2008-02-12: Hard To Get Into

Starring:

Max_icon.gif Megan_icon.gif

Summary: Max offers culinary critique, hairdressing tips, and more.

Date It Happened: February 12th, 2008

Hard To Get Into


Company Laboratories - NYC

"February 12th, 2008. The coffee is terrible today. Someone must've let Ms. Walker into the cafeteria again." Max pauses, peers into his cup, and grimaces. "That, or my assistant brought me a cup of dishwater. Oh, and the latest batch of trials with Solution 7 has failed. Of course."

The researcher switches off his recorder, closes his eyes, and massages his lids with the tips of his first and middle fingers. "Ms. Deatley?" he queries tiredly, keeping them closed. "Are you still mad at me for the choloroform? Because this…" he shoves the coffee across the desk as if it's a slimy, distasteful thing. "This is inhumane."

"'M no' sure who yer talkin' to," Megan replies softly as she writes something down at her desk. Her shoulder-length brown hair is pulled back into a bit of a messy bun. Something that she really didn't spend that much time thinking about. "Since m'the only one here and it sounds like yer no' speakin' to me." This is sad with a bit of annoyance, but she's not exactly the best at sticking up for herself, so Max may not even really hear it all that coherently. What she does say at a much normal volume is, "M'sorry, then, Mr. Swan. If s'no' up to yer liking, ye may want to take it up with the cafeteria. I dinna make coffee. I jus' pour it."

Max swivels his chair around to face his assistant properly. "Ms. Deatley," he begins, speaking just as quietly. "Megan. Relax. You take everything so personally." A small smile tugs one side of his mouth upward as the offending cup is nudged even further away. Once it's out of reach, it's apparently out of mind. Instead, he focuses on the woman across from him. "Your hair, for example," he continues. "As much as I love the sexy librarian image you put out, you could try something a little more casual once in a while."

No matter what Max says, it really sounds like everything he says to Megan is an insult. "M'no' a librarian." Obviously. She's here being his assistant. She's not even sure why, since she doesn't understand much of anything about science. The most she can figure is that she can just sit here and write things legibly. "S'there another way m's'posed to take it?" she eyes Max. As for her hair, she puts a defensive hand up to her bun and frowns. "What's wrong with m'hair?" The poor girl is pretty susceptible to suggestion.

"Megan." This time, the name is spoken with a hint of suppressed laughter at her responses. Max's tone is playfully chiding, but still engaging. He stands up, limps over beside Megan's chair, and lets his hands hover over her messy tresses. "May I?" he queries lightly, the smile still lingering on his lips.

There's hesitation there, obviously. This man has been rude to her and, in recent memory, chloroformed her. Megan frowns as Max comes closer but she doesn't exactly step away. That would be rude, right? She's not sure what to do in this situation other than agree. "I…sure? Ye've no' go anything like scissors on ye, righ'?" Because she knows how mean people can be sometimes. Her question is trepedatious. As if that really is a possibility and not just a silly question.

"No blades today, my dear," Max replies absently as he removes the pins holding Megan's hair in place and digs his fingers in. Unlike most people, he's not bothered by the suspicious query. With him around, it's a completely legit concern.

Today, his solution is decidedly less violent. He rakes his fingertips over Megan's scalp and pulls her hair down loosely over her neck. Fussily, he plucks at a few locks until they're situated to his liking. "There," he murmurs as he tucks a strand behind her ear. "See? You look lovely."

This is a strange moment for Megan. She's never really had a man work on her hair. Why would they? They're mostly scared off by Lachlan's growling by now that the never even get a chance to see what color her hair is let alone play with it. And someone like Max, well, who knew he would be good with hair? "'Re ye a poof or somethin'?" she asks before she realizes what she's saying. Quickly, she puts a hand over her mouth. "No' that there's anythin' wrong with that. I was jus' confused. With the hair'n the like."

Max isn't quite finished yet. He winds a bit of Megan's hair around one finger and then tugs it downward to form a loose ringlet. A few more here and there, then he appears to be satisfied.

Her inquiry is certainly… inquiring. Max arches a thick eyebrow, but otherwise remains expressionless. "No. Do you always ask men if they're gay when they're touching you and telling you that you're pretty?" He blinks politely and tilts his head to the side. "Not that there's anything wrong with that. I was just confused."

With the frizzy Scottish hair that Megan has been blessed with, it's not that hard to make her hair all ringlety. While she's more of a homely sort of woman, when she puts the effort in, the woman can be quite beautiful. Especially with random looking curls about her head and hair looking not all together like it was thrown together at the last moment. "Er, I dunno. 'Ve no' had many men touch e an' tell me m'pretty." It's an honest answer, but all the contact and questioning is enough to make Megan blush a bright pinkish color. "S'jus' tha' most of the guys I know who're able to work with hair've been gay."

Max seems to accept this at face value, nodding as he limps back to his seat and slides into it comfortably. "I like to think of myself as a man of many talents," he counters. The fingers that were happily buried in her hair a few moments ago are now laced together and resting lightly in his lap as he considers her with an open, appraising gaze. The smile is back on his face, and he hasn't bothered turning to face his desk, either.

