The smell flowing in from in between the cracks in Chloe's doorway, wafting through the air and into Max's nostrils, is just too amazing to ignore. It captivates her senses and causes her body to melt into a puddle just from thinking about how good that breakfast must be. Her eyes close in delight as she finishes buttoning up Rachel's flannel sweater, feeling the woolen texture comfort her arms with its warmth. Pancakes? Fuckin' A, those should be used to replace smelling salts for those trapped in a coma. Works way better.
Unbeknownst to her, partly because she had been in dreamland with no recollection of what happened after her head hit the pillow, but Chloe had been watching her sleep at various points throughout the night. It had been a little weird in Chloe's mind, but… not like, stalker weird. It was weird because she didn't really know why she was doing it. Sleep definitely hadn't come easy for her, but seeing her best friend laying there beside her, eyes closed loosely as a few small snores escaped her lips, Chloe felt mostly content.
As Max wonders if she should roll up the sleeves of the jacket or not, she spots the only evidence of Chloe having been out of bed earlier in the night – a small dish from the kitchen sitting on the windowsill, being used as some sort of temporary ashtray. Thankfully, she had had the decency to crack the window open a little bit so that the fumes wouldn't linger inside, but it kind of makes Max disappointed. They've both changed so much since they were kids. The days of jumping on the couch cushions, dressed up as pirates sailing the open seas for signs of their precious loot, are long gone. Max barely recognizes her old best friend sometimes.
Neither does she really recognize herself, as the time-travelling trickster looks over in the closet mirror and decides to leave the sleeves down. She's never really been terribly self-conscious about her looks, but standing there, glancing over her reflection in somebody else's house, somebody else's clothes… It doesn't really feel like her, or who she really is.
Sighing as she swipes a loose strand of hair out of her face, Max tries to convince herself that she's just turning over a new leaf, and trying to brush past her comfort zone for a change. Certainly couldn't hurt to switch up her style for once. "Ready for the mosh pit, shaka brah!" she announces with a smirk, closing the closet and turning the doorknob to head downstairs. Breakfast awaits….
"Ya know," Joyce mentions, her eyes still glued to the stove as she flips the finished piece of batter from the frying pan and onto a flower-engraved plate, "pacing around like that ain't good for ya, Dave. You're gonna tear a hole in the floor at this rate."
David Madsen, AKA "Step-douche" according to one person in particular, can barely find the energy within himself to respond to that. Although wide awake, he feels as though his eyes could become glued shut at any second, what with all the ruckus he discovered last night. Despite getting called in at around three in the morning, though, he's not really pissed off about it any way. More so, it's had to do with recent events, and the staggering amount of troublemakers that seem to have been infesting the school these past few weeks.
Not hearing a reply, Joyce turns around with a small frown sketched onto her face. Serving food like this now almost comes as naturally to her as breathing, but figuring out people… that's something else entirely. "Eat," she commands, sliding a plate in front of her husband who looks at it without a flicker of emotion. "Tch… c'mon now, hon, you did all you could last night. Sometimes kids get into things that they're not supposed to – it's what they do. Ain't nothin' gonna change that. Besides," she continues, taking the newspaper and sighing as she spots the expired bill on the fridge; long past due and held down loosely by a magnet, "from what you've told me, nothing was stolen, and nobody got hurt. That's a fact."
Sighing deeply and nearly doing a face-plant into the pancake as he holds his head in his hands, David glances up at Joyce and shakes his head. "That's the third call I've gotten this week," he tells her as Joyce eats a piece of her meal. "Three, Joyce. One was for two boneheads picking a fight, last night's was for breaking and entering, and then that girl on the roof…" he cuts himself off, shuddering as he feels Joyce reach over the table to grab his hand comfortingly. That helps to put him at ease a little bit, but not enough to completely quell his anxiety. "If I can't even keep the hallways safe from stuff like that, then how am I supposed to do my job? What's gonna happen if one of these days it's more than just a broken collarbone from one of the kids?"
With the stove still running, heightened by the sizzle and pop of another pancake as it fries in the pan, Joyce continues to try her best in making the situation seem less desperate. She knows that the guy's been through hell, has seen the worst kinds of horrors imaginable before his departure from the armed forces. David's adjustment back to civilian life hasn't been an easy one, and trying to put up with a bunch of high school teenagers has severely clashed with the respect he dished out to his superior officers, but Joyce can respect that he's trying. For himself, and for the family that he was lucky enough to stumble into when he wasn't looking. Seeing Joyce working at that diner that day… it changed him a little bit, inside. Made him a bit less rough around the edges. He'd made some mistakes in his life before, and he regretted them deeply… but marrying that woman wasn't one of them, and neither was coming into his step daughter's life, either. He swears up and down that he's been trying his best, and Joyce can understand that although they've butted heads on more than one occasion, deep down he really, truly cares about her.
