[h1][img]http://i1383.photobucket.com/albums/ah281/Q-C0ntinuum/Perry_zpswtm3j5vv.jpg[/img] Perry[/h1]
[h2]Maxim "Max" Emillianov[/h2]
[color=DarkTurquoise]Not only did his Russian fail to throw her off, but also it seemed that she was even more eager to keep yapping in his ear, and boy did she have a piercing voice. It reminded Max of some sort of speech which went on regardless of how uninterested the audience was. Now Max felt so unnerved, in addition to helpless, that he started swearing and swinging his free arm about while pretend-speaking with Viktor. He could only hope she was not built up with heavy muscles, or in the company of several others who were. After all the years of growing up together and then fleeing the homeland, Max did not need put much effort into improvising a call to Viktor, he could think about a thousand things, watch a movie, repair his old bike, and still pretend-call Viktor, letting no one on earth suspect the other end of the line.

It was first at the mention of Dr. Bher's name that he spoke slower, yet not much than anyone engaged in a real phone call would. [color=White]“How the hell did she get that?”[/color], he asked the imaginary Viktor in Russian, still refraining from turning his head her way or paying her any noticeable attention. [color=White]“Some sort of a headache?!!”[/color], Max now yelled at the imaginary Viktor – still in Russian, [color=White]“Which retard hasn't heard of migraine nowadays? Every kid back home knows to shut up when parents have migraine.”[/color] But then she finally said something Max could no longer ignore, something he no longer wished to ignore.

So far Dr. Bher has been their last resort, one they hoped would lead to a real diagnosis and not just end up being another butthead unable to make any sense, or eager to shove medication down Max' throat, without being able to really tell what he had. But what if this Bher was not what Max had been looking for? Moreover, what if this Wilson so many people relied on had the real answers? He was not going to go childish on this, but that was a real possibility, worth considering. [color=White]“Hold on a second,”[/color] he automatically said, as if in a real conversation, and stopped speaking Russian.

It felt weird, how was he supposed to talk back now that he had done his best to ignore the woman sitting next to him. Awkwardly he searched with his free hand for the card he had apparently dropped, until his hand touched the woman beside him. Max pulled back with haste, which lead to his fingers hitting his chest. At least now he felt a little less awkward. [color=White]“Wil... Wilson?”[/color] His head turned halfway towards her. [color=White]“Dr. Wilson, you said?”[/color] His accent was easily recognizable as Russian, though mild enough not to get in the way of people understanding his English. [color=White]“Is he a specialist...”[/color], and feeling rude all of a sudden he added, [color=White]“ma'am?”[/color] which sounded weirder than any other chosen word. Did people ever say »ma'am« in a real conversation? She must have thought of him as a fucking retarded Russian from a far off place where English speaking people could never reach.

[color=White]“You have a phone number of this Wilson?”[/color] was the best change of his speech Max could come up with. [color=White]“My friend...”[/color] he said, lifting the phone in his hand a little, pointing out it was the friend – supposedly – on the line, [color=White]“could take me, if I can get an appointment... or is he overbooked, with so many people relying on him and all?”[/color] Afraid, that he might actually miss on a real opportunity, Max then emphasized, [color=White]“My friend's coming to pick me up in short. We'll call Wilson and see about the appointment if you can get me the number.”​[/color][/color]