Night Out at the Three Legged Pony Pub

Jack openly stared at Max. Max was odd, of course, because Jack only allowed herself to associate with people who were slightly strange. But he was odd in the most normal of ways, and he was by far the most normal of anyone in the house - Charlie's wolfie state unfortunately disqualified her, as well as her state of being a Dyllan. But here he was, singing at her, before galloping away, leaving her staring after him with an open door and and open mouth.

She quickly closed both and hurried down the hall after them. "No!" she hissed, afraid of waking Sunny as she moved deeper into the house. "No more!" She came into the kitchen to find Gabby beginning to pour a second mug of Firewhiskey. Jack darted forward and grabbed the emptier glass, before swiping at Gabby's glass. It was all guzzled in a second.

"You-"

"-are so clever, thank you, Jack, I know." Gabby smirked at her.

Jack threw up her hands in defeat. "Whatever, Gabby, drink my liquor. You, however," Jack spun around and looked at Max. "You have to go into work tomorrow afternoon. You'd better begin sleeping it off. Come on, I'll help you to your room."

Max was busy staring at the one bit of toothpaste that had fallen on to Jack's shirt and completely missed the bit of conversation between her and Gabby. She spun around to face him and he pulled himself up straighter to assess her. "I'm fine." he insisted, taking a step towards her and nearly tripping. "Really fine I don't want to go to sleep." He sounded more like a child than usual as he complained but allowed himself to be escorted to his room by Jack, more out of fear of being punched than actual sleepiness.

"Listen, I-"

Getting up the stairs was proving more challenging than he had expected as Max found his legs weren't working quite like they normally did. If only Gabby were here to be an arm rest. He was a good arm rest. Jack wasn't nearly short enough. "I, um.." Max's eyebrows were rumpled in concentration as he tried to remember what he had been meaning to say before the uses of friends as furniture had come into his head. But in all honesty, Jack would have made a better pillow than arm rest. Even if no one else knew it she was soft and fluffy enough.

"It's really.. fine." he insisted again, rolling his eyes slightly at the younger girl's foolishness before catching his toe on the top step and nearly taking a face plant. Charlie would be a good bookcase. Or maybe a fridge. He couldn't explain why but it seemed to make perfect sense. Before these genius theories could be spoken, Max had been transferred into his bed.

Jack refused to believe that Max knew what was best for him in this state. Hell, half the time he seemed to much at a loss as to what to do, that Jack could not see how he could even function while intoxicated. Despite his attempts to speak, she reached out, one hand catching his forearm and the other bracing his shoulder as she steadily led him down the hallway and towards the stairs, focused on the idea of getting him to bed.

Still, she could not help but smile a bit as she led him - it was just so funny to her. Perhaps because she had come to rely on Max as the steady, normal one, that seeing him more goofy than usual was just so odd to her. She supposed she had been almost on the cusp of considering him less experienced than her. It always seemed that she was the one who had more experience with danger and alcohol, and to be reminded that he was an adult who had every right and ability to go and get drunk with his mates... it was just odd to think that Jack had forgotten that Max was older than her.

They barely made it up the stairs, and Jack determinedly led him to his room. She stopped at the door and reached before her, carefully pushing the door inward before stepping behind Max and marching him inside. "Come on, buddy. I know you're fine. Be fine in your bed." Ah, that could have been something awkward to say if he had been sober. Good thing he wouldn't remember in the morning. She let him go and he was deposited into his bed. She quickly pulled the blankets over him and paused, her hand reaching down to brush his hair back - why not? He wouldn't remember. "Sleep it off, Max."

She turned and left the room, calmly making her way down the stairs and towards the kitchen. She would help Gabby into bed and all would be fine. She entered the kitchen and let out a sigh. The grown man had fallen asleep on the kitchen table, an almost empty bottle of rum dangling from his hand. She sighed and grabbed the bottle from his had, walking it to the cabinet. She paused and took a quick swig, before setting it in its place. She walked towards the study, deciding she would grab a blanket or two for Gabby so he would not have to freeze in the kitchen.

((I love Max's brain when drunk.))

Max lay on his back, staring up at the white ceiling. He moved slightly and the stiff fabric of his work pants rubbed unpleasantly against his skin, making him squirm even more as he made an effort to get comfortable. After a good thirty seconds of wiggling Max realized that it was probably his clothes, not the bed, that was making rest impossible. So naturally Max pulled off his pants (and jacket and shirt and boxers) leaving him slightly more chilly but a lot more comfortable. He relaxed on the bed, continuing to stare at the ceiling that had become so familiar to him.

After a few minutes a thought began nagging at the back of Max's mind. Before long it had filled his consciousness. If Maximus Morrison didn't get some cake right now he would probably die. Possibly explode. Most likely just be very hungry. But the risk was not worth taking, especially when there was a day-old chocolate came sitting downstairs in the kitchen. In fact there was no time to waste. With no hesitation Max pulled himself out of bed, stretching as if he had just had a long rest and was ready for a new day. The chill on his skin prompted him to pull a sheet from his bed and wrap it over his shoulders like a poncho.