Chloe, currently hovering about the couch in the living room and keeping to herself, has some other ideas about that. Madsen? Caring? Pfft, yeah, sure! Oh he cares, alright! Cares about ratting on her and chewing her out for something every single minute of the day! He can talk a big game all he wants, and claim that he's just "in recovery" from whatever military stint he had squirmed his way out of.
But the truth of the matter is, at least to Chloe, that he only went after her mom for her looks. He didn't give two shits about what she thought, and Joyce certainly didn't seem to care about her dad… her real dad, not this asshole pretender. If she did, then… well…
Digging her fingernails into the palm of her hand, Chloe bites her lip for having some of these thoughts. No, it would definitely not be cool to just shit all over her mom's happiness like that, not after everything that went down. But… would it really have been that hard for Joyce to listen to what she had to say? Chloe admitted over the years that she could be a bit of a little shit when it came to her mother, and probably had said some things that only put a wedge in between their relationship – alongside the several wedges that were already there.
But she remembers – oh fuck yeah, she remembers – sitting at the dinner table with her mother and explicitly telling her that she deserved better. The both of them did, and until somebody else who was actually kind of a decent human being came around, then she'd be more than willing to wait it out.
Apparently, her mom wasn't.
Rolling her eyes as she hears Joyce tell him that she loves him, Chloe makes a gagging sound and hangs upside down on the couch; wondering what the hell is taking Max so long to get ready. The girl can't wait soon enough to bust out of this joint and hit the road, putting some distance between herself and the house for a day of investigating. Blackwell sure as shit had its fair share of secrets, most of them conveniently within the computer of one Principal Ray Wells. She'd tangoed with the oblivious, bald-headed man during her time at the school, and although she found it to be pretty easy to rattle the man's chains every now and again, Chloe had never really thought the guy was a dick. That had always been surprising to her, given the school's reputation for having students who were even douchier than regular high schoolers. Now, though? Her suspicions have gotten as high as she usually gets with a bong on a Saturday night.
Getting bored with nothing but the conversation in the kitchen and a few old magazines on the coffee table to keep her company, Chloe pulls out her phone, puts on a pair of ear buds and listens to some tunes. Her chill-out playlist is usually what she prefers when she's all alone and in especially dark spirits, but the lyrics usually help her to relax even on a normal day. Tapping her foot to the beat as her beanie nearly falls off from hanging upside down, Chloe feels the blood rushing to her head as she checks her messages.
Nope… Nada… About a dozen old ones from Max… One that she sent to Kate but (expectedly) never got a reply from…
Chloe definitely wasn't the most popular girl in the school when she was there, but at Blackwell, she certainly wasn't a social outcast, either. Her small circle of skater friends, a few of the dorks and Rachel were all she really needed around there; all she really cared for.
Well, everyone except…
Placing her hands on Chloe's knees and leaning over the couch, Max cocks her head to the side and grins as her blue-haired friend scrolls down with her fingers. "So, which boy is it this time, hmm?" she asks when the girl finally unplugs herself from the digital world.
Holding her hands out for a pick-up, Max obliges and pulls her up and over the side of the couch; her fingers intertwining with Chloe's for a little longer than necessary. "Ha! Chasing tail is your department, Super Max," she proclaims, folding out the creases in her leather jacket before heading towards the door. "Quietly, 'kay? I don't think they know you're here…"
"So no pancakes then?"
"Dude, we'll grab something at the Two Whales. If not, we can just pick something else up on the way, I dunno," she shrugs dismissively, tiptoeing out into the hallway until they get to the entrance of the kitchen. Just before she gets there, however, Chloe stops for a second; confusing Max as she keeps looking as though she's seen a ghost.
Apparently not having noticed it at first, Chloe can't help but see Max… as Rachel. She'd be damned if it wasn't almost a carbon fucking copy of the girl standing in front of her right now, before her very eyes. Those clothes are enough to send shivers down her spine.
"Umm… hey. You cool to head out today? I mean, we could always just do something else," Max suggests in that soft, nurturing yet awkward as hell way of hers. But right now, in Chloe's eyes, it's not Max standing there. It's Rachel, with her long, blonde hair swaying behind her as she raises a hand to her forehead. "Yeah, we should definitely just take it easy today. Why don't you come on down to the dorm today? I know technically I'm still suspended and all, but I doubt they'd care if… oh, hi Joyce…"
Snapped out of her illusion, Chloe sucks in a breath before brushing past Max and her mother, heading straight to the door and waiting for her friend to tag along; keys in hand. Joyce, sighing as she seems to get the message, turns to Max with a bright grin. "Well now ain't this a surprise? I didn't expect to see you here this morning, sweetheart," she mentions, placing a hand on said girl's shoulder as Max smiles in embarrassment. "You kids must be starvin', though. Why don't you come on over, and I'll get you some pancakes? Free food doesn't come every day, you know."
