App for allthekeys
Jun. 15th, 2018 05:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
palling_aroundPlayer's Name: Max
Contact info: Discord (Scriberat#7264) | Plurk (@MaxRat)
DW: https://palling-around.dreamwidth.org/
Character: The Amazing Maxwell, (William Carter)
Canon: Don't Starve
Version: Don't Starve Together
[Bit of a warning here-- everything you’re about to read is spoilers for the lore of Don’t Starve and Don’t Starve Together.]
Canon Point: Present (6/15/18), including DLC and events. Most likely pulled right after a successful escape from the Gnaw's realm during the Gorge event.
Age: In appearance, Maxwell seems to be somewhere in his 40s. In reality, however, he's lost count after millennia on the Throne. Time moves differently in the Constant, after all.
Gender: Male (He/Him pronouns)
History:
Born an Englishman named William Carter, this magician was once a debtor, a jailbird, and a failure. Even his escape to America put him in a cycle of financial debt and anxiety. It wouldn't be until one fateful collision between a passenger train and a circus wagon that the opportunity to turn his life around would be upon him. With the world assuming he died in the crash and the discover of a curious book in the wreckage, William began a new life, with a new name--"Maxwell" .
With the help of his mysterious tome (dubbed the "Codex Umbra"), Maxwell's performances were a hit everywhere he went. His magic was no longer sleight of hand or smoke and mirrors-- he could produce apparitions from thin air, amazing all that were able to lay eyes upon these wonders. He even took on an assistant: a wonderful young lady by the name of Charlie. The two were a first-class act, able to fill any theater in any city. But with this fame came a cost.
The Codex Umbra's contents were not meant for the rigorous consumption Maxwell’s shows demanded. Every translation, every incantation-- all of it only strengthened the voices of the nightmares that lied within the pages, slowly draining him of his senses. By incorporating the book in his acts, he dug a grave for his own sanity. Charlie saw it too, but by the time she took action, it was too late. Their final act soon came upon them, plunging them into the ruthless world known as "the Constant".
Very little can be said for sure as to what happened when the duo reached the Constant. The mere mention of it causes Maxwell to bottle up, so one can only assume a tragedy must have befallen them. Whatever the case might be, the outcome, at least, is clear: Charlie was doomed to a fate in the dark, prowling and hunting any so unfortunate as to be without a light, while Maxwell was ascended to the Nightmare Throne, becoming what was essentially the Constant’s “god”.
The Nightmare Throne’s power was nothing to sneeze at. While seated upon the Throne, the ruler could control the worlds contained within the Constant however they pleased; they could create horrific beasts, bestow fortunes upon its inhabitants, or lay destruction upon the land. But even with all of the godlike ability bestowed upon Maxwell, he was still merely a puppet, a toy for an entity known only as “Them”. Eventually, the entertainment value They once saw in him diminished, and for reasons once again unknown, Their temperament towards him soured. It wasn’t long until he became a prisoner of the powers he once commanded.
Days, centuries, eons passed upon the Throne. Forced to continue watching over the Constant, Maxwell watched survivors flood in, each tempted by some desire or hubris, just as he was. He endured years of watching them struggle, survive, thrive, and die, until one of them finally had the courage to find their captors and give them a piece of their mind: a scientist named Wilson, who was as clever as he was stubborn. After passing the traps and obstacles set out by Them, Wilson overcame Their trials and found Maxwell at the very end, beaten and dejected. Despite all the retired ruler’s warnings, Wilson found enough pity within him to end Their torment and take Maxwell’s place as Their prisoner.
Now, without the immortality and godlike abilities bestowed by the Throne (and with a deep disdain for Ragtime music,) Maxwell's left with little more than the clothes on his back and the book in his hand. But he's... free, and he’s armed with an eternity’s worth of near omnipotent knowledge to aid him in his final escape.
Personality:
Conceited, shrewd, and full of spite, Maxwell is sure to get whatever he wants, even if it means sacrificing a bit of himself in the process. Still, if the Constant taught him anything, it was to always makes certain of what cards lie on his side of the table before making a move. Having been both the puppet and the puppeteer a few times in his life, he knows the value of picking one’s battles carefully, especially when he’s found himself more on the “puppet” side. Thus, even with all his hubris, Maxwell acknowledges that patience is a virtue, one that he’s certainly had ample time to practice.
While he can flash a smile and put on a fabulous show in the presence of preferable company, Maxwell's years in the Constant alone haven't exactly made him a socialite. His kindness and willingness to perform favors are rarely without a price, and he tends to come off as cold, at best. Irritate him enough, and you may even be met with an ugly retaliation. Though now off of the Nightmare Throne, the presence of Them still adds a touch of cruelty and viciousness, should the moment strike him exactly wrong. Though the occurrences are rare, it might be best to be wary of that book at his side when provoking his wrath; the old king still has a few nasty tricks left up his sleeve, after all.
