"Chloe's dead." Max answers tonelessly. "...kind of," she adds as an afterthought. Truth be told, the girl finds herself hard pressed to come up with a proper name for the state her friend is in right now. She's dead at this very moment but won't be when Max goes back in time and... and she needs to find a good enough photo. Some artist, Jefferson, destroying somebody else's art in a fit of childish rage.
Pathetic, really. It's disappointing to know that her former idol isn't even half the man she though he was, and not even a quarter of what he thinks of himself, what a sorry megalomaniac. Max has never excelled at reading people and she probably never will. So she shouldn't be surprised by now that someone she though trustworthy turned out to be anything but. The girl's insides curl in anger at the memory of his smug taunting. Oh he will be on the receiving end soon enough. Again and again, until she bores of it.
The anger keeps simmering deep inside her even when she forcefully pushes it away. There isn't much to replace it. There rarely is.
"Kind of? Is this some kind of joke?" David is angry, that much she can recognize, maybe even at her for her choice of words for some reason or other. She got better at phrasing her thoughts over years but she still slips at times when under duress. Or maybe it's just her power and the fact she doesn't really have to anymore and it's... liberating, finally being able to speak her mind instead of safe, empty words. To finally have the opportunity to photograph something more than animals.
She's not a monster like Jefferson. She's not about to kill an innocent so that she can get a nice photo.
"He shot her." She repeats in the same flat voice and points at the unconscious man lying on the ground. "We went looking for Nathan..." Who will get his due as well when she goes back to... yesterday? Max can't say. "-and he was there instead."
Silence reigns over the room for a few seconds as blood slowly drains from David's face. It's fascinating every time no matter how many times she's seen it, watching as shock settles in only to be replaced by denial. She looks away, knowing there will be more and better opportunities in the near future. Where did Jefferson put his camera? She feels naked without one. The girl looks to where Victoria isn't lying this time. Yeah there it is, she'd rather have her own back but beggars can't be choosers. Digital cameras take away some of the magic in her opinion, as every shot needn't be perfect, they don't need so much focus, so much thought.
She moves to take the camera off its stand. Not stopping at the haltingly urged words coming from her friend's step-father.
"W-wait, Max. Are you sure? You saw it?" She tears her eyes away from the tripod she's fiddling with, to see an expression so full of desperate, painful hope, that she's tempted to rewind time just to get that specific one on a photo. Why bother though? She can't keep anything when she makes a jump of more than a few minutes. Which brings her to a question, which photo should she use to go back? She has tons back in her dorm. She would use the ones from yesterday but she didn't have the opportunity to put those with the rest in her room, and her failure of a teacher burnt the photos she had with her.
A scowl mars her face. Great. An entire day of work gone because of someone's dysfunctional impulse control.
"Max!" She can't name the emotion in Chloe's step-father's voice, anger or pain or something else altogether. Too much, too complicated.
"Yes I'm sure" Didn't she say before? She thought his question was rhetorical. Something to give him some time to mull over the news. Mouth works faster than mind after all. Aaand there! Free at last from the clutches of the evil tripod. The teen turns the device over in her hands, admiring the quality of it while looking for the on switch.
Ah, there it is. Max turns the camera on and leans against the chair she was tied to a moment ago, patiently waiting for the machine to boot up. "-her and Chloe." Huh? The photograph looks up at the man- who's apparently been talking for some time. To her or himself? She wonders. He doesn't look like he's expecting her to answer, which is good. She hates it when strangers- for some inexplicable reason- expect her to listen and care about what they have to say. "I never even told Chloe that I... I..." He brings his hands to his face, wiping the few tears that escaped his eyes. Max watches this impassively, trying (and failing) to remember when was the last time she cried.
A though crosses her mind when the camera finishes booting up. Will the pictures she takes with a digital stay on the memory card after she rewinds time? She hasn't checked yet, not even on her phone.
Max raises the camera to her eye and snaps a few quick shots of the broken man. Drawing a look from him that she really can't decipher. Nor does she care to.
"I never even told Chloe that I... I..." He brings his hands to his face, wiping the few tears that escaped his eyes.