Looking between Chloe and her mom almost a dozen times, Max shrugs her shoulders and tries to avoid eye contact with David, who's quietly stewing over a mug of coffee at the kitchen table. Clearly, she wasn't supposed to come around anymore. "It's, uhh… yeah, we had a bit of a late night. Chloe said I could crash, so… thank you," she tells her, with David raising an eyebrow at that response. Late night, hmm?
Taking that as a 'yes', Joyce heads back into the kitchen (much to Chloe's annoyance, as she leans against the door and folds her arms together) and returns with a plate of syrup-covered, delicious goodness, and Max practically drools at the sight of the stacks.
"Chloe, c'mon… quit pouting over there all by your lonesome," Joyce lightly scolds, beckoning for the both of them to sit down despite her daughter's look of protest. Max, shrugging as she stands there, not really knowing what she should do. As soon as Joyce turns her back, however, Chloe steals her chance and practically drags her friend out the door; nodding a curt goodbye as the girls feel the fresh, morning air upon their skin.
"Guess we're eating on the road, then," Max trails off, hopping into the back seat as she offers her fork over to Chloe. "So, I'm still in the doghouse at Blackwell, but if you want we could – "
"I'm thinking we should be on the down-low until your suspension's up, yeah? Especially after last night," Chloe intervenes, tossing her phone onto the dashboard and closing the door behind her. Turning on the ignition, the truck putters to life as they take off down the road.
"Umm… yeah. R-right…"
Noticing the girl's hesitation, and absolutely HATING it when shit gets too uncomfortable between the two of them, Chloe takes a scoop out of the pancake as she drives with one hand. "Look, I dunno what's going down between you and Clementine, but whatever that shit was last night? Doesn't mean jack now. I don't think I even wanna know," she tells her, more to reassure herself than Max at this point. Surprised at this sudden revelation, Max waits for her to continue. "What's important is that we keep our eyes on the prize – those eggheads knew about Rachel."
Widening her eyes at this, Max feels a twang of guilt as she just remembers what exactly they were looking for yesterday. An evening out living like a couple of burglars had shaken her up, but it's what happened once they got inside the office that really had her spooked.
As Max asks if she's being serious or not, Chloe glances over with confusion. "Earth to Max? You were there with me last night, duh!" she mentions as if the girl's just grown a second head. "Point is, there was some shit in there that they were hiding from the rest of us – stuff they didn't want us to know about. I took some pics of the writing crap on my phone, take a look."
"You mean documents?" Max inquires with a smirk, only growing wider when Chloe snorts and rolls her eyes.
"Okay then, Stephen Hawking. You know, not everyone's a grammar Nazi like you," she cites, telling her the four-digit password as Max starts to scroll through an endless maze of tattoo designs and piercings. When thrown a questioning look her way, Chloe simply shrugs and turns left at the stop sign. "Might do a few more somewhere else," she says nonchalantly, with Max not wanting to know exactly where she'd be getting yet another tattoo. Possibly the other arm too, sure, but Max has an inkling that Chloe would go for the leg. Maybe a blue butterfly this time, like that one she saw when…
"I'm so sick of people trying to CONTROL ME!"
"Get that gun away from me, you psycho!"
"…and all that BS. So anyways," Chloe mutters, with Max nearly smacking herself for zoning out like that. Sometimes she really wonders when the hell she's gonna finally get her head out of the clouds and back down to earth. "That's where I think she might be. I mean, Seattle's not that far away, right? And it wouldn't hurt to look."
"Seattle?" Max repeats in disbelief, laying her head back and running a hand through her hair. "Chloe, I know that finding Rachel is important to you, I get that. I really do. But do you really think that driving all the way to Seattle is the way to do it? I mean, what happens if we find out she's – "
"Wait a minute, hold up. This is the first and only fucking lead I've had since she disappeared, and now you're just gonna bail on me?!" Chloe insinuates with a scowl, one that causes Max to quickly backtrack before this spirals out of control.
"That's not what I meant, Chl-"
"Everyone always tells me I'm just a fucking pothead with no goals in life, but if I have to do this alone then so be it. I'm not just gonna sit here and mope while Rachel is still – "
"CHLOE!" Max fiercely interrupts, unleashing her annoyance onto Chloe as her eyes go as big as saucers. The interior of the truck is silent for the moment as the two of them stop at the traffic light, and when Max finally takes a chill pill, she starts up again. "I'm looking at this paper right now, and I don't see anything on here that could even remotely tie Rachel to Seattle. The only thing on here is that the department who signed at the bottom was from Seattle – that's it," she mentions wearily, not wanting to get the teen's hopes up in case this all goes to shit. "We'll figure this out as soon as we can, okay? We'll do it together, I promise. But… we need to… connect the playas."
