I will be king and you, you will be queen

[retconman]

WHO: MAX LORD and KARLA SOFEN
WHERE: Beachfront dinner.
WHEN: Last Friday.
WHAT: Bad decisions monthly: a second and third date!
WARNINGS: Smug villains flirting, probable sexual innuendo and what that implies


[ Commitment is not Max Lord's thing, really; he'd tried that before and he had three divorces to show for it, but a longer record of one-night-stands. Not that romance of any kind is on Max's list of priorities, or even has been in a long while. He's not back home, is the thing... he's freshly out of the grave but not quite yet in the clear, but things are just not exactly the same here.

Plans don't work the same way, and he has a lot more time to bide. Why not use it making connections?

That was at least his intention when striking up acquaintance with Karla Sofen. Now as he approaches the restaurant they're meeting at for their second "date" as it were, he determines it is admittedly a connection he is not yet sure of what payoff to expect. ]

Comments

[sofentheblow]

[ There was a time when Karla would have greeted -- in fact did greet -- the act of being pulled forcibly into another dimension with resistance. Attempts to find a way home. Now, though, even accounting for shadowy government conspiracies -- and, as Emma Frost had pointed out, the possibility that they've all been pumped full of nanites that could stop their hearts at a moment's notice -- this setup is markedly preferable to her existence back home.

It's a delicate, ominously conditional sort of freedom they've been given here, but it's at least workable. And there are plenty among the imPort population who haven't formed all those preconceived impressions of her she's used to dealing with back home.

With Max Lord, she's forming the impression it might not matter.

They're meeting up in Miami for dinner. Flying's not faster than using the Porter, but it certainly lends itself better in the being a flashy showoff department. Her feet touch down on sand-dusted cobblestones; there's a little shifting of light around her as her costume's replaced with an off-the-shoulder black silk dress (suitably Fifties aesthetic, hemline's a little shorter). ]

I hope you weren't waiting long.

[ Not quite. She is precisely 14 minutes late, which is exactly one minute shy of "technically rude" and approximately ten minutes past "genuinely on time." ]

[retconman]

[ His own suit is retro and understated, tailored well in a tasteful shade of dark brown. Darker pinstripes find their way down the length of the fabric, defining it sharply at every pleat and crease.

Seeing Karla, Max offers her a polite smirk and a raised eyebrow, looking her over from head to toe. He shakes his head and motions to her chair, standing at the same time to pull it out for her. ]

Not at all. Just got here myself -- in time enough that we didn't lose the reservations, but they're flexible about that sort of thing sometimes. If you're persuasive enough. [ He winks at her. ] And as long as you don't stand me up, I'm flexible about that sort of thing myself.

[sofentheblow]

[ So he is, evidently, enough on top of things to have noticed her game. That could be good or not, except he's taking it in stride, which tends to imply he's either good-humored or wants something (take that one for granted; everyone wants something) or has a nice amount of self-restraint. No reason not to hope for all of the above.

She sits, obliging, and there's a flicker of an actual smile before her expression settles into a smirk that more or less mirrors his own. ]

I'm sure you're flexible about all sorts of things.

[ Well. ]

[retconman]

Well--

[ He makes a motion with his hand, which prompts a waiter to bring by water and wine glasses for them, along with menus. Max passes Karla hers. ]

That's what I hear. But that's not exactly something you go around flaunting, is it? Except to particular company.

[ He scans over the menu nonchalantly, and adds: ]

More than I look.

[sofentheblow]

[ She opens her menu but allows her eyes to remain on Max, neglecting the menu's contents in favor of the challenge that expresses. ]

Speaking of.

[ Very tangentially. ]

You've adapted well to your assigned job here, haven't you? It's not what you did before.

[ In the City, she means; before that is all guesswork. ]

[retconman]

Mm. It's close.

[ If you squint. Max smiles, looking over the menu items once more before he closes the menu and folds it on the table, clasping his hands together on top of it. ]

Human rights, it's not a far leap from philanthropy. Just the non-profit part, which is -- you know. Evil. [ His smile says he's kidding-but-not-really. ] I think very few of us find ourselves doing the same thing we did before.

[sofentheblow]

Naturally. [ From her angle the not/kidding's more playing at agreeable than the expression of any strong opinion, though she's not exactly hiding that. Her raised eyebrow and the playfulness that's crept into her tone accentuate it, if anything.

She examines her own menu, finally. ]

And fewer find ourselves doing what we'd like, isn't that right? I wonder who'll be first. To step away from their government-assigned role in any distinguished way.

[retconman]

[ Ah, the game; part of Max has to admit to himself -- only himself -- that he missed it. He's gone too long without any "fun," because he's a businessman and he knows how to prioritize.

However. All work and no play, and everything in moderation. ]

You assume people aren't doing that already. I guarantee it -- but they also know better. They're discreet. It's not hard, finding a place for yourself in the world that you can work with.

Take me, for instance. [ He gestures almost delicately to himself. ] Big advocate of doing whatever you'd like.

[sofentheblow]

[ Not everything in moderation, surely.

