C.max.mohan - Tumblr Posts

≈ la galleria. with @bloodbuzzfm ( max )

Perhaps a reservation at Oyster & Pearl would have been better, Madi observed, as she noted just how tense the staff at La Galleria seemed. She saw Max was already sitting down, giving him a little wave, but not heading over to the table just yet, her curiosity getting the better of her. She beelined to the toilets, skulking around the small hidden pockets restaurant staff usually hid in to gossip — she never worked hospitality, duh, but a lot of her peers in the influencer space started out that way — to get the tea. She couldn’t help it, if  there was drama involved (especially when she wasn’t at the crux of it) Madi just needed to know.

After listening in on a lengthy gossip sesh between the hostess and one of the waitresses, Madi was pleasantly full, like she always was here, well within her soul at least. She could still make some room to be literally wined and dined by Max. With an impish smile playing on her face, she all but skipped toward the table, foregoing the usual faux-nice greeting of kissing cheeks or whatever to just sit down and divulge the knowledge she had just obtained.

“Sorry about that, but everyone just seemed, like super…rigid.” She explained, nodding over at a few waitstaff who seemed to be fighting off showing physical pain. “Apparently the head chef got dumped, and it’s like bad vibes in the kitchen.” Guess some people just couldn’t separate their personal and professional lives. Pity. “Anyway, my darling. How have you been? I am pleasantly surprised you agreed to see me, considering…” Her cancellation, not exactly good for the Mohan brand.

≈ la galleria. with @bloodbuzzfm ( max )

Perhaps a reservation at Oyster & Pearl would have been better, Madi observed, as she noted just how tense the staff at La Galleria seemed. She saw Max was already sitting down, giving him a little wave, but not heading over to the table just yet, her curiosity getting the better of her. She beelined to the toilets, skulking around the small hidden pockets restaurant staff usually hid in to gossip — she never worked hospitality, duh, but a lot of her peers in the influencer space started out that way — to get the tea. She couldn’t help it, if  there was drama involved (especially when she wasn’t at the crux of it) Madi just needed to know.

After listening in on a lengthy gossip sesh between the hostess and one of the waitresses, Madi was pleasantly full, like she always was here, well within her soul at least. She could still make some room to be literally wined and dined by Max. With an impish smile playing on her face, she all but skipped toward the table, foregoing the usual faux-nice greeting of kissing cheeks or whatever to just sit down and divulge the knowledge she had just obtained.

“Sorry about that, but everyone just seemed, like super…rigid.” She explained, nodding over at a few waitstaff who seemed to be fighting off showing physical pain. “Apparently the head chef got dumped, and it’s like bad vibes in the kitchen.” Guess some people just couldn’t separate their personal and professional lives. Pity. “Anyway, my darling. How have you been? I am pleasantly surprised you agreed to see me, considering…” Her cancellation, not exactly good for the Mohan brand.

Reading the room was a skill Madisyn learnt along with walking and talking. She knew when was the best time to strike when needing more allowance money, or rides to various auditions to parents. Knew when to ask her high school teachers for extensions on homework she never gave a shit about. Knew when Dominik would be cooperative to collaboration ideas. It was a life skill, no matter what people said otherwise. She smirked at Max. “Of course, babe. It’s like…psychic intuition.” She teased, though she never believed in that shit. 

As Max answered, her eyes drifted to the sleeping dog by his side, fighting the urge to cave to the adorableness of the animal by reminding herself he was working. “Fine, fine, fine.” She mused with a raised eyebrow. But truthfully, if Madisyn wanted to dive in more, she would go on about how people said they were ‘fine’ when they weren’t, the whole song and dance her high school guidance counselor performed when her educators were worried about her not taking her studies seriously. Of course, their concern was trouble at home rather than Madi’s desire to be more. You didn’t need SAT results to be famous after all.

The questioning of the change in her career was expected, and she kept her smile poised, taking a sip of the table water provided. “I wanted a change of pace. LA could be so…” She let out a sigh, “Toxic. I’m all for the…good vibes.” 

If she said it enough times, maybe she’d believe it. She was passed a menu, glancing at it with little interest. “I had nowhere else to go and the farm was on sale. I head a full of chardonnay and a black Amex Card, and no one there to tell me no.” And that was the crux of it all, wasn’t it? No one was in Madisyn’s corner, making sure she was okay after the scandal broke out. Offering her a place to stay. Offering her some semblance of her old life. “The risotto sounds good.” She murmured in an attempt to change the subject from her sad life.

