Maxwell looked around the office and still felt badly. He'd arranged to play for Lillie and here he was lying on her couch, not playing a note. His fingers were easy enough to heal, he just put them into his mouth one by one. The forehead cut was a little harder, as the skin was torn and hard to reach, but with a little 'pasting' with his healed fingers did the trick.
He straightened up the mess he'd made on the couch and floor, wiping up the dots and splashes of blood as best he could. Then he stole downstairs and started towards the exit door, but the crowd was too thick, and he couldn't cross the distance without drawing more attention than he wanted. Inside him, his Beast was already grumbling.
Nearby, Catherine looked at Maxwell and froze, openmouthed, staring. Her lips moved silently, forming a word. She stared at him some more then slowly the light of hope faded from her eyes as she turns away. She stood there, her hands pressed to her mouth. She will *not* cry. She will *NOT* ... but how can this be?
A minute or two later, Catherine slowly turned and made herself look at Max again. "You're *not*...but you're so like him...how...how is it *possible*? Who *are* you?"
Tired and very thirsty, Maxwell simply shrugged. His voice was quiet compared to the sounds of revelry around them, and yet each word wss sharp in her ears. "A man, like other men..."
Catherine shook her head. "No. There's more to you than that, 'Maxwell'. I don't know what it is but there is something..." and she was not taking her eyes off of his face now. She murmured to herself, "How can this *be*?"
Maxwell, not knowing -what- the woman was talking about, looked at his fingers, remembering the torn flesh there. "I need a drink," he said, and headed towards the bar, which is closer, and currently quieter, than the route to the exit. He put down his guitar and sat a little too quickly.
At that moment, Sloane strolls into the Haven, wearing an emerald green smoking jacket over a long skirt slit to who knows where.
"Matt, get this gentleman a bottle of my stuff please dear."
Maxwell looks towards her, as the bartender temporarily vanished. "Hello, I am Sloane." She held her hand out to him.
Max smiled politely and nodded. "Thank you." He lifted her hand to his lips, he kissed it. "I am Maxwell."
Still standing nearby, Catherine watched Max kissing Sloane's hand and sighs.
"Pleasure meeting you, Maxwell. Or can I call you Max?"
Catherine looked at Sloane.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Please, call me Max."
"Thank you. I am Sloane Luna but you can call me Sloane."
Taking the bottle from the reappearing Matt, Sloane handed it to Max. "Here you look like you could use it."
Catherine was not taking her eyes off of Max, she stared at him as if she'd seen a ghost.
"The problem being the Kid of the Prince is that everyone goes around calling you 'Ms Luna'."
"You are too generous, Sloane. Will you join me for a drink?" He looked at the bottle she has handed him, trying to contain his hunger.
Catherine knew he was not who she sought, but was still shocked by the *incredible* resemblance.
Sloane was insistent. "No, you need it. I indulged before I came here. Matt did select a good year."
Max examined the label. All it read was, '1980 Artist'. "I do not need it so much that I would not share."
"No, please go ahead."
Max put the bottle back down on the bar. "I would not think of it."
Catherine was too polite to interrupt their conversation, and continued to watch Max.
"Matt," Sloane asked. "Can you get me a glass of Luna White 88 please?" She never took her eyes off Maxwell. "Go ahead. In case you're wondering, the person that bottles that type of drink does not take it from unwilling people. People are willing to exchange things for other things."
Max looked slightly disappointed, but opens the bottle and poured himself a glass. "That's good to know. Your family makes wine?"
Sloane nodded. "Yes I am Julian Luna's Daughter. The Family has a winery up in Mazanita Springs. After Tonight Julian will be in possession of the vineyard that the orginal cuttings came from in Italy."
"I'm not familiar with the name," says Maxwell. "But then, I don't come through this city often, and I do not drink ... wine. Or anything else alcoholic, for that matter. Although not by choice."
"Well, wine has no affect on us in this form." Smiling she took a sip. "So I enjoy it now."
Maxwell put on a half-smile. "You don't understand. May I have a small glass?"
Sloane looked around the Haven. "Sure." Reaching over the bar, she grabbed a glass. "Lillie will get over it."
Maxwell watched her as she leaned. The slit was on the front up the front of her thigh and the skirt was to the floor, cut so that she was not showing anything but a cute ass. Maxwell thought she was not only very friendly, but very shapely, as well.
Catherine also asked the bartender for a glass, while she continued to observe Maxwell while Sloane poured him a measure of the wine, sat down, and adjusts the smoking jacket she was wearing.
Maxwell took the glass and tilted it slightly. When his finger touched the surface of the wine, his flesh sizzled. "It .. doesn't agree with me."
Sloane's eyes lit up with comprehension. "Ahhh. I get it. Never seen that before."
Catherine moved to a seat at a table very close to where Max and Sloane were talking.
Sloane took Max's hand and looked at it. Concentrating on seeing his pattern, she slowly heals the wound. "There. All better."
Maxwell didn't look surprised. These days, little had that effect on him. "I suppose you could call it an extreme allergy."