Without a backward glance or worry, Max stepped over his small pile of clothes and left the room the same way he had entered it. He walked down the hall and started down the stairs with his new robe trailing after him like some regal gown as he moved. He reached the kitchen to find a sleeping Gabby at the counter. How boring. But Max was not deterred from his mission by lack of company and he moved to the counter where he managed to get a sloppily cut slice of cake on to a plate as well as transferring both the chocolate and himself to the table across from Gabby.

Max picked up a forkful of cake and eyed it as he took a bite, nearly missing his mouth as he did so. He swallowed and poked Gabby on the head, asking "Do you want cake?" a little louder than he had intended to. His sheet had wrapped itself neatly around him and extended beyond his toes to graze the floor. Despite everything, Max couldn't remember ever feeling quite so content. He had his Gabby and, more importantly, he had his cake.

As Jack collected a blanket for her sleeping friend, if Gabby was that, she could not help but compare it to the last time she had fetched blankets for someone – well, someone who was not a werewolf recovering from a harsh full moon, though Gabby was half of that. The last time had been when Albus Potter had found refuge in their home. Then, she had been fetching blankets for a stranger who was staying in a house full of strangers. Now, she felt as though she were taking care of family, while family slumbered all around her. This instance felt infinitely more different. Infinitely more intimate. Infinitely more… right.

She did not think she had dawdled long, but she could not imagine Max moving that quickly in his state either. She walked into the kitchen and saw him – slouching over the counter, unforgivingly devouring the last of the chocolate cake, wearing a sheet. Wearing what looked like nothing but a sheet. He had just turned and whispered, at the level of a shout, to Gabby. Gabby murmured in his sleep and raised his arm, his lips twitching – Jack realized he was attempting to continue drinking in his sleep. She was very glad she had confiscated that bottle.

“Max.”

It was all she could really say. She wasn’t sure any more words would come out. She could not stop openly staring at him. “Are you wearing pants?” Better yet. “Why aren’t you wearing pants?!”

Ah. More company.

Jack's return was signaled by his name being spoken, to which he dutifully turned to face her, a bit of chocolate still clinging to the corner of his mouth. She was looking at him oddly and Max was at a loss as to why until she spoke again. He blinked several times as he considered her question before opening his mouth and replying as if it were the most obvious thing in the world - "I was hot." Pants were simply too uncomfortable and inconvenient for Max to handle at this moment.

He rolled his eyes slightly as he turned back to the table and his sleeping friend, poking his fork down for another bite of cake. There was no need for Jack to seem to upset. She was wearing pajamas and that was practically the same thing. To be honest, Max wasn't sure why he didn't go without pants more often. It was quite a pleasant experience (though he would have preferred to be seated by the fire). Why not do that now? Max grabbed his plate and stood up, shuffling past Jack and through the entryway to their living room where he settled himself in his chair.

There were three main pieces of furniture for sitting in Layabout's living room. The most flashy of which was Jack's ornate red chair that she looked quite intimidating in while she sat there. Max had claimed the second chair, an old and too-squishy green piece that had several patches and sat across from Jack's. The third was a long sofa that the other's in the house occupied (though there was a ongoing battle as to which Dyllan girl owned which end). Sunny occasionally dragged out a beanbag chair from her room but it's appearance crowded the space to uncomfortable levels.

The house was small and full to bursting at any given point but Max wouldn't dream of making any more space. He would much rather have it this way. The curly-haired man looked around, just realizing that his move made him alone again. He missed his company.

Was this really Max Morrison? Was this really the Max Morrison who took even the most mundane of his jobs in the Ministry as though it were the most important thing in the world? Was this really the Max Morrison who had a very detailed planner of all events he needed to make sure he attended? Was this really the Max Morrison who told Jack to get off the roof because she was being a bad influence to Sunny and Charlie? Was this really Max Morrison at all?

If it was, Jack was certain she would never let him live it down.

She was not sure if he had intended to be sassy by leaving the room, but suddenly he was gone, leaving her to stare at Gabby in shocked awe. This situation was so absolutely foreign, and would have annoyed her, certainly, if it had involved anyone else. But for whatever reason, it was absolutely entertaining and seemed to fit the new life of Layabout Lane.

She turned on her heel and walked back into the hallway, taking a chance on checking the living room. She was right to think he would retreat to the most comfortable of chairs. She walked over to him and stood before him, carefully regarding him for awhile, before she slowly put out a hand. “Come on, Max. Let’s go to bed, okay?”

(lame post is lame. Sorry)

Just as he thought it, company returned and Max found himself staring up at the looming form of his flatmate. His eyes wide, he took another large bite of the cake, managing to completely devourer it. She stared at him and he stared back at her. She extended her hand and he examined it closely before taking it and allowing himself to be straitened up and out of the chair. He didn't really want to go to bed but his cake mission had been completed and it was clear that the Queen of Fire and Ice was unwilling to let him rest downstairs.

So after another struggle back up the stairs (this time made even harder by the sheet tripping hazard) Max was returned to his bed where he passed out in a matter of minutes.

