Quick Tour

West Dallas

Temperature: 87.8F/31C Wind: 8.7mph SSE Observations: Clear

West Dallas is a largely blighted area of poverty. Several geared-to-income housing projects are in the beginning stages of springing up along the streets in these neighborhoods. For the most part, the area is classified as 'industrial' and plays home to quite a few warehouses, bars and salvage yards.

Oddly enough, it is also home to the historic Belmont Hotel which rests on a beautifully landscaped bluff overlooking Oak Cliff.

As he said he was going to, Max is waiting outside for Hugo to finish up with his visit with his sister. If Max did leave a tip for that waitress, he left it somewhere other than on the table. So maybe she got tipped double and she'll be even happier to see him next time. He doesn't look happy, exactly, where he's waiting, leaning against the hood of his wrangler. He'd probably look more in place with a cigarette or something but evidently he doesn't smoke.

Emerging from the bar, Hugo looks flustered and uncomfortable as well. As promised, he paid the bill and, of course, tipped the waitress. Looking to the right and then the left, the artist looks a little bit relieved to see that Max is, in fact, still there, walking over to him and pausing a few feet away before starting off, "I'm really sorry. I should have known better. Just didn't seem to be any way around talking to her, so I figured I'd bring her over. But that's no excuse. I'm sorry … for her targeting you like that and being such a…. such a bitch." His lips form an unhappy slant over his features as Hugo notes, "I'd really like to do… what we talked about. Y'know, hanging out again? But if you'd rather not, well, I can't say that I blame you really."

As Hugo starts talking, Max is all ready with an understanding shake of his head. "Don't worry about it, man. I have a sister. And I deal with a lot worse day to day. She… has your best interests at heart, I'm sure." Not that Max really knows that, but that's what siblings do, right? They take care of each other. "I don't know why I wouldn't want to after that. Not unless— I mean, you don't /live/ with her, do you? That might be a different story, I guess." Max is probably already weighing his options there.

Laughing out loud, Hugo actually has to lift a hand against his ribs to keep them from aching as he sputters, "Oh my God. Live with Jo? She's kill me. I'd kill her. It would be suicide for the both of us. You'd think after being apart for years and years we'd be so happy to see each other we'd never have a cross word to share, but no. We're like cats and dogs it seems. Always fighting." Shaking his head, Hugo wipes a tear of amusement from the corner of his eye and takes a deep breath. "Ahhh, ahem, no. No we definitely do not live together. And yeah, she does have my best interests at heart. We just don't always agree on what exactly that is." Pushing his right hand into his pocket, Hugo rocks slightly on his feet and murmurs, "But still, I'm sorry for putting you in an awkward position there. This was supposed to be my way of saying 'thanks'. Not exactly the smoothest job there."

Where most people might join that laughter to a certain extent, Max only allows a vaguely amused smile to flicker on his lips as he watches Hugo and waits for him to calm down. "My sister and I used to be rather close." There's a lack of emotion in the way he says it that might suggest, to someone that would notice, that they probably aren't that way anymore. "Anyway, it's fine, really. But if it makes you feel any better, I have a feeling anything else we might manage will definitely make up for it. You did buy more than just a drink, after all, right?" Food and drinks for some contact with the crazy sister. Evens out well enough for Max. "Did you need a ride home? Be happy to give you one," he says with a gesture back toward the vehicle he's leaning against.

"Ahhh, sorry to hear it," Hugo offers a little more soberly. "My sister and I had a bit of a falling out. Well, shit happened and we each had our own ways of dealing with it. I still love her. I guess I couldn't get this pissed off at her if I didn't. I hope things between you and your sister get better." He does smile at Max's points and nods, adding instantly, "Absolutely. We will do something that will totally make up for it." And at the offer for a ride, Hugo nods and sighs. "Yes, please, that would be most kind of you. Otherwise it's back in there with her till a cab arrives." Not a good idea.