‎ HE'S SPOTTED MADISYN WHEN SHE WALKED IN, glowing as ever for a now-converted farm girl, and nodded when she motioned towards the direction of the restrooms. he'd already ordered for himself and a mini charcuterie board for them to share. tom hagen is quietly lying beside his chair, observing the other patrons and the waiters passing by.

something like ten, maybe fifteen minutes pass by, the appetizers already on the table, when madisyn finally comes up. he's halfway to getting up to greet her with a kiss on the cheek, but she goes straight for the chair — to max's slight annoyance, though he manages to grip the edge of the table to offer balance as he slowly lowers himself back to his seat.

"and you got those... vibes just from walking in?" it's a real talent, max recognizes that. influencers sometimes don't get enough credit for these things. most people think it's easy to build the nose for sniffing out conflicts and points of human interest but from what he's learned from his sisters, it takes a lot of fucking work. mostly a pretty face but sometimes that takes money, too. which, again, also takes a lot of fucking work. "no wonder the waiter looked like he had a glass shard up his ass. please," he gestures to the charcuterie board and raises his finger at the aforementioned waiter for the menu.

he takes a sip from his sparkling grape juice, settling back comfortably against his seat. "i'm fine. the club's fine. tom's fine." he glances at his service dog, his snores drowned out by the light bossa nova and faint buzz of dinner conversations. "and please, like page six gives a shit." he scoffs. "how are you? nadia's told me about your, uh... what was it, farmtok venture? that's quite a jump from your old job, i gotta say. what exactly happened there?"

Reading the room was a skill Madisyn learnt along with walking and talking. She knew when was the best time to strike when needing more allowance money, or rides to various auditions to parents. Knew when to ask her high school teachers for extensions on homework she never gave a shit about. Knew when Dominik would be cooperative to collaboration ideas. It was a life skill, no matter what people said otherwise. She smirked at Max. “Of course, babe. It’s like…psychic intuition.” She teased, though she never believed in that shit. 

As Max answered, her eyes drifted to the sleeping dog by his side, fighting the urge to cave to the adorableness of the animal by reminding herself he was working. “Fine, fine, fine.” She mused with a raised eyebrow. But truthfully, if Madisyn wanted to dive in more, she would go on about how people said they were ‘fine’ when they weren’t, the whole song and dance her high school guidance counselor performed when her educators were worried about her not taking her studies seriously. Of course, their concern was trouble at home rather than Madi’s desire to be more. You didn’t need SAT results to be famous after all.

The questioning of the change in her career was expected, and she kept her smile poised, taking a sip of the table water provided. “I wanted a change of pace. LA could be so…” She let out a sigh, “Toxic. I’m all for the…good vibes.” 

If she said it enough times, maybe she’d believe it. She was passed a menu, glancing at it with little interest. “I had nowhere else to go and the farm was on sale. I head a full of chardonnay and a black Amex Card, and no one there to tell me no.” And that was the crux of it all, wasn’t it? No one was in Madisyn’s corner, making sure she was okay after the scandal broke out. Offering her a place to stay. Offering her some semblance of her old life. “The risotto sounds good.” She murmured in an attempt to change the subject from her sad life.

‎ HE'S SPOTTED MADISYN WHEN SHE WALKED IN, glowing as ever for a now-converted farm girl, and nodded when she motioned towards the direction of the restrooms. he'd already ordered for himself and a mini charcuterie board for them to share. tom hagen is quietly lying beside his chair, observing the other patrons and the waiters passing by.

something like ten, maybe fifteen minutes pass by, the appetizers already on the table, when madisyn finally comes up. he's halfway to getting up to greet her with a kiss on the cheek, but she goes straight for the chair — to max's slight annoyance, though he manages to grip the edge of the table to offer balance as he slowly lowers himself back to his seat.

"and you got those... vibes just from walking in?" it's a real talent, max recognizes that. influencers sometimes don't get enough credit for these things. most people think it's easy to build the nose for sniffing out conflicts and points of human interest but from what he's learned from his sisters, it takes a lot of fucking work. mostly a pretty face but sometimes that takes money, too. which, again, also takes a lot of fucking work. "no wonder the waiter looked like he had a glass shard up his ass. please," he gestures to the charcuterie board and raises his finger at the aforementioned waiter for the menu.

he takes a sip from his sparkling grape juice, settling back comfortably against his seat. "i'm fine. the club's fine. tom's fine." he glances at his service dog, his snores drowned out by the light bossa nova and faint buzz of dinner conversations. "and please, like page six gives a shit." he scoffs. "how are you? nadia's told me about your, uh... what was it, farmtok venture? that's quite a jump from your old job, i gotta say. what exactly happened there?"