The camera is still on. The girl smiles gently when she enters the gallery and sees the shots from a moment ago. Well this is nice, she loves instant cameras but she knows full well she can't base her future career on them. Pity she won't be able to keep these particular shots. Kind of takes away from the whole experience when she doesn't get to keep her work. Why yes, she enjoys the act of taking photos (what photographer doesn't?) even without being able to keep them. Still, it's just not the same.
"Goddammit!" Max spares David an irritated glance. Can he not keep it down? It occurs to her that for all that Chloe would disagree, both she and her guardian have a habit of being loud when they shouldn't be. Maybe they wouldn't get in this whole mess if the bluenette could keep her voice down on that junkyard. Then again, the man seems to have gotten his bearings back as all of a sudden he seems... calmer, compared to what he was when she took the photo anyway. There's still anguish in his eyes but it's not all that's there. His expression is hardened, his eyes steely and with a sense of purpose and rage the likes of which she hasn't seen ever before.
Max straightens up, her pupils widening a fraction. He's a simple man, David. His actions predictable enough that her heart beats faster at the sight of him moving towards Jefferson.
Full of anticipation, she puts the camera to her eye. Something that her friend's step-father doesn't even notice, all his attention consumed by the other man in the room.
"You killed my wife's child you sick fucker? You took away my step daughter?!" Max steps a bit closer towards the two, looking for a good angle that would capture the moment. Not forever, not for long, long enough for her to admire before having to move on.
It's only a second or two after David pulls his pistol out but to Max it seems like much more, blood rushes to her head and her whole body suddenly feels lighter. All the fatigue of the last- she's not sure how long she's been jumping- leaving her body in a split moment when this time's Jefferson's fate is sealed.
Execution, now this is something she hasn't had the opportunity to see live up till now. The videos on the internet are one thing, while they get her blood pumping it's nothing compared to this. A helpless man (not victim, not after what he's done) lying unconscious on the ground, unable to do anything to escape his coming end, and his executioner, cold in his fury, about to end his life. It's... not precisely how she'd like it to be, most videos are of shabby quality, often taken by school security cams or with low res ones. It's actually kind of funny how good photography equipment is more expensive than a lot of guns.
And then there is the other problem, when the footage is actually good, people have fucking hoods over their heads. And if not, then they are drugged out of their minds. Seriously. And now when she finally gets to see cold blooded murder, Jefferson isn't conscious either. The world is conspiring against her, of that she is sure, she could be making friends in high places right this very moment back in San Francisco but nooo, a goddamn cyclone has to hit The Bay. And so she's here, witnessing a rather unimpressive execution without even being able to keep some photos of it...
She lowers the camera, her mood soured.
This... well this sucks actually. It's nothing she hasn't seen before, and yeah sure it was never in person but for Max, it's not really all that different. What does it matter if she sees an event live or on the screen? It happens either way. Well, unless it's staged of course but that's another matter altogether.
And yeah it's still a rush to see death, always is. However, it's nothing compared to what she managed to capture with Chloe's help three days ago, those have everything in them, emotions, setting, grotesque and gore. And while she appreciates the visuals, everything else here is lacking without Jefferson's participation. Simple esthetic. Something she can see in every second thriller or horror movie, as beautiful as unimaginative.
There is also the problem of Jefferson not knowing he's about to die. She wants him to know, to make him feel the rage that she felt. That, and so much more.
Max bites her lip when the gunshot rings in the room, her eyes glued to the body on the floor. And while Jefferson's pose is unimaginative, his body and eyes lack emotions frozen in time certainly... underwhelming when compared to her recent subjects, he's still eye-catching. Sort of like still life.
The girl snorts.
Still life. Chloe will so cringe if she ever tells her that one.
David's whole posture sags and he turns to look at her, all emotions having left his eyes. He simply looks tired, tired and defeated. A shadow of a man that was already broken. Almost without thought, Max levels the camera at him at snaps a few shots, not even bothering to rewind this time.
He gives her a pained grimace and after holstering his gun, he slowly drops to the ground. His energy spent and he himself burnt out.
