over, with a side of booze.

Rosemary had been right. He'd become too isolated.

“No, you don't have to,” he replied. His smile faltered a little. “I mean, if you've got places to be, things to do... ”

Wil wasn't in the mood for crowds at the moment, but he could handle one person for a while.

[Max Kuryakin]

Max chuckled, tilting his head as he evaluated the man. The backtracking made it clear he'd been throwing something out there, leading to something or filling the air with talk, but it hadn't gone as planned as far as Max's reaction. The werewolf took pity on the guy and tipped his head in the bartender's direction, who was preparing the drink he'd ordered.

“Just waiting for my drink, I've got time,” Max reassured Wil before he could scramble any more. He settled back into his lean, elbow propped on the bar, Max grinning at practically being given a green light to pepper the man with conversation. “Do you know the name of the place? I'm local, I might be able point you in the right direction.”

[Wil Carter]

Wil was aware on some level that he'd practically invited Max to keep asking questions and that was fine. Though saying he had crossed the ocean to Easthaven with the hope of joining a small private investigation firm might sound really strange. Those who were unaware of the existence of the supernatural beings who lived among them, which, as he understood it, was the majority of the human population, wouldn't know what function the Exchange really had.

“I thought you might be local,” Wil said, glancing around the room briefly before returning to look at Max again. “You seem very comfortable here. Stop by often?” He reached for his glass and sipped it this time. Any information about the area could be interesting, not that he would necessarily remember it all in the morning, depending on how much alcohol he decided to consume.

[Max Kuryakin]

Grinning still, Max shrugged easily. Did he come by often? Not really all that much, not enough to call himself a regular. He went to Barbarous more often, but this was a... brief sabbatical from the circular chasing of ass while a loud bass-line drowned out everything else.

“Only recently, it's a quiet option when I'm not feeling up for the crush of bodies at the nightclub.” Or the noise, or the smell, or the game of grabass. “I've been here a couple of years, but I'm actually from down in Boston. Ask me which tourist traps to avoid and I'll tell ya,” Max continued, with his last few words dipping into the remnants of his Boston accent.

And as Max finished speaking, the bartender whipped by with his drink, placing the dark in front of him. With a cheerful 'thank you', he pulled the drink closer and took a sip.

[Wil Carter]

Ah. Nightclubs. Sometimes, he could thrive on the energy in spots like that, when other times, it did nothing but give him a bad headache. At the moment, this place was more his speed.

“Places like that tend to give me a headache,” Wil admitted. “Got to be in the mood for it.” He had another sip of his Scotch. “That what they sound like in Boston?” he asked gesturing to Max with his glass. He didn't bother asking about the tourist traps, as it was unlikely to have the time. He wasn't here for a holiday, after all. He was used to hunting in rural areas and that was probably going to change if he managed to gain a position at the Exchange. Still, he could test out a few things. No harm, no foul...

“The Exchange,” he said, loud enough to be heard by Max but ideally, no one else. The rather lame music playing provided some cover and it wasn't like anyone seemed to be lurking nearby. “Its been recommended to me. That's where I'm hoping to be hired on.”

[Max Kuryakin]

When Wil asked about the accent, Max just grinned and raised his glass for another mouthful, eyebrows jumping once in as much of a confirmation as he'd manage with his mouth full. The deep Boston accent, the one that wasn't filtered through ten years of international army living, was a different beast to Max's, but it had enough commonalities that Wil wouldn't have much trouble pinning it down.

As Max lowered his glass again, Wil answered his earlier question. Mentioning the Exchange definitely caught Max's attention, tilting his head to the side with a curious, “Oh?” as he settled his glass on the coaster. “I know them, yeah. Got a friend who works there. Their offices are just across the river from Old Town, in Newton. Can't miss it if you catch the T to River St. station.”

Now Max was looking at the man in a different light, if he wasn't someone with magic or a shifter, he was at least a human in the know. He hadn't caught the distinctive smell of a shifter, though, so he ruled that out the moment he thought about it. He hadn't felt that telltale tickle of magic, but that only meant there wasn't any active magic happening around him.

