still odd

Who: December and Max
Where: The Morgue
When: Evening

Max ran a hand through his hair as he headed down the steps to the morgue, a bag in hand and thoughts of the kill dancing through his head. It had been through his rage that he’d killed the woman, but as the haze drifted off he thought it a nice present for the lonely coroner who worked away on the bodies in the middle of the night. The boy who usually manned the door was gone for the day and Max straightened his shirt. He looked like he was coming by after a day at work. He even looked tired with circles started to form under his eyes. Knocking on the door he peered in through the windows into the cold blue light of the morgue, trying to see if December was there.

She was certainly a curious one, with her profession and piercings and her angry demeanour. It was so unlike anyone else he’d ever interacted with that Max couldn’t help himself but to seek her out. It was like a game almost. He doubted she would figure out what and who he was, but he wanted to see how confused he could make her.

December was having slightly more difficulty concentrating on the corpse she was working on tonight. She'd already made her plans that after work she was going to the scrap yard, going to confront Eric. Or something, she didn't know. And she was aware that if things went poorly, it could be the last decision she made. And sadly, she wouldn't be around to try and work out what happened to her. When a knock came at the door she looked up, seeing a familiar face in the window. She motioned him in, thinking maybe the company right now would be helpful.

Through the window, Max looked like he was gathering courage to enter the place that he had to identify the body of his 'co-worker' and he walked in with barely concealed nerves on his face. He clearly avoided looking at the body, as if the sight disturbed him in some way and he gave December a somewhat sheepish look. "I wasn't sure if you'd be in already. I was going to leave you some pastries to help pass along the night." He held up the bag a little bit and his eyes darted to the body and he shuddered a bit.

She arched a brow. "Thank you." she said first. "...why so nervous?" she asked. "You've been down here before." she pointed out. "It's not like they're going to hop up and try and eat you." she added. Though she did wonder why he'd do that if he was nervous, unless he was just really determined to help her night along. Which was possible, she supposed, though her encounters with him so far were odd at best. Intriguing, but odd.

"It doesn't make it any less unnerving," he replied. "To be reminded of one's own mortality. It's chilling." She didn't look entirely convinced, what with the brow arch but she at least accepted the food. "Is this the girl they mentioned in the paper?"

"Yes, it is." she confirmed for him. "I'm figuring it was a crime of opportunity." she told him. "Something that someone did because they were able to. And most of the evidence was either washed away, or compromised from the water."

A look of repulsion and subsequent dismay at the poor girl's fate crossed his face and Max shook his head, still not quite able to look at the corpse on the table. "As if there wasn't enough senseless violence," he said. "Do these happen often? Crimes of opportunity?"

"Oh god yes." December said, finally putting her tools down to wash her hands, then she went to get one of the pastries he'd brought. "All the damn time. People do shit. It's just how it goes. Sometimes they do shit like this. Maybe they killed her for some money, or maybe they knew her and didn't like her or whatever. The storm and all really provided a good environment for someone to get away with murder."

Grateful for the opportunity to get away from the body, Max moved away and trailed a bit after December. "Is it difficult for you? Seeing things like this? I mean, I know that bodies are part of your job but it just seems like something that could get to you." His concern appeared genuine and he looked at her with concern.

"No." December said. "Bodies are just bodies. Plus, if I want to find out what happened to them, I can't exactly be repulsed by their presence." she added. No, what got to her was something else, not the actual corpses. But she didn't share that. "I wouldn't be a very effective coroner if I got all weepy over my job."

"I suppose not. I certainly couldn't do it." He gave her a sidelong look and a small smirk appeared on his face. "I must admit though I can't imagine you getting weepy." If anyone seemed like they wouldn't cry, it was her.

"Most people can't. At least I have job security that way. Not many people lining up to work with the dead, period." December said. Which was true. It sort of took a 'special' type. "And yeah, most people couldn't. I'm not really a crier. I...actually can't remember the last time I cried." she said, giving a little 'huh'.