Snorting a little bit at that, remembering how she herself had said the same thing to her not so long ago, Chloe composes herself and nods her head. "Yeah… you're right, okay," she whispers out, leaning her head against her hand and driving down the road with little to add. "I just… Sigh… I just wanna go one day, one fucking day, without having to go through all of this crap, you know?"
"I do, yeah."
Glancing over at her friend, Chloe nods in silent appreciation, knowing fully well that Maxine Caulfield fucking means it. She of all people would know what it's like for her to feel like they've been cast aside in their life, because she was there the day that it had actually happened. The day that her life was ripped out of her hands and fed to the wolves; the day where she got the worst phone call of her entire life.
Her dad was taken away that day. Not even a week later had Max been taken away from her, too.
Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt!
Knowing that it's her phone getting the text message by the flashing red light in the top right corner of the device, Chloe asks Max to read it to her as she continues to drive the two of them… wherever the hell it is they're going. She doesn't really know – just that it's wherever the direction they're going in right now takes them. Burning gas is something that Chloe's become quite proficient at.
Max, having really nothing better to do than to snoop through Chloe's phone, obliges as she leans her back against the door and opens it up again. Sliding the screen to read the message, Max nearly drops the little plastic thing when she reads the contact info.
"What's up? You look spooked about something," Chloe notices, switching between keeping a careful eye on the road, and a scrutinizing one of Max.
Rubbing her hand tiredly over her face, Max's insides squirm and tighten as she reads through the message. This is the very last person that she had wanted to see today, and it's happening bright and early. Great, this certainly isn't going to end well. Not if she remembers what went down.
Although, judging by the urgency of the message and the various misspellings done in succession, she does feel a little bit worried.
"Turn the truck around," Max tells her, continuing before Chloe can speak. "We've got another passenger itching for a ride, but she sounds… scared. And before you ask, no, I've got no idea what it's about."
"You're the boss, Caulfield," she maintains, pulling an illegal u-turn onto the road beside them as a fellow driver honks at them in protest. The girls simply chug it along more quickly and make a right onto the next side street.
Looking her over once more, and after some careful eyeing of the outfit that she's chosen to wear today, Chloe smirks despite herself. She may have been seeing some weird, trippy-ass shit beforehand, but the more that she thinks it over, the more she's starting to like this new, more confident Max. Hell, the old version wouldn't have had the stones to try and yell like that before – it had always been Chloe who was the outgoing one. Max, meanwhile, was constantly outspoken, and the spunky teenager had always thought it was bullshit that people couldn't see Max the way that she did. They were each other's sidekicks through thick and thin, and now…
Now, she realizes with a warm feeling in her gut, that the two of them have grown up enough to know that this friendship has lasted; has persevered. And that's something that none of this, not even this stupid fucking town, can take away from them.
"You look great in that, you know," Chloe suddenly mentions with a shrug. "Still a little big for you, but you're rocking that look even more than Rachel ever did. Just, uhh…" she trails off, lacking the complimentary words to go along with it, "yeah. Just wanted to let you know."
Grinning at that, Max rubs Chloe's shoulder comfortingly – something that they both needed, but honestly had no idea at the time. That's been happening a lot lately. "We're gonna find her again, Chloe," she tells her diligently. "I promise."
"…hell yeah we are," Chloe agrees, determination set within her mind as she decides to lay on some more humour. "Still looking a bit dorky there, but whatevs. You're cute, so I think I'll have you stick around for a while."
"Gee, thanks, Chloe."
"I try."
Clementine has never ran so fast in her entire life. Practically sprinting the entire way from her house to the main road that runs mostly through the centre of Arcadia Bay, she feels as though her lungs have literally sucked in all the oxygen they can muster. Not to mention what it must look like to the people passing by her in their cars, watching as she runs like a crazy person with a terrified expression on her face.
A part of her is wondering why she's even going to all this trouble in the first place. It was stupid to hop out of that window the way she did – Clem could've just as easily waited for them to leave before heading out the front herself. And besides, what's any of this have to do with her? She wasn't the one who killed Frank Bowers, Max did, with Chloe as her accomplice. Sure, she was a firsthand witness to the crime, and she had been shown the different possibilities of what would happen if Frank hadn't been shot, but really, who were these two girls to her? Why does she even give a shit about whether or not they end up going to prison for this?
Deep down, she realizes that the answer's been staring at her in the face this entire time – there's more to this than she knows. Clem's never really believed in destiny or the universe incessantly trying to tell her something, but if the past week or so has been any indication, this has stretched well beyond normal. There has to be some kind of reason that she remains unaffected whenever time is reversed. That… that doesn't just happen. She wasn't born with it as far as she knows, and she sure as hell didn't know about this gift until she came over here, to Arcadia Bay; to Blackwell.