- - -

Max's head was aching and his mouth felt like a desert. He made an attempt to sit up but was immediately brought back down by gravity as his brain rebelled against the sudden movement. What the -

Oh. Max vaguely remembered Gabby pulling him out of work and taking him out. He remembered the music and ordering drinks, round after round. How many rounds had there been? Max really couldn't remember much from the later part of the evening. Coming home was more or less a blur but the fact that he had woken in his own bed meant that nothing too terribly wrong could have happened, right? Slightly reassured, Max moved to stand up again, this time succeeding.

Once upright, Max looked down at himself and an expression of concern grew on his face. Oh. Rubbing his eyes, Max stumbled to the dresser and pulled out clothes with he hurriedly pulled on. Gabby. Gabby was the only one who could explain things right now. Max pulled his shirt over his head and began to move towards the door and the voices coming from downstairs. He certainly felt ill this morning but not as bad as he possibly should have, judging by his lacking memory.

Max moved down the stairs and made his way into the kitchen without running into any of his flatmates. He spotted most of the crowd as soon as he had entered the kitchen and settled himself into a chair at the table. Max meant to greet everyone but instead just leaned his head against his hand and stared over at Charlie who was buttering a piece of toast by the window.

He seemed to decide the struggle with her was not worth it. She was simultaneously glad and disappointed that the war was won so easily. On the one hand, she would love to get to bed soon, but on the other, it would have been very fun for her to levitate Max up the stairs. Then again, that would have surely ended in him spewing whatever meal he and Gabby had divulged in all over the stairs, which she would have been left to clean up. So, she supposed it was good that he did not fight her. Instead, he took her hand and slowly rose to follow her.

She carefully led him up the stairs, feeling oddly pleased at this turn of events. Pleased that it was Max, for once, being the silly one who needed to be cared after. Pleased that she know had some funny little memories to use as blackmail. Pleased that he had so mildly chosen to take her hand and follow her instructions.

With a feeling of faint déjà vu, she opened Max’s door and marched him across the threshold. This time, she pulled the covers more fully off the bed and made sure he got beneath them, sheet still wrapped around him like a toga, before she carefully tucked the corners of the bedspread into the mattress. She hoped it would be just tight enough to discourage his clumsy, drunken limbs from attempting any more cake heists. She once again bade him a fond good night and carefully closed the door behind her, before hurrying downstairs to lock up what was left of the cake and to locate her forgotten toothbrush.


Sunny had not stopped singing. She was banging about in the sitting room next to the kitchen, singing ‘It’s a Small World After All’, with absolutely no reservation. Gabby was about on the point of throwing a fit, Jack could tell, but the promise of food kept him rooted to his seat in the kitchen. A lovely concoction of sausage and eggs were gaining color in one pan, while Jack manufactured thick waffles from the waffle maker Teddy had given her for Christmas. She placed Charlie’s plate out first because, as she kept reminding Gabby, Charlie was one of the few in the house who had contributed to the peace in the household the night before.

Max entered and Jack kept herself from glancing up, though the smirk unfurled on her face. She set Gabby’s plate out for him, and began constructing a plate for her dark-haired flatmate. Gabby’s elbows were propped up on the table, his temples resting on his fingertips as he glared down at the table. If looks could kill, the table would surely be on fire.

”There is just one moon, and a golden sun, and a smile means friendship for everyone-“

Jack deposited a plate in front of Max, still saying nothing. She turned the stove off as well as the waffle maker, and made her own plate quickly. With a flick of her wand, orange juice and water began pouring for everyone, cups arranging themselves nicely and neatly in front of each place setting. She took her place at the table and set her plate down. A drink of water. Syrup pouring over the waffles. A bite of egg. Cutting into the waffle. Gabby took a drink of orange juice. Jack looked at Max.

“I’m glad to see you found your pants.”

Orange juice sprayed out of Gabby’s mouth in a mist of shock.

The sun was too bright.

Max head lay heavy in his hands and Sunny's singing seemed just a little bit louder than it normally did. The awful song worked it's way into his head with it's awful catchy tune and after no more than a minute Max was just about ready to lock the young girl out of the kitchen. A plate of food (which he hadn't even noticed Jack preparing) was placed before him and the steam wafted up into his face, prompting him to pull his head upright and face the world at the correct angle.

He was considering taking a bite of waffle when - “I’m glad to see you found your pants.” Max closed his eyes in humiliation just as a fine mist of orange juice hit is face from across the table. Without ceremony he wiped the liquid off his cheeks and hesitantly opened his eyes back up to face the crowd. The scene that greeted him was strait out of a high school chick flick. Everyone appeared to have stopped whatever they were doing in mid-motion (Charlie with a butter knife in midair, Gabby frozen in a spit-take, Jack staring smugly) and now stared at him like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears.

A sinking feeling started to grow in his stomach as he realized that Gabby's reaction meant only one thing - he didn't know what had happened either. This made Jack the one with answers and the last thing in the world he wanted was to have to ask his flatmate why he had woken completely naked with chocolate crumbs in his bed. So instead of facing that awful reality of his own memory loss, Max ignored the question and went with the safest answer he could think up.

"It's not funny."