closed | ❝ came a time, when every star fall ❞

[quickfingers]

WHO: Peter Maximoff & Derek Hale.
WHERE: Maurtia Falls /
WHEN: Mid January.
WHAT: Peter goes to drop by the shelter to see how she's operating, and if there's anything more he can do to support it.
WARNINGS: N/A



[Peter'd caught up with Derek a bit at the holiday party, but he hadn't really ever had the chance to stop by to see the shelters up close and personal after helping set them up financially. It had been done with his own money, but he's been working through his office to see what kind of grants or bursaries he could continue to offer to support an ImPort run business in the Falls, particularly. So it's to that shelter he's off to visit, a pair of silver shades on his head and no formal wear in sight.

He would've brought Rootbeer but to be completely honest, wasn't feeling up to putting on her winter booties after the struggles he's had with them in the past. He wonders if that's what it felt like to parent a real kid, suddenly feeling admiration for his mother for raising unruly twins all alone. This sidebar thought train of whether or not Rootbeer is his child, furry or not, has distracted him long enough that he nearly walks into the front desk and has to bring his palms up to steady himself. His shades fall forward, hitting the bridge of his nose before he pushes them back up. Shit. Smooth. Cool.]

I'm here to see Derek Hale? If he's in, or whatever. It's uh, Peter. Maximoff?

[He frowns. He sounds like he's questioning his own name. He clears his throat and taps his fingers against the desk.]

Deputy Ambassador of Maurtia Falls. Yahuh.

Comments

[calloused]

[ Derek's always been very all-or-nothing in the way he does things; its always been difficult for him to strike a clear, precise balance in how he acts and how he thinks he should act, often foregoing half-measures and self-restraint in favour of blindly barrelling into projects and plans until he's drained and exhausted and miserable. He likes throwing everything he has into what he cares about, even when he burns his hands and covers his fingers with cuts and bruises in the process. That's the energy he's been bringing to his work.

The Maurtia Falls shelter is far smaller than the one in Heropa, but it's still a lot of work for one person, especially when that one person only opened the clinic out of a vague hope that he might one day be able to hand it down to someone from home. There are animals to walk, cages to clean, operations to be done, adoptions to be managed... it's a lot. Far too much for one person.

But there's no receptionist here to let Peter in, no bustling of busy feet from the side office that smells of synthetic lemon and 409. There's just a distant call from the back room, a loud and gruff hold on that could only come from Derek. Peter's gonna have to wait a sec, and while Derek finishes whatever he's doing in the far end of the building, he'll be able to see just how badly understaffed this place is. Everything's spotless, there aren't any lines, but - there's no other human in sight, excluding the stock-photos-turned-posters on the wall of men and women cradling animals, each caption emphatically boasting the merits of adoption.

Derek gets into the front room, a little sweaty, a little tired, not in any kind of uniform. Heather grey henleys and dark black jeans are nothing new for him, nor are the spots of blood and dark patches where loose spills have dried on his clothes, but it's a pretty weird look tied with disposable plastic gloves he's pulling off his hands. He nods to Peter when he's back, but he doesn't swerve to greet him until he's gone past him to the bathroom so he can wash up.

Another few minutes of waiting, and then he's back behind the front desk, sighing heavily and bouncing on his heels. He drums his fingers against his thigh and doesn't flash Peter a smile, exactly, but flashes him a look to say that he's ready to talk. ]

You always do that? Go around introducing yourself as Deputy Ambassador.

[quickfingers]

[The place is empty in a sterile kind of way that Peter's not so fond of. It reminds him of doctor's offices and dentists, with stainless steel countertops making him think of the cat they used to have when he was a teenager. She got knocked up and he had to scout the neighborhood for people who would take her spawn - but he paid for the vet fees with his own money. Well, money he had, albeit not necessarily money he earned.

Ah, Fluffy, you old bitch. He kinda misses you.

Derek putters around and Peter's happy to at least hear he's acknowledged, waiting patiently by the desk. Alright, maybe he's not so innocent, getting a sweep of the place in a handful of invasive yet uninvasive seconds worth of exploration. All that signifies that he's done more than stand there is the way his hair blows in a non-existent breeze.]

You always look like you just walked out of doggie surgery?

[He gestures to Derek's spotted shirt, brows lifted. He - feels awkward for a beat, because he trips over his own title more often than not. It doesn't feel like a real weight in his hands yet. But the blush is held off on, and he just scratches his head and toys with silver locks.]