Should you find yourself able to get on his good side, you might even be lucky enough to get the old magician to relax a little, maybe even open up. To his companions and allies, Maxwell is surprisingly caring, though he’d never readily admit to it. Having spent so much time being everyone’s “bad guy”, he’s certain that, at this point, trying to justify unwarranted acts of goodwill would be more of a hassle than simply dismissing them. Just be wary for any job offers as his assistant: you may want to... decline.
Fears:
After his arrival to the Constant, Maxwell learned quite quickly to fear the dark. While yes, poor visibility was not preferable in a world teeming with all sorts of creepy crawlies, the darkness itself brought its own dangers. They, along with his former assistant and companion, Charlie, lurked in the shadows, bringing harm to those unfortunate enough to be without light. Just one bite from Charlie was enough to put down an unarmored Maxwell, making him wary of any gruesome hisses that haunt him from the dark.
On a deeper level, behind his snarky attitude and past his usual arrogance, Maxwell is afraid of failure. From his criminal record to the lost lives of loved ones, Maxwell’s shortcomings torment him, reminding him that the slightest imperfection could cost him dearly. Therefore, any dependence others may have for him to just do something right is a burden that always weighs heavy upon his shoulders, for he knows well the fate of those that suffer from his faults.
Weaknesses:
No longer under the protection of the Nightmare Throne, Maxwell isn’t quite as durable as he used to be. Nowadays he finds himself even more fragile than your average person, leaving him unable to take quite as many hits as most.
In addition to his physical frailty, Maxwell endures some heavy sense of guilt, especially in regards to his companion, Charlie. Though he tries to cover it up with a stony demeanor, the tragedy continues to torment him.
Mundane Strengths/Abilities: After spending an insurmountable measure of time watching over the prisoners of the Constant, observing every moment of madness, hopelessness and death (while also enduring the demons that come with the Throne), very little phases the retired king of the Constant. Maxwell has just about seen all there is to see… and more.
Maxwell is able to not only endure and recover from more traumatizing nightmares better than most, but think more rationally in most fight or flight situations. After all, when strapped to a chair in the company of monsters, the most valuable thing one might have left to hang onto is their sanity. It just wouldn’t be dapper to go without.
Sensitivity/Magical Ability: The Codex Umbra offers many talents to its users, especially concerning those of shadow magic. Some tricks and skills Maxwell has picked up include:
-Manipulating shadows into the simple forms of creatures or objects. Creatures tend to only last briefly, and cannot do anything but remain as an image. Objects tend to be more on the side of tools, such as shovels, picks, or even swords. Whatever he summons, it may cause some mental stress upon Maxwell until the shadows are dispelled.
-Creating shadowy doubles of himself that might act in his stead. While unable to speak or think by themselves, they are at least able to perform simple commands, such as attacking a singular target or interacting with their environments. Creating doubles takes an unfortunate toll on his mind, making him more vulnerable to horrors he would otherwise brush off. Once the puppets are dismissed, Maxwell is able to recover his senses as normal.
-Drowning out the dark with a spell of light. As this spell is powerful enough to flood your average living space and dispel the shadowy creatures that may dwell within, it’s both mentally and physically exhausting on Maxwell to perform. Therefore, he is not likely to use the spell often, and if he should use it more than once within a short length of time, the distress it causes could incapacitate him.
Additionally, having worked with magic for so long, Maxwell is sensitive to other beings and objects imbued with magic. While he may not know every detail about it, he at least has a pretty good idea as to when something supernatural is going on. Shadow magics and magics dealing heavily with mental strain and manipulation tend to be more towards his specialty.
Supply List:
-The Codex Umbra: a spellbook that allows Maxwell to work his magic. Its text is in ancient language that, while not indecipherable, is quite uncommon.
Game Transfers: Nothing to see here.
Sample RP post:
“I don't understand why I have to tell you this more than once, Higgsbury. It's not happening.” Maxwell glared down at his campmate, arms tightly folded across his chest. He did not dare to look at the clunky formation of rocks that stood beside them, unwilling to humor Wilson’s proposition for even a moment. Wilson, however, was completely beside himself with excitement, pickaxe in hand and rearing to go.
“Aw, come on, Maxwell! Where’s your sense of adventure, your spirit for discovery!” He pleaded, adding on by throwing his hands to the sky in hopes that his enthusiasm might rub off. Maxwell, though now eyeing the pick that was just flailed carelessly around his personal space, only offers an apathetic shrug. “Must’ve left that all down there before I plugged it up. Come on, this discussion is over-- we’re going back to camp.”
He turned on his heel, ready to march the two back to safety when the scientist latched onto his arm. A preemptive eye-roll was all Max could get in before Wilson started his whining again with, “Come on-- just a peek? Not even 10 minutes! I’m dying to know what’s going on down there!
“And you’ll be doing a lot of dying once you get down there, too! Surprisingly, Higgsbury, I’m not as willing as you are to lay my life on the line for such nonsensical, frivolous ‘adventures’. Let’s. Go.” With his final word, Maxwell tore his arm from Wilson’s grip and marched onward. Though normally a patient man, this antic had begun to push his boundaries. Walking away was all he could do to keep himself from snapping.
