Author's Note: As of this writing, today is September 21st, so a Hella Happy Birthday to our lovable hipster Max Caulfield.

More notes down below, and I hope you enjoy the first part of this fic. I obviously don't own Life is Strange either.

Blues in Her Soul

The stinging, shrieking beep of the outdated smoke alarm tears her from a bout of uncomfortable slumber. Max Caulfield rockets up from her inadvertent sleeping spot on the couch, blinking wildly as her primary senses are briefly overloaded by the insistent beeping. She's confused for a moment, bamboozled while her brain struggles to throw off the shackles of sleep, snap into gear, and work out just what the hell is making that fucking noise. After a second or two, her synapses make the necessary connections, and she bolts into the kitchen.

Thick, acrid smoke is billowing out of her crappy little over, mixed with the eye-wrinklingly disgusting smell of melting plastic. Max grabs an oven mitt and yanks the oven door open. She reels back, coughing heavily when a blast of heated air and smoke hits her directly in the face. With a speed borne of sheer panic, she grabs the oven tray and quickly shoves it onto a counter top. Next, she turns her attention to the still-shrieking smoke alarm, and jabs at it with a broom handle. After a few unsuccessful pokes, she manages to hit the reset button, and her battle with the smoke alarm comes to a thankful end as the kitchen falls blessedly silent.

She turns an eye to the oven tray. Her ready-meal-for-one is a blackened, inedible ruin, charred beyond all recognition and covered in rapidly cooling clumps of plastic packaging.

"Shit. God damn fucking shit fuck!" She curses. She tries to hurl the mess into the trash can, but misses. The destroyed meal instead crumbles all over the surface of the trash can and the floor. "Twat!" She swears loudly, half at herself, half at the stupid fucking ready meal for refusing to get in the stupid fucking trash can.

She angrily grabs a broom and sweeps the debris into a dustpan, and then, ever so carefully dumps the blackened mess into the trash. Having conquered the task of cleaning, she blows a raspberry and flips the bird at the trash. The trash, predictably, does not respond.

For some reason, the lack of response sucks the wind from Max's metaphorical sails. She slumps down onto the floor, resting her back against the cheap wood of the kitchen draws, and shoves her face into her knees.

Life in Portland hadn't exactly measured up to her expectations, she finds herself reflecting. When she'd moved to the city, Max had entertained a vision of La vie Boheme; a life filled with eccentric people, love, hipsterism and photography – her passion in life.

But none of that had been forthcoming. Instead, she had no friends, a crappy apartment, and her part time job in one of the hundreds of vegan-friendly organic grocery stores was barely enough to keep her stocked up on film for her beloved Polaroid camera.

All in all, life kind of sucked.

Max grumbles to herself and shoves herself back up off the floor. She heads back into what passes for a living room and collapses face first onto the couch. She's all set for a full-on pity party for herself, but before she can really get into it, the TV interrupts her with the beginning of yet another reality show about brainless, talentless celebrities.

She casts a baleful eye at the offending equivalent of TV bile, and fumbles for the remote. She extricates it from its temporary prison between the couch cushions, and flicks through the channels. Nothing captures her interest beyond a superficial level, so she ends up settling for a re-run of Back to the Future. Even before Marty makes it back to 1955, she's fast asleep.

Max opens one bleary eye. Light is streaming through the window, hitting her in the face. "Fuck off." She tells the sun. When it doesn't immediately fuck in the direction of off, she groans, and pushes herself up into a sitting position. Her cheek feels weird, so she presses a hand to it, and brings it away, covered in drool. "Eww. Gross, Max." She tells herself.

Her next problem manifests in the form of a complaining bladder. Max forces herself onto her feet, wavering a little when her balance doesn't catch on quite as fast as it needs to. She shuffles to the tiny bathroom, and relieves her insistent bladder. When she's done, she doesn't bother pulling her pants back on, and instead yanks her slightly musty shirt off and hops into the shower.