The whole incident is a little unnerving for Megan. The last man to show any interest in her was Benjamin, who asked her out for coffee and then turned out to work for a Company that kidnapped her and locked her in a cell for a very long time. And, she's not exactly sure what to make of Max and his playing with her hair. so, she tries to ignore it. As much as she can while blushing a very bright red. "Yeknow, some people'd consider that sexual harrassment." She didn't work in a law office for so many years to not know that. She has rights. Sort of.

"Psh," Max flicks his hand and dismisses the volatile statement without giving even one of the many moments of consideration it deserves. "It's only harassment if you don't like it. And you like it, so we're okay." It's not a threatening statement by any stretch of the imagination. Just the calm, content 'self-awareness' of a narcissist in action.

"The women in this Company are harder to get into than a Snoop Dogg concert," he mutters under his breath.

Well, that's a new response. Because normally men balk at the idea of sexual harassment and being sued for it. The Company is a whole other breed of people, it would seem, though. But that would make sense for an organization that operates mostly above the law. Megan is anything but self-aware and narcissistic. In fact, she's quite the opposite. "How d'ye know that then?" she replies with a sour look on her face. She doesn't like people speaking for her. It reminds her too much of her brother. The comment about the Snoop Dogg concert is missed. And it's a question as to whether she would have gotten it anyway.

The more irritated Megan gets, the more amused Max seems to be. It's not vindictive, just experimental. As a scientist, he's always curious about action and reaction.

Action: Max applies stimuli.

Reaction: Signs hazy, ask again later.

Still smiling, he stretches out further in his chair and half-shrugs. "Because if you were really bothered by me, you wouldn't have accepted this assignment. And if you were bothered by what I'm saying, I think you would've smacked me by now. If not, then shame on you."

Frowning, Megan just looks down at her writing. "S'no' like I have a choice as to where I go," she tells him sullenly. With the Company, she just goes where she's told and that's about it. Otherwise she may get experimented on or something like that. She's just been hoping being assigned to Max is some sort of test of loyalty and she'll be transferred out some day soon once she proves herself. And as for smacking? That's not really her style. "Shame on me for no' being like half the people here an' resortin' to physical violence b'cause ye played with my hair?" Hmph. Well, Megan really isn't against physical violence when it comes down to it, but not against people she's supposed to be working with. That wouldn't seem right, now would it. "S'no' very assistant like."

"Would you really rather I left you alone?" Max asks directly, fixing his eyes on Megan's. Despite his forceful nature, his question is soft-spoken and genuine. He leans forward again in his seat, bringing them closer together as he rests his hands on the arms of his chair to support his weight. "I can have you transferred to another assignment, if it's what you wish. I'm the one who requested you, after all. Just say the word and it'll be done."

It's a quietly spoken offer, true. There's a hint of challenge there, though. Vague, indefinable, but most definitely present.

The hints of challenges and transferring isn't easily missed by Megan. She's quite perceptive in that sort of thing. She's had to read the emotions of her family and her brother for so many years that it's become second nature to guess which way someone is leaning by now. And, the subject is a bit of an uncomfortable one to Megan. Because she'd much rather be doing lab work than field work. So, instead she does what any woman would do in her situation, she avoids the topic by asking a question. "Ye requested me?" It's still a genuine question, though. She had no idea why she was assigned to be here as opposed to elsewhere. "Why'd ye do that? 'Ve go' no clue about science, ye know."

Max nods agreeably. "I know," he replies. There's a moment of contemplation that's almost hesitant before he expands on his statement. "You and I would both rather be somewhere else. I didn't want to bring you here." It's obvious that 'here' is meant to be a bit more inclusive than the lab they share. "Keeping you out of the field seemed like the least I could do."

As quick as it came on, his moment of compassion passes and his smile fades. "You should know that you'll see things here that are just as bad, if not worse. I've tried to protect you from the nature of my work, but I think it's time that all comes to an end."

"Ye seem quite fine," Megan tells Max as she watches him lean back in his chair by his desk. Not exactly what she would call working, but what else can she say about it. "And yer the one who put that rag over my face." Effectively making her pass out and wake up here. It's not like anyone else did it. As for keeping her out of the field, well, that's the least thing she can be thankful for. Going out and taking people against their will like she was taken isn't exactly what she would like to find herself doing.

"If ye wanted to keep me from all of that, then why'd ye bring me here?" Megan narrows her eyes at Max a little and studies him, pushing some of her newly released hair out of her eyes. "And what d'ye mean worse?"

"You make it sound like I had a choice," Max retorts with a brisk wave of his hand. "I ended up here the same way you did, you know. They picked me out of a bar." His frustration is obvious. He was outwitted, beaten, mastered, and thrown into a cell for months. Even thinking about it makes him angry.

Again, it passes as fast as it came on, leaving him with a bland, neutral expression. "Go," he instructs her. "Take the rest of the day off. When you come in tomorrow, I'll show you what I do here. Then you can make an informed decision about staying on."

The bouncing back of emotions is a little difficult for Megan to follow. She tries to, but she doesn't know Max and doesn't know what his normal attitude should be to gauge his actions on. Maybe he didn't have a choice to come here, much like she didn't, but they're both here now. Funny how things work out like that. There's nothing seh can think of to say in reply to that and luckily, she's dismissed before there's a long awkward silence where she has to try and think of something to say. So, intead, she just gathers up her things and stands to let herself out. "'M sure there's better coffee at the smaller agents break room," is all she says before she makes for the doorway.

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