Vanilla Twilight (Max)

[Basil Holmes]

I

"t's already been made quite clear exactly what the blasted man stole," Basil muttered irritably, quickly flipping through the pages of a particularly large, worn book, "It's a matter of why..." This was the same case the detective had recently picked up, and even nearly closed before that bloody American rival of his decided to intervene. Honestly, he was going undercover and the man had to come in and molest him and he was stopping right this instant because detectives absolutely do not dwell on things whilst working on another case. Absolutely not.

The brunette was currently seated at a small table with his dear assistant, Melinda, pouring over books with his thick-framed reading glasses slightly askew. Mr. Arthur McKinney was still at large due to a rather large miscalculation on Basil's part, something he was quick to regret. Unfortunately, he hadn't been in his right state of mind, the arrival of someone he dearly hoped to make peace of knocking him off balance. But it mattered not. The Irishman, as far as Basil knew, was still within the city, which was really quite lucky, considering an amount of time had passed. Granted, only a few days, perhaps a week at most, but criminals weren't notorious for sitting around and letting their presence wallow. No, this man was smart and the detective was more than aware he was going to be hopping the next flight to Britain very soon.

Unfortunately, his mind wasn't exactly in the game right now. Manuel was leaving soon which Basil would say isn't a problem in the least, but his gut kept doing those uncomfortable flip flops like when a trail went cold. He dismissed this as simply the temporary loss of an assistant, but the man then dismissed that because he most certainly needed no assistant, which led him to think he might possibly enjoy the boy's company.

Which..was possible, Basil supposed. He had grown somewhat fond of him, disproved of others insulting him, and even showing a twinge of actual joy around Matt. Did that make them friends? He didn't shove the thought away, but he didn't pay it much mind either. Friendship wasn't something he opposed, but he never saw much use of it personally. He could handle things on his own.

With a groan, Basil slammed the book closed and laid his forehead tiredly on the cover. "It's only a few years old, there won't be much information," he mumbled, eyes staring at the dark green cardboard, "it's a bit hopeless, I must admit."
[/blockquote][/blockquote]

TAG. Purr. ;3
WORDS. 420
OUTFIT. CLICK.
MUSIC. Maxsil soundtrack. <333
NOTES.Awwwwww. <3 jesus this is cute.
CREDITS. jurate @ CAUTION, please don't steal!

[/size][/color]

[Maximillian Goof]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

To be completely and faithfully honest, Max couldn't really keep himself asleep the past few nights.

He's built his life around fragments of security, little feelings that make him feel alright, make him feel okay and safe. He's developed some sort of balance, since high school, and for the longest time, he's never had the feeling of falling off, of dying, of failing. It's only been in his nightmares, but never in real life, and yet now he finds himself falling apart. And why? Why? This is the part where Max stops cold, because he's not sure why. Why it is that he's so affected by this, by the falling of his superior; that a blow to Basil is a blow to him, that Max feels his pain and his joy and wants to share such feelings with him. This is a question spoken as a statement, written as a statement, because, Lord, Max knows the answer. He knows the answer. He just refuses to acknowledge it, to let the truth slip past his subconscious and into his conscious, to let the truth slide out of his mouth and into the air. Refusal is a very strong thing, Max figures, especially when it involves someone like Basil Holmes.

Christ, Max isn't even sure if he heard Basil or not. He blinks profusely, trying his best to get the words into his mind, and then his mind whispers something like hopelessness. It's with this that a little frown lifts from the abyss of his confusion and onto his face, and Max pulls a book from the pile, flipping through, eyes reading the words and not comprehending. This is normal. He hasn't been able to understand anything lately. "Come on, Mr. Holm-- Basil,"

[/color] he says, still unaccustomed to calling the man by his first name, still in disbelief at the amount of happiness that courses through his soul and erupts on his bones whenever he says those two syllables. "It's only hopeless if you believe it to be. Dad always told me to keep going,"[/color] he mumbles, and yet he finds nothing as well in these endless pages, and if truth be told, he's going to have a migraine at the unbelievably small font. On the bright side, it has that old book smell, and Max likes that. He likes it a lot.

T[/size]hat makes two things Max likes in this room, and he's going to have to let one of them go.
[/size][/font][/blockquote][/blockquote]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

S tatus: d-o-n-e!
T agged: PFFFT. MY DARLING. <3
W ords: 411 ._.
O utfit: red polo shirt, black striped vest, dark blue jeans, red and black checkered vans. a broken heart.
N otes: oh my god oh my god they haven't even done anything and i'm squeeing. EDIT: I HAD TO MODIFY THIS POST TWICE. WTF.
C redit: template by Marv of A Thousand Fireflies
L yrics: Wake Me Up When September Ends by Green Day

[Basil Holmes]

B

asil closed his brown eyes, squeezing the lids together in a poor attempt to fend off the impending headache. It was a mistake coming to the library in the first place. He already said there wouldn't be much information, and the internet would no doubt be immensely more helpful. But he couldn't focus in that classroom, so small, stuffy, and Manuel as dutiful as always, despite his complaints at the detective keeping him overtime.