Her eyes stray back to Jefferson. Hm, that was basically a point-blank shot. She has always wondered about the entry/exit gunshot wounds. She puts the camera's strap over her neck on and unhurriedly walks up to the corpse, then crouches beside it to take hold of its head- noting the small hole in the man's temple- and turns it to the side. Huh, she could fit at least two fingers in the exit wound and the area around it looks sort of like an explosion crater, even showing bits of teeth when she stretches the skin a bit. She wets her dry lips, there should be scissors somewhere around shouldn't there?
"Max, what are you-" Oh for... can David not simply wallow in misery and give her some space? "What are you doing?" She thinks he sounds appalled, ugh. Whatever, his problem not hers.
"What does it look like?" She snaps back, unceremoniously dropping Jefferson's head to the ground. There must be at least a pair of scissors here, no self respecting photographer- or any person with this sort of setup really- would have their workplace without such a basic tool. The girl wipes her hands on the corpse's shirt, with a so-so result, leaving her hands still dirty with blood but not sticky at least. She stands up, intent on checking the desk for a pair of scissors.
She still doesn't look at David and he doesn't say anything more. Maybe finally catching on that she's not in mood for talking with him. Maybe. Probably not, people have hard time accepting her hobbies. She cringes when the memory of her parents finding her folder with animals creeps up at her. That... suffice it to say she made sure they'd never find her more... particular photos again. She probably should get a padlock box or something like that for her time studying, Chloe's reaction to finding her work is proof enough. Later though, it's not like Arcadia will stand for too long whether she burns it down or not. It's only people that will be left or not.
The desk is well organized, pristine compared to her own. She always makes a mess when working, be it studying or whatever else, bullshit really. She doesn't get how can people keep their space this neat. Not that Chloe's place is somehow better, no, that girl has a pigsty, not a room. Ugh, at least she should find what she's looking for fairly quickly here.
And indeed, it takes no time at all (one more reason to keep her stuff disorganized, it's she who's supposed to find her things easily, not some stranger) for Max to find what she's after. The scissors plain in view, right beside a roll of duct tape in the first drawer. A little smile graces her lips. Not waiting another second, she grabs the scissors and starts back towards Jefferson, only to stop dead in her tracks as her eyes fall upon the gun, lying oh so innocently on one of the shelves shelves, pretending to have never killed anyone. But she knows better, it must be the one Chloe was shot with... however long ago that was.
The girl turns back for a second to grab the duct tape and put it on her hand like one does a bracelet, then curtly approaches the gun and gives it a once-over before picking it up. To her limited knowledge it looks ready to use, neither secured nor unloaded. What sort of witless idiot leaves a gun lying around like that? Jefferson apparently. She feels anger swirling in her chest, directed just as much at him as at herself for admiring him once.
"Max, what do you want with this gun?" her eyes tick and she turns her head towards David, who watches her with the sort of empty look that implies he doesn't really care. Has he asked out of obligation or is he simply hard-wired that way? It doesn't really matter. He will never have known a few moments away from now.
Max doesn't answer, she only slips the scissors into her pocket and with a curt gesture, forces the world to go back.
Watching the time rewind is every bit as surreal as it was the first time around. Not so awe-inspiring anymore but it doesn't take away from the experience at all. It's a pity she can't photograph it, it has to be one of the more beautiful things she has seen in her life. Soft reds and oranges accompanying the blurry figures of the world.
Whoops.
She lets the time go for a moment when Jefferson's body starts going upwards in a reverse-fall.
"What the-" she shoots David a quick glance before stepping out of the way of the fight and rewinding time anew. She should work on her situational awareness, really. Max hasn't checked what would happen if something bumped into her during her little trick, and quite frankly, she's not that eager to try. As far as she knows, it might very well create a singularity. No point in risking everything just to see what happens.
There, that's far enough. She releases the world from her clutches and unhurriedly takes aim at the man hiding by the entrance. Her hands are shaking a bit, probably from adrenaline. It's strange. She feels calm, if angry, so the adrenaline has to do with having someone's life at her fingertips. Or maybe with this silly thing called instinct. Jefferson hurt her after all, subconscious fear and all that. She's also a shit shoot so that could be a problem without her power, but as it is? Even if she misses once or twice (or more). It doesn't matter. Barely anything matters these days.