Max looked surprised by the admission and leaned against the counter as he studied her. She was smart -- easily it seemed to have pegged the motivation behind his victim's death. She was isolated (most likely to him) by her profession and demeanor but it was moments like this where he could see the girl underneath. The one who wasn't quite as off-putting or as removed as she seemed to project. "Really? No sappy movies or someone going off to the war? Stress even?"

December shook her head. "Nope." she answered. "Nothing like that. Sappy movies I pretty much hate in general, I've never known anyone personally who went off to war, and stress...if a girl breaks down into tears over stress then she isn't made of stern enough stuff." she said, believing that.

It had him wondering exactly what it would take to make her cry. Bodies didn't seem like they would work although there was the idea of her having to autopsy bodies non stop for the next week but he had a birthday party to help plan so that was out of the question. Did she have anyone she was close to that could be… messed with? A pet? "Well if that's true then, you're tougher than a few of the men I know. But what about family? Friends?”

"Not really a family and friends type, either." December said. She had Brett, but they weren't exactly what anyone would consider 'close'. In fact, the number of conversations they'd had since rediscovering each other's presence could be counted on one hand. And Eric...well. She kinda suspected him of mass fucking murder, so there was that. And Mickey...she still had to figure out what that was. If he was going to follow through with this being friends or whatever deal. So that left her with more or less nothing. “You know a lot of whining crybabies?”

"When they end up losing a bunch of money in the office betting pool they can get quite emotional." He shrugged. "It sounds rather lonely, not having anyone. Please tell me you're one of those secret crazy cat ladies." He tried to lighten the statement with a joke in hopes that she would appreciate that. If she lived alone or if she did in fact have a dozen cats.

Rolling her eyes, December snorted. "Office betting. That's their own damn fault, then." she said. Then she shook her head. "Not a crazy cat lady." she confirmed. "I'm just busy, I guess." Which was true. She had a whole lot on her plate, with three occupations.

"Then you should find something fun to do," Max said decisively, decreeing it almost. You always needed fun to brighten up one's day. Like buying presents or watching people. "There's plenty going on it seems. Everyone was out today shopping, go on a ride at the boardwalk, go see a non-sappy movie. I hear there's supposed to be some good detective one coming out. Bogart, if I recall correctly. You seem like someone who would like a good mystery."

"I live at the boardwalk, the rides are pretty lame, I sleep during the day so I can be good for the night shift here, and going to the movies alone is one of the saddest, most pathetic things a human can engage in." she told him. Which she thought was true, anyways. If you couldn't even find someone to go to a movie with, you were truly fucking pathetic.

Max pursed his lips and straightened up with a mildly disbelieving look. "Has anyone told you that you are incredibly negative?" he asked her. "Your only contact can't be with a bunch of bodies. You might as well be one of them yourself. If you're only living for your job, then, well, that's not really living at all. There's also nothing wrong with going to see movies alone. Some people prefer to enjoy movies without others leaning over and making comments about what the leading lady is wearing or how stupid something might be."

December stared at him for a moment. "Who said I was only living for my job? That's a leap." she told him. "I just said I don't exactly have a lot of people in my life, and I don't like sappy movies. Where does 'I'm a drone who only works' get in there? Also, it's not my 'only' contact. As for the negative thing--yep. People tell me that all the time. I'll change when I see reason to be positive. So far, that hasn't actually happened." She shook her head a little, wondering where the hell he was coming from on this. "And what if someone was just discussing plot? People can only be sexist or calling something stupid at movies? Now who's negative?"

Max lifted his hands in surrender and took a slight step back. "I'm just saying that's how it sounds like to me. So I'm wrong. That's good to know. But you're the one who said that you're not the friends type, and you also said that you're just busy when I said you sounded lonely. Hence my conclusion. Also, I didn't say I was the one who was making those comments. Just in my experience a few of the people I've gone to movies with. Then I suppose that says something about the type of company I keep." He gave her a self-depreciating smile. "I'm sorry if I insulted you."