Not that he needed help, of course. Because he didn't. He never did. But, the boy could prove to be some..asset. Perhaps. Inwardly shoving his reasoning behind bringing him along, Basil opened his eyes once more and lifted his head, long fingers raising to rub at his temples.

"Come on, Mr. Holm-- Basil."

It was almost nice hearing his name on those tones. It wasn't threatening, it wasn't seductive, it didn't have ulterior motives. It was just..tones. Young, lovely, innocent, curious tones that meant no emotional harm and only tried to help and be the best they could be. His nose scrunched up. Basil wasn't so sure he was talking about a voice anymore.

"It's only hopeless if you believe it to be. Dad always told me to keep going.

"Your father's a wise man," the brunette sighed out, dropping his hands to his lap, "Perhaps you're right. It's just.." With an irritated exhale, he pushed the book away from him. "He stole from Benjamin Franklin's house! And believe me, it wasn't just to sell valuable items, I've searched the black market all around the world for the stolen property in question! And I know he's not a collector of history, so what is he planning?" It was an irritating problem, because Basil was usually just so keen on coming to accurate conclusions. But this was just so strange, because drug dealers just don't steal from historical landmarks if they don't sell what the stole.

Thinning his lips, Basil straightened his spine, eyes skirting to his side to glance at Mallory. "My dear boy, what are your thoughts?"
[/blockquote][/blockquote]

TAG. Purr. ;3
WORDS. 336
OUTFIT. CLICK.
MUSIC. Maxsil soundtrack. <333
NOTES.Haha~ Asking Max what his opinion on a case is. <3
CREDITS. jurate @ CAUTION, please don't steal!

[/size][/color]

[Maximillian Goof]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Max wants to laugh at Basil's comment, at his father being a wise man, but he himself knows that his dad is - and it's simply the klutz on the outside that keeps people from realizing his intelligence. Sort of. Max just wishes that the clumsiness hadn't passed on from generation to generation, along with his stupid laugh and his horrible teeth. Then again, at least Max isn't balding. If he was, he'd actually cry a little, but only a little.

He listens to Basil rant, and there's a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Sometimes Max forgets who's older and who's younger, because right now, the man born before him is acting much more like a child. Max himself has these moments, of course, where he whines incessantly without a care as to other people's eardrums, but it's just particularly endearing whenever the man across from him does it. There's something different about it, and as much as Max would like to deny any accusations directed towards him in regards to a crush or the like on the older male, he never really.. could. Basil is just so wonderfully different, as frustrating as he is, and as much as he gets Max to work overtime at a daily basis. Max isn't sure if he can relax, or even oversleep, anymore. Hell, he can barely sleep, period. This is why he's leveled up by twenty in an online game in just two days, and then he tries his best to think of a statement that won't bring the detective man beside him down.

It's easier said than done.

"Some criminals don't really have a train of thought," Max says, bringing up knowledge taken from a novel he'd read a while back, entitled American Psycho. The main character hadn't even had a reason for killing. He'd just wanted it, needed it more than he needed oxygen in his lungs, and just.. murdered. As unbelievably, raggedly inhuman as that is, Max was still rather intrigued by the prospect of a serial killer without any sense of human propriety. He bites on the inside of his cheek. "Some guys blow things up because they need a distraction, for a purpose. Some guys blow things up because they want to watch the world burn before their eyes."

[/color]

M[/size][/color]ax looks up, blinking chocolate brown eyes, waiting for a reaction from the kook sitting across from him. "Are there any past records of him having a mental problem, or something? He might think the thingy he stole is something else, or something. Or he just wanted to steal it to be noticed, or whatever."[/color]

K[/size]ind of like how Max used to steal cookies from the cookie jar for his father to notice him, but he's not saying that out loud.
[/size][/font][/blockquote][/blockquote]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

S tatus: d-o-n-e!
T agged: buh-buh-buh-BASIL
W ords: 466. yay.
O utfit: red polo shirt, black striped vest, dark blue jeans, red and black checkered vans. a broken heart.
N otes: we gotta get it right back to where we started from~
C redit: template by Marv of A Thousand Fireflies
L yrics: Wake Me Up When September Ends by Green Day

[Basil Holmes]

S

ome criminals don't really have a train of thought."

