The sharp edge of his fingernails scratched and dug into the soft skin of his thumb. It was a fidgeting habit that he has had for years, unsure of the time when it started. To his siblings, it was a clear indicator about his mood. To him, a pesky tell that he only ever noticed when it was already too late. No matter how much he tried to push his emotions aside, he couldn’t shake the anxiety he was feeling. He was still half-human, after all.
In the late hours of the evening, when he knew that the restaurant would be closing soon, Maxim walked through the door. A sense of determination radiated from him, as if he was supposed to be there. As if he knew exactly where to go. And he did. He did his research. This has been the third time that he has walked past and into the establishment within the last week. Maxim knew very well where to go, who to talk to if he needed and who to avoid based off of the layout, the rank of the employees and old news snippets that he found in the library.
He was nothing if not determined. Which is why he knew he had to talk to her. Abigail. Daughter of Arawn. Line cook at Noona. As the son of Phobetor, he may or may not have had to use his powers a fair amount in the past few days to look into her co-workers’ dreams to find out what she looked like—effectively ruining their peaceful slumber in the process. It amused him to think that he might have had good career chances as a spy if he wanted to. From all he could gather, she was helpful and kind—he almost felt bad to use her to get to her father. Then again, he told himself, anybody in his position would do the same, right? He has come too far and fought too hard to fail now and he liked his current situation too much to lose it. Maxim has no intention of hiding again and find a new place to stay.
It felt like an impossible mission but he eventually made it to the entrance of the kitchen unseen after maneuvering from one room to another, further away from the watchful eyes of the employees and guests with each step. Only when he entered the room, did he notice that he must’ve held his breath at some point. But he had no time to rest. With a calming sigh, he walked over to her.
“Abigail, right?” his lips curved into a smile and his expression implicated that he was asking to make sure. Deceit. He knew exactly who he was talking to. “I’m Maxim and I was recently told you made the meal I was eating a few days ago.” Lies. He had never eaten anything here. “It was amazing!” His smile looked genuine and he made an effort to speak with just enough enthusiasm to sell his performance. “I was wondering if I could ask you for cooking lessons? I will pay you, of course.” Maxim hated how rushed the last part of his sentence sounded but he also knew that everything had a price. And money, was easily something he was willing to give up to reach his goal.