Even though she hates almost everything in the apartment, the shower is not one of them. A steady torrent of steaming hot water blasts down from the stainless steel showerhead, running in dozens of little rivulets down her skin. Max tilts her head back and slicks her hair away from her forehead. A moan escapes her throat, and she wishes the showerhead wasn't bolted to the wall. A stream of water that powerful would definitely have some uses other than simply cleaning her.

When she's done showering, Max shuts off the water, not without a hint of regret, and quickly towels herself dry. She wanders into her bedroom, and pulls out a pair of jeans, a well-loved grey hoodie and plain white tee from her wardrobe. She doesn't bother with a bra.

Just as she's exiting her bedroom, her stomach grumbles, shockingly loud in the quiet apartment. "Right, yeah. Food." She says to herself, remembering the failed attempt at dinner the previous night. She knows there's basically nothing in the fridge worth making, so she grabs her purse and rifles through it, in search of enough change to buy breakfast. Thankfully, there's just about enough to get a bagel from her favourite place: a stand in the nearby park owned by a friendly Israeli man.

"Score!" She jingles the coins in her hand and grins. She grabs her bag, shoving her beloved Polaroid in for good measure, and heads out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, Max is happily munching on a cream cheese, smoked salmon and sesame seed bagel. She wanders through the park, absent mindedly taking in the early morning sights; mostly joggers and the occasional yoga class. Max has been meaning to join one, but honestly, what sane person wants to get up at too-fucking-early-o'clock and try to turn themselves into a human pretzel?

With a stab of regret, Max notices the bagel is almost gone. She pops the last bite into her mouth and licks a blob of cream cheese off her index finger. She crumples the left over paper up and tosses it into a nearby trash can. She's just about to start on wondering what to do for the rest of her day before inevitably giving up and going home, when she looks up, and her eyes fall on a rhapsody in blue.

Her eyes go wide, and time itself seems to distort and slow down to a crawl. The woman in front of her is the most beautiful woman she's ever seen; a vision in a white tank top, beanie and scuffed high top boots. Her almond shaped, pale face is framed by a messy bob of bright blue hair that Max finds impossible to look away from. An intricately detailed sleeve of tattoos winds its way up her right arm, covering the otherwise pale skin in an explosion of colour.

Max is entranced. She can't look away even if she wanted to. She's pretty certain her mouth is hanging open like a total idiot, but she's powerless to stop it. Her heart skips a beat when the (totally fucking gorgeous) woman in front of her looks up and makes eye contact. She looks right at Max, with eyes the colour of a bright winter morning. She looks right at Max and smiles, and all Max wants to do is get lost in her smile, or maybe turn into a Max-coloured puddle and trickle away. She isn't sure which.

She's so lost in her own thoughts that it takes a few seconds for the social part of her brain to catch up, and realise the woman is talking to her.

"Hey there!" She's saying, the friendly smile still gracing her face.

When Max doesn't respond, and just opens and closes her mouth a few times like a dumbstruck fish, the smile fades into a look of concern.

"Dude, you alright?" She asks.

Max blinks a few times. "Yeah. Uh. Just." She responds. She points up at the sky. "Early."

The smile reappears. "Tell me about it. Who the hell wants to be up at this time in the morning? Especially on a weekend, am I right?"

Max's brain still hasn't quite gotten to the point of fluent conversation. "Weekend. Yes."

This earns her a curious smirk and a critical eye cast over her appearance. "Rough night?"

"I – something like that." Max manages to answer, in a reasonable amount of time. The stranger's gaze still hasn't left her, making Max incredibly aware of her un-brushed hair, lack of makeup and generally scruffy appearance.

"Well, I know exactly how to fix that." The grin is back in full force again. "Here." She hands Max a pamphlet.

"Blues dancing?" Max reads. She's heard of blues music before, but never thought that it had a particular dance attached to it.

"Yup. I teach a local class. Interested?"

"I – I've never really danced before." Max stammers. "I don't know how." She confesses further.

The grin doesn't waver for a second. "Perfect! I love blank slates, and the class is geared towards beginners anyway."

Max is still unsure. She bites her lip. "I don't know."

"Dude, you'll pick it up hella quick. Trust me."

