Monday, September 3rd- Monte Carlo, Monaco
Max's Apartment
Max had lost his goddamn mind, which wasn't really saying much, all things considered, not when his default factory settings fell somewhere in the region of menace to polite society but this? This was unparalleled, unprecedented and most crucially-
"Oh, this is just fucking uncalled for," Daniel mutters, letting out a low whistle, as the four of you surveyed the scene before you.
"I- I didn't know what to get so I- I..." Max rubs at his jaw with one hand, a dazed look on his face like he's not quite processing the present situation, "I just got everything?"
While in theory, you knew with the utmost certainty that Max's penthouse apartment had to have a floor, because rational thought dictated as much, which still seemed like pretty shoddy grounds on which to base the existence of something that you could not see and must instead try merely to imagine.
Because where once there had been a floor, the view of which had only been interrupted by the shape of furniture at regular intervals, was now entirely obscured by the packages of all shapes and sizes which covered every surface available and littered every space imaginable, stacked one on top of another.
To say that he'd bought everything would still be to make a substantial understatement.
"We can fucking see that much for ourselves, mate," Daniel snorts derisively, "you don't have to tell us shit."
"Watch your language," Max grumbles at him, evidently electing to ignore the remainder of the remark in favor of turning to you, "why is that when he cusses you don't say anything but when I do it's the end of the world?"
"He's my favorite," you roll your eyes at him, "and honestly Max, swearing was appropriate here because... this is- that is to say you've- well- you've outdone yourself, truly-"
It's anxiety inducing, the number of packages at stretches in every direction, filling the open concept living room with cardboard box after cardboard box until there is no option but for the collection to expand beyond the boundaries of the space, to spill out into the rest of the penthouse, and leaving what's visible from the entryway of the kitchen beyond choked out by the shape of more parcels.
"What she actually means and is too kind to say to you is that, after all the time and money and effort you've put into it, you've finally done it- you've finally lost your fucking mind," Daniel claps Max on the back as he makes the pronouncement, projecting his voice like he's making some speech to commend the Dutchman for his completion of such a prestigious achievement.
"Be nice," you swat the Australian on the arm, opting to ignore the glower the physical reprimand earns you from him, "he was doing the best he could... he just went a little overboard with it."
"No, I won't be nice," Daniel tries valiantly not to start laughing at Max and the wounded expression he's giving the other man at the moment, but he fails spectacularly, "because if this is Max doing his very best then we have issues to handle that'll make his September credit card statement look like child's play."
"Behave or I'll send you home," you're not in the mood for this right now, not when you've barely slept in the last 36 hours and the toddler in your arms seems to be getting exponentially heavier by the second.
"What, and leave you to deal with the pair of them and this certifiable mess all on your lonesome? Not bloody likely."
"I'm standing right here," Max sounds thoroughly unimpressed by his such exclusion from the conversation, his role in the exchange reduced down to that of a wayward child or a poorly behaved dog that's been deemed unworthy of consultation, "you two do realize that, don't you?"