[Wil Carter]

He knew the Exchange? Had a friend who worked there? Wil set his glass down and felt one of his eyebrows lift in interest. How much did Max know about the Exchange? Did he think it was a private investigation company or -

“Really? Didn't know many people would've heard of them.” Wil looked the man up and down, but other than noting how well his shirt fit his shoulders, he couldn't tell if Max was human or Other. Not that it mattered, but now he wondered. Some hunters were part of the supernatural community, though he'd never met any in person. Maybe this friend was a hunter, but that didn't make them an Other.

The head of the organization he'd worked for in England was some sort of Siren, apparently. He'd only ever spoken directly with her once, over a Zoom chat. Miriam Penrose was a very beautiful and brilliant woman. Her husband was a lucky man.

Wil gave himself a mental headshake and tried to focus. He had consumed enough alcohol that it was more difficult than it should gave been. “The T? Huh. I'll try to remember that. So.” He leaned forward on his stool a bit. “What does your friend do over there? Hunt for clues?”

Subtle? Maybe, maybe not, but he was curious to find out how much this man knew.

[Max Kuryakin]

The question had Max smirking. It said all it needed about the fact that Wil wasn't going to the Exchange because of their PI license. Although Max didn't have much of an insight into how they worked, the vibe they gave off wasn't so much PI as a kind of... sheriff's office, if with elements taking them back a hundred or so years. There was a lot of modern innovation, like Juney's protective custody and aid for rehabilitation for milder cases, but Max wasn't naive enough to not know what they did to the ones who were truly out of control.

“Yeah, you know, what detectives do,” Max answered, arching an eyebrow as they spoke around what they were really saying. “Digging up dirt on anyone up to no good, all that.” He couldn't help the smirk, always a little amused when he had to dance around doublespeak when it came to magic. The woudn't have needed to if they were tucked away somewhere a little more private, but at the bar they couldn't hardly whip out the magic talk.

Licking his lips, tasting dark rum and ginger, Max turned his head to evaluate the available seats and spotted one that was a little more secluded. He inclined his head towards it, looking to Wil, and raised his eyebrows in question.

[Wil Carter]

Wil glanced in the direction Max had indicated and with a small smirk of his own, gave a quick nod. This was unexpected, both meeting someone who seemed to know about Other things and someone willing to give a stranger the time of day - at night, no less.

He stood, carefully, and found he was stable enough. Reaching down to collect one bag in each hand, he straightened and smiled at Max, partial dimples revealed.

“Grab that for me, please?” he asked looking at his drink. To the bar tender, he said, “Got any crisps, nuts, that sort of thing?” The fellow replied to the positive. Wil thanked him and started toward the more private location, back still straight despite his exhaustion and other factors.

[Max Kuryakin]

The nod was enough for Max, and he rose to stand as well. He was about to offer to carry some of Wil's luggage, but the other man beat him to the chase by just asking if he could take his drink. Max offered an affirmative with a cheerful, “Yep,” and picked up the glass of whiskey.

He left Wil behind to chat with the tender, Max hearing the sensible request for something to nibble on. It wouldn't be the same as a greasy burger, but it'd help Wil feel better at least by a little. Setting Wil's glass down on the table, Max slid into the booth and set himself up with his back to the wall and the entire bar clearly in sight. He placed his drink down then, giving the room another quick scan to spot if anyone was giving them any undue interest.

Immediately, he felt a little more relaxed than before and knew he wouldn't feel so edgy once they started talking about magic. He could see whoever might approach them and change the subject, and anyone with enhanced hearing would be in the know anyway. It was only a bonus that it made him feel a little more comfortable in his own skin, the wolf twisting inside him soothed by having total overwatch.

[Wil Carter]

A greasy burger was one of many food options that would appeal to Wil, but for now, nuts and crisps would have to suffice. Max collected his drink for him and headed toward the more private location. Once his request was ackowledged and the bartender indicated he'd bring over what he had available, Wil crossed to the table, tucked his bags underneath where his legs would go and slid onto the bench across from Max.

“Nice spot,” he commented quietly. Wil wasn't fond of sitting with his back to the door, but Max seemed to have it together and wasn't drunk. Win-win.

