The gesture was given, and Maximus’s expression fell. Funny how that gesture still resembled a royal decree. How dare he. Had he not sustained the Inhuman race with his inventions for years? Every fruit of his labor should have been embraced by a grateful brother, but, here he was, ordering him to halt his creation.
Better Blackagar than Medusa, though, he supposed. She could be so unforgiving.
“As you wish, my former king and, as of late, nothing at all. I will deactivate it.” An idea struck, just a bit of taunting, and he he looked his brother in the eye and asked him, “But, before I do, are sure you don’t have anything to microwave?”
There was a moment where Blackagar feared Maximus would lash out violently at the order-- for neither brother was a fool and the diminishment in actual authority was patent-- but that moment passed and he allowed some measure of pain to cross his features.
The time where he could have forgiven Maximus or even accepted the usefulness of his variety of deviant brilliance was long gone, and it was no longer his right to do so. Still, if it came to it thus, would he deliver his own brother to the queen? He was his duty to do so after all that had transpired, and although the betrayal of blood was surely a cardinal sin, Maximus had made himself a vile object to the one that now occupied the throne.
And to himself, surely? It may have been a simpler solution in another age to allow Maximus to be executed for his countless acts of treason and machinations against the royal family and their lives. It had never been such a simple decision then, however, and it tore him apart that it seemed so much easier now that the true authority was out of his hands. What kind of king had he been? Had he been so ruled by fear and misplaced affection? Was it that he could not bear to complete spilling the blood of the last of his own immediate family?
It was all too easy to dismiss Maximus’ actual words as senseless rambling (perhaps another common mistake of the previous era) but he set his jaw and listened for once. Maximus did not appear to realize just how devoted Black Bolt would be in enforcing the will of the throne, if he was not upon it. Black Bolt had never known any life or purpose except the rule of Attilan.
He waved his hand slightly aside in another dismissal of the project and the offer, and then resorted to the signs that he’d primarily developed and used with Medusa in the past: frowning and tapping several of his fingers to his wrist, motioning vaguely towards his brow, and then gesturing around them in a demand for an explanation of Maximus’ activities and more importantly, what Medusalith knew of them.
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