When Vladimir Lem first bought the nightclub RagnaRock to raise his restaurant from the ashes, he threw a party, and no party would've been complete without the man who scorched that same earth in the first place.
Relationship: Vladimir Lem/Max Payne ♦ Words: 1540 ♦ Notes: Inspired by this drabble collection
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Blending with the darkest shadows of the former nightclub, Max Payne sat at Vodka far from the presumed Russian mobsters and the prostitutes. Other cops might have done the same out of principle, or out of hypocrisy, but Max knew whatever tainted that bunch tainted him as well.
No, Max was out of the picture because he didn't fit in the celebration itself. Like a painting with a burned edge, Max's presence on the acquisition party brought a sour taste to his lips. At every corner he saw men bleeding on the floor, dismembered by his own grenades, the stench of death too strong to be painted over so easily.
So, he wondered once again as he swirled the last of his whiskey, what the hell was he even doing there?
A deep laugh made his table vibrate a little, and he raised his eyes. Vladimir Lem, the new owner of this particular part of Hell refused to sit down in the many tables he prepared for the event, instead jumping from isle to isle, clapping men and women in the back as he drank and chatted candidly. The man of the hour. The laughable reason why Max was there on the first place.
Vladimir invited him. Said the alcohol was free, among other things. Max might've wanted to think in some comatosely optimistic part of his brain that he was getting his act straight, that he could get better, now that he got his sweet revenge, but he wouldn't say no to free alcohol no matter how supposedly reformed he was. And Vlad, well...
Maybe Max could use a friend. Someone as dirty as himself. Someone he didn't fear would get dragged into something they didn't deserve.
Downing the last of his whiskey Max stared at him through the glass, preferring his joyful demeanor than to simmer with his own misery, for a change. But what welcomed him was the warped reflection of his arm wrapped around a woman's waist, warm smile whispering secrets on her ear as she giggled.
Max recognized the all too familiar feeling of being kicked in the gut, but couldn't wrap his head around the reason.
Pretty lady reminded him of Michelle, perhaps. Or even Mona. All he knew was that the sight of them together made him feel sick. Too much alcohol on his veins, too many regretful deaths on his conscience. Run away, pretty girl, he thought through the warped glass, to be next to a dangerous sinner was not place for the innocent.
Although nobody on that party was innocent, not really. Max Payne knew that intimately.
Suddenly, he felt a couple blue eyes staring at him from across the room. As if summoned by his fatalistic thoughts, Vlad was now looking at him with curiosity, his previous flashy smile now dulled by a thoughtful look before flashing bright again. He said something to his companion before kissing her temple, hand tracing from her waist to her back, giving her a couple farewell claps as they parted ways. The woman got lost in the crowd as Vlad made a beeline for his dark, secluded corner.
"Max! My dearest of friends! So glad you could come." He sat next to him on the small booth with a hand on his shoulder, both facing his new rising empire. "The party wouldn't be the same without you, you know?"
Max laughed, humorless.
"Why? Do you need an exterminator?"
Vlad laughed, and Max felt it reverberate on his own cold bones.
"Maybe someday, friend. You would be a great addition to my arsenal." He chuckled, self indulgent, before shaking his head. "But no, no. You, my dear Max, are the main reason Vodka will even exist at all! As much as I would like to take all the credit, we both know I couldn't have gotten this place without you. You are my guest of honor tonight."
All the lesser demons from Hell took a vacation, threw him a party. Max didn't know how to feel. All things considered, it wasn't the worst thing that’d happened, didn't even occupy the top ten.
"Thanks, Vlad." He said, impossibly drier.
Vlad grinned, cheeks flushed by the alcohol, probably, before he turned to a waiter walking by and talked to him in Russian.
"Is no problem. Now," he started, casually slipping further into the booth to wrap his arm around Max's shoulders, "could I ask for one little, tiny favor?"
Another one? He wanted to ask, the smell of the riverside mixed with gunpowder still fresh on his nostrils. The cold, and clean smell of the aftershave that was suddenly thrust upon his personal bubble replaced it not a second after. His arm, harder than it looked like behind his layers of cloth, distracted him as well.
"What is it?" He asked instead, the sudden warmth at his side and the drink he took without anything on his stomach making him feel dizzy. Funny, Max thought he would be used to it by now.
Vlad looked around them conspiratorially before getting closer, his voice a whisper.
"I heard all about how your crusade ended last year, and the reason behind it.” Max tensed, his personal demons crawling on his back once again for a second, before Vlad grasped his arm, gently. “Now that you made peace with the past, can you try to enjoy yourself a little tonight?” His words felt like a knife in the gut, and if it had been anyone else Max would’ve grabbed his gun and opened a window on his smile, but something about the seemingly genuine feeling behind it stopped him. His icy blue eyes melting and dripping down Max's spine, making him shiver. In cold anger, in old longing. "There are multitude of women here, Max, or... anything that picks your attention."
The last insinuation was so absurd, however, that the insult looped back into being ridiculous. A tasteless joke. And the adrenaline that had been Max’s main fuel for the last couple years had long since ran out to care. If Vlad really was implying Max batted for the other team, he should look at himself in the mirror.
“In this job is never a good idea to associate with criminals.” He parroted back instead, bathing in the glaring hypocrisy as he let his anger diffuse. “You never know when you'll need to kill each other at the end."
It hadn’t been a joke, but Vlad snorted nonetheless, caught by surprise. His smile maybe a little less bright than before.
"Unfortunately true. Well," he turned to face him on that small space, fingers spread on his shoulder like a net, warm breath against his lips, "we better enjoy the time we have left, then, no?"
"...Right."
Would Vlad stab him in the back, eventually? Max wondered. At this point it should be almost expected, but for the first time since he met Mona, he hoped he wouldn't.
As a waiter came into picture Vlad pulled away from his shoulders with renewed excitement.
"Spasiba." The man left a bottle of vodka, one Vlad mentioned in passing to be his favorite, and a big beefy burger with fries. A mix of cultures, he guessed, was the joke behind it. "Max, people keep coming and I need to play host, I hope you don't mind that I can't join you."
"Don't let me stop you."
Slipping away from the booth as smoothly as he sat down originally, Max expected him to lose himself in the crowd of coming people, but instead he leaned on him one last time, hand laid firmly on the junction between his neck and shoulder to help him balance himself.
"Goodbye, my friend." He said, before stealing a kiss on his cheek. The warmth glowed, annoyingly, for a few more seconds as he dusted his clothes. "And please think about my offer. I would love to see you enjoying yourself tonight."
Max abstained from replying. What could he even say? The best possible way this night could end would be if nobody looked his way and nobody else got into a fight that he would most likely join, despite the restless part of his being thirsting for violence, the only thing he knew he could do right.
He picked up the fries like an alien object, smelling them just in case, and taking a peek inside the burger. Both looked normal, and his neglected stomach growled.
(A third, quiet voice wouldn't mind if Vlad came back to sit with him. Max wouldn't mind a friend. A companion. To say that it had been a while would be an understatement)
"Oh, and Max, one last thing!" He heard him shout from across the room, stealing a couple looks and also making people turn to him, maybe in curiosity, maybe in recognition. Probably in fear. Vlad, on the contrary, only wore a teasing smile. “Try not to destroy my future restaurant while you're here, okay?”
The irony of it mixed with the fumes of the alcohol, the sound of his gunshots echoing through the former nightclub, former cathedral, and Max Payne couldn’t help but bark a dark laugh as he raised his glass.