Catherine sipped her glass and gazed at Max intently.
"I would say so," Sloane agreed.
"Thank you." He looked at her, and saw her aura sparkling brightly within the pale pink and purple.
Catherine looked at Max's aura, and saw grey, silver, and gold swirling around him. He also sparkled, but differently from Sloane.
"It was a gift from my mother."
"And what a wonderous gift it is. Your mother must have been an exceptional lady."
Sloane nodded. "Yes she was" She takes another sip of her wine.
Max sipped his drink and felt slightly better. Perhaps it was the mood of his company. He didn't know for certain. "I was supposed to play on stage, but I'm not sure if I'm up to it just now."
"Maybe another night, then. I would love to hear you play"
"I have a tentative booking at the Gothos club for New Year's Eve. But I don't want to let Lillie down by not playing." He has another drink while he listens and thinks.
Catherine stood up from her table. "I would like to hear you play also...when you are well of course."
Sloane reached over and put her hand on his. "I am sure Lillie will understand, Max. For all her faults, she really cares about her clans members well being over all else"
"But I feel ... obligated. She helped me in a very special way." He sighed, knowing that Sloane's support alone wouldn't be enough. "Maybe I can still pick up the mood of the room."
"Well, maybe after the holidays?"
He looked over at Catherine. "What do you think?"
Catherine replied, "I would like to hear you. If you are up to it that is." She looked Max over..."I was here during ... when you were on the stairs...." Her words trailed off, but the emotions she'd gotten from him shone in her eyes.
Sloane looked at the new person then to Maxwell. Maxwell returned the look with an 'I don't know who she is either,' look. His eyes stay on Sloane. "You will stay, won't you?"
"Max, if you are up to it I would love to hear you play. Of course I'll stay."
(There's so much pain in him) thought Catherine. (And he is *so* like...I must know who this man is--I must.)
"Right Here," Sloane added.
Catherine was not taking her eyes off of Max for even a second.
Max nodded. "All right. I suppose I should find Lillie ... or I could just go up and start.... she might like that more."
Sloane smiled widely. "It would be a nice present this Christmas Eve."
Drawing heavily on her mood, Max's own countenance brightened.
Catherine nodded, "It would seem we are in agreement, then" she said to Sloane, who was smiling at Max with eyes full of joy and youth.
"Yes we are," she said.
Pink seemed to suffuse Maxwell's aura, even though the other colors are still present, but subdued. "I hope you enjoy the performance."
Picking up his Strat, Max finished his drink and started edging his way to the stage wings, powering up his Bose as he moved.
Sloane got up and walked closer to the stage. Max reached out, gathering more of the holiday emotion, and notes started drifting out across the room.
Catherine walked closer to the stage as well. Finding an empty chair, she sat waiting, watching.
Maxwell's music seemed to flow from him well before he reached the stage. He did not sing, he only played his black Strat, his fingers caressing the strings like the hair of a lover.
Sloane smiled and leaned against a column.
But his music pervaded the room as he stepped onto the edge of the stage, and then up onto the polished stage floor. It projected Joviality and Joy, which seemed very strange from a man dressed all in black.
He looked for Sloane and spotted her, leaning against the column. His eyes met hers briefly.
Sloane looked at him and smiled and mouthed- I LOVE YOUR MUSIC.
He bowed subtly, and then his eyes moved on, as he continued to read the audience and reflect it in his music.
Catherine gazed up at Max and listening as he played she let the music wash over her. Even without words she could feel he was pouring himself into it. The wordless song played on, but not to overpower the gaiety of the crowd. It was stronger than background music, but did not demand attention.
Catherine smiled at Max as his sweeping eyes caught hers.
A tall man walked in and up to Sloane and whispered, "The car is parked. Is Julian here yet?*
Sloane did not even look back *No Derek, He is not here yet and for the most part no one recognizes me so I am pretty much safe if you want to mingle."
As Catherine listened to Max she continued to study the features that she knew so well and yet did not.
* * * * *
A short while later...
The glass cracked and starred in his hand, but he stopped himself before it could shatter. He'd been cut up enough for the evening, and he was in more than enough pain.
The music helped. Maybe he could reach out to her through a second set. Up the volume just a touch, so she'd hear the difference, and maybe know that he was playing for her. She'd been kind to him, and he always repaid as he was paid, coin for coin.
Catherine watched as Maxwell went to the bar. She debated silently with herself for a few minutes, then came to a decision and walked over to him. "Please allow me to apologize for my earlier behavior. You little know how...how seeing you startled me. I..I am still not certain of what this might mean..." she shook her head. "But that is not an excuse, I should not have stared so."
Maxwell seemed to be into his own space at that moment, but her presence registered on him, and he recalled what he'd heard her say when he hadn't been listening.
"Don't apologize. I know I must be a frightful sight. I was ... in a bit of a scrape earlier."
"I had noticed..." she said with real concern. "But it is not merely that... though I will not burden you with details. Let me make amends first by introducing myself properly. I am Catherine Rochester."