The bar tender approached with a bowl of peanuts, still in their shells, and a matching bowl of mixed snacks: pretzels pieces, round things that looked like cereal, tiny sticks that were probably cheese flavoured.

“Cheers,” Wil said as thanks, then took a moment to remove his brown, leather jacket and push up the sleeves of his gray sweater. Might as well be comfortable.

[Max Kuryakin]

Strike (Ground sense) Exceptional success
Strike (Preternatural senses) Exceptional success

As Wil settled down, Max gave a nod at the comment, grinning a little crookedly. Rather than speak as the tender approached, Max scanned the bar again. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly, focusing. He could feel the restless foot of one patron at the bar, jiggling their foot against the footrest. Another patron was tapping their card against the table they were sitting at, impatient as they waited for someone, maybe whoever was shuffling around in the bathroom, footsteps shifting in an agitated way. Layered over that were the sounds of everything, squeaking soles, shuffling feet, the tap-tap-tap.

Max was the centre hub, as the spokes of everything around him spun around. Wil was one spoke, but he was still in front of Max, not shifting around like the others. He was getting himself more comfortable, as the bartender left the snacks behind and left them alone. Max felt his own stomach grumble a little, the ravenous hunger of a werewolf biting him a little in the ass. He'd catch a proper meal on the way home.

But he focused back on the table and the conversation, looking directly to Wil even as his ears and senses tracked the surrounding people. “So, the Exchange. Were you in that field of work across the pond? Prior experience drawing you over here?”

[Wil Carter]

` Cinder Empathy, partial failure`

Wil folded his jacket roughly in half and placed it on the seat next to him. He leaned his right foream on the table and reached for a handful of the mixed items - What was it called again? 'Bits & Pieces'? - with his left hand.

He noted Max seemed to be taking in the other patrons before facing him again, so, curious, he took a quick glance, too, crunching on the snack as he did. Nothing very exciting was apparent, though he was facing the rear of the bar. Wil snapped his head back to focus on Max when he realized he was saying something.

“Mmmm? Fields and ponds...? Ah, right, sorry. No - I mean, yes. I didn't work for them back home, the Exchange, that is. I was with a different group.” He snagged another handful of the mix. “Rosemary thought it was a good idea to get out of my comfort zone and I was a bit bored with the same old shite.”

It didn't occur to him that Max wouldn't have a clue who Rosemary was, but Wil knew he wasn't at his best right now. He popped the mix into his mouth and crunched away, his lips smiling while he did. Never eat with your mouth open. First rule of ettiquette. Or was it the second?

[Max Kuryakin]

At first, Max had to suppress a smirk at Wil getting tangled up in Max's figures of speech, lifting a hand to rub at his chin rather than give in to the impulse of calling the man adorable or cute, something like that. They were moving on quickly enough, Max nodding slowly as Wil elaborated, actually kind of surprised that Wil assumed he meant the Exchange. Were they... global? Max would have to ask Dune. He'd assumed they were at least nationwide, with how Juniper had got through her childhood in their system, but now he might have to ask her where else the Exchange was found. Were they different over in Europe? But- different group. That made sense. Dune had vaguely hinted to her old boss being someone of a leading expert in dealing with the supernatural, but he was... RAF and NATO associated, so there had to be more out there.

Whoever Rosemary was, it sounded like an accidental name drop, just the first name in his head about why he'd set out to America, so Max didn't even bother digging into that. It was amusing, though, for the guy to call hunting monsters 'the same old shite' when Max was beating off monster after monster without finding much of it boring at all. Maybe he had the advantage of only being a few years fully aware of the supernatural world. His introduction was less than calm.

“Looking for a bit of an adrenaline rush, huh,” Max remarked, lifting his drink to take a sip and hide his smirk. “What'd you hear about the work they do in Easthaven?” Even Max only knew the broad strokes, but he was interested in an outside perspective. Only Dune had really sat him down and explained much, and Juniper had given him the rough outline.

[Wil Carter]

Wil swallowed his mouthful before responding.

