wait I saw you asked for 2…
9. “Don’t ask me that.”
10. “I might have had a few shots.”
HEHEHEH
Gonna combine 10 and 20 here since you and @dansnotavampire both asked for 10.
20. “Just admit I’m right.” From this prompt list (only taking a few more. send two, you’ll have a better chance of me filling the prompt).
Maxwell is onto something. Tonight, he has a theory, and tomorrow, he’ll probably have a hangover. But! What matters most is that he’s finally figured Torse out. Impassive though his helm may be, Torse can’t hide the many clicks and sputters or the whirring sounds his inner mechanisms make.
Having spent such a lengthy amount of time studying Torse, Maxwell has come to understand what the sounds he makes signify as well as any facial expressions the rest of the crew might make. He probably shouldn’t frame it that way when he brings it up, though. That makes it sound as though Maxwell is obsessed with Torse. Which, he’s not. They’re just friends. Best friends, maybe. Or at least, Torse is to Maxwell. He’s never been all that great at hanging on to friends, his disposition just one step out of line with everyone else’s. But, he and Torse seem to be in sync. They understand each other when no one else does — which is how Maxwell figured out his little secret.
Maybe it’s the fallen angel martinis, or the vodka, or whisky — actually, it’s not important what helped Maxwell reach his epiphany. What’s important is that he made it there. And, equally important, he’s also managed to get his legs to take him to a very important piece of said epiphany: the nut pugs.
Maxwell crouches down and nearly loses his balance, saved only by the tutelage of his elder brother. He makes a mental note to apologize to Wealwell for scoffing at his standing lessons. They’re surprisingly useful.
“There you are,” Maxwell says, his voice straining as he stands back up, nut pug in hand. “You’re coming with me.”
The nut pug in question is a gorgeous auburn color with an adorable black snout and dark ears. Maxwell favors him because he’s the closest to matching the Gotch family colors. And, despite being part of a hive mind, this particular nut pug seems to be a cut above the rest. There’s an intelligence behind his eyes that rivals Ghost Dog’s. Maybe that’s why Torse seems to favor him, too.
Maxwell holds the nut pug up proudly. “If anyone can get Torse to join in on the merriment, it’s you.”
Maxwell isn’t typically one for large celebrations, but their victory today was a great one. The energies of Zood and Zern had been merged once more, Ludmila had been saved, and relations between the two worlds were already well on their way to being strengthened. If anything was cause for celebration it was that. So… Maxwell finally let himself relax enough to join in on the fun. He had hoped Torse would join them as well, but after the second round of drinks were poured, he’d managed to slip away.
Maxwell only went to the pen they kept the nut pugs in because he expected to find Torse there. Knowing now that he isn’t, and that he left his favorite of the bunch behind, Maxwell checks the only other place he knows Torse to frequent. The bow of the ship.
“There you are,” Maxwell says, relieved to see his friend. “Your presence has been greatly missed in the celebrations. Are you alright?”
Torse looks over his shoulder, then turns to meet Maxwell. “I am well,” he replies evenly. His inner mechanisms betray him, however — iron heart ticking louder, vents opening to release steam in a sigh of relief at the sight of his favorite nut pug. “You should return to the others.”
“Not without you,” Maxwell says. “I understand some of the others can be… overbearing at times, and I’m sure you find the nature of the celebration to be a bit frivolous, but we couldn’t have done this without you. Your hard work deserves recognition.”
Torse looks away. “My work is far from over.”
“While I agree, I think you can allow yourself one night of rest, Torse. Even I have.” Maxwell holds up the auburn nut pug and raises his eyebrows at Torse. “Would having your favorite nut pug there help?”
Torse looks at him again, and the sound Maxwell has come to associate with unfettered happiness fills the space between them. Something like the purr of an engine, the sound Torse makes when he’s most contented. Though, he seems keen to deny it. “I do not have a favorite nut pug.”
Maxwell rolls his eyes and hands him the pug. “Nonsense. I know this one is your favorite.”
“I do not know how you came to this conclusion,” Torse says, “but you are mistaken.”
“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Torse. The other’s aren’t here,” Maxwell drawls. “Just — hic — admit that I’m right.”
“You are not,” Torse says stubbornly.
Maxwell rests his hands on his hips, ready to defend his hypothesis. “I know for a fact I am. Whenever you see that nut pug, you make your — happy sounds,” he says, waving one of his hands through the air dismissively. “That can’t be a coincidence.”
“It is not,” Torse agrees.
“Ha! So you admit that I’m right.”
“Maxwell…” Torse begins tiredly.
“Really. Of all the things to be embarrassed of, this hardly warrants it. Every member of the crew has a favorite nut pug, for goodness sake. Even Ghost Dog,” Maxwell chuckles.
“It is you,” Torse says.
Maxwell’s brow furrows in confusion. “What’s me?”
Torse lets out a noise of frustration, his gears stalling. “It is not the nut pug I enjoy seeing, it is you.”
Maxwell’s heart skips a beat and trips, not nearly as good at standing as Wealwell. “… Me? I’m the reason you —? No.”
“Yes,” Torse insists.
Maxwell watches as Torse sets the nut pug down. “I… make you happy?”
“I had hoped to convey this to you at a more appropriate time,” Torse admits. “When you returned from your dealings in Gath, perhaps.”
As an entire paradigm shifts in Maxwell’s brain he lurches forward, tilting with the world now fully off its axis. Luckily, Torse catches him before he can fall. (Although, truthfully, he’d already fallen for Torse long ago.)
“You are drunk,” Torse says softly. It’s spoken without reproach. In fact, he sounds downright taken with Maxwell despite how ridiculous he must look right now. Drunkenly flushed with his hair unkempt and his skin still bruised and broken from their battle.
“I… may have had a few shots,” Maxwell mumbles as he holds onto him. “Torse, I — ”
“We can discuss this tomorrow when you are of sounder mind,” Torse offers, cutting him off.
Maxwell lets himself be scooped into his arms. “That — that may for the best, yes.”
Torse nods. “Would you like me to take you back to the others?”
“I think I may call it a night,” Maxwell says as a yawn sneaks up on him. “You’ll be here in the morning, won’t you?”
“I will not leave for Zern without speaking to you, first.”
“Good,” Maxwell says with a nod. “Good, I — we’ll speak tomorrow… when I’m a bit more clearheaded.”
“Tomorrow,” Torse agrees.
