Breakfast at Banges [Maxim]

Max had honestly never thought about buying himself a manor in Hogsmeade. He could do everything that he needed to do from the safety of his own home and he didn’t have to worry about manning two different buildings in his current...condition. It wasn’t as if Max was poor, that much was for certain. Not many nineteen year olds could afford to buy a bookshop when they were Magical Academy drop-outs. But the money that Max did have, he was careful with. It was his parent’s fortune and they had always been content with the meager way of life, which, in his own strange little way, was what he was trying to perpetuate by living in the back of his shop. Then again, he had seen the manors and knew how nice that they were. Three or four stories high; not something that was very common in Hogsmeade. The manors were to the east of the village and provided a picturesque backdrop to the castle. The views were beautiful, everything about them were alluring. In fact, he had seen the Scrivenshaft manor many times and had always wondered if it was as grandiose on the inside as it appeared to be on the outside. The very thought made him smile, wondering if he would ever be invited over for morning tea; after all, Morgana seemed to be a very ‘you show me yours, I’ll show you mine’ kind of girl, ”Dhalai-Dipcus isn’t really for me. The houses are too large for just one person. Thistlebee way might be up my alley eventually, though.”

”Just a suggestion. Company is nice...from time to time.”

For a moment - completely and unabashedly broken out of his shell - Maxim was thoroughly enjoying the idea of a party at Morgana’s house. It would be a rare opportunity to see her in her more natural environment, and he had to say that he was rather keen on the idea of continuing even further their conversation from this afternoon. He had already firmly decided that he would make more of an effort to get to know her better - after all, if they were nothing but neighbors, he at least should carry on a civil conversation with her, shouldn’t he? Upon her statement, Maxim raised both of his eyebrows in her general direction, but stopped himself from commenting on what she said. It was not his place to speak of friends - for he himself had made a point to keep mostly to himself during his time at Hogsmeade, ”All good things in moderation,” He offered, feeling the slightest tug of a smirk on the corner of his lips. It wasn’t until he realized that he was practically smiling that he looked down at the oaky wood of the table and began trying to active observe what sat before him. Far too soon he realized that she had already abandoned the quip about companionship and was focusing on his apparent interest in the fashion world. Truth be told, Max couldn’t tell the girl the first thing about fashion and getting dressed. He wore a button up and trousers almost every day. The young nineteen year old wasn’t the epitome of fashion, ”I had rather hoped that you would escort me. I’m afraid my idea of a clean cut suit would involve something atrocious. Like green buttons or -” He didn’t even bother to finish his sentence, knowing that Morgana would understand that he had no idea what he was doing in that department and also hoping that she would take the hint and offer to accompany him on his clothing trip.

Max looked at her with such a mock-shocked expression that he almost laughed right then and there, somehow he managed to keep it together for the sake of their play off one another, ”I suppose I agree whole-heartedly, Mor-Grant.” It was a poor attempt to modify her name into one that matched his apparent gender-swapped identity, but for now it would do just fine. The way that her red hair bounced as she laughed made Max smile a bit more genuinely; they were delicate tendrils, almost curls of sorts, of a shade of red that almost seemed unnatural...but was so beautiful that for a second, he was the nineteen year old boy that he always should have been: Completely intoxicated with the woman in front of him. At least, until he realized that the conversation had taken a turn back to their previously discussed topic and he was due for a response as to not seem rude. Managing to tear his eyes away from the woman, he looked over at a few books on the shelf before answering, ”Thankfully, I am not most men. I believe in good honest solid work and-” For a moment, he was reminded of his parents; people who lived a meager life but were happy with everything that they did. They were his inspiration for the life that he wanted to life, despite the fact that he had been turned a monster in his youth. Realizing that he had wandered off into the land of his own thoughts, ”Forgive me, would you like more tea?” He asked, rather abruptly.