It certainly doesn't matter when Jefferson slugs David with the tripod, probably breaking his jaw in doing so. But so what? She doesn't need the security guard interrupting her. It will never have happened soon enough anyway. Relatively soon in any case. Huh... does her body still get older when she rewinds or does it become those few minutes younger. She will know when her hair goes gray before hitting fifty she supposes. Or forty, she's not leading all that healthy a lifestyle. She really should start working out a bit. Like that other her in whose body she managed to walk from Blackwell to Chloe's house without her feet starting to ache, they would in her present body. Why, she could have probably managed running that distance back then. Or will have had. She didn't check the date.
"What?!" The girl scowls at the shouted question when the ex-teacher finally notices her, he could mouth it under his nose or even better, remain silent but nah. He has to shout. With his every action he just keeps proving just how false the image he projects at school is. Max hates falsity. Ironically, Jefferson hates it too. If for very different reasons, Max had to fake for a very long time. "How did you get out?!" It's jarring. Why does he ask, she won't answer. Making the question pointless and his raised voice all the more irritating.
Well. Maybe a bullet to the stomach will shut him up. Probably not.
She pulls the trigger and the bullet goes wide, chipping a bit of the wall behind the man off. Way to go, seems to have shocked her idiot professor into silence for a moment at least. Hmpf. He didn't believe she would shoot him? Really? People seem awfully confident about that for some reason, first Frank and now him... and as the drug dealer already did, Jefferson too will learn that it's just not the case.
The man starts towards her, no fear in his eyes, just annoyance and anger. Does he still not believe she will shoot him or is it just his fighting instinct kicking in? Does she care?
Max pulls the trigger again and this time, the bullet hits true (the girl wordlessly thanks Chloe for the lessons), and there! A flash of surprise in the man's eyes just as he stumbles and falls to the ground! So it was belief in his own safety that made him try after all. Is he- is he fucking serious? How can someone be so full of themselves as to- UGH!
Is it something about her wardrobe, she wonders, or perhaps her face or general disposition? She doesn't strike as threatening, she knows. But having a gun in her hand should be threatening enough!
Her breathing somewhat uneven, the teen walks a bit closer to her ex-teacher, her fingers itching to unload the entire clip into his back. For a few moments she simply watches as the man she's shot writhes on the ground, eventually managing to get up to his knees. Seriously.
The third bullet goes through his thigh, and this time he screams in pain. It's fascinating how he didn't when the first got him in the gut. How adrenaline can make one numb in a matter of split seconds, not for long though, definitely not long enough for what she has in mind for him in any case.
An amused smile blossoms on Max's face when Jefferson finally gives up and falls onto floor, first on his side, then taking effort to fall on his back while clutching his stomach, all this to shot the girl a hateful look... So he can't preserve even this last shred of dignity, to not be hypocrite enough to hate her for shooting him. It's... not really surprising, just disappointing. That's he's petty enough to despise others for doing unto him as he has unto them. Another word comes to her mind as he resentfully rasps out his question.
"How did you get out?" Why would she tell him? Pathetic.
"Pathetic indeed," she murmurs disdainfully.
"I asked, how did you get out?!" the man shouts. Max just rolls her eyes on her part. Is he really so self centered that he thinks he deserves all the answers? That's... likely actually. Well, it just makes it all the more enjoyable to deny him, even at the cost of having to hear his voice before she gags him.
She lays the gun on 'her' chair- close enough to reach should she have to rewind- and produces the scissors from her pocket. A spark of recognition flashes across his face when he sees the tool.
"The fuck? When did you-" he doesn't finish as Max's kick forces air out of his lungs. She can't say she knows the type, but she's beginning to at least. The type of people who just don't get that they're supposed to stay silent until she wants them to scream. And Jefferson will be able to scream to his heart's desire in just a few moments, when she's ready.