“As far as I know, they do pretty much the same thing they do everywhere, hunt those who are running amuck.” He picked up a peanut and pressed the shell open with his fingers. “I think the promo material says something about... drawing the line between the supernatural and everyone else. I'm paraphrasing.” He popped the nut in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, reached for another nut. “I hear they have an outreach program in Easthaven for those in need, which wasn't always the case, I don't think.”

Will smiled, white teeth and double dimples. It contrasted with the flatness of his voice as he added, “I would bet real money there are groups out there who would be clutching their pearls at the thought of assisting anything that wasn't human. I'm sure there are some in the know who think that, too. Some people have such narrow minds, you could thread them through the eye of a needle.”

Will removed the shell from the nut he held and regarded it as it sat between his thumb and forefinger, his smile receding, his voice softening. “I had plenty to keep my adrenaline pumping. Just... needed a change.” His focus shifted from the peanut to Max's face. “They say its as good as a rest, right?”

[Max Kuryakin]

As Wil dived into his reply, Max listened and sipped his drink. The joke about promo material had him chuckling, imagining the grumpy and suspicious Crowhurst glaring down pamphlets and approving updated logos. Maybe he could pitch a calendar to Dune, that'd drag in recruits.

When the conversation shifted into something darker, Max's only acknowledgement was to tip his head slightly. He didn't quite know what the attitudes were towards everyone else, but they had warned him about werewolf hunters who didn't much care if a shifter was in control or not–rare, or so they said, but out there. He'd only thought it made sense if all werewolves were like the feral one he'd met in the woods and, like himself, felt like they were walking a tightrope of control.

After, when he'd met Mathus–a werewolf by birth and in total control of himself–the idea of someone not taking that into account was unsettling. In his case, bitten by a feral werewolf and at risk himself should the worst happen, he understood a hunter who saw a threat, but to target perfectly peaceful families? It didn't seem real, but even Mathus had described a childhood spend out of the way and as in hiding as a family of werewolves could be.

But Wil travelled his way through that grim conversational topic and back on track, leading them back to adrenaline and fresh starts. Max mentally shook off the malaise threatening to bum him out. Monsters needed killing. He'd experienced that firsthand, but people like Mathus and Em weren't that.

“A change of scenery keeps life fresh, sure,” Max agreed, glancing to the door as someone entered, but looked back to Wil as they headed to a different corner. “So you've got experience in that kind of work?”

[Wil Carter]

Wil hadn't meant to take the conversation into that shaded area where things darker than Others lurked. He was ashamed to be part of a species who thought they were in charge of this planet and could do as they pleased. He knew he shouldn't make generalizations, but humans could be so arrogant. They claimed ownership of land and planted flags and fences. They treated  animals as property, too, and in many periods of history, their fellow man and woman. If they knew of the Other sharing the same planet... Well, Wil was glad he was able to pull himself back from the depressing topic. Awareness that there were Hunters who didn't give a fuck about what someone did, but only cared what they were was one of the reasons he  got pissed from time to time.

He had no idea what Max must be thinking of him. Maybe that he was a rambling idiot or a drunken fool or whatever. Still, the other man picked up on Wil's attempt at normal conversation and for that he was grateful.

Another patron must have arrived at the bar through the main door, which was situated behind him, because Max's eyes slid to take a look. It occurred to him then that perhaps the fellow was waiting for someone.

“Hang on, are you meeting up with someone?” he asked, genuinely concerned. Come to think of it, Max could be dressed for a date. Will leaned closer, his peanut forgotten, and regarded him with a small smile. “Look,” he continued, speaking almost in a whisper, “If you've got a date, just tell me to bugger off.”

Wil was enjoying having someone he could talk to, especially when it came to a topic he usually couldn't share with anyone. In truth, he was lonely and had been for some time. He didn't like to dwell on that aspect of his life and he didn't want to get in the way of Max should he have a prior commitment.

[Max Kuryakin]

The question caught Max by surprise, mostly because he'd asked the same of Wil, sort of. In the same spirit, at least. He had to chalk it up to the man being more than a few drinks in, considering what sane man waiting for a date would invite someone else into a booth to talk in private.