”Never get betrothed? Is that even orthodox for the purebloods?” Max asked, rather confused by the entire situation. If she chose not to marry, then that would be a significant amount of purebloods that could be left without a mate later on down the lines. It was a very delicate business, he imagined. They probably had an entire chart worked out on how procreation in the pureblood circles was supposed to work. Thankfully, even though he was of pureblood, he was Russian and had managed to stay off most people’s radars. He looked up at her for the first time in what seemed like ages and examined the way that her face had changed with the last statement, no longer was she the happy go lucky woman that she had been moments ago, ”I should hope it’s not because you don’t think yourself beautiful or worthy enough, M,” He blurted, his adolescence suddenly shining through like a beacon. Trying desperately to cover his tracks and not embarrass himself further in front of the older woman, he quickly found his footing again, ”We’ll just have to drink each other under the table at your little soiree, now won’t we? Perhaps not the most appropriate time to settle this little disagreement, but I can’t think of a better time.” He offered her the slightest hint of a wink along with his words. 

His humanity. For a moment, Max wondered if it was possible to save what was left of his human self. This afternoon with Morgana he had felt more emotion than he had experienced in many years. And he couldn’t say that it had been un-pleasurable - just the opposite, it had been a welcome adventure. He stood up from the table that they were sitting at and crossed to the window on the other side of the room, staring intently out of the panes at the street that was in front of it, ”Defiance of lycanthrop normalcy as a sign of a struggle for humanity.” He said, describing the current situation that he was dealing with. Every day was a struggle to not be like...them. He wanted something more. He had never wanted this life.

Still in front of the window, Max turned slightly so that he could survey her reaction. She so obviously seemed excited by the prospect of coming with him and he knew that it would be quite the adventure to have someone in-tune with the werewolf mind along for the ride, provided that she was welcome in the werewolves homes. They were comfortable when they were with others of their species. But Morgana, she would be a new breed brought into their territory. He could only imagine how they would react to such a thing. He nodded along with her tale of the flowers in her garden; he had known she was protective, but the spells that she suggested seemed humorous to him and, even though he was still facing the window, he put his palm over his mouth to keep himself from laughing aloud and embarrassing her further, ”Trust me, I will make sure that you flowers are well-behaved, M.” He laughed slightly, finally feeling much better now that he had let himself embrace the laughter that had been threatening to break through, ”One can only assume that it’s difficult to acquire all three. Surely they’re must be a precaution against possessing the three most important artifacts in all of history-” He realized that he had called it history instead of myth and shook his head, finally walking back to the table, flipping the chair around, and straddling it so that he was facing M.

M’s answer to his statement, which had been half-heartedly philosophical coming from the nineteen year old boy, took him by surprise and he made a point to raise both of his eyebrows - the pair practically arching into his hair line - in her general direction. When that was not enough to keep him at bay, Max finally laughed, shaking his head from side to side as he looked at the red-head that sat across from him. She had such strange views on life, but he couldn’t deny that he felt similarly, ”Here’s to consumption at all hours of the day.” He said, holding up his mug and then taking a sip of it, although he knew it to be just tea, ”What is it that they say? It’s always five o’clock somewhere.” Max himself wasn’t particularly fond of drinking at the early hours of the day, but it was just for the sake of the joke that he had agreed. Surprisingly, she seemed open to the idea of accompanying him to the dress-robes store. Honestly, Max was in need of some feminine opinion in his life regarding his clothing choices, ”I’m afraid that I have no choice but to accept-” Max said as he offered M a brilliant smile. It wasn’t until he realized that what he had said was slightly offending that the smile began to fade and he waved his hands in front of him, ”Not as if I feel pressured or anything of the sort-” The poor Russian nineteen year old said, ”I just-” He could feel his face flushing hot, and began shaking his head, hoping that she wouldn’t notice just how flustered he was becoming, ”Well I haven’t much of an idea of fashion. And you seem to be very...erm, current.” With that, Max pressed his lips together, content to be silent for the next couple of minutes while he tried to reign in his thoughts.