"Gwen's made some bad choices," Max explains, though it's really not much of an explanation since that seems to be precisely where he's going to leave that particular conversation behind. "It is home you were going to next, isn't it? I don't want to cut your day short if you'd had other plans," he says as he pushes off the hood of the wrangler and moves around, pressing the button on his keychain to unlock the doors and get himself in. He doesn't seem quite so concerned about Hugo getting into the jeep but he does watch out of the corner of his eye.

There's still time before the sun goes down, but probably not much more than an hour or two. Best not to press his luck. "Home," Hugo concurs. "The only other plans I had was some serious lounging about in my sweatpants, maybe watching a movie on TV." Pivoting, Hugo opens his door and manages to get into the Wrangler with careful ease. Getting the seatbelt locked into place is a bit tricky though, what with the cast in the way and being one handed in the process. He's still futzing with it when he notes, "If you want to come up, though, you could see what it is that I do."

Max isn't going to go taking off without making sure Hugo is buckled up and he reaches with a quiet, "Here, let me," so that he can get that taken care of. "Sounds intense," offers the were, tone quietly joking. He starts pulling out, pausing to let Hugo point him in the right direction, then, "I'd like that, I think. And fortunately, my schedule is wide open." Or, at least, he doesn't really have anyone else to answer to, what with no girlfriend or real friends or anything.

Hugo flushes slightly but lets his hand slip away as Max leans in across him to take hold of the seatbelt and buckle it, and Hugo, into place. "Thanks," he murmurs, never happy when he can't do for himself it would seem, but grateful for the assistance nonetheless. Clearing his throat, Hugo's eyes drift out the window and then back, nodding in mock-soberness as he intones gravely, "Very intense. I don't expect there's too many people that can keep up with me on a night like this." Hugo points toward downtown with one finger. "Well of course your schedule is wide open. You have no life," Hugo mocks gently with an arch of one brow. "It's really quite tragic. But stick with me and I'll show you the wonders of the world, or at least how to go out and have a good time occasionally."

"I imagine not," allows Max, quite seriously, and most likely still joking even if he doesn't sound like it. "I have a perfectly acceptable life, though. I'm content with it." Note he doesn't say he's /happy/ with it. But they sort of mean the same thing, right? "I'm not incapable of having a good time, I just— Well, work keeps me pretty busy. Not always easy to fit other things in. Dumb luck you came when you did. Unless you're stalking me."

"Content?" Glancing over at Max, Hugo shakes his head tragically, accusing, "You're much too young to be 'content' and settling for an 'acceptable' life." Clearly the artist finds the police officer something of a mystery, eyes narrowed as he studies Max's profile as if he were like his sister and able to penetrate past those barriers to the man hidden beneath. Man, his art would be so much easier if he had Jo's ability to read minds. No more being blocked and stymied at every turn. Sighing softly in frustrated regret, Hugo's eyes flicker back out the window as he notes, "You'll want to take a right at the next block…" Turning back, a smile forms on Hugo's lips as he assures Max, "I'm not stalking you. It was just luck."

"That's good to know. I'd be flattered but it's really not behavior I've been conditioned to accept." Max and, like, most other person on the planet, of course. Still oblivious to Josephine's abilities, Max would probably be thankful to know that it's not something Hugo inherited as well. For all the being too young to feel the way he does, Max neither argues nor defends himself from the accusation, instead following the path that Hugo navigates.

"Stalking is never a good thing, unless you're a private investigator. And that's still not generally good news for the one being stalked." But with Max's unwillingness to rise to the bait to either defend himself or agree with Hugo, conversation dwindles down to just directions till they pull in front of the Ravello Condominium, a clearly rather pricey locale. "Ahhhhh, home sweet home," Hugo notes, better able to unfasten his seatbelt than put it on. "Well, borrowed home sweet home I guess." Opening his door, he puts out one leg before asking, "Still want to come up?"

Maybe he'd rise more if he knew Hugo better but as it is, Max has had a decent amount of training to counteract those sorts of impulses and some habits die hard. Once they reach the condominium and Max has parked somewhere, he unfastens his seatbelt but hesitates just for a couple moments to actually get out of the jeep. "Fancy place," he notes. "Maybe I won't feel so bad about you paying for food, too. But, yeah, I'll come up." Once they're both out of the car, he locks it somewhat unnecessarily and lets Hugo take the lead.