“No, I'm not waiting for anyone,” Max said first, clarifying it in plain English. Then he added, leaning forward at the same angle Wil had, although he kept his voice above a whisper. “I'd actually been thinking of trying to take you home, if you haven't had too many whiskies,” cocking his head with a smirk as he arched an eyebrow. Max took the measure of Wil's reaction, sharp eyes reading his expression and body language.

Max hadn't actually given much thought to it, beyond the initial evaluation that the guy was attractive and he was feeling it tonight. But he was opportunistic about making his intention clear if an opening was given. Which this wasn't really an opening, but it was something.

[Wil Carter]

Wil had consumed enough alcohol that might put a different person under the table by now or maybe just face down on the floor. The way Max replied made him think he might have missed something earlier in their conversation, but that wasn't unheard of when he put back a lot of hard liquor. Beer took longer to get him pissed.

What he wasn't expecting was the invitation. Wil stared at Max, blinking a few times. His eyes widened and his mouth opened a little in surprise. His breathing changed, though he wouldn't realize that until later, and was that... was he... aroused? Well, this was a new experience and he'd only been in the country a few hours. Go, Rosemary. He'd never been hit on by a man.

Wil tipped his head slightly to one side, hoping he was capable of forming words that would make sense. The invitation was actually a bit sobering.

“What, really?” he breathed. “I mean, I'm... flattered...I've never...” Was he seriously considering going home with this man? Wil blinked again and looked into those blue eyes. He doubted they missed very much and no, he didn't think the guy was kidding. He thought about asking why Max would want to do something like that, but that was his self-doubt speaking.

[Max Kuryakin]

The surprise wasn't totally unexpected, but what followed kinda was. 'I've never' was a hefty sort of phrase to throw around, but Max tried not to jump to conclusion about what that 'never' meant. At least Wil was flattered, which meant whichever way this went, Max hadn't bombed out on the social field, but he just might not get laid.

Still, as Max carefully took in Wil's response, he thought he caught something like interest in the other man's eyes. Not enough to call it a done deal, not with that 'never' hanging over the conversation, but enough to have Max's smirk widen just a touch. He was springing the metaphorical trap, but you could never tell what you'd caught until after.

“You've never what?” Max asked, tone teasing as he propped his chin on a hand and waited.

[Wil Carter]

Was he flirting? Wil took in the subtle change in Max's smile and the innocent way he asked his question. Well, 'innocent' wasn't the right word, but he couldn't think of a better one.

Wil sat back a little and looked down at his glass, half the drink already gone. It wouldn't be fair to the man to accept without letting him know if this happened, his experiences had only ever been with women.

Head still down, his eyes slid up to look across at Max through his eyelashes. Here was a man he'd only known for a potentially alarming short amount of time and some would say he would be out of his mind to go anywhere with him. Some would say he was crazy to hunt a newly turned vampire on a rampage, too, but that hadn't stopped the Hunter from taking on that contract.

“I've never been with a man before,” he said softly. “But if you're good with that, this isn't a 'no'...”

[Max Kuryakin]

While Wil wasn't outright hiding from Max's gaze, he definitely wanted to break it for just a moment. Or wanted a moment alone with whatever was going on in his head. A lot of ways to take it, but Max had dealt with a lot of conversations like this–well, not exactly. The same ballpark, at least. Max decided he was amused with the way Wil looked down to take a moment, before he looked up again. When Wil looked up, it was with an evaluative gaze–not checking him out, Max didn't think–weighting the pros and cons.

Ultimately, Max had expected something like Wil had confessed to–inexperience, at least, either with one-night stands or men. One possibility was always no experience at all, but Max thought he'd have got a more of a nervous response if so. Wil clarifying that it wasn't a no was promising, but that wasn't a yes either. Which Max fully understood. It was one thing to go looking, another to get it thrown in your lap.

“It doesn't bother me, no,” Max reassured with a slow shake of his head, leaning back in his seat to tilt his head and let his eyes give the man a slow once over. “I'm a good choice for it, if I say so myself,” he continued, expression turning just a little cocky, smirking some more before he reached for his drink, taking a sip right before adding, “It's up to you. Going from 'never' to a one-night stand isn't a bad way to try it out. Could be terrible, too.”

