fandomhighdorms | [3rd floor] Saturday morning in the common room.

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[3rd floor] Saturday morning in the common room.

Max sits in the third floor common room, steaming cup of coffee (with saucer) at the ready, large French press and extra cupware nearby. He's got papers spread out on the coffee table in front of him. It looks like a script or something. He's chewing thoughfully on the end of a Sharpie, idly tweaking the safety pin that attaches the earpiece to his frame of his glasses, and staring at an elaborate Venn diagram with various Fandom High student names on it.

Max is working on a play. It'll be a grand, unification ~~theory~~ effort: possibly Rocky Horror, possibly Our Town, and — more than possibly — some kind of meta mash-up between the two. Maybe a little Shrew. He's going to have to think on it.

[ooc: I'm in and out all weekend, but I wanted to put something up. Open to anyone who happens to be in the area, or who is a SERIOUS, SERIOUS actor. (kidding.)]

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Max beams. Lowly. Lowly beams. Because it's still early and it looks like Rory just woke up.

"Thanks!" He picks up a cup and saucer and offers both to her. "Looks like someone needs a good cup of joe. Want some?"

"Oh, I would love some. You're an angel," Rory says, gratefully taking the coffee and sinking into the chair next to him. "So, what's all that for?" she asks, waving vaguely at his papers.

"Cream? Sugar?" He interjects, before launching into a new explanation of the mess in front of him. He's got a little cream and sugar set, too. They are blue and white delftware. They're from Holland. Dirk got them for him when his family went on vacation.

"It's a play. I've decided that Yearbook isn't going to keep me so busy that I can't do other activities. And if I'm going to stay at Fandom High for a bit, then I might as well try to start up the Max Fischer Players again," he explains, carefully moving a piece of paper over where Rory's name appears in the diagram.

Did she see?

Rory declines both cream and sugar, preferring her coffee black as she's always taken it. As Max shifts his papers, she could've sworn she saw her name on that diagram she noticed earlier. She blinks and shakes her head, sure she was just imagining things.

"Oh, you're a playwright? Are you inspired by anyone in particular?"

"Ummmm..." Max thinks for a second. "Well, I kind of like Arthur Miller, but that's expected. Mamet's writing. Neil Simon. The usuals. But, I wrote a ... wait, didn't I tell you this? I wrote my first play in 2nd grade? It was a big hit. I was a finalist in the Junior Playwrights Nationals. So, these days, I'm inspired by people around me. My ex-girlfriend. My best friend. This ...widow, too: Miss Cross."

For a second there, he looks like he might go into it further, but he stops. He kind of softens for a second and spaces out, looking really small and really young.

"And world events. Very inspiring."

Rory nods along, noting how...happy Max looks talking about this. She decides to keep the conversation going - she's intrigued by the guy, as much as people (including her) might think he's strange. Besides, she hasn't finished her coffee, and Gilmores do not walk away from caffeine.

"So, what are you writing about now? The people around you here?" she asks, waving a hand at the various groups congregated around them.

"Nah," Max shakes his head. "I prefer to write about people behind their backs."

He rubs his eyes, behind the lenses of his glasses. His eyes are still bothering him. "I've been really into mash-ups. You know? Like when DJs smash two songs together? So, I'm kind of thinking that my next play is going to be a big hybrid. Something completely new. A mixing of genre... kind of like this place. But, I don't really have it down yet. Still working on the middle scenes."

He watches as Rory drinks her coffee and observes, "You look tired. Are you?"

Max doesn't know that it's not good form to tell people (especially girl people) that they look tired, sick or pregnant.

Rory smiles. "Yeah, kind of. But it's a good kind of tired. Long night, I guess you could say," she says, her eyes twinkling.

"So, am I in this play you're concocting? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But I'd be willing to help out however I can, if you need a stage manager or something. I like theater - especially quirky stuff."

Max shrugs, noncommittally. "Maaaaaay-be. You might be. Do you want to be? It'll be quirky. If you don't want to be on stage, I'd love the help with some management, or script supervision."

She looks like someone who got laid, the night before. Sparkly. Max has seen that look before and envied it. Right now, it just makes him feel lonely.

"I'd love the help," he decides. "When I have more done, you should read it and see what you think."

Rory grins. "Great! I'm not really much of an actress - probably because I'm such a horrifically bad liar - but I'd love to help with anything you'd need. And yeah, quirky stuff is my favorite. Like, I love Rocky Horror and y'know, that's one of those that's pretty polarizing. So I'm up for whatever you come up with."

Rory suddenly feels self-conscious. She wonders if Max can tell why she's so happy and tired. Stupid bad liar-ness. It also means she's basically transparent.

"It's a deal, then. You read it, tell me what you think. And we'll go from there," Max smiles. "And I love Rocky Horror, too. Ever since I saw that guy dancing around in drag the other day, I've been considering bringing in some kind of ribald musical farce angle, like that."

Max refreshes Rory's coffee and smiles at her. His smile basically is a crooked thank you. He's not blind. She's only talking to him to be nice to him. But he doesn't care. At least he's talking.

Rory cocks her head at Max and studies him. She'd always loved to befriend those who weren't popular, and Max was no exception. But something was different about him. It's more than just her feeling sorry for him - sure, that's how it started out, but she realizes she actually likes the guy. He's sweet and funny and smart, and she wonders why so many people are avoiding him.

"That would be so fun," she says, genuinely interested. "And God knows there are enough guys around here who would willingly wear lingerie just for the hell of it."