Not until she met Chloe and Max did she have any real notion that she might actually be somebody, and have a gift that she could really call her own. Drawing has been her true passion for years now, and back when her parents were both still alive, going to a school like Blackwell was a dream come true. A chance to pursue her goals and desires, all while getting taught within one of the best arts programs in the country? Hell yeah, and you can bet she was pumped when she had gotten her first recognition letter sent in the mail. They hadn't yet formally finalized the deal on it, but that piece of paper had made the girl happier than she had been in years.
And yet, she thinks with a grimace as she nearly barrels down an old lady after not watching where she's going, coming here, now? Blackwell doesn't feel quite as special as she had hoped it would be. The atmosphere's certainly nice, with the fall colours, Native American history and the various art set pieces put on by Mr. Jefferson all allowing for her creative juices to flow without end. But Clementine's been kind of lacking in the friends department thus far, and with all of the mysterious circumstances going on within the town… Clem hasn't really found the time or the passion for what drew her to Arcadia Bay in the first place.
I really need to make more time for that, she tells herself, abruptly stopping and panting to try and catch her shallow breath as she sees a real dingy, beige/brown, beaten-up looking truck coming towards her; slowing down until it comes to a complete stop on the side of the street. "You training for marathons, now?" Chloe questions as she rolls down the window, with Max mostly keeping to herself as she stares down at her lap. "Well don't just stand there, dude! Hop in! We've got some ground to cover!"
Dammit… No back seat on this thing, Clementine internally complains, forcing her to lodge herself into the side as she sandwiches Max in between herself and Chloe. Having to brush up shoulder to shoulder with the time-travelling teen, she just barely manages to contain her anger as she shuts the door and slides her seatbelt on.
Clem can feel the wool of her sweater itching at her arm, hear her shallow breaths escaping through her nose, see her pale reflection in the rear-view mirror. Max's guilt eats away at her face like the plague.
Max feels tense as her body hits the seat, can sense her depression creeping in like the sun as she sticks her hands in her pockets, can see her mangled, unkempt hair sticking out in different directions with her hat no longer sitting upon her head; a relic that she had once thought was glued onto her with how little she ever takes it off. Clementine's eyebrows furrow down into a nasty glare, although she hasn't spared Max a glance since she's climbed aboard.
Chloe, too focused on finding Rachel Amber, doesn't really seem to notice any of this right away. Instead, she turns on the radio and pulls off down a dirt trail leading to one of the most surreal spots in the entire town.
You could literally cut the tension in here with a hot knife, but nobody wants to bring it up. Nobody ever wants to acknowledge when things have turned sour; nobody ever wants to hold responsibility over the things they may have done or said.
If only I could turn back time so far as to make sure she never got a cell phone in the first place, Max internalizes, bitterly cursing herself for not just making something up to Chloe when the text had been sent her way. It might not have done a whole lot of good, but being this close to each other so soon after that night isn't exactly the way that Max wants to try and patch things up. Right now she'd have better luck getting Chloe to change her hair back to brown…
"Mind telling us why you're all freaked anyways?" Chloe asks, recalling just how many spelling and grammar mistakes there were in the message. And coming from Chloe of all people, that's saying something.
"Nothing you're gonna like," Clem warns, still regretting her choice to bail on Lee in that heat of the moment decision. She can't help but wonder what he must think of her now, or whether the police had taken him into the station for questioning after her ridiculous behaviour.
"Tch… You're the one who brought us out here, remember?"
"It's about Frank."
Quieting down considerably, Chloe visibly whitens a little bit as Max gulps with anxiety. They might be good at playing things off lightheartedly and managing to find a little light in the darkest situations, but they've still got consciences. And Frank's death had hit the both of them incredibly hard, not because they liked the guy, but because he, despite being a pretty big douche bag in his own right, was still a person. They had taken a man's life – Chloe for getting involved in business with him in the first place, and Max for pulling the trigger. In the eyes of the law, they were both incredibly guilty.
With the lighthouse just off in the distance, the blue-haired woman figures that if there was going to be any place for them to play it cool and try to figure things out, then it'd be right up at the top of the hill. Among the trees and hidden as a stark contrast to the salty, ocean waves down below, nobody would be spotting them. "Well that sounds fun," she sarcastically remarks. "Alright, we'll chat… but not here."
"Just head on up," Chloe waves them off, pulling the keys out of the slot and stuffing them in her front coat pocket; the little panda keychain sticking out as she moves. "I'll catch you groupies in a minute… Just gotta grab something first."
"Are you sure? I'm not so sure this is the safest place to be by yourself."
"What, you think there are aliens around here or something now?" she pipes in, snorting as Max looks on expectantly. "The only things abducting me around here would be you two boneheads, what with your existential powers and all. That's some straight up X-Files shit! Don't worry about me, get going."
Heh, if only Scully could save me now, Max groans, turning around only to find that Clementine's already started climbing to the top, and is already over halfway there. Outwardly, she's just fearful of any assholes who might've tailed them on the way over to this secluded area, possibly being some whackos trying to find Bigfoot after seeing the poster for it at the Two Whales. And who knows if someone might've pinned them as being directly involved with Frank's disappearance? Max wouldn't put it past anybody in this town, since it seems that most of the time they really have nothing better to do.