Orders taken, wine appearing on the table, it was easy to pretend for a few moments that they were anywhere else. California perhaps, cosying up in Spago or Nobu, the warmth of the Los Angeles air ready to wrap them up in greeting, instead of the chilly fall evenings that Illinois had to offer. But it was only as Madi reached the tail-end of her story about her relocation did her smile morph into something more somber, reality crashing into her. But time marched forward, or something. She wondered if Max felt the same way, seemingly disinterested when it was obvious that for once in her life there had been no drama associated with her purchasing Meadowview Farm.

A giggle escaped her at the teasing — being compared to Paris Hilton was of course the highest of compliments to an influencer — and how Max was in disbelief about her sudden pivot of career. “I mean, expect the unexpected, right?” The tone shifted when he brought up her failed business venture, and whilst she was sure Max didn’t mean it, it came off as unnecessarily cruel all the same. “Don’t. That’s not funny.” Her stomach turned at the idea of her run-in with Grace, if her former partner was still in town. If there had been any crossover between her and the Mohan enterprise. “I like the farm.” She further added, addressing her wine glass with an air of petulance.

‎ PSYCHIC INTUITION. if only madisyn could've told him about how his marriage would end, he probably wouldn't have stood in front of that altar in the first place. she also could've probably used psychic intuition when the internet feasted on her online carcass, but here they are: not-quite divorced, elbow-deep in horseshit, and reincarnated into marginally less broken versions of themselves. which is, to their respective credit, entirely of their own doing. fuck psychic intuition.

she mocks his being fine as if he can get any better (which he can, in theory, but 'fine' is the best he's been in a long time and he'll be damned if that gets taken away from him) and he responds with a huff, takes another sip of his drink as he listens to her tell him about how she managed to dig her perfectly manicured nails across the country and have her autograph on a deed of sale for a farm lot. he half-expected something insane like she'd been scammed into purchasing abandoned property when she thought she was buying a g-wagon, or whatever story would generate the most clicks, but it turns out, the truth is much more underwhelming than he'd anticipated.

his fingers tap against the moist surface of his glass, mostly silent, his eyes narrowing towards madisyn as he waits for her to order and hand the menu back to the waiter. "and how is the simple life, paris?" the makings of a smirk appear on his lips as he makes the joke. he's much more interested in talking about her life than he is about his. well, at the moment, anyway. "you must be the last person i imagine living on a farm." he shakes his head, remembering a tiktok video of hers that his sister had shown him. "madisyn huang is actually holding a fucking chicken. what is this, some sort of pr stunt to bring the bakery back, show 'em it's all organic?" he wouldn't put it past her.

Orders taken, wine appearing on the table, it was easy to pretend for a few moments that they were anywhere else. California perhaps, cosying up in Spago or Nobu, the warmth of the Los Angeles air ready to wrap them up in greeting, instead of the chilly fall evenings that Illinois had to offer. But it was only as Madi reached the tail-end of her story about her relocation did her smile morph into something more somber, reality crashing into her. But time marched forward, or something. She wondered if Max felt the same way, seemingly disinterested when it was obvious that for once in her life there had been no drama associated with her purchasing Meadowview Farm.

A giggle escaped her at the teasing — being compared to Paris Hilton was of course the highest of compliments to an influencer — and how Max was in disbelief about her sudden pivot of career. “I mean, expect the unexpected, right?” The tone shifted when he brought up her failed business venture, and whilst she was sure Max didn’t mean it, it came off as unnecessarily cruel all the same. “Don’t. That’s not funny.” Her stomach turned at the idea of her run-in with Grace, if her former partner was still in town. If there had been any crossover between her and the Mohan enterprise. “I like the farm.” She further added, addressing her wine glass with an air of petulance.