Truth be told, from the moment that the poor excuse for a come-back had left his lips, Maxim had been very embarrassed by his trying to station a proper name to call M of the opposite gender. ‘Moe’ seemed hardly appropriate, as it didn’t match her personality. However, the more that the young Russian worked through the situation in his mind, the more he began to recognize that very few things about this conversation made sense in general, ”Yes, perhaps on second thought we should just leave it as Mor-” He stopped himself, ”M, and call it a day?” Max crossed to her and leaned forward to grab her cup, unintentionally smelling her hair - perhaps one of the only blessings that he had due to his ailment. It was a rich lavender scent and for a moment, he swore that that was exactly the way that he had imagined it would smell. However, with that implication, it meant that he had been thinking about what Morgana would smell like...and that was rather strange, even by his standards, ”Lavender.” He mumbled, until he realized what he had said. Straightening up and grabbing her mug he tried to cover his tracks, ”The tea’s got a bit of lavender in it. Erm...my mum always used to-” He didn’t even bother to finish the sentence, knowing that he would probably only progress in the fool-making that he had already accomplished that day.

He was rather confused as to why Morgana was choosing to not pursue a marriage - after all, it wasn’t as if she couldn’t find someone to marry her. She was beautiful, intelligent, and intriguing. He was sure that she was in high demand in the betrothal department. He began pouring more hot water into her mug, shaking his head silently as the thoughts passed through his mind. Max laughed slightly at her sentiment, however, as he turned around to look at her face, he realized that she was quite serious. What could someone be afraid of the daughter of Quill store owners for? It wasn’t as if she was terribly dangerous. Sure - Max sensed that she was perhaps a little more reserved and opinionated than some of the other witches that he had met, but hardly anything that would cause her to be named a danger to pureblood society. However, she took a very interesting turn then, commenting on love in general and Max felt his blood run cold. Sighing slightly, he put the kettle back down on the stove top and started to absentmindedly dunk the tea bag that he had placed, ”You might find love inconsequential, but I think that it’s perhaps the strongest, most profound bond that there is.” For what seemed like the first time in their conversation, it seemed as if the pair had hit a brick wall in terms of opinions. Max was inclined to believe that love had saved his life; the love that his parents had felt for him made him want to continue on living, even though they were gone...even though he was ailed with such a curse. He wanted to live for them. And that type of love could only be bred through family...through marriage and procreation, something that Morgana seemed hindered in understanding, ”It’s hope.” He picked up the mug and then slid it in front of his guest, opting to re-take his seat across the table from her, ”Here’s to getting completly plastered at your own party; I’ll probably be among the intoxicated.” Max took a big gulp of his tea and then grinned, ”Brandy.” He answered quickly and then realized that his answer was far too hasty, he had to explain, ”Hear me out. Nothing goes better than a slice of Rosemerta’s pie than a glass of Brandy. Ask any of the Hogsmeade low-lives.” 

Max was deeply lost in his own thoughts as the conversation moved back to lycanthropy. There was so much to be considered. Was he actually preserving his humanity by trying to live a normal life? Or was he going against his very nature by doing so? Was a werewolf a human? Or a beast? Internal struggle seemed to be hitting him like a hammer to a nail and for a moment, leaning his elbows against his table, he put his hands over his face and simply thought. It had been so long since he had dwelled on his ailment and truly thought about the implications that it brought about. Morgana had been the first to offer any insight into his own speculation. It was fascinating and at the same time excruciatingly confusing for him to have someone else weigh in on the subject. Far too long he had kept his feelings to himself, ”I should think that I concur. A constant struggle between beast and man. Rebelling against the constraints of normalcy would give one a sense of humanity, I suppose.” It did, didn’t it? He felt more human manning the book shop than he did hiding out in the woods and trying not to kill anyone. Out there, he was dangerous. In here, he was nothing but a slightly nerdy book-shop keeper. Trying his best not to feel anything else in the realm of his pain, Max stood up again and walked to the dresser where he pulled out his wand. As he listened to her words, he carefully transfigured a few of the quills that were left on the neatened dresser into beautiful flowers and then set them down in front of Morgana, ”Consider this, if they taught students how to transfigure things in their earlier years, perhaps we wouldn’t be dealing with a culprit.” He offered her a weak smile, hoping that she wouldn’t read too much into his show of flattery. Realizing, then, that he had fallen into her unintentional trap of history vs. myth, Max felt his face heat up ever so slightly, ”Fine, fine. But what about lawful constraints, M?” He asked, playing devil’s advocate and smiling a little brighter, mischief in his eyes, ”If they are real, who in merlin’s name would let you have all three, hmm?”