Her faux-casual is just overtly faux enough to be tongue-in-cheek; she's not here to insult him with acting that's not intentionally sporting. Anyway, work and play -- she's never restricted herself to the one at a time approach. Overshot-offhandedly, in that way: ]

That is the plan. [ Karla doesn't really do winking; if she did, this would be the time. Her demeanor covers the difference. ]

Whatever covers a lot of ground, Max. [ She leans forward. ] I take it you're one of the ones who knows better.

[retconman]

I like to think so. You strike me as someone who knows when she's listening to bullshit, am I right? Then you can tell I'm sincere when I say I not only know better, I'm not all talk, either.

[ He leans forward himself, tilting his head casually to one side. ]

Should I have said whomever?

[sofentheblow]

Who says there's any objection to covering a lot of ground?

[ Under the table, out of sight, she slips a foot free from its shoe and brushes it against his ankle. Still holding eye contact; still challenging.

Just as the waiter's returning to take their orders, effectively putting a pause on further discussion: ]

I don't think anyone present would contest the other thing.

[retconman]

Not you, clearly. I prefer to avoid all points of objection, generally.

[ The brush of her leg catches him off-guard enough for him to tense his shoulders, but Max manages to keep a poker-face as the waiter takes their orders. He inhales slowly, focusing his attention back on Karla seamlessly once the waiter has left them again. ]

We'd better make it a light meal, in that case.

[sofentheblow]

[ Still leaning forward, and it's hard to miss the smugly indulgent current present in her expression and voice: ]

If you think that's best.

[ There are exceptions to her tendency toward ambiguity. She allows herself to fall back a little, resting against the back of her seat. The terms are established, more or less; what else can they make of their time here? ]

You do have me curious about your... extracurricular activities now.

[ The other ones. ]

[retconman]

Do I?

[ He leans back in his seat, though eases his legs forward beneath the table to meet hers; casually Max reciprocates her motions by slipping his opposite foot smoothly against her opposite ankle, expression still poker-faced. ]

Well, don't let me keep you in any suspense, Karla. If you want to know something, you can always just ask.

[sofentheblow]

Oh, I hope you'll keep me in a little suspense.

[ That one comes out almost purred. For her part, she's playing the poker-face game with observably less determination than he is; prodding to see what it takes for Max to break composure has suggested itself as a more fun alternative. Her eyes are fixed on him again, lids now slightly lowered. ]

But all right. I imagine you must have side projects. How are you -- [ A deliberate recall of his own phrasing: ] -- finding your place, Max?

[retconman]

[ Her tone -- her phrasing -- causes Max to swallow, adjusting himself forward again on his elbows. He clears his throat. ]

Well -- not as challenging as I prefer, if I'm being honest. Pay-off around here takes time, and people rarely offer to simply put you there.

[sofentheblow]

[ His reaction doesn't prompt a visible one in her, this time, but it didn't go unappreciated. ]

Rarely, but sometimes?

[ It's meant playfully; unacquainted with the scope and nature of Max's abilities as she is, the literal answer she's touched on is over her head. ]

[retconman]

Sometimes if you get lucky.

[ He raises an eyebrow, grinning at her in a way that's open but not precisely innocent. A salesman grin at the very least. He tends his fingers against the table slightly, thumbs pressed against each other. ]

I try to stay flexible to the possibility.

[sofentheblow]

[ She shakes her head, laughs -- the breathy laugh's a little affected, but the amusement is at least genuine. Right as the food's arriving. There's that brief settling-in moment -- the shift forward, napkin smoothed onto her lap -- before she picks back up: ]

Mm. And what happens on those -- [ The press of her leg, a little firmer, against his. ] -- rare but lucky occasions?

[retconman]

[ He inhales slowly, having a little more trouble keeping complete composure the more her leg strokes his own under the table. ]

I'm not one to kiss and tell, Karla. Why don't we find out? [ He makes careful work of unfolding his napkin and laying it over his own lap. ] Skipping dessert was already on my mind.

[sofentheblow]

[ Raising her fork, she tilts her head a little and smiles -- it's affirming, encouraging, very close to a positive-reinforcement kind of smile. Her fishes for intel aren't getting her anywhere yet, but this pattern of innuendoed generalities they've fallen into is enjoyable, and broader Heropa situational awareness isn't her primary reason for being here anyway. Besides, he seems to be letting her steer things, in terms of their evening's direction, and he's not peppering her with the sort of personal questions she'd just have to dodge anyway. ]

Skipping, or delaying. [ She trails her gaze from his face down his torso, then back up to meet his eyes -- an entirely purposeful, visible show of appraisal -- before turning her attention to her plate. ]

[retconman]

Whatever seems more appetizing, hm? I can live with that.

[ Max tilts his head a bit coyly before lifting his own fork and taking a couple of slow, studious bites of his meal before he lets his eyes raise back up to her.

He knows about as much about Karla as she knows about him, and he's fine with that. She seems like a dangerous woman to know too deeply, and getting too close is far from his intention here. ]

Who doesn't like a snack in the middle of the night?