Basil's lips pouted in a display of curiousity. The response wasn't particularly intuitive, but he had expected a more or less a blank stare before fumbling about with words. The boy wasn't usually all that great at helping Basil, but he requested it nonetheless. He didn't go any further in thought as to why he still asked.

"Some guys blow things up because they need a distraction, for a purpose. Some guys blow things up because they want to watch the world burn before their eyes."

This was true, but not exceptionally remarkable. This was usually the course of action unimaginative directors chose their films to go while believing they had studied and researched the criminal mind. What they knew about psychology could fit in the palm of this detective's hand..

"Are there any past records of him having a mental problem, or something? He might think the thingy he stole is something else, or something. Or he just wanted to steal it to be noticed, or whatever."

Now there's a real thinking question. Basil couldn't help it; the corners of his lips twitched in a proud smile, but he quickly covered it up with a thoughtful hand cupping his mouth.

"He was admitted to the hospital as a child for attempted suicide," the teacher nodded, "But I went over those records, and he wasn't depressed, not clinically anyway." Here he paused, lowering the hand to the wooden--yes, definitely maple, table. "I personally swept all police reports in the county that night, actually. No corresponding crime, well, none that would be particularly viewed as important. There was the rape of a young woman in the next city, but I highly doubt any man would steal from a highly guarded facility to simply divert the attention from the degradation of a young woman."

Basil ran a hand through his mussed locks, sending the locks into odd angles atop his head. "No, no, he knew what he was stealing. A telescope, a rusted one mind you, the embroidery bed sheet Mrs. Franklin made, and a sock." He nodded. "But.." Here the brunette chewed on a fingernail. "See, I already went over these theories, and that last one, being noticed, that's the only one I can really think of that fits accordingly. But he's already recognized as a drug lord, has been collared for multiple assault charges, and the successful murder of numerous people. Why add theft?" Basil gave a small groan, once again tugging at his hair. "Being noticed is so petty, he didn't use it for money, and he's not a history junkie. I suppose he kept them as trophies, but he didn't commit a crime apart from the theft, which utterly baffles me, because I checked the crime scene over and over again!" The professor actually threw his arms up, clearly rattled. "Most criminals don't just..keep things of miscellaneous use as fond items in which to relive the crime unless they stole it from what was already a crime scene made by them!"

The man noticeably deflated, hands falling to his lap again. He wasn't focusing, this wasn't right. Though no new evidence appeared when Arthur made an appearance in the city, Basil's interest should have spiked. But his mind was cloudy with what might have been feelings and he couldn't shake them off.

He allowed another small smile to grace his features though, and gazed at his assistant. "I daresay you are thinking like a detective, Marcus," he said kindly, "It's a nice change, someone to listen in while I think aloud, you know."
[/blockquote][/blockquote]

TAG. Purr. ;3
WORDS. 596
OUTFIT. CLICK.
MUSIC. Maxsil soundtrack. <333
NOTES.BASIL IS BEING OPEN. KINDA. HOH SHIT. <3
CREDITS. jurate @ CAUTION, please don't steal!

[/size][/color]

[Maximillian Goof]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

M

[/color][/size]ax is a little taken aback when he sees a sudden twitching of his superior's lips, but he pretends that it was nothing, that he was simply hallucinating. It would make him think again, would make his thoughts whirr at a fast pace that would clearly be better off not going on at all - and he listens to the detective ramble on, again. Even though he speaks like this, Max is actually wondering the point of this, why Basil is so caught up in trying to figure out this criminal and what it is he plans on doing. Well, yes, Benjamin Franklin is an important man in history (the man who invented the frankenfurter must definitely be thanked for such a wonderful invention, clearly), but there are far more important things to Basil Holmes, such as catching that creep. Max can't even think said creep's name without seething a little, so he chooses not to, and ends his thoughts with a period despite himself. He reaches into his pocket, taking out a piece of chewing gum that's really not allowed to be eaten in the library, but he chews it anyway and lets a thoughtful look cross his features.

T[/color][/size]ypical for Basil to have thought of all these possibilities before Max could bring them up. Sometimes Max just wonders why in the name of the good Lord Basil still asks for help if he can do things on his own, but that would simply make him feel worse about himself and stare at sharp silverware far longer than the normal human being would. "A telescope, a sock, and a bedsheet."[/color] Max's voice trails off after that, and he recalls that saying something about the black market would only warrant a 'tsk' from the other man. If Max isn't mistaken, then Basil's already checked that. Yes, the words ring clear in his mind, like the bell tolling in Notre Dame. He chews on his gum, still thinking, still trying to piece things together. 'What the hell would anyone do with a telescope, a sock, and a bedsheet?'[/color] he thinks to himself, and despite the headache that he knows is coming, he continues to wonder, continues to question. Max almost wants to laugh at how far he's gone in this job of his. At first all he'd wanted to do was earn money, and yet now he's pushing himself to the limit.