The truth of the matter, though…
The cold wind from the ocean chills her to the bone, but the cold stare of Clementine as she gazes off into the distance is even worse. Her moves are mechanical and calculated, as if she's taking every step with a purpose.
Yeah, Max bites back with a frown, a purpose to launch me off the cliff…
If there was anything remotely ominous about today, this would have to be the bell-ringer. Lighthouse? Check. Climbing the hill with a girl who may or may not hate her guts right now? Check, aaaaaaannnnnddd double-check. This is even too surreal for it to be a dream this time. No visions, no black-outs, no Chloe to shake her awake in that friendly yet firm way of hers.
Clementine takes one look back down the pass at Max, who's been standing there isolated for a solid minute or two, before heading up towards the bench and out of sight. It's unclear if she wants her to follow or not, but staying down here with Chloe would just cause her best friend to start asking questions that she really doesn't want to answer right now, so she summons her remaining sliver of courage and decides to just go for it. If she's going to get any answers as to why this reoccurring dream keeps striking her mind, then this might be a good place to start.
The lighthouse is certainly one of the more mysterious places within Arcadia Bay, and as Max once admitted herself, you can never escape it. Like the boats that it once drew to shore, the giant beacon of concrete would draw people here, whether it be to watch the sun set as it went over the ocean's horizon, or apparently to drink, as Max kicks over an old beer bottle that's sitting on a concrete block surrounding an abandoned campfire. She can't believe that people would leave their trash in a place this serene, but then again, she's sadly gotten pretty used to it by now. Maybe I should join that environmental club that Alyssa's been egging me on about.
Figuring that snapping a photo of Clementine in this state would be a bad call, Max instead pulls out her analog camera and takes a picture of the lighthouse. The backdrop of the ocean, the beach and Arcadia Bay, which from this distance looks more like a dot on the land, makes this one a keeper, and she can't help but wonder if Clem has come up here before, too. From the way Max heard it, she's quite the little artist in her own right.
She's just sitting there, though. Alone, secluded on the white-picket bench, just staring off at seemingly nothing. Clementine haphazardly picks up a stone and launches it away from her, waiting for the crack as it hits a larger rock on the way down.
"Are you just going to stand there and avoid me the entire time?"
Shaking the picture to keep it somewhat in good shape, Max's nerves tingle as she places the photo into her bag for safekeeping. She hates to admit it, but right now, Clementine is nothing short of terrifying. Her voice isn't overbearingly furious, but there's a quiet temper that's peeling through her words that strike Max to her very soul. Away from Chloe's protection, Max is vulnerable to whatever Clementine has to say.
But she won't back down from it. She can't. That's not who she is, not who her parents raised her to be.
"I had wanted to talk to you…" Max half-fibs, walking closer to the edge, but making sure to keep a safe distance away. "But I just wanted… I don't know, to give you some space, I guess. Let things cool down before we chatted again."
Clementine's frown grows, but she doesn't say anything as a newspaper flies in the wind overhead. She doesn't really pay any attention to it, but Max, being the ever-curious amateur photographer that she is, snatches it in mid-air and holds it within her grasp. "Freak Weather over Arcadia" the title reads, reminding her of the crazy snowfall that she had first seen at this very spot. Creepy shit.
Rolling the newspaper up and tossing it into the garbage can nearby, Max turns to see Clem looking downwards steadily. "Hey, look… if there's anything you need… anything I can do… just say the word. I know you're hurting, Clem. Just… I want to help you. Both of us do."
"…I think you've been enough help for a lifetime," Clem sighs, leaning her head back as she nearly chokes on her words. "This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. It… it shouldn't have gone down this way. This timeline…"
"I can't imagine what you're going through right now…" Max tries to console, reaching her arm halfway to try and pat her on the shoulder but then deciding against it. "And I am sorry. I am so god damn sorry that it's killing me inside. But… we did all we could out there. You were brave and strong, and just… a bad thing happened, but at least you tried."
"I sincerely doubt that."
"There wasn't anything else we could've done, Clem. Believe me, we tried every option in the book… but the only way your parents were getting out of there is if you had gotten killed instead."
"Then maybe you should've let him! My parents didn't deserve to die outside of some fucking diner!" Clementine suddenly belts out, causing Max to step back a little and stay silent. Clem's golden-coloured eyes are teary and tired, and coupled together with all of the anxiety she's been harboring over the knowledge of Frank's untimely demise, she almost feels as if her head's going to explode. "We didn't help things out there, Max… we just made it ten times worse. That bastard is gone, and we let him escape… I let him escape…"
Tilting her head to the side, Max picks out a certain word in her tirade very carefully. Uncertain of whether or not this is selfish on her part, she tries to play a softer approach and just go for it. "…we?"