There's something so genuine and honest in her smile that Max believes her, if only for moment.

"OK." She finds herself saying.

"Awesome! It's just round the corner from here, and the class starts more or less at seven. All the info's on there." The blue haired woman points towards the pamphlet.

"I'm Chloe, but the way. Chloe Price."

Chloe sticks out a hand in greeting.

Max shakes it.

"Max Caulfield."

A final grin flashes across Chloe's face. "Alright, see you there, Max."

And as suddenly as she burst into Max's life, she's gone.

Max stands there. Blinks for a few seconds. She doesn't realise it, but she's smiling.

For the rest of the day, Max can't get Chloe out of her head. When she does her laundry, she's thinking about Chloe. When she eats lunch, she's still thinking about Chloe. And when she's nervously getting ready to attend her first ever dance class, she's definitely thinking about Chloe.

Max has had crushes before, and even a brief relationship with a girl in college, but none of them have ever hit her this powerfully. It's exciting and terrifying (holy shit is she scared) all at once.

Max wonders what to wear. She wants to look nice (nice enough for Chloe to notice), but it's only a dance class, so she doesn't have to look too nice, right? She doesn't want to make too much of an effort if, presumably, she's going to be a sweaty mess by the end of it. In the end, she settles for a light grey dress, that hugs her figure – but not too much – and allows for a decent range of movement. She finishes off the outfit with a pair of clear tights and flat shoes. She's always been useless with heels anyway.

"Alright, Max." She says to her reflection in the mirror. "You can do this."

Her reflection is indifferent.

Max sighs. "You're not helping." She says to her mirror self. She gives her hair one more brush, looks herself up and down and decides she probably isn't going to look much better. "Here goes nothing." Max says to try and encourage herself. It doesn't work, but her newfound crush doesn't care, and is forcing her onwards, grabbing the steering and demanding she go and obsess over a woman who is obviously way out of her league.

Max sighs again, tells her inner worries to shut it, and exits her apartment.

A brisk twenty minute walk later, Max is stood outside the venue. It's a retro-looking bar, with an ancient, broken down jukebox sitting just inside the door, which is covered with ads for local bands. Max hangs back for a moment, trying to summon the courage to walk in. Eventually, the rapidly cooling evening temperature forces her hand. She shivers, and walks in.

Max finds herself in a dimly lit corridor, which bends immediately to the left. It's covered in yet more band posters, most of which she's never heard of. Upon exiting the corridor, Max walks into the bar area. It's almost empty, with only a few surly looking patrons dotted around, staring into the depths of their beer tankards. There's no sign of Chloe, or any indication that Max is even in the right place.

At a loss, she walks up to the bar. The bartender – a hipster looking guy with impressively large sideburns – glances up from the glasses he's cleaning, but otherwise doesn't say anything.

"Hey, uh," Max says quietly, "I'm here for the blues class?"

The bartender doesn't respond, except to jerk his head in the direction of a set of stairs Max didn't spot, that lead down into the basement.

"Oh right. Thanks." Max says.

The bartender grunts.

"Charming." Max says under her breath to herself.

When she descends the stairs, she emerges into a softly lit secondary bar, with a smooth wooden floor being the main feature. About twenty or so people are milling around, talking in small groups. Despite the relatively large size of the room, the lighting gives it a cozy, intimate feel. At the bottom of the stairs, Max is met by a desk, with a young woman with thick rimmed glasses and streaks of purple and red in her hair behind it. As Max approaches, she looks up and nods at her.

"It's five bucks for the class." She says, before Max can say anything.

"Oh. I, uh, don't have any money on me." Max says sheepishly.

The woman cocks an eyebrow. "You're a newbie, right?"

Max nods. "Yeah."

"In that case it's cool. First class is always free, but after that, you gotta pay."

"That's actually a pretty smart way of doing things." Max says.

"Yeah." The woman nods. "Supposed to entice newbies. I guess it worked, I mean, you're here." She offers a smile. "I'm Brooke, by the way."

"Max."

"Nice to meet you. The class should start in about five minutes."

