Max is curious as to how you've even survived unharmed for this long, but she supposes it's down to your sheer strong will. She also wonders how you manage to fund your pretty little outfits and where you get someone to do your nails all nice—but she likes them far too much to care all that much. You're just an absolute angel, all dressed up, a little saving grace from the shitty world they find themselves in.

You're not exactly the brightest, a little dim-witted at times. Being pretty's your favourite thing to do, the thinking comes after, clearly. But that just makes you all the more endearing.

You'd gotten a job at Jam Pony a while back, a lot of people judging whether you were fit for the job but you got people's orders done on time and in a prompt manner, probably one of the most efficient messengers they had. Max had always been curious about you, since the two of you didn't talk all that much.

Till one day you did. It'd come out of absolutely nowhere, you'd just come up to her one time when she was alone and started chatting up a storm. Damn, you could talk quick. She kept up, however, finding you were adorable when you rambled. How you fiddled with your little skirt, the one that rode up whenever you hopped up onto your bike.

The one she always had the urge to tug down for you. Maybe a little more.

One day, you started talking about a date you'd gone on last night, and well, it didn't sound good. Max's brows furrow, a frown settling on her pouty lips as she glances over at you. "Yeah? You don't deserve that," she murmurs, looking you over for a minute, "not at all."

She'd treat you so much better, she knows that for sure.