"Yeah, but that hardly means I have no other contact with people that aren't dead." she said. "I'm a tattoo artist. I see people there, I have other things I do. Just because I don't really have friends doesn't mean there's a void. Just that I don't have pals. Also, I wasn't complaining, you're the one who put out there that I had to be lonely and all. I didn't say I was lonely." She shrugged one shoulder. "You didn't insult me. Just made a bunch of leaps that don't necessarily hold true. I get that my life isn't exactly like other people's, but then it shouldn't be judged by normal standards."

Max both believed and didn’t believe that. She didn’t speak of friends and to Max’s knowledge, people were meant to have friends if they were normal. Although she did defy stereotype so Max was having trouble trying to reconcile all of that because she just didn’t fit in with what he knew about things. “You just seem lonely to me but I suppose you’re right. It’s difficult, I imagine, with the kind of schedule you must keep.” He gave her a lopsided smile and shrugged. This would require more research. “You defy explanation.”

"The schedule, the look, the attitude and the fact that I slice open dead people all makes for one big 'not for me' package for pretty much everyone." December said. Except for Eric. And maybe Mickey. She didn't know quite yet. "And yeah, I suppose I do. Or, I defy conventional explanation."

“Well it’s certainly intriguing. I may not like dead bodies but I keep showing up, don’t I?” He asked and it was mildly flirtatious if she chose to take it that way. Max wasn’t one who tended to be attracted towards people and when expected to flirt, he sometimes had a difficult time with it. It was just one thing he’d never managed to quite get down. The nuances and reasoning just didn’t work for him but he could pass. “Not enough people defy conventional explanation. It keeps the world interesting when not everyone is the same.”

"Still have the bracelet I gave you?" she asked. To her the sort of flirting (or possible flirting) was falling oddly. The timing wasn't what she would have thought worked, though she said nothing about it. Instead she just mentioned the eye-on-a-ribbon she'd given him the last time they met up.

It took him a minute to remember what she was talking about before he nodded. The little ribbon was hanging up on his workbench in the basement. "I've got it hanging up. I can't exactly wear it to work but it's got a place of honor hanging up next to my ties." Which, he realized after saying, was perhaps a little odd by normal standards but his thoughts didn't show. Everything on his face seemed perfectly fine.

"Just wondering." she said. She didn't know if he'd be the type to just toss it or not. And technically, he could have and was just telling her something different. But she didn't say anything about it. She was still working out if she could trust the guy or not. Though trust at the moment for her was kind of a hazy thing. "So, you just dropped by to bring me sweet things?"

"I did, and to see how you were doing. I thought I should after our last conversation. I was trying not to be too odd this time," he said sheepishly. "The papers have been filled with terrible things. I figured you might also need a bit of a reprieve from that. I'm not sure if I was quite on the mark on that or not but a man can try, right?" Not quite 'aw shucks' in its delivery, it was hesitant, as if Max had been nervous about the decision. "I suppose I should probably let you get back to work."

"Probably, but I appreciate the thought and the pastries." she told him. And it was genuine. It was maybe a little odd, but not sinister, so she was okay with it. "It was nice seeing you again." she added. her jury was still out on him, but so far it wasn't really anything bad. So she wasn't going to discourage it.

He gave her a grin and nodded his head at her before pushing away from the counter. "I'm glad you like them. I'm glad to see you again too. Which was why I dropped in and, well, you know." He gave a hesitant look over at the body, as if trying to steel himself to the sight as he made his way past. "Don't work too hard. You wouldn't want wrinkles in your forehead."

"I won't." she promised. Though really, it was less bodies that caused her to do that and more other bullshit in her life. She'd have to see if that got cleared up or got exponentially worse. She'd know by tonight. "Take care." she told him, giving a wave before she went back to her work, to figure out what happened to the drowned bastard on her table.