They were doubtful. Very, very doubtful. A change in attitude this sudden?
This had suspicious written all over it. They didn’t like it, not one bit. Maybe they were being dragged into an interrogation. Or being watched in a covert means. Maxwell’s mind wandered a vast ocean of possibilities in a very, very short amount of time. Too many variables. Too many variables!
Wait a fucking minute - The fuck does that matter?
“I… I can fix myself up, but if an excuse is what you’re after… then fine.”
Maxwell wasn’t discreet about how they felt. It had always been that way and now was no different. They were outwardly calm, but they quick and jumpy. Mostly in the eyes. They were chewing at their gloves (as chewing on their fingers would mean removing the gloves altogether.)
Maxwell tucked their satchel behind them and stood patiently. They weren’t quite sure if they were supposed to go first and they didn’t want to, really. “I already have ballistic fiber. As far as I know, that’s generally a military-grade thing?”
She could see the suspicion in their eyes the moment she suggested anything, and in a way, she respected it. Even if she wasn’t going to make up such an excuse when she could so easily knock them out--or so she hoped, as this person was very clearly not human--she knew many would, and suspected that their jumpy, suspicious attitude had gotten them out of tight spots on more than one occasion.
Nonetheless, she was being sincere, and so she just accepted their anxious tics as opposed to commenting. “I just figured you could use some help. And hey, it’s a good way to make up for being an aggressive dick. It’s been a long day, I’m not usually so quick to snap at people. And yeah, it is, but I’ve got some extra if what you have isn’t enough.”
Ven opened the door to her shop, the little bell making a little metallic ding as the door swung open. The shop itself was nothing special, but had a cozy air about it, with various bookshelves holding novels and trinkets of all sorts. It truly looked like an unassuming little bookstore, which was the beauty of it.
Ven’s only employee in today, aside from herself, opened his mouth at the entrance of his boss and her companion, only to be silenced by Ven’s hand on his mouth. “Keep working, Abrams. I’ve got a meeting in the back room, you see nothing.” At that blunt statement, the worker merely rolled his eyes, going back to doodling as he sipped at his ginger ale. Ven led Maxwell to the backroom, a fairly cushy place with a battered circular table in the center, chairs of various kinds surrounding it. A knife was still stuck in the center of the table, as well as the handle to the small refrigerator in the corner.
“Go ahead and take a seat, I’ve got more supplies. Do you want something to drink? I’ve got soda and alcohol in the fridge, as well as the materials to make tea or coffee or something.” Ven went to one of the cabinets lining the walls, opening one labelled ‘prosthetic repair’.