Max gives her a thumbs up, and wanders into the middle of the room. A couple of people glance her way, but otherwise she doesn't attract any attention. That is, until a man about her own age notices her looking around aimlessly, and makes his way over.

"I know that look." He says, grinning. "Our illustrious teacher got to you, right?"

"Hi. Um, what?" Max says, confused.

He grins, and pats her on the shoulder. "Chloe. Every few months, usually when she's looking to boost attendance, some poor, wide eyed person like yourself wanders in, having been charmed, cajoled or just generally persuaded by Chloe to come. That's what happened to you, right?"

Max nods. "Pretty much. She's hard to resist." She says, a tiny blush creeping its way into her cheeks.

"Yeah, she's charming like that. Hardly anyone ever manages to say no." He says. Then, "Oh wait, I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Warren. You?"

"I'm Max." She shakes his hand.

"Max, huh? Good to meet you. You probably met my girlfriend Brooke, you know, the lady on the door."

Max nods. "Yeah, she seems nice."

Warren looks over her shoulder. "Speaking of, I think she's summoning me over. Catch you during the class, Max!" He leaves, and strolls over to Brooke.

After he's left, Max stand around awkwardly, not knowing what to do. She hugs her left arm and rocks back and forth on her feet, waiting for something to happen, and feeling too nervous to go seek out conversation with other people. She's never been great at initiating social contact, and she doesn't feel like breaking the trend at this particular moment.

Thankfully, Chloe makes her entrance before Max can begin to feel too awkward and out of place. She comes barrelling down the stairs, seemingly without a care in the world. Her appearance is a total one-eighty from her punk get-up from earlier. She's wearing high-waisted pants that do wonders for her long, shapely legs, and an old fashioned white blouse tucked into the pants. Her hair, instead of hanging down in a messy shock of blue, is styled neatly into a perfect victory roll. All in all, Max thinks, it's a killer look, and judging from the sway of Chloe's hips, she knows it too.

"Alright bluesers, class is in session." She announced when she hits the bottom of the stairs. "Form a circle, and we can get started with the warm-up."

The general chatter ceases, and her learners dutifully form a rough circle in the middle of the floor. Chloe strides into the centre, looking utterly in her element.

"Tonight is gonna be a pretty chill class." She says. "We've got a couple of new faces," She throws a wink Max's way as she walks round the circle, "So we're gonna cover the basic blues pulse and footwork, and work on getting the rhythm down, and maybe throw in a move or two if we're feeling saucy later. Sound good?"

There's a general murmur of assent from the class.

"Cool." Chloe fishes a small remote out of a pocket, aims it at a laptop plugged into a speaker system, and presses a button. Blues music, led by an acoustic guitar and harmonica, and backed by solid, thumping percussion, emanates from speakers arrayed around the room.

"So. The blues basic pulse." Chloe talks over the music. "Bend your knees and relax your frame, but don't let it collapse. You wanna have your shoulders open, but not slouching." She looks around the room. "Good. You're all pretty much in the right posture. Now, shift your weight onto one foot. That's it. Alright, now I want you to step onto your other foot, and cleanly transfer your weight. You should always have your weight on one foot or the other if you're moving, and you're always gonna be moving. So, step to the side onto your other foot, like you're making the arch of a bridge, and then bring your other foot in to collect, pulse upwards, then step to the other side onto your first foot."

Even though Chloe is only explaining the very first basics of the dance, Max is already confused. She tries her best, but the fluidity required seems to be beyond her. It doesn't help that she's constantly distracted by Chloe.

"Alright, everyone seems to have a handle on that for the most part, so now we're gonna partner up, and see if we can do the same thing, but with a partner this time."

Oh God no. Max thinks. I'm so hella sorry, she tries to mentally communicate to the smiling, unfortunate soul approaching her.

Her partner is pleasant enough, and probably more accommodating than they should have been, but Max is still embarrassed when her attempt at replicating the footwork with a partner goes about as stiff and awkwardly as she was dreading. It's even worse with the next person after Chloe tells the class to rotate one partner along.