"I've heard of you, Ms. Rochester. I've heard you have a fine singing voice."
She smiled in appreciation of the comment, then continued. "And second..." she glanced at the empty stage for a moment, then back to Maxwell, "I would give you a little of what you have given me this night.." She smiled softly and almost despite herself her fingers brushed against his hand before she turned away and walked to the stage. She whispered something to the man at the piano, he nodded and a moment later the music filled the room.
She opened her mouth and once again her voice flowed over the music blending with it to draw in all who listened. This song also was a modern one, but it too touched her giving voice to her inner self...and she gazed at Maxwell as she sang though even though she saw him part of her saw Richard there...
Where the river foams and surges to the sea
Silver figures rise to find me
wise and as daring
following the heart's cry
I am that deep pool
I am that dark spring
Warm with a mystery
I may reveal to you
in time
(time holds the heart's key)
key to everything is love
(love makes the heart flower)
flowers into deep desire
(passion is the heart's fire)
passion and desire
See the dark wings rise above the open plain
a shadow in the moonlit air
weaving and soaring
watchful and protected
I am your shelter I will enfold you
Maxwell listened, but only with half an ear. He kept thinking about Lillie, and wondering why she'd left. Still holding the cracked glass in his hand, he looked towards Catherine onstage.
Catherine gazed into Max's eyes seeing at once both him and Richard there...and it was as if she were offering herself to both at once...as she had so wanted to shield Richard from that which had taken him (it still ached deep within her even after the centuries had passed that he had forced her from him and not let her aid him) perhaps this time it would be different...she had felt the pain Maxwell had poured into his earlier song, a pain that so mirrored her own that she knew he too must have known such loss.
Max wished he knew why she looked at him with such pain. Could she be an empath, too? His body could lie, and hide the ache when he needed to, but his spirit was a different matter entirely.
(Not very appropriate for the occasion,) he thought. (I'd hoped she'd pick something a little brighter.)
As the last notes of the song died away, she stood there for a long moment then slowly seemed to come back to herself...she left the stage and without taking her eyes from Maxwell came back over to him.
"You said you had heard *of* me." she began, trying to draw him out.."now that you have heard *me*...." she paused waiting, too polite to ask the question but too much the entertainer to not wonder...and perhaps in doing so she could learn more of *him* also.
"You do have a fine voice," he replied. "Although your choice in music for this particular gathering doesn't seem well-suited. This is a public event, not a private one."
He kept looking towards the staircase, thinking.
"I think I will go check on our hostess. Perhaps you should try to lighten the mood of the crowd? I believe you have a far greater impact on them than I do.."
Catherine shook her head. "I am not sure I would agree with that. There was so much...I have known many musicians in my time but few who have brought forth such feeling as your song did." The look of concern was clear in her eyes as well as the pain...she wondered again what he could have suffered for suffer he would have had to, to sing as deeply as he did...she did not know for certain but again it had seemed so like her own that she could not help but think, could that be it?
She glanced at the crowd then turned back to Max. "As for our audience...I have another suggestion. They have heard each of us separately now, what would you think of our doing a song together? I would even let you choose the song."
Max looked at his glass, as if trying to will the fragments to mend. But it was as broken as his heart, and would take more than he now had, to repair it. (She would -let- me choose the song.) he thought.
"No," he replied. "I would not think of dragging your talent down. I would despoil its purity." He releases the glass in his hand, letting the shards fall like crystal rain. "And you are far more appealing to the eye than I. My presence would only detract from that, as well."
She looked him up and down, marveling again at the resemblance. He *was* so like *him*, he *was*...she had not known any to have such concern for her since...she shook her head to break that line of thought. "That is of course your choice...but I do not think you could 'despoil' anything. There is too much beauty within you. But there are other things as well."
Standing, Max apologized to Matt for the shattered glass. "I am sorry. I have been ... out of sorts for most of the evening. Would you be so kind as to keep my guitar behind the bar until I return?" He handed over his cased Strat and then looked to Catherine. "Please excuse me. I am going to speak with our hostess, if she will allow it."
She reached out a hand and touched his, just for a moment. "Do what you must," she said gently, the concern never leaving her eyes..."but the night is yet young, and we could...talk...more later?" she gazed deeply into his eyes she had to know more of this man, she had to.
"Yes, we could do that. With luck, I shall return in time to hear at least part of your next performance. I enjoy listening."
With that, Maxwell turned and headed towards the stairs, and Lillie's office.
"Perhaps," she said, conceding on that point. "But the offer stands, should you decide to change your mind. There is plenty of room in my suite at the St Francis." (and you seem to be someone who's been alone -too- much) her eyes added, though she didn't say this aloud, unsure of how he'd take it and not wanting to upset him when she only wanted to help him.
"That is generous, but an unthinkable proposition. I ... I am dangerous to be near for too long a time. Death rides my shadow, and Pain is its companion. Do not look too closely at one, or the other may take notice."
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