‎ PSYCHIC INTUITION. if only madisyn could've told him about how his marriage would end, he probably wouldn't have stood in front of that altar in the first place. she also could've probably used psychic intuition when the internet feasted on her online carcass, but here they are: not-quite divorced, elbow-deep in horseshit, and reincarnated into marginally less broken versions of themselves. which is, to their respective credit, entirely of their own doing. fuck psychic intuition.

she mocks his being fine as if he can get any better (which he can, in theory, but 'fine' is the best he's been in a long time and he'll be damned if that gets taken away from him) and he responds with a huff, takes another sip of his drink as he listens to her tell him about how she managed to dig her perfectly manicured nails across the country and have her autograph on a deed of sale for a farm lot. he half-expected something insane like she'd been scammed into purchasing abandoned property when she thought she was buying a g-wagon, or whatever story would generate the most clicks, but it turns out, the truth is much more underwhelming than he'd anticipated.

his fingers tap against the moist surface of his glass, mostly silent, his eyes narrowing towards madisyn as he waits for her to order and hand the menu back to the waiter. "and how is the simple life, paris?" the makings of a smirk appear on his lips as he makes the joke. he's much more interested in talking about her life than he is about his. well, at the moment, anyway. "you must be the last person i imagine living on a farm." he shakes his head, remembering a tiktok video of hers that his sister had shown him. "madisyn huang is actually holding a fucking chicken. what is this, some sort of pr stunt to bring the bakery back, show 'em it's all organic?" he wouldn't put it past her.

Madisyn was truly stumped when Max brought up that the internet was a circus, and that to some (most) people, her downfall was just something amusing to share over a round of drinks. She even had to admit that, if someone else had got run off the internet and bought a farm, she’d be laughing at their misfortune. “That wasn’t my fault, I got talked into it. There’s like, literally nothing worse than ignoring your gut feeling and being proved right.” She added with a pout. If she ever saw Grace fucking Connor again… She followed suit, taking one of the black pepper crackers on the board, placing a little cheese on it and taking a bite. “It is. If I didn’t do what I love, I’d probably be like my mother, working some dreary admin job…” She sighed, “Oh, y’know. Farm stuff. I like to see the animals, and like sign stuff the business manager asks me to.” She shrugged. “Kinda like stuff you’d do at Static, I imagine.”

‎ he realizes he'd hit a sore spot when he mentioned the bakery but because sincere apologies aren't something he'd fully mastered yet despite his attempts at being a more empathetic person, he instead responds to her quiet admonishment with a blithe, "sorry, but it kind of is? the internet is a circus, madi. you shouldn't take anyone trying to give you flack on it too seriously." he casually plucks a piece of emmental cheese from the board and takes a tiny, rat-sized bite from it, just barely scraping his teeth against the buttery surface. "so you started a business and it didn't work out. that happens all the time." he's trying to be comforting, or he thinks he is, in his own twisted way. it's what he does with his sisters and what his sisters do with him. he just sometimes forgets that it might not work on everyone. "but, you know, i'm glad you like what you're doing now. isn't that the important thing?" popping the rest of the cheese into his mouth, gives her a small, tight-lipped smile. "so, what exactly is it that you do on the farm?"

Madisyn was truly stumped when Max brought up that the internet was a circus, and that to some (most) people, her downfall was just something amusing to share over a round of drinks. She even had to admit that, if someone else had got run off the internet and bought a farm, she’d be laughing at their misfortune. “That wasn’t my fault, I got talked into it. There’s like, literally nothing worse than ignoring your gut feeling and being proved right.” She added with a pout. If she ever saw Grace fucking Connor again… She followed suit, taking one of the black pepper crackers on the board, placing a little cheese on it and taking a bite. “It is. If I didn’t do what I love, I’d probably be like my mother, working some dreary admin job…” She sighed, “Oh, y’know. Farm stuff. I like to see the animals, and like sign stuff the business manager asks me to.” She shrugged. “Kinda like stuff you’d do at Static, I imagine.”

‎ he realizes he'd hit a sore spot when he mentioned the bakery but because sincere apologies aren't something he'd fully mastered yet despite his attempts at being a more empathetic person, he instead responds to her quiet admonishment with a blithe, "sorry, but it kind of is? the internet is a circus, madi. you shouldn't take anyone trying to give you flack on it too seriously." he casually plucks a piece of emmental cheese from the board and takes a tiny, rat-sized bite from it, just barely scraping his teeth against the buttery surface. "so you started a business and it didn't work out. that happens all the time." he's trying to be comforting, or he thinks he is, in his own twisted way. it's what he does with his sisters and what his sisters do with him. he just sometimes forgets that it might not work on everyone. "but, you know, i'm glad you like what you're doing now. isn't that the important thing?" popping the rest of the cheese into his mouth, gives her a small, tight-lipped smile. "so, what exactly is it that you do on the farm?"