Max lasts another two rotations before making a feeble excuse and sitting the rest of the lesson out. She sees Chloe cast a quick look her way, and a frown flits ever so briefly across her face. Max considers just outright leaving, but decides she should at least stay and explain instead of vanishing.

When the class finally ends, it's still a few minutes before people start to filter out, and even then Max can't see an opportunity to talk to Chloe on her own. She has to wait until the majority of people have left before Chloe is free for more than a few seconds.

When she is free, though, it's Chloe who approaches her.

"Hey Max." She greets her, surprising Max by remembering her name.

"Hey." Max says, still feeling embarrassed.

"You OK? I noticed you ducked out like halfway through." She says, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Yeah." Max rubs the back of her neck. "I'm just not sure if this is right for me, I couldn't even get the basic stuff right."

Chloe raises an eyebrow, pushes out her lips and taps her chin. "Hmm. Lemme see how you're standing."

Max does so.

Chloe smiles and nods. "Thought so. You're carrying hella tension in your frame." She looks around, making sure everyone has left. "Alright, c'mere. I'm gonna give you a private lesson."

Max immediately blushes. "Oh, no, that's OK, you don't have to-"

"I know." Chloe interrupts her, grinning. "But I want to, and this gal don't take no for an answer."

She smiles, dazzlingly, and Max's resistance one again melts.

"OK."

"Dude, yes!" Chloe exclaims. "I usually charge for these, but I can never resist a pretty girl, so."

Max blushes again. Chloe notices.

"Relax, I'm just teasing. Now, let's go through some stuff to get you to relax, starting with matching your partner."

She positions herself in front of Max, about three feet from her. "OK, this is what's called breakaway. It's one of four 'holds' you get in blues. I want you to try and match my posture."

As Max watches, Chloe bends her knees slightly, relaxes her shoulders, and sticks her butt out by a couple of inches. Max copies her.

"Good." Chloe says. "That's already looking better." She takes one step forward, and takes Max's left hand in her right. "This is the open hold. It's good for when you wanna get out in front of your partner, but don't want to let them go."

Chloe takes another step forward, and slides her right arm around Max's waist, her hand coming to rest in the curve of her back. Her left hand takes Max's right, and holds it up next to them.

"This is closed hold, and the one you'll see most often. Right now, I'm leading, and you're following, though you can switch that anytime you want. All you have to do is just put your arm around my waist and reverse our hands, though honestly, you can still lead just with the arm around your follow."

"What, so I can take the lead whenever? Even in the middle of dancing with someone?" Max asks.

"Yup." Chloe grins again. "That's the beauty of it. Blues dancing is like a conversation using movement. It's not like ballroom or tango or whatever, where there's a set lead/follow thing. We tend to switch it up."

"I kinda like that." Max says.

"Yeah, it's pretty cool." Chloe says. "Now, the last hold is close embrace." She moves even forward, pressing herself almost flush against Max. Her arm drifts a little higher up Max's back, strengthening the connection between them.

Max's heart starts beating a mile a minute. She hadn't counted on being in such close proximity on her newfound crush in so short a time.

"Relax." Chloe says. "I can literally feel how tense you are. Take a deep breath, and then when you breathe out, try to just let go of everything."

Max obeys, and takes a large amount of air into her lungs, holds it for a beat, then exhales.

"That's good. I could feel you go all squishy." Chloe praises her. "Perfect for blues."

Max secretly feels a little proud, even if all she did was manage to relax.

"'kay, so, I'm gonna set a pulse going, and all I want you to do, Max, is stay relaxed, and follow along. That's it. Think you can do that?"

Max nods. "I think so."

"Awesome." Chloe momentarily lets go of her hand, and pokes a button on the remote. The same song from the start of class begins to pipe through the speakers. Chloe takes her hand again, and begins to softly step from one foot to the other, collecting her feet on every step, and stepping every other beat. Max closes her eyes, and tries to follow. She breathes out again, and suddenly something seems to click, and she can feel every one of Chloe's movements, and it's the easiest thing in the world to follow along with them. Before she knows it, she's pulsing from one foot to the other in time to the music, led all the while by Chloe.