Lips curling into a small smirk, Hugo looks forward to Max's reaction once they're in his place. "You know that descriptor? Starving artist? Yeeeee-ah, that's not exactly my situation any more…" They enter past security, the posh entranceway, and up into the elevators to the very top. With a soft ding the elevator seamlessly stops and opens, soft carpeting underfoot as the pair of men walk to one door, which Hugo unlocks and opens, entering in before glancing over his shoulder to see if Max is following. "A man's castle is his home, and this is mine," he teases lightly, heading toward the kitchen as he asks, "Another beer?"

Ravello - Bosch Apartment

At the top floor of the Ravello, this loft apartment is everything an artist could ask for. Spacious, open, with high ceilings and numerous windows and skylights which not only fill the room with natural light, but give it an open and airy feeling, the sky within easy reach. With the exception of the bathroom, the entire space is open with no walls. To the left of the entrance is a large kitchen done in silver-shot black marble with stainless steel appliances and a large floating counter dividing it from the rest of the apartment with stools along the far side for casual dining. Just past that is a dining table, large enough for six to sit comfortably, made out of warm chestnut wood with copper inset details. To the right of center is a raised platform 'room', the bedroom, with pillars at the two corners that jut out from the wall, heavy yet translucent curtains separating the sleeping area from the rest of the apartment. The bed dominates the space, with dressers flanking it and the bathroom leading off to one side. The rest of the apartment is free to be whatever one wants. At the moment there are a few comfortable couches and chairs by the bedroom area with an entertainment center for music and viewing pleasures. The rest has been blanketed in canvas dropcloths, a myriad of rolling carts and tables covered with paint tubes and pots, brushes, jars of mineral spirits, and a variety of other artist tools and utensils. Canvas are stacked up against a wall and a work in progress dominates the interior wall that is free of windows.

Security and elevators and soft carpets. The apartment that Max lives in would probably make Hugo cringe. Not that it's that bad. But it's certainly not this. He does try not to gawk, at least, but he's open enough to look impressed. "It's… good that you're doing so well for yourself. Doing something you like to do, even. It's…" he waves a hand vaguely as he glances around, "very nice. And, yeah, thanks— Although." Max gives the other man a look as Hugo heads toward the kitchen but decides not to lecture him on the mixing of medication and booze.

Hugo pulls a microbrew beer out of the fridge and… a pitcher of iced tea for himself. Popping the top of the first, he offers it to Max in the bottle then pours himself a glass of tea, taking a sip before looking around and nodding. "Well, it wasn't always like this. I've spent my fair share of time squatting in abandoned buildings and scraping for food." Walking over toward the studio half of the loft apartment, Hugo gestures to a number of paintings in various stages of progress. "Well, this is what I do," he notes without much pomp or ego. The most dominant painting is of a woman seated upon the ground, holding a dead little girl in her arms, the child limp as a rag doll, with torn clothes and blood streaking her body. The woman's head is thrown back, tears streaking her cheeks, eyes wide open, staring up into a sky filled with nightmare visions of violence, cruelty, death, disease - the evils that fill the world. All of these images swirl about her, wisps of them entering through a hole in the middle of her forehead, between her eyebrows. What some would call 'the third eye'. On the ground about her is wreckage and rubble, a shattered ceramic jar dominant. But hidden beneath a chunk of this pottery is a tiny flower, perfect and glowing, but unseen amidst the rest of the horror and misery. The woman is clearly, now that Max has met her, Josephine, painted in an incredibly realistic manner, save for the impossible hole in her head. The nightmare images, the background, are painted with a looser, more impressionistic style, making the woman the main focal point, the flower the secondary one.