"You noticed that, too, huh?" Max cringes. "I'm no stranger to deviant behavior -- I did go to an all-boys school -- but, there does seem to be an inordinate number of ... swingers. Here. At Fandom High."

It just weirds him out because it makes him look normal. And he's not used to looking normal. He's used to looking like a freak. Thank god he can throw himself into his work.

The conversation suddenly makes him shy and he sniffs dismissively, "To each their own, I guess. I'm sure people probably think I'm a complete loser, working on this play on a day off school. But... whatever. Now that I've dropped the idea of running for studen government, they can think what they want."

He doesn't say this in a self-pitying way. Max sounds genuine: they *can* think what they want.

"Pff," Rory says, waving her hand dismissively. "Seriously, who cares what people think? I mean, I spend so much time studying that I'm permanently paler than Casper. Or that could be genetics," she muses, looking down at her fair arm. "In any case, I don't think you're a loser. I think it's cool that you're so into this play.

"Besides, you have yet to engage in any homoerotic behavior - at least that I've witnessed - and that puts you way up here," she says, holding her hand flat just over the level of her forehead.

"And hey, why aren't you running for government anymore? I mean, if you were, I'd have to pretend to hate you because you'd be comepetition, but still."

Once Lisa and Parker started running, Max stopped looking at the other candidates. So he's genuinely surprised, "Oh, you were running? For which office?"

And, lest she think otherwise, Max leans in confidentally and says, "I know it's not in fashion right now, but I like girls. So... there shan't be a greek club for me."

"Good. We need a few straight guys around here, "Rory says, laughing. "They're a precious commodity, apparently.

"And to answer your question, I'm running for Student Relations Officer," she says, stretching. "I have no idea what compelled me to do it. I was vice president at my old school - mostly because a friend of mine wanted to be president, but people were scared of her...so I was sort of there to soften things a little But yeah, I'm running on Lisa and Liz's ticket. Parker's our campaign manager. Oh, and Logan Echolls, too," she adds, grinning.

She glances over at Max. "Oh, I forgot that you and Parker don't get along. Is that why you dropped out of the running?"

Max hesitates and then shakes his head, casually: "Nah. I mean, we don't. But that's not why I dropped out. I mean, I was in student government from fifth grade on, president of Rushmore for four years running. I love it, but... I want to be able to devote myself to other things. Plus, once the staff notices that my GPA is less-than-exemplary... you know. I'll get booted, there will be a scandal, I'll have to hold a press conference, several interns will be implicated... you know the drill. Blow this school WIDE OPEN."

He remembers Logan from the doctor's office.

"Logan Echolls? The hairy guy?" He asks, off-handedly.

Rory laughs. "Oh yeah. It'd be the scandal of the century. And as for Logan...I think I know what you're talking about, and that hair thing was temporary."

Rory had heard about Logan's mishap, and they'd had a good laugh over it, but she could vouch for the fact that all the unwanted hair was, in fact, quite gone.

Something Max said suddenly hits her. "Your GPA? A guy like you - I'd expect fantastic grades," she says, confused.

"Well," Max says, reclining casually with his coffee on his lap. "That's what you'd get for 'expecting' anything. My grades suck. It's because I never have time for homework. I get ... or, well, I got back home around 10 or 11 every night, back at Rushmore. I had meetings, or functions, or openings booked solid, all last year. AND I started working on my pilot's license. Didn't leave much room for Trig, if you know what I'm saying. I mean. I don't have normal projects, like normal kids. And I don't get credit at school for what I do outside of it."

Staring at his coffee, he leans over and puts another lump of sugar in it. Carefully, he asks Rory, "What do you mean 'a guy like me'? Like... 'with glasses'? Or... is it the 'no friends' thing?"

Rory's taken aback. "No...I mean a smart guy like you. You're really intelligent, Max. But that all makes sense - it's just foreign to me, because I've always been the girl who always has her homework in on time, PLUS the extra credit."

She smiles, and gently touches his arm. "Besides, Max. You have at least one friend. And I really mean that - don't think I'm lying to make you feel better or something. Because you know as well as I do that if I were, you'd be able to tell."

Max looks at her curiously and starts to argue about her first statement, "Yeah, but—why waste all that time doing homework when I could be out actually doing the stuff? I mean, it's like, why go to culinary school when you can just get a job at a restaurant and work your way up? The job the end is the same. I knew this guy in New York... he won the James Beard Best Young Chef award. Did he study at school? No. He just cooked. He loved what he did, so he did it. I go to school because I have to, but I do what I want because I love it. You know?"

Got a little fired up there. His rocket fuel wanes, though and he settles down. She did just say she was his friend, so she can't be too angry that he spoke to her like one.

"I'm not saying that it's not cool that you're the kind of girl who gets her homework in on time, or does the extra credit. It shows a diligence and great integrity that is usually lacking... but don't you ever wish that you could just do stuff? Rather than running through everything like it's a big rehearsal?" He's speaking quickly, like it's something he's thought about a lot, but it doesn't sound (in fact) rehearsed. Still, he's must sound like a lunatic. "Sorry. I'm ranting. Proving how unintelligent I really am."

'No, no, I completely get that. I'm just...wired that way. So I understand where you're coming from, but I could never do that. Maybe it shows that I'm a coward, or something. It's just...I go to school and do well because I want to go to Harvard. I just do. I can't explain it. It's been my driving ambition as long as I can remember." She sighs. "I do get tired of it, though."

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[3rd floor] Saturday morning in the common room.

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