I[/color][/size]t's pretty fucking funny.

"[/color][/size]The attention thing is probable. Any other thefts you've heard of, only with smaller, less valuable things? I mean, maybe he thought that stealing something like awesome keepsakes from the guy who invented frankenfurters would make people want to find it, other than something else. Are there diamonds that are lost? Jewelry that aren't from the Queen of England? Does the Queen of England even have crown jewels?"[/color] Max frowns a little, definitely unsure whether or not the Queen of England even has jewels, but he digresses; he lived in Spoonerville most of his life and spent his school years daydreaming of girls. You can't expect him to really know anything useful, clearly.

But then Basil is speaking again, and it's not about the case, and Max looks up (his eyes having been focused on the table); mid-chew. The statement would have made him blush in high school, but all he does is smile. "Thanks, Basil. I told you I'd do anything for you, right? I try not to lie."[/color] He takes another stick of gum from his pocket, offering it to the detective, chocolate brown eyes about to show some sort of shyness, but, Lord, Max isn't even sure.
[/size][/font][/blockquote][/blockquote]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

S tatus: finally done
T agged: that kook <3
W ords: 606. O_O
O utfit: red polo shirt, black striped vest, dark blue jeans, red and black checkered vans. a broken heart.
N otes: franklin = frankenfurter. it's simple logic, gaiz. c: max also loves basil, very, very much.
C redit: template by Marv of A Thousand Fireflies
L yrics: Wake Me Up When September Ends by Green Day

[Basil Holmes]

B

asil's lips chew on his button lip, eyebrows furrowed in agitated concentration. This felt entirely wrong and frankly uncomfortable. Though this was a case he'd been forced to drop, he was no less hard on himself for not being able to fully think straight. It was frustrating, and he berated his psyche for being jumbled and fumbling about. Thoughts were scattered, and not in the usual ironically tidy way he usually found them. A sudden realization would disappear as quickly as it came, simply because...Well clearly he had no idea why!

"The attention thing is probable. Any other thefts you've heard of, only with smaller, less valuable things? I mean, maybe he thought that stealing something like awesome keepsakes from the guy who invented frankenfurters would make people want to find it, other than something else. Are there diamonds that are lost? Jewelry that aren't from the Queen of England? Does the Queen of England even have crown jewels?"

Really, had Manuel always been this intuitive? Maybe it was just because (he can't say it enough) his head was rebelling quite annoyingly. Either way, he felt a bit like a teenager, head racing and pulse definitely above the normal pace. Fortunately, there was no evidence (as far as he could tell) that suggested his bodily reaction to..whatever it is what it was reacting to. He inwardly became aware of the skin of his cheeks and neck, double checking just to make sure there wasn't a flush. An accelerated heart beat was usually the cause of this, but thanking the Heavens, it felt normal. Temperature in check? Good. He was simply excited lol about the case. That's all. Professional excitement.

"Thanks, Basil. I told you I'd do anything for you, right? I try not to lie."

That..was an oddly kind thing to say. Naturally, it wasn't true, highly exaggerated, but touching nonetheless. The detective prodded these thoughts away however, preferring not to dwell on a slight soaring sensation in his chest cavity from those words. It was a professional feeling, though. Perhaps professional endearment because of a gentle word from a coworker. Professional. Professional.

A movement from the boy caused Basil to turn to his side and watched with a raise of his eyebrows as a stick of sugary gum was handed to him. Glancing up into his assistant's eyes for a moment, he hesitated. He wasn't usually offered gum, or any gift for that matter. Was this a gift? Or just a token? Of friendship? Professional friendship. That's it.

Raising a hand slowly, the teacher pinched the stick between his index finger and thumb, careful not to touch Matthew, and tugged gently on it. After extracting the gum, Basil draw his hand back quickly and brought the aluminum-covered candy close to his eyes, scanning it cautiously.

Clearing his throat, the brunette set it down on the table and gave it an affirmative pat. "Thank you, Mr. Gobbledeehoof," he said stiffly, "I'm much obliged." Professional courtesy, yes.

[/blockquote][/blockquote]

TAG. Purr. ;3
WORDS. 489
OUTFIT. CLICK.
MUSIC. Maxsil soundtrack. <333
NOTES.<3333 i guess my maxsil muse is always awake.
CREDITS. jurate @ CAUTION, please don't steal!

[/size][/color]