George had never been in a room like this in his life before, it was almost as if it had sprung out from the pages of an old book. There were two beds laid out neatly in the room which were beckoning George's weary mind for a lie down. He placed his suitcase on one of the beds and began unpacking haphazardly; Maxwell followed suit. The room around them seemed to close in with its unpleasantness, though there was nothing overtly ugly or horrific about it. There was just something about the décor, the size and age of the room that just didn't sit right with George. He felt like a fish out of water, and was just about to express as much to Maxwell when the other man seemed to read his thoughts and pondered out loud, “How did we get here?”
The wind chimes tinkled madly in the wind outside as the hulking man leaned back on his kitchen chair. A neatly devoured breakfast and a pile of unopened mail were lying on the table. The one opened item was currently in his hand; an invitation. One look at the thing told the nature of it.
Maxwell's presence was announced by the screen door flapping in the wind as if it hated to be on hinges. He let himself in as always, closed the screen door and the inside door behind him. His sharp eyes caught the elegant looking invite in George's hand and he said definitively, “Whatever it is, you're goin'.”
George looked over his shoulder at Maxwell, who was wiping his shoes on the doormat. “But it's going to be posh. Fancy, I mean.” He fiddled with the expensive paper. He had been trying to shed some of his dialect lately. “It's from Geoff Tarnolin, did I tell you about him? I guess he's holding a dinner party at his manor next week.”
“Yep you did, and in that case, I'm goin' too.” He sat down in front of George, forcing his attention. Before George could offer whatever kind of ineffectual protest his mind was building up, Maxwell held up a hand. “You finally get a break from filmin' and all you've been doin' is sittin' at home.” He nodded in thanks as George poured him a cup of coffee. “Gonna get all cooped up.”
George picked up his own mug gingerly with his large hands and sipped the last of it, happily resigned. Looking up, he smiled and lilted, “Max, you are right as always.”
“You told me to go, and invited yourself along.” From anyone else, the statement would have been accusatory, but from George it was merely an observation. Maxwell opened his mouth to reply when the dinner bell rang, summoning all the guests from their current activities. They quickly headed downstairs and wandered into the dining room, surprised at its beauty, especially compared to the rest of the house. They seated themselves as George hungrily eyed the feast in front of them. He was certainly no stranger to overeating. They had to at least wait for their host, though, as they sat patiently.
