[h1][img]http://i1383.photobucket.com/albums/ah281/Q-C0ntinuum/Perry_zpswtm3j5vv.jpg[/img] Perry[/h1]
[h2]Maxim "Max" Emillianov[/h2]
[color=DarkTurquoise]For a while, a very short while, it got a little, a tiny bit of little, better. The guy decided to quit pushing next Jim Morrison and stuck to the same boring street music routine. It almost sounded like silence, and with the sun shining not too intensely on his head Max thought he might actually survive this until Viktor got back and took him to the promised doctor. His hopes grew when the guy decided to call it a day and seemed to be packing. Max drank some ice tea in celebration; in small sips of course, since swallowing down huge gulps echoed too loudly in his skull.

Right about when he was washing the sweet remains of the ice tea with his own saliva, though, someone came to collect the »Mr. Mozart on the keyboard« with a loud shout in their direction. More facial muscles than he cared to know about were suddenly creased in pain and aversion. For what Max could tell, though, even the musician was not really interested in the pick up, and Max believed to hear him run away fast. It was little comfort to know that the jackass attempting to blow Max' head up had a chase caught out for him now, and Max realized he was rooting for the musician to get away with whatever he had done that had to do with the crash. Yet the little fun he had picturing the fucker having to run like hell to catch up with the – probably younger – keyboard player did not change the cringed expression Max was wearing. The blindfold suddenly felt as though it were all of a sudden of much thinner material and Max had to cover his face with both hands.

Now that the musician and his pursuer were gone Max hoped for things to get quiet again, but the fucking blindfold just had to attract unwanted attention and pity from a total stranger. [color=White]“Hey, are you feeling alright?”[/color], a female voice asked, loaded with pity and ready to shoot all maternal concern right at him. [color=White]“I saw you sitting here with a blindfold and at this hour too.”[/color] With ears as sharp as they could have ever been – how the hell was he supposed to hear and feel if she was after his wallet, or dangerous in another way? - he carefully took one hand off his eyes and reached for his cellphone. Viktor was the last called number so that he did not need to see what he was dialing to reach him. Yet making sure that he was indeed calling Viktor and not doing anything else took him a couple of seconds more than usual. She took advantage of exactly these few seconds to talk before Max had a chance to open his mouth or call Viktor.

[color=White]“My car is nearby, I can take you to the doctors then call your family. Please consider, I’d really hate to leave you out here like this.”[/color] She was after his wallet for sure, or maybe worse, his organs. There were all sorts of crazy stories and Max had certainly no clue of the criminal world. Viktor's number was already dialing, and a second later it was on mailbox. Fucking job interview. It was still good enough for a fake conversation, though, which Max decided he was having with his pal in Russian. The best way to shake most people off was usually to speak Russian and pretend not to understand a single word of any language they were speaking. He had heard no accent so the chance that she could speak any Russian was pretty slim. Hopefully she would then fuck off and find another victim to rub or dissect. He sounded extra angry and urgent, which was not far from the truth. Were he to perish then, Viktor would have last words from Max not only to play for the police, but also to burn all guilt into his brain for all fucking eternity. Now it was up to him to think fast about what to do if her accomplice came and dragged him by force.[/color]