Pity she won't be able to keep the photos she's going to take now but that's not really an issue, the storm cellar isn't going anywhere and neither is Jefferson. To be completely honest with herself, Max simply needs a breather, a moment to herself when she can take out her anger and do something relaxing for the first time in... since she dealt with Frank. That it happens to be Jefferson who she can work with simply makes the whole deal even sweeter. And it's exciting too! She hasn't had the opportunity to work on people up till now (despite all, Jefferson still technically qualifies). It'll be rushed, and sloppy, she knows. But hell, it's basically a test run, she has less than an hour since she's got to get her photos before Arcadia is wiped off the face of the earth.
The girl kneels down next to her subject and takes the duct tape roll off her wrist to tie up Jefferson's hands. In front of him, she doesn't want to turn the much bigger man over every time she wants to switch from his fingers to something else. He tries resisting but although he's still not exactly weak, Max doesn't have much trouble to put him back in his place with the scissors at her disposal. Honestly, she's more bothered by the insults that keep spouting from his mouth. Tying his legs together is a bit trickier, but she manages, he becomes a lot more subdued when she stick her scissors into the gun wound in his leg.
Finally, she leans back to wipe the sweat off her brow and let some tension bleed out from her back. The girl lets out a tired sigh and gets back to work, it's a lot harder with a grown man than, say, with a dog. She jerks the older man's head upwards and quickly tapes his mouth. Sighing in relief when the relative silence finally descends upon the room. Relative, Jefferson's still trying to be a bother and shout through the tape.
"What? I thought you liked this sort of stuff." She mocks, Honestly, she'd prefer to cut his tongue out but he'd bleed out too quickly. Besides, doing that without pincers is dangerous. She's learned that the hard way and still has the bite mark to show.
Satisfied with the bindings, she stands up and flashes Jefferson a hideous smile before taking the camera off her neck. Oh he knows, she can tell he knows how she intents to taunt him and his ridiculous setup.
She continues speaking as she's looking for a right angle to do just that. "I wonder if this would be a good entry, you know, catching a murderer." But she knows wouldn't be, people are idiots when it comes to violence, blood and punishment as subjects. Also, the photo is lacking a triumphant policeman or something like that to instantly convey the message behind the shot. Hm, David would work nicely were he not unconscious and- she glances at David- no wait he's... is he dead? He's not breathing.
She snickers, morbidly amused. Well at least he won't have to hear about Chloe again. Heh, he'd probably even appreciate dying before he got to know what Jefferson did again... How many times has Chloe not-died anyway? Has to be like- seven or eight these last two weeks, it's... been two weeks hasn't it?
On instinct, she snaps a photo of David's prone body before it occurs to her that she can't keep it anyway. Her captive shuffles at her feet and the girl looks at him, he manages to raise up enough to see what she's doing. Then falls back to the ground with a muffled grunt. Apparently unimpressed.
"Always take the shot?" She answers his unspoken question with a teasing smile. It's a solid piece of advice really, to always take the shot, be it gun or camera she's holding.
He seems unamused, contemptuous even.
She smiles all the more sweetly in answer. Jefferson would likely disagree (not that his opinion has any value, him being the deranged madman he is). But he kind of reminds Max of all those cheesy movie villains who just can't very well shut their mouths nor accept their defeat with dignity. That's how professionals ought to act, silent and composed.
She likes to think herself at least striving towards professionalism. Never mind a jab or two.
Jefferson, despite all his toys, his fame and even his unquestionable skill, is still just an amateur. He lets his emotions take control of him, shouting like a child when things don't go his way and daring to touch his subject with purpose different than progressing the session. Some photographer. So many more years of experience under his belt and he could still learn from her. Pity he won't remember the lesson he's about to receive.
Max puts the camera away and grabs Jefferson's hands with one of her own, the other holding the scissors. She chances a look at Jefferson's face, and there! Finally! She sees fear.
An ugly smile lights up her whole face as she forces the man's thumb between the scissor blades, giddy at the muffled cries and feeble attempts to get away from her.
It may not be forever what she does now. But it will be.
Sorry folks, no pricefield for you this time.