With no need to lecture given, Max relaxes ever so slightly and happily, as much as he does, accepts the beer offered to him with a small thanks. "Can't say I've ever had to squat in an abandoned building." The scraping for food is another story and not really a good one for first 'dates'. Or, you know, ever. He follows Hugo toward the painting and for a rather significant span of minutes, Max takes the piece in, all the details and nuances. All in silence until he finally tilts his head toward the other man and says, "It's very good." Not that he'd doubted or anything. "But it's a shame, too, I think. All of that around her." He looks back, somewhat haunted before that's gone and he takes a drink of his beer. "What's the flower?"

Hugo offers Max a crooked smile and rumbles, "I highly recommend against it," turning to see what the policeman's reaction to his work might be. It always varies but with Max serving in the army, some of the images about the figure might seem very familiar and disturbing as most of them are born from the atrocities of war. He nods at the simple response and concurs, "It is." Walking over to the painting, still in progress, Hugo notes, "She's Pandora. All around her are the evils of the world. It's so overwhelming, it's all that she can see," he explains. "But here," Hugo points out, "hidden by the jar that contained all of the horrors that Pandora is surrounded by, she missed out on Hope," his hand hovering over the small glowing flower which has tiny tendrils of life spreading from it. "She can't see it. She's lost in despair."

"Hope," repeats Max quietly, not quite under his breath but thoughtfully. "I've seen some pretty horrible things. Hope is important. Vital, I think," he adds in that same sort of voice, his attention still lingering on Hugo with questions he seems hesitant to actually ask. "Imagine you know her pretty well. Is this /really/ who she is?" It would kind of explain the bitchiness, at least, but Max doesn't look as though he'd like the answer to be yes in any case. It's a sad thought.

Nodding in agreement, Hugo concurs, "Exactly. While Jo has seen far worse things than I have, my life certainly hasn't been a piece of cake. But I think that's because I choose not to see only the bad things in life, but the good things as well. The hope." Turning to the painting, Hugo studies it sadly, his gaze somber and regretful as he muses, "No one can truly know another person. Not fully or completely. But we were talking the other day about some very dark things and, well, yes… I think this is exactly who she is on the inside. But, in the end, it doesn't really matter if I'm wrong or if I'm right. I'm not her therapist, I'm her brother. And this is my art. Sometimes I get it right and sometimes I get it wrong. The good part is that generally the only person who knows the answer to that is the subject… and me, if they care to share. In the end, I can always say that I was 'inspired' and, like they say in the movies all the time, any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Handy one, that."

As Hugo talks, Max's attention returns to the painting to study the various details there again. The last of what the other man says makes him chuckle in a much looser, genuine fashion than he's managed for most of the time they've been together so far. "That's true. Very true. Inspiration is safe like that. You're good, though, man, I'll give you that. You ever done a self-portrait?" Max asks, tilting his head toward Hugo and arching a brow /very/ curiously. That much expression on his face almost looks comical, or it might to someone that knew him well. But at least it proves he's capable of it.

The question catches Hugo off-guard, turning to look at Max as he asks, "You mean, like this?" gesturing to the canvas before them. There is a soft laugh, as he wraps his right arm over his chest, since he can't fold his arms, his eyes drifting over the canvases in the room. "No… I've never done a self portrait, other than the usual kind. And not even one of those for years now." His head tilts, thoughtfully, as he murmurs, "I've never even thought about it… what my myth is. Which fallen god I have hiding within me. Maybe I think it's too pompous for me to display myself as such? Or maybe I can't see myself the way that I can see other people." His gaze flickers back to Max, his blue eyes bright and appreciative. "Perhaps that is something I will have to tackle this go round. Narcissus perhaps?" he jokes wryly, one brow lifting before he looks back at the paining of his sister. "Good suggestion, Max. Thanks. See? You're already helpful. You should totally come model for me. Maybe I'll do the painting that is not you, since you like to keep your insides to yourself. Perhaps I'll make you my Narcissus," he threatens mischievously, eyes glinting with wicked intent.

He's pleased that it's not something Hugo expected but Max is also listening with a great deal of interest. "You don't want to know my deep dark secrets, Hugo. I know that. And other than that, I'm pretty boring." Which Hugo himself has more or less told him, in fact. "I don't think I have any god, fallen or otherwise, hiding within me. But," he says, glancing between the painting and the painter again, "I think I'd be okay with modeling for you sometime. However the rest of it turns out. If you asked my sister, she'd probably tell you I could pull off Narcissus without any help." And another grin. Maybe he's had too much to drink!