Here, Max grinned, crooked and self-aware as he joked a little about it, with a wink towards Wil. He hoped to dispel any tension, since he wasn't in the business of pressuring anyone for anything.

[Wil Carter]

Max was being open about his perspective on this and Wil appreciated it. He wondered how often the fellow spent his time in bars, hoping to meet someone who appealed, hoping to get laid. He was a good-looking guy, so why he needed to -

Wil could feel the heat of a blush rising up his neck when those blue eyes gave him a serious once over. Oh, that was a look. Jay-zus... He lifted his glass and tossed back the rest of his Scotch while Max elaborated on the bonus points when it came a one-night stand for  a first-timer. That was his thing? Wil decided that suited him. He wasn't looking for a relationship, either. In fact, he hadn't been looking for anything other drowning a lonely night with drink. Great start to a journey, that. Not at all, really.

He set his glass on the table carefully, looked straight at Max and shared a playful smile of his own.

“Well, then, we better get started, hadn't we?”

[Max Kuryakin]

Watching the blush spread, Max's couldn't help the self-satisfied curve to his grin. Along with that, he looked on with a fissure of amusement when the man downed his drink–again, but at least he'd had a few more sips this time. Max had about half of his left, and it was far less dangerous to down a mixed drink than a straight one, in this case.

Dropping his hand from his chin, Max reached for his drink and quirked an eyebrow. Wil looked game, direct gaze and the curve of his smile telling of someone who was all in, even if he'd hesitated a little at the beginning. With green lights all the way, no games being played, Max was feeling hot under the collar himself. Still, Max couldn't resist some light teasing, playful as ever.

“Eager, huh?” Max tipped his glass up after he spoke, drinking what he had left, so he wasn't making fun of Wil. Swallowing his mouthful and licking his lips, Max lingered on the ginger and rum as he tipped a nod to Wil's bags, before he offered a low and husky question, just to make sure. “Do you have a hotel you have to check in to?”

Ideal if he did, but Max had turned sneaking a one-night stand past Goki into an art. It helped that he usually went to someone elses place, but it might not be an option with Wil. Max could suffer through the little awkwardness of getting to the Lower Fens from Old Town with luggage when the end goal was a fuck.

[Wil Carter]

Eager? That sounded about right. Curious, too. First time for everything. Max finished his drink and asked about a hotel room with a tone of voice that gave Wil a surprising shiver. That was new, but then, since a man had never hit on him before, Wil had no experience in reacting to a husky, male question.

“No, sorry, no room ready for action, as it were. Didn't book ahead.” He shrugged. “Figured I'd get one when I arrived. Any recommendations?” Then, feeling bold if a bit nervous, he asked with a low voice of his own, “Or shall we just go to your place?” The alcohol was definately helping him take this development in stride and why shouldn't he have a little fun? It had been a while since he'd had sex.

[Max Kuryakin]

Max laughed, low and deep, trying not to echo 'ready for action' out loud, considering what they were going to get up to. He didn't interrupt Wil though, as the man asked for a recommendation and floated his own idea. Cocking his head to the side, Max offered a serious answer before he went for what they were actually angling for.

“My recommendation if you're staying in town? Check out Lethe further into Old Town,” he offered with a sly grin, sliding out of his seat to stand. He slipped a hand into his pocket to get his wallet, knowing they'd have to sort out their tabs before they actually left. “But yeah, for tonight, you can come with me.” Another wink, as Max crooked a finger, playful in the wake of Wil's eagerness.

[Wil Carter]

Wil stood, too, pushed the sleeves of his sweater back down and pulled on his leather jacket. It was wear it or carry it, so he went with the former. He had enough to carry. Reaching under the table, he pulled his bags free, slung the backpack over one shoulder and the duffle over the other. He nodded once so Max would know he'd heard the suggested hotel. Lethe, Old Town, sounded straight forward.

He managed not to blush again - he hoped - with the affirmation that he was, indeed, going to a stranger's home to fuck. The wink didn't help. He smiled, shook his head, and managed to walk just fine to the bar, thank you very much, to pay for his Scotch and give the man a tip.