"I don't blame you… that wouldn't be right. It just hurts too much," she admits, feeling so stupid for getting all worked up like this, but nonetheless being unable to help it as she sits back down. Max, taking a chance, sets herself down beside her as they watch a sailboat casually stroll by out on the clear, blue water. "I thought I was over this – feeling sorry for myself. I hate that shit. Can't stand it," she reveals, grimacing as she fidgets with the hem of her coat. "I thought I was getting over it when I got to Blackwell – it… distracted me, I think. I could go on and pretend that everything was fine, and that there wasn't anything wrong with me flying all the way over here; that it was just me growing up somehow."
"Hey, sorry it took so – "
Sighing, Max holds out her hand in front of her as the world starts to spin in front of them. The waves roll back, the wind floats away, and the shadows buckle as the girl bends time itself. Clementine watches it all happen silently, as if her talking while this is going on might just break her concentration, but she can't help but shake her head at how amazing this still is. It's unbelievable, how the laws of physics basically bends to her will at a moment's notice, and secretly, she takes a little pride knowing that she can watch it all happen without even feeling the effects of it herself.
Once Chloe is back down the hill at a suitable distance, continuing to root around inside the glove box for some reason, Max nods for her to keep going. Too bad her gift doesn't also come with x-ray vision, too.
Continuing on as if she wasn't disturbed, Clementine lets off a little steam, but doesn't seem to have the fervour that she did five minutes ago. "I figured out what had went down last night… pretty sure a part of me died inside, knowing what we changed," she rambles on, wanting to make it perfectly clear that she doesn't want Max to feel guilty about it. This wasn't her fault, despite her following the girl back to her home. "How did that work, anyways? You weren't supposed to be with me that night… I was asleep the first time. Alone."
Mulling it over, Max tries to rack her brain for what the answer might be, but even she is having a difficult time coming to grasps with her own power. It certainly didn't come with an instruction manual when she had realized that she could bend time.
But that first time does stick in her mind somehow… Yes… it was that vision, of what was going to happen right here.
The dreams are building on top of each other, that much is clear. Each one is like a puzzle fitting into the next one, and Max has had to try and piece them together. A few things have been pretty much a constant throughout – the lighthouse and the tornado, in particular. Those things never go away, as much as Max would like them to. The other thing, though… the more recent addition…
"Maybe…" Max trails off, her voice letting the words escape against her will, "maybe it had something to do with you…"
Almost as soon as the idea escapes her lips, Max wishes she could take it back. However, trying to reverse time would be completely hopeless – not only because it wouldn't work with Clem, but even trying to do so would likely just raise the girl's suspicions even more. Nice going, Sherlock! Now she thinks you're even crazier than usual, Max chides, widening her eyes as Clementine prepares to ask her what she means. However, she won't get that chance, as Chloe appears for the second time as she stands to the left of Max.
No way in hell are you using your power this time. Once is enough for now. Not unless you want it to be nosebleed city again…
"Hey, sorry it took so long," Chloe repeats herself, arching an eyebrow as she sees the two of them on the bench together. "Looks like I missed one hell of a group therapy session… What gives?"
"Just chatting," Max excuses, noting how her friend still doesn't seem to be expecting much. "What were you looking for down there anyway? Buried treasure?"
Grinning amusedly, Chloe gives her friend a two-finger salute before digging into her left pocket. "Aye-aye, Cap'n Caulfield. There be, umm… looty in that there truck! Golden coins as far as you can see!"
"Booty."
"Say what?"
"There be booty in the truck," Max corrects, a sly look of amusement gracing her lips as she recalls their days on "the open seas". Joyce never understood why they had to use the couch on their so-called adventures instead of just heading outside.
Snorting, Chloe sits on the ground beside them with her legs laid out in a relaxed fashion. "Can't believe that's what you remember," she says lightly, turning her attention over to Clementine as she remembers what brought them here in the first place. "So… Frank. You, uh… got something on him?"
The brief moment of lighthearted fun that they had is almost immediately dampened as Clementine relays what had happened. The cops, the questioning, Lee… everything up to her dipping out the window like some kind of parkour artist. She, seeming to notice that Max hasn't mentioned it yet, doesn't say a word about waking up knowing about her parents, but chooses to stress just how much Frank's disappearance is spreading throughout the town. On her way over towards their truck, Clementine had noticed several dozen missing person posters covering various poles and bulletin boards, with some of them even covering the old Rachel ones that Chloe had been distributing.
"…oh god…" Max murmurs, rubbing her face miserably with the weight of a life hovering over her tired shoulders. Nothing is going their way, it seems. The only silver lining they have is that nobody's yet figured out that Frank is actually dead, presumably, at least. There is always the possibility, and sooner or later, somebody would end up finding the remains.