One brow lifts, a smile curling his lips as Hugo drawls, "So you doooo have deep dark secrets. See, I don't buy that. Can't have deep dark secrets and be boring. That's like saying you're an authentic East Indian vindaloo, but you're mild. Ain't no such thing." He chuckles warmly at the idea of Max posing for him as Narcissus, his eyebrows waggling as he clinks his glass against Max's bottle and notes, "You have the looks for it! We can start there and see what else the mirror in your hand reflects…" Blue eyes drop to the bottle as he asks, "You need another one there, or are you good?" For himself, Hugo downs the rest of his iced tea and wanders back toward the kitchen for some more. He'd ask about the sister, but Hugo knows that if he ventures in that direction too soon, Max will shut down and shut him out. Better to draw him out bit by bit. "So," he calls over his shoulder, "you were vain then back in high school, were you? The quarterback on the football team? The heartthrob for every girl on the cheerleading squad?"

"There are always exceptions." Max flourishes a gesture that is probably supposed to indicate that he's one of these exceptions. "I'm good, though, I think. Wouldn't do me a lot of good to push it and get pulled over on my way home." It might not be all that big of a risk but it makes a good excuse and it never hurts to be cautious. From the man that flung himself face first at a vampire. "I don't know… I suppose I was a bit, yeah. I didn't think it at the time. But I was always worried about appearances. I was the quarterback, though. And I wrestled. Decent grades. Not sure about the heartthrob. I didn't really date back then, either. Gwen was the one that didn't care what anyone else thought and just did shit because it was fun to do. I… resisted, I guess." With Hugo off for more iced tea, Max lets his attention and feet wander.

Laughing richly, Hugo shakes his head and retorts, "Nu-uh. Ain't buyin' it. Nice try, though." Nodding at Max's choice to decline, Hugo pours himself another glass of iced tea, sipping from it before putting it aside on the kitchen counter. "Worried about appearances is different than being vain," he points out reasonably. "I think everyone worries about how they look, how they dress, what other people think about them at that age." Taking another sip, Hugo notes, "Trust me on the heartthrob bit, unless you were a late bloomer or something…" Damn, how many times as he told the cop he's pretty now? Time to back off on the compliments, though the artist can't help but wonder if he can convince the officer to pose in the nude. "Did you resist, or were you just being the yin to her yang? Siblings do that sometimes - take opposite routes, make opposite choices. Or," Hugo notes with a mocking drawl, "maybe you were just as boring then as you are now?"

"I think people at that age are all too ready to toss out words like vain and crazy and whatever other labels they can think of. Not," Max continues quickly, "that anyone ever called me crazy. Gwen, sure, but—" He pauses there, probably realizing that he's actually talking about stuff and remembering that he doesn't like that. It throws him a little off balance and it takes him a moment to continue on with anything else. "Right. Just as boring then as now." Max wanders until he finds somewhere comfortable to settle down, conveniently in front of the television, beer still held in one hand. "I'm gonna start thinking you think I'm attractive or something, Hugo, if you keep up all those compliments. That or you really want something from me." He sounds amused but he looks back in the artist's direction with a cocked brow.

Joining Max in front of the set, Hugo flips it on, selects the Pay per View channel and then hands the remote over to the cop to choose what it is that they're going to see noting, "That button there will get you to the Tivo…" Sipping from his non-alcoholic beverage Hugo rumbles, "I don't think anyone in high school uses the word 'vain'. I don't know what the current vernacular might be, but vain is definitely not it." Tilting his head back he stares at the ceiling for a moment before turning to look at Max sideways, asking uncertainly, "Pimpin? Sick? No, wait, those are compliments…" Which in and of itself makes Hugo snicker in amusement. "You Americans … so butchering the English language…" He shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly and clarifies, "I do want something from you. I want you to spill all of your deepest darkest secrets and pose for me. Duh. Let me know if the compliments are working and I'll drop a few more in your lap."

