Luna Brilla » Places

         "I lived in London mate, there's no hiding where you grew up." Max supposed that was true. London was a big city, and it was always difficult to find someone who not only lived there, but happened to be from there as well. Max was a rare being of born and bred. Budapest may have claimed him, but London would never truly let him go. He'd cried and bled on those streets. It was woven into his bones. And the accent that fell off his tongue gave no room for lies about exactly where he came from. But Bastiaan surprised him, offering up a little of his own past. Bass didn't talk about himself. No matter how much time Max spent trying to make him, it just didn't happen.


"Perhaps I wasn't clear enough...I wanted to know where you are from. Tell me something interesting. I know you've read my work, maybe you can wow me enough to be the next Simon."


Max had half the mind to pinch himself, make sure he wasn't dreaming. He shot a curious glance behind him at the bar...but no, Cameron was wearing clothes. Usually when he was dreaming she wasn't. But Max found himself in the ever so odd position of being thrown off. Bass was willingly talking to him, asking about him, endearingly small smirk on his face, and claiming that he...Maxwell fucking Evans could be anything compared to Simon Bates.

If Max didn't know any better, he'd almost accuse Vos of flirting with him. Because it sure felt like he was being buttered up.

But then again...who wouldn't take the chance to have a conversation with their favorite author? Even if Max was suddenly feeling particularly uninteresting. Sure, he had stories to tell, tons of them. He loved to talk about himself, of course. And every night that he worked behind that bar, he had one arguably interesting tale or another to share. Sometimes he had to say he was 'just kidding' to keep the patrons from having a heart attack, even. But Bastiaan Vos wasn't just any guest. He was a writer. He was an icon. He was someone Max respected, even if he didn't always show it in the right way.

And Max was...just a boy. Definitely not the next Simon Bates.

"Interesting..." he repeated, fingers twisting almost nervously around the whiskey bottle he'd used to pour Bass' drink. He wasn't entirely sure what the difference between 'where you are from' and 'where you are from' was, but he supposed he could give it a shot. He licked his dry lips, then shrugged a little. "I dunno. Don't think I'm nearly as interesting as I pretend to be," a guilty smile tugged at the edges of Max's lips before his eyes rolled to the left, obviously thinking. "Um...I was an orphan by the time I was eight, homeless by fourteen. Well, I believe the term is actually 'runaway' but, details. And then...you know, technically, I was a prostitute for a little while..." Max winced slightly, not because he was in the least bit ashamed, but because...well, he'd never been fond of that word. "And now I'm 'ere. So...I guess that's where I'm from. If that...ya know, answers your question?"

Max had stories upon stories. Antics he got into while he was in this foster home or the next, colorful stints spent on the street, drugs and violence and sex and rock and roll. Things he should have been arrested for more than once, and things no one would dare bring up to his face. People and places. Near death experiences and a love for life few others seemed to have. But this was Bastiaan...and never had he been interested before. Max was, for once, out of his element on what to say.