[Max Kuryakin]

Turning to keep walking to the bar and hand his card to the bartender with a grin, Max didn't miss Wil's reaction even if his existing blush didn't flare up again. The bartender, an old hand at this, sorted their payments easily, freeing them up to leave quickly.

Then, leading them towards the door, Max gestured to Wil's duffel as he pushed the door open for them. “Can I carry one of those for you? I'm in Lower Fens–we'll have to catch the T. I don't mind sharing the burden.”

[Wil Carter]

Wil was fine with both bags, even though he had an incorrect concept of how heavy they really were compared with his apparent ease when carrying them. Still, it was kind of Max to offer. If he was going to trust the man with his body, it seemed strange not to trust him with luggage.

Once they were outside, Wil said, “Sure, thanks.” He slid the duffle strap off his shoulder and offered the bag to Max. He kept the backpack, which contained anything he had of value.

[Max Kuryakin]

As Wil slid the duffle off his shoulder, Max took it and swung it onto his back with practiced ease. For the werewolf, few things were heavy these days, and he just absently noted that this felt like it'd be relatively heavy for a human even as he . All that information did was tell him it'd been a smart choice to offer to carry a bag rather than make the guy walk it clear across town carrying both, even if Wil hadn't looked like he'd been struggling at all. Even with enhanced strength, Max didn't actually like carrying heavy shit around, even if it wasn't difficult.

“No problem, man,” was all Max said, before he angled his head towards the T-sign down the street. “T's right this way. I'll show you the map so you can catch your bearings, but maybe we'll get lucky and have a carriage to ourselves.” Grinning crookedly and biting his bottom lip, Max walked backwards for a few steps as he checked Wil out again, getting a full look at the man since he'd walked into the bar. Like then, he enjoyed the view, but he spun around to walk facing forward quickly enough.

It wasn't sexy to trip and fall on your ass, after all.

[Wil Carter]

Max didn't hesitate to take the duffle, which was good since Wil didn't want to burden the fellow. He matched the other man's grin with a dimpled smile of his own as they headed for the train, not missing the brief inspection he experienced under the street lights before Max turned around.

A part of him was still wrapping his head around the idea that his fellow was offering local transit information and to introduce him to the unknown wonders of sex with a man. It was a little surreal, especially since he was just a teensy bit intoxicated. Wil hoped he didn't completely embarrass himself.

He did take the time to note that Max had a pretty nice arse. He'd already acknowledged the slight difference in tbeir height when they'd crossed to the table, but that didn't bother him.

“A carriage to ourselves? Plotting, are you?”

[Max Kuryakin]

The streets were well lit, the old-fashioned streetlights shining overhead, with spots of dark between the pools of light. Where they were going was easy to spot, with the T in clear view of the bar. The sign was lit up with the black 'T' stark against the white background and Max was heading towards it with purposeful strides, but checking his pace to make sure he wasn't leaving Wil behind.

“Yep,” Max answered in the affirmative, smug and not coy about it in the least. It was a two-fold strategy, if they had a secluded spot. Keeping occupied while getting some time to get familiar, see what they liked and didn't like as far as wandering hands and kissing went. Looking to Wil, Max didn't hide his interest as he asked, tone seductive and low, “You up for a little indiscretion?”

[Wil Carter]

Wil laughed then and managed a brief jog so he was walking next to Max. He wasn't sure if he was feeling a bit giddy from alcohol, the prospect of some exploration in public or jet lag. Maybe all three. He really didn't care. He was excited, regardless.

“I'm up for it if you are,” he replied, his jeans already feeling a little tight.

[Max Kuryakin]

Max let out a chuckle at Wil's words, low and deep, as he felt the anticipation ticking up another notch. He was more than just up for it, even if he was careful about what he got up to out in public, but this late at night the T wouldn't be busy. It allowed for some stretching of boundaries, and he'd picked a tempting target for it.

“Definitely up for it,” Max murmured, loud enough for Wil to hear, as his eyes travelled down the length of Wil's body again as the man jogged up next to him. The trip on the T wasn't too long, and Max lived close to the T stop, so if they had some luck and could entertain themselves, they'd hardly notice any dip in the mood.