Behold! The remote! Max looks at it for several moments then points it at the television to experiment with some of the buttons. Once he's comfortable, he finds a boxing match to flip to. "I haven't seen most of these movies if you wanted to watch one," he points out but, evidently, he's perfectly content to watch two guys beat the teeth out of each other. "Jock, maybe. But they don't entirely fit, either. That is what they called me. Suppose I oughta be thankful I didn't turn into one of those flabby ex-high school football stars. Where are you from?" He's probably realized that Hugo isn't native before now but he only asks now. "I'll admit the compliments are nice but they seem a little… strange. Coming from you. No offense." Then, "But I will pose for you."

Though boxing doesn't particularly interest Hugo, he doesn't particularly mind it either. Here is another opportunity to get some insight into Max. He waves a hand at the television and offers, "Pick anything you like. I'm game." He nods at the term jock, noting, "More of an 80s thing… The Breakfast Club and all that. But it's probably still a term that's used." His eyes sidle over to Max's firm middle, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest as he notes, "Not too much to worry about there. I'm guessing you're not a donut-eating sort of cop…" Turning his attention back to the TV, Hugo puts his feet up on the coffee table. "The Netherlands." Well! That was probably unexpected. "Been living in New York for years now. Ever since I was 16? 17?" His accent is almost unnoticeable, till one knows to notice it. His eyes sidle over again at Max's point about the compliments. "Too gay for you?" he asks bluntly. His shoulder shrugs as his eyes face forward once more, noting, "If it makes you feel better, remember that I'm an artist and the human body part and parcel of my subject matter. I know from beautiful. Think of it as purely a business term if you like." The last thing he wants to do is freak Max out. This is Texas after all. Being gay is probably not as widely accepted here as it is in New York City. But his lips curl up at the acquiescence to his wishes, a nod and a soft but satisfied, "Excellent," his response.

In that case, Max sticks with the boxing. If for no other reason than he doesn't really have to pay it much attention while he talks to Hugo. "Not too many donuts, no. Might have to start worrying if I got into the donuts /and/ the beer, though." Max sets the remote down at some point between them and nods with a vague gesture, "I can hear the New York a bit, I think." That or he's just transposed it knowing the artist has lived there recently. "Oh, no. No, that's not— I mean… no. I was just thinking that, well, you…" Max falters. "Just… earlier. I assumed that you weren't." He, truthfully, still probably assumes that he isn't. The artist stuff certainly makes sense. But, if anything, he doesn't seem at all freaked out. "I'll have to check my schedule… how long does that usually take? Modeling? Or do you just need a picture?"

Hmmmmm-mmmm, that is either the reaction of someone who is embarrassed to be caught out being possibly homophobic, or the response of someone who genuinely is just curious and embarrassed to be caught being nosy. And while Hugo doesn't particularly advertise his sexuality one way or the other, he isn't specifically hiding it either. "I'm bi," he offers casually, as if it were no big deal. "Generally I prefer working with someone in person. Photographs … the scale and the detail just aren't there. And if I want a specific pose, again, not always an options in process with a photograph." Glancing toward Max, Hugo notes, "Well, it can be whatever. Maybe a few sessions? An hour or so each? Depends on what you have the time for and what you're comfortable with. I realize being a police officer you probably have a pretty hectic schedule that's not terribly regular…"

"Ah," is all Max really has in response for that. It makes his gaze linger on the other man for several moments before he realizes that he's staring and then glances toward the television. "That makes sense. I prefer most things in person. I'm sure we'll be able to work out something, though, between our schedules. I probably even have some vacation time I could take if it really came down to that." Or maybe even if it didn't. Vacations are always nice. Usually nice. Okay, sometimes they suck. But whatever. "I'll give you my number before I leave, too."