"Dude, that's perfect." Chloe says softly, her mouth right next to Max's ear. "You wanna try leading?"

Makes shakes her head. "Not right now, I don't think I could."

"Alright, maybe next time." Chloe says, reassuringly.

They stay like that, just moving from foot to foot, until the song ends, and they move apart.

"I, uh, I actually enjoyed that." Max confesses.

"I aim to please." Chloe says, with a matter of fact tilt of her head. "Now, a break through like that deserves a drink. C'mon, I'm buying."

Before Max can say anything, Chloe's arm is back around her waist, and she's leading Max up the stairs. When they emerge into the bar, she sits Max down at a table in the corner, and strides purposefully over to the bar itself. A couple of minutes later, she returns with two bottles of craft ale. She tried sets them down on the table, and sits opposite Max.

"Cheers." She says. "To your first of many classes, I hope."

"Cheers." Max returns the toast, and clinks her bottle against Chloe's.

"So, you haven't been in Portland long, have you?" Chloe crosses her arms on the scuffed and pitted wood, and leans forward.

Max shakes her head. "I haven't. Only been here like, three months, I think? I moved here pretty much straight after college."

Chloe's ears perk up. "Ooh, fancy. What'd you major in?"

"Photography. It's been my passion ever since I was a kid." She leans down, and digs her camera out of her bag. "Though I'm kinda on the retro side of things." She says, almost proudly.

"Huh." Chloe's eyes narrow, and a smirk appears on her face. "I've just had an idea."

"Am I gonna like this idea?"

"Maybe? So you know I said I usually charge for private lessons? Well, we've been trying to find an event photographer, but there's like, fucking no one who wants to do it. How about I give you private lessons in exchange for taking photos of social events we have and stuff. I'll even cut you in on the profits." At this, she wiggles her eyebrows. "Whaddya say?"

Max considers for a moment. It doesn't take her long to make a decision.

"Sure. Sounds good." She agrees.

Chloe's face lights up in glee. "Hella yes, Max!" She raises her bottle again. "To our awesomely successful future bid'ness partnership and stuff!"

Max laughs, and raises her own bottle.

Four beers later, and Chloe is walking a decidedly drunk Max home.

"'S just here." Max slurs, pointing vaguely at her apartment building.

"Want me to help you get in?" Chloe offers.

"Nah, 's'alright. I can – urp – I c'n do it." Max hiccups.

"OK, if you're totally sure."

"Yeah, 'm sh-sure." Max attempts to smile, but it comes across more as a drunken grimace.

"Oh man, you can't hold your beer like at all." Chloe teases her. "Though I probably shouldn't have kept buying you them. Anyway, stay safe, and I'll see you next time, right?"

Max nods. "Hella."

Chloe laughs. "You're way too adorable." She gives Max a quick, tight hug, kisses her on the cheek, and with those parting words, disappears into the night.

Max sways for a few seconds, touches her cheek where Chloe kissed it, then turns and stumbles towards her apartment.

Minutes later, when she's lying in bed, legs spread and fingers working frantically under the hem of her panties, it's Chloe she pictures in her mind. She's usually fairly coy about her fantasies, but something about Chloe makes her picture the dirtiest, smuttiest things she can imagine, most of which involve Chloe eating her out in a multitude of different positions and places.

When she finally comes, eyes screwed shut, fingers pinching her clit and tremors wracking her body, it's Chloe's name that escapes her lips, first as a moan, then as a scream.

She slumps down against the pillows, panting and sweating. The force of her orgasm takes so much out of her that she barely manages to remove her hand from her panties before she's fast asleep.

Author's Note: So yeah. This ended up being hella long. So long that I actually had to cut it into two parts, because I really wanted to get it out by Max's birthday. I guess I half succeeded?

The second part will hopefully be out later today, or tomorrow at the latest. Leave a comment if you have something to say, all feedback is incredibly welcome (also I've never written a present tense thing, so tell me if it sucks). See you in a day or so.