Re: Second Coming: A SuperSonics Return
April 20th, 2019
Spain. The sunrise had yet to fully warm the cobblestone street and Max was thankful he had opted for the warmest coat he had while packing. Globetrotting wasn't his strong suit -- or his idea of a good time. He'd much prefer to be back in Seattle, preparing for the playoff game against the Kings.
As much as he hated himself for it, he knew he had to leave there to do this: she was more important and he had come here to prove that. But first, much like the Sonics, he had to get past some obstacles before reaching his goal.
And the first one was finding Abby. He couldn't track her, at least legally, and she didn't have a phone on her -- she had only been sending post cards from the various places around the world she'd been to and for the last few months he had been where she had been ... except, one step too late.
She was always gone when he got there. He hadn't managed to catch up to her yet and part of him was sure that was on purpose: she didn't want him to catch up. She didn't want to have the conversation that they both needed to have. She didn't want to hear anything that was too real.
Scratching his beard -- he had managed to amass a decent one in his time traveling -- he puffed out a breath and hugged his arms tighter around his body.
"Maxwell?" An amused voice said from behind him.
Max turned to find the man he had been waiting for. "Prokhorov." He stood and gamely shook the Russian's hand. Prokhorov was dressed in only a light blazer, the weather not seeming to affect him at all. It would figure a Russian wouldn't be bothered by the cold.
"You have a beard!" Prokhorov slapped him excitedly on the shoulder, his eyes lit up in amusement. "It suits you, comrade."
"Does it?" Max leaned against the table. He, Prokhorov, and the Russian president's personal guard were the only people on the cobblestone street, dotted with outdoor tables and chairs.
"I received your request." He reached into his jacket, pulling out a piece of paper. "These are the coordinates for your wife." He held it out.
Max quickly accepted it, opening the paper. "Mongolia?!"
"Yes. It seems she's taken refuge in a small village nearby the local airport there." Prokhorov gave him a wink. "My satellites confirm that she is alone, so no harm there, hmm?"
"No, no harm," Max said, barely paying attention to what the other man was saying. Why Mongolia? Why there of all places? He could only assume she went there to get away from everything and everyone. It was so out of the way that she could disappear there if she needed to.
"I wish you luck, Maxwell. Your wife is a hard woman to find." Prokhorov smirked. "I understand why you wish her back."
Max knew full and well Prokhorov did not understand what any of this about, but he was thankful for the man's help nonetheless. He took a breath. "I'm going to hop in my plane and head there. Call me if she moves."
The President of Russia nodded and motioned towards the table. "No breakfast?"
Max was already moving away. "No time," he called out over his shoulder before he took off, full speed, towards his plane.
This was his chance and he was going to take it.
April 20th, 2019
Spain. The sunrise had yet to fully warm the cobblestone street and Max was thankful he had opted for the warmest coat he had while packing. Globetrotting wasn't his strong suit -- or his idea of a good time. He'd much prefer to be back in Seattle, preparing for the playoff game against the Kings.
As much as he hated himself for it, he knew he had to leave there to do this: she was more important and he had come here to prove that. But first, much like the Sonics, he had to get past some obstacles before reaching his goal.
And the first one was finding Abby. He couldn't track her, at least legally, and she didn't have a phone on her -- she had only been sending post cards from the various places around the world she'd been to and for the last few months he had been where she had been ... except, one step too late.
She was always gone when he got there. He hadn't managed to catch up to her yet and part of him was sure that was on purpose: she didn't want him to catch up. She didn't want to have the conversation that they both needed to have. She didn't want to hear anything that was too real.
Scratching his beard -- he had managed to amass a decent one in his time traveling -- he puffed out a breath and hugged his arms tighter around his body.
"Maxwell?" An amused voice said from behind him.
Max turned to find the man he had been waiting for. "Prokhorov." He stood and gamely shook the Russian's hand. Prokhorov was dressed in only a light blazer, the weather not seeming to affect him at all. It would figure a Russian wouldn't be bothered by the cold.
"You have a beard!" Prokhorov slapped him excitedly on the shoulder, his eyes lit up in amusement. "It suits you, comrade."
"Does it?" Max leaned against the table. He, Prokhorov, and the Russian president's personal guard were the only people on the cobblestone street, dotted with outdoor tables and chairs.
"I received your request." He reached into his jacket, pulling out a piece of paper. "These are the coordinates for your wife." He held it out.
Max quickly accepted it, opening the paper. "Mongolia?!"
"Yes. It seems she's taken refuge in a small village nearby the local airport there." Prokhorov gave him a wink. "My satellites confirm that she is alone, so no harm there, hmm?"
"No, no harm," Max said, barely paying attention to what the other man was saying. Why Mongolia? Why there of all places? He could only assume she went there to get away from everything and everyone. It was so out of the way that she could disappear there if she needed to.
"I wish you luck, Maxwell. Your wife is a hard woman to find." Prokhorov smirked. "I understand why you wish her back."
Max knew full and well Prokhorov did not understand what any of this about, but he was thankful for the man's help nonetheless. He took a breath. "I'm going to hop in my plane and head there. Call me if she moves."
The President of Russia nodded and motioned towards the table. "No breakfast?"
Max was already moving away. "No time," he called out over his shoulder before he took off, full speed, towards his plane.
This was his chance and he was going to take it.
As always, huge thank yous to the people who left likes, comments, or just read the thread -- you guys kept me (and this) going. I hope to see you in the next one. 
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