Hugo keeps his eyes on the television as Max 'ahs' and studies him. In truth, he's not sure he wants to know what the cop is thinking in this instance; if he disapproves or doesn't get it. It can be hard enough being gay, but being bi? Neither camp wants you playing in their yard. Which is probably why Hugo sticks to women for the most part. Keeps things nice and simple. "Don't inconvenience yourself, "Hugo replies mildly. "Lord knows I wouldn't want you wasting your precious vacation time modeling. Better you do something actually fun and interesting," he adds with a quirk of his lips. Turning he gives Max an easy smile and nods, "That would be great. And you have my info, so just let me know when you're free." And if you're still interested or you can't wait to get the hell away. Good thing Max doesn't have Jo's talent for reading thoughts.

It probably is a good thing Max doesn't have Jo's talent. But it's probably a good thing that Hugo doesn't either. Granted, it would make this all a little bit easier, at least. "It's no inconvenience. Really. I mean, I haven't /used/ it and it's not like I'm saving it for anything special. I think I could model and maybe you could take me out and show me just how a guy like you has a good time in a town like this." It almost sounds challenging but it's hard to say if it's actually meant to sound that way. Max polishes off his beer but he seems more interested, now, in watching Hugo rather than the television.

"Well, you should," Hugo sniffs, glancing over at Max. "You need to get out, live a little. Go someplace cool and exotic. Some place exciting!" Scratching ineffectually at his cast, Hugo notes, "Well, yes, I will take you out and try to show you a good time, though in truth that would be easier in New York than Dallas. But, you know what they say! When in Rome, feed the Christians to the lions and get over your bad self." Glancing back over at Max, Hugo lifts one brow before asking, "What? Do I have a lemon from my ice tea in my ear or something? Or are you just not a boxing man?" Reaching over, Hugo picks up the remote and starts flicking through the various options, pausing at the movie Memento before murmuring, "Huh. Oh the irony. Have you seen this movie? It's good…"

"I've lived plenty," Max murmurs, not so much to Hugo as to himself but audibly enough. "I don't think I've ever heard it put quite like that, actually. But I like it." He grins when Hugo looks his way but he shakes his head. "No lemons. Just thinking." He glances at the screen when the question is presented. "No don't think I have. But, actually, I should probably get going, I guess. I still need to hit the gym. And I think I'm feeling the need to go for a run." He scoots toward the edge of the couch, ready to rise. "This has been… nice, though. Really nice."

Hugo smirks and nods, pointing out reasonably, "Well, that is what the Romans do. That and orgies and lying down while you eat. I can get behind those last two for sure." Rising up to his feet, Hugo notes pragmatically, "You're too young to have 'lived plenty'. Too much life ahead of you yet." He's curious as to what exactly Max is thinking, but for once Hugo doesn't pry. Rising up to his feet, he walks Max to the door and nods. "I'm glad. And really, all kidding aside, thanks for trying to help me out. Give me a call if you want to go hang out some time, catch a game, hit some bars, whatever." He groans a little, a jealous sound as he mutters, "What I wouldn't give to be able to run. I can feel the pounds creeping on and my muscles atrophying. But once this behemoth is off, things will get better."

"Orgies." Max is a man. You can't really blame him for picking out that word in particular even if he does look a little undecided about it. He drops off the bottle somewhere convenient on the way to the door and once there pauses to turn again to Hugo. "Soon, I hope," he says with a nod to the cast. Then, opening the door to step through it, "And, just for the record, you're kind of criminally attractive." Max leaves the other man with a, "Take care of yourself," as he turns for the elevator to find his own way out of the building.

The wicked smile that Hugo flashes Max is the kind that's hard to read. He could be pulling the cop holster or he could be dead serious. Hard to tell. Waggling his broken wing Hugo nods and returns, "Can't be soon enough." He stands at the door, looking out to see if Charles is there yet, but if the vampire is around it isn't apparent. Nonetheless he's careful not to step past the threshold. But when Max compliments him in return? There's a moment of surprise followed by a knowing and entertained smile. Ahhhh, so that's how it is. Smirking he gives Max a cheerful wave with his good hand and watches till he's out of sight before closing the door and leaning against it for a moment. "Ahem! Well, alright then. This makes things certainly more interesting…"

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