I should get you a stethoscope. Do you have a stethoscope? You should probably have a stethoscope. Or you know, like. Any other living human being in here with you, with or without a stethoscope. I feel like I'm hearing myself echo? It's so empty, bro.

[calloused]

[ Derek's done his best to make the shelter feel homely, but he can't even do that with his own fucking house, so. The errant posters, bowls of (admittedly high quality) candy free for the taking and the fresh coats of paint don't do much to counteract the sterility and the emptiness. He's flipping through a few sheets of paper behind the counter when Peter disses his appearance, but other than a short faltering of his wrist, Derek doesn't really look like he registered the comment. He just... flicks through the forms, finds whatever it is he's looking for, and picks it up as he answers. ]

Sometimes. When I'm working in a veterinary clinic. In which doggies sometimes find themselves in need of surgery.

[ He reads the form, keeping his eyes on it rather than on Peter. He looks deep in thought, free hand on his chin as he scans down dotted lines and wishes for the thousandth time that he'd had actual fucking experience as a vet before he'd opened this place. Where the fuck is Scott, honestly. Where the fuck is Deaton.

Peter rambles about stethoscopes and Derek puts down the piece of paper, but he's still not focused on his guest. He wheels himself into the chair behind the computer and starts typing away, dragging his heels on the cold, laminate floor. ]

Did you... want something, or did you just come here to call me poorly equipped and understaffed?

[quickfingers]

[Believe it or not, Peter's used to being ignored. So while he blinks and seems to hesitate for a second when Derek gets to work like he isn't there, he just starts playing with the business card holder on the desk. Gives himself a full hand of them, sorting them as if he's playing poker. He feels like Derek won't get the humor, but still gazes at him leisurely over the tops of them anyway.]

Just came to check in. Y'know, see how my money's being spent.

[He raises his brows - he's not digging it in, he's actually smiling weakly because he's not bothered at all. He didn't expect loads of friendliness and he knows it meant a lot to this guy to get the funding. Said as much himself, which is why Peter's still shuffling his cards like he's got a good hand.]

I wanted to know if you needed anything else. City funding budgets are in the works for the new year, and... stuff. I only pay half attention but if you need anything, now's the time to do it. Cat scans? Dog scans? Little doggie morgue...

[He looks away. Narrows his eyes. Mouths 'too dark' to himself.]

I also totally wanna see the lhasa apso you got in the back room. She looks cuddly.

[calloused]

[ There's a muscle by Derek's eyebrow that gets a pretty decent workout, most days. It's always twitching, right by his temple, whenever he's annoyed. That twitch happens now, the second Peter says he's here to see how his money's being spent.

Peter's weak, friendly smile doesn't do anything to assuage Derek's initial assumption that Peter's being an asshole, here to judge him for screwing up and failing to manage this place as best as he could. Derek breathes low through his nose and looks up from his work, staring at Peter long and hard, wondering if it could possibly be worth it to get all up on his investor's face and tell him to fuck off.

He ultimately decides not to do that, because there's something about Peter that softens his edges. Something in his eyes, maybe. Derek stares, and he stares, and he stares until he takes a stack of business cards from the holder himself, fanning them out just like Peter has. He reaches out, grabs one of the cards from Peter's hands, snagging it right from the middle. ]

Go fish.

[ He acts like the card he just took from Peter's hand matches with one of his own, putting the pair he won back into the deck. Turning back to the computer, he acts like nothing's happening, even as he holds his fake hand out and waits for Peter to take his turn. Pointedly, he avoids mentioning anything the clinic might need. ]

Marguerite is a piece of shit, but if you want to go see her, you're more than welcome to.

[quickfingers]

[Peter seems to relax just a little when the brick wall he feels he's been facing softens slightly. Like there's a tiny soft piece of gum on the big, scary wall. He's gonna make all the use he can of that pliable little spot while he's got it. His smile twitches when Derek mirrors his hand of cards and without missing a beat, he does a studious little nod when Derek seems to pair off a card. Good pick.]

She's cool. I fed her a couple treats, hope you don't mind.

[Why? How? When? Unimportant questions. Peter slides his finger over the fanned out cards in Derek's hand, as if trying to decide which is the better one to take. This is not how Go Fish works at all but you know, who fucking cares. Old Maid meets Go Fish. Go Maid? Old Fish?]

How's things on a more personal level? You and yours good?