For her part, Chloe tries not to act panicked or think too deeply into this, but the tremble in her voice says otherwise.
"Okay, okay…. W-we're still in the clear then, right? None of them asked specifically if you were there? They didn't mention any names?" she asks, pulling the beanie back out of her face as she is slightly reassured when Clem shakes her head. "Good… this is good. We've still got a chance, then. We can still keep it going."
With her head on a swivel, Max looks over with fear-laden eyes. "Maybe…" she squeaks, trying to sound braver than she feels, "maybe we should… just tell them the truth."
"Yeah, about that – how about no fucking way?"
"Chloe, she's just trying to – "
"It'd be easy for you to say, Clem! You're not the one who's knee-deep in this right now!" Chloe reprimands, letting out a curse as she pulls out what she's been hiding this entire time – a pistol, the same one used to kill Frank, to be exact. Max nearly falls off the bench as she waves it around carelessly. "I mean… fuck! I'm not ready to be put in the slammer! Do you know what happens to people in there?! Teens, no less?! We'd be begging them to kill us before our first week's over!"
Max is adamant that killing Frank was completely wrong, that it wasn't just self-defence, no matter what the other outcomes would've been. Nothing about shooting a man right in the chest after telling him to back off was enacted in any other way besides intending to have him dead.
But seeing Chloe just holding the gun right there, the same one she had stolen out of her step-dad's cabinet, without thinking about the consequences… that's just as equally stupid. "Why the hell are you still holding onto that stupid thing?! You told me that you'd take care of it!"
"And I will! Better than just leaving it at the scene of the crime! Maybe I should make it more obvious for them next time and just leave 'em a thank-you card beside his bloody corpse while we're at it!"
"That's not the point! Sooner or later, somebody's gonna see that gun and bust our asses for sure!"
"STOP IT!" Clementine intervenes, her voice a booming yell that silences the duo as they all look to make sure nobody heard that. Thankfully, being so early in the day, everybody else actually has a life and doesn't plan on dicking around at a lighthouse for this kind of adventure. Giving it a second to regain her composure, Clem makes a split-second decision and holds out her hand. "Just give it here," she commands, not taking no for an answer as Chloe looks on with skepticism. Max, meanwhile, is on another freak level entirely. "I'll take care of it… you can trust me."
Max can't look as Chloe, after a moment's hesitation, passes the weapon over to Clem, who holds it steadily in both of her hands. For some reason, the girl looks almost competent with it, as if she's had a lifetime of experience using one of these things and is really no stranger to having loaded firearms just lying about her person. Although the bullet necklace around her neck says otherwise, Chloe herself has never really had that sort of ease with them, something that Max is actually pretty grateful for. After seeing the girl get mowed down by Nathan Prescott in the bathroom, she wasn't so sure.
But this… it's like Sketchville, USA over here. Clementine has the gun, they're standing at the exact spot they always are in her vision, and Max is internally freaking the fuck out. Forget photography or chilling at the various atmospheric locations around Arcadia Bay – she's fearing for her life right now.
You couldn't save them! You can't save ANYBODY!
She almost fears that the same thing will happen, that she'll plummet down to the sharp, jagged rocks below to a watery grave at the tender age of eighteen, but after re-opening her eyes, it doesn't happen. Clementine, after clutching onto the grip and getting a good, firm clamp on it, pulls her arm back and chucks it off the side; watching it sail through the air as it drops down into the ocean below. By the time it sinks to the point where none of the girls can see it, Max releases a breath that she didn't know she was holding.
"There," Clem remarks, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"
"Pfft, I was just about to do that myself," Chloe boasts, with Max nearly having a conniption beside her. "Cool, so we're done here, then? Let's bounce. We should totally get to work on our master plan, somewhere better than here, at least. Race you back to the – "
Interrupted by a slight buzzing noise in her pocket, Chloe curiously pulls out her phone and grumbles in annoyance. "Probably Mom bitching at me for this morning…" she says lowly, typing in her password yet again as Clementine stares out at the open ocean.
She definitely doesn't have the best arm in the world, but that toss should've been decent enough that nobody will ever find it. The water should be deep enough for it to have submerged into the inky nothingness down below, but still, she's a little bit concerned. Engraved into the side of the gun were the initials "D.M.", which Clem can only assume stood for David Madsen.
Pushing these thoughts aside, and trying not to let depression eat at her core from her parents' untimely demise, Clementine walks forward with Max following slowly behind her; moving forward until they notice that Chloe can't seem to tear her eyes away from her phone.
"Chloe?" Max questions, poking her friend in the ribs when she doesn't even acknowledge them. "What's wrong?"
With her hand shaking violently, and her eyes as wide as saucers as her bottom lip starts to tremble in shock, Chloe just barely manages to choke out the words needed to tell them what's happening.
"…i-it's… her…" she says, eyes still glued to the screen as Max blinks in understanding. "It's… Rachel…"