Wilson, frowning, let his arms drop to his sides as Max ripped away. As he glared after the magician making his great escape back to camp, Wilson straightened his posture and laid a hand across his chin, immediately thinking up a new way to… persuade Maxwell into staying. A sly grin lifted the corner of his mouth as he began to say, “Weelllllll I guess that’s that then. I’ll just have to… go down there alone, and then you can explain to the others why you went back without me!”
Maxwell froze, stopping dead in his tracks. Half-turning, he snarled back, “What?”
“I mean…” Wilson began, drumming his fingers together and glancing away, as if to feign some sort of innocence in his train of thought. “You…did say that ‘I’ would be doing a lot of dying down there, not ‘we’, so I could only assume you’d be leaving me to go aaalll by myself. To die! Alone. Without you.”
Maxwell narrowed his eyes. “I also said ‘let’s go’ not even two beats after.” This was received with a shrug of the shoulders, another attempt at feigned innocence from the gentleman scientist.
“Was that to me? I know how you like to talk to those shadows of yours. It’s really hard to tell who you’re talking to sometimes, you know?”
Rubbing his temples, Maxwell let out an irritated sigh. A moment of silence was shared by the two, though each approached it with their own, incredibly different tones: Maxwell, tired, annoyed, and grumbling to himself; Wilson, eager, grinning, and all too pleased with himself.
“10 minutes. That’s it.” A subtle “Yes!” hissed from Wilson’s teeth as he pumped his fist. His excitement was cut short, however, as Maxwell continued. “--but. If anything goes wrong and some horror follows us back to camp, wreaking mayhem on all the progress and effort everyone’s made in the past few months, you get to tell them of the brilliant plan you hatched to blackmail me into this nonsense.”
A wicked, bitter grin lay across Maxwell’s lips. “Agreed?”
“Now, hang on just a second---” Wilson tried to argue, but Maxwell already began to approach the rubble covering up the cave’s sinkhole, dragging a pickaxe from his pack and slinging it over his shoulder. He gave a ceremonious wave over the rocks before interjecting, “Time’s a-tickin’, Higgsbury.”
“R-right!” No time for arguments-- Wilson started hacking away at the rocks, all the while cursing himself for haggling with such a small wager earlier. Maxwell, either still too miffed by the situation or too above the labor, lifted his pick with one hand and flicked the wrist of the other, commanding some mass of shadows to take up his tool and work in his stead. He folded his arms and looked on as the two chipped away at the sinkhole, stewing in his thoughts. Slowly his irritation turned to gloom as the realization of what they would be revisiting settled in. Though certainly cross for being forced into the decision in the first place, his irritation also stemmed from his worries. Nothing good could come out of visiting the caves; it would only put them both at unnecessary risk, and while he hated to say it, he did worry for both of their lives. Somehow, through all his ramblings, mediocre puns, and… eccentricities, the scientist had grown on him.
The final crack against the stone pulled Maxwell back into reality, just in time to watch rubble clear away from the hole and reveal the rope he had used so long ago to satisfy his own curiosity. Even the piton that he used to secure it remained fully intact, as if it were driven into the ground just moments ago. Pity. Getting on his hands and knees, Wilson leaned over the hole and let out a slow, swooping whistle. “Loooong way down.”
“After you,” Maxwell retorted, and gave a little nod to the sinkhole. He certainly didn’t have to tell Wilson twice: after a little tug on the rope to ensure its security, the scientist was down the hole. Maxwell waited until every last strand of Wilson’s ridiculous haircut was out of sight before letting another sigh go and stepping forward. He lingered at the edge of the sinkhole, staring down at the inky blackness with a hint of despair in the furrow of his brow. Without even a sideways glance, he waved his hand, dispelling his shadowy puppet so as not to bring too much company into the caves.
“Just… 10 minutes, Carter,” He mumbled to himself, as if coaching himself for the journey ahead. With a deep inhale, he dropped to the ground and seized the rope, then began his slow descent after his insufferable campmate.
Contact info: Discord (Scriberat#7264) | Plurk (@MaxRat)
DW: https://palling-around.dreamwidth.org/
Character: The Amazing Maxwell, (William Carter)
Canon: Don't Starve
Version: Don't Starve Together
[Bit of a warning here-- everything you’re about to read is spoilers for the lore of Don’t Starve and Don’t Starve Together.]
Canon Point: Present (6/15/18), including DLC and events. Most likely pulled right after a successful escape from the Gnaw's realm during the Gorge event.
Age: In appearance, Maxwell seems to be somewhere in his 40s. In reality, however, he's lost count after millennia on the Throne. Time moves differently in the Constant, after all.
Gender: Male (He/Him pronouns)
History:
Born an Englishman named William Carter, this magician was once a debtor, a jailbird, and a failure. Even his escape to America put him in a cycle of financial debt and anxiety. It wouldn't be until one fateful collision between a passenger train and a circus wagon that the opportunity to turn his life around would be upon him. With the world assuming he died in the crash and the discover of a curious book in the wreckage, William began a new life, with a new name--
With the help of his mysterious tome (dubbed the "Codex Umbra"), Maxwell's performances were a hit everywhere he went. His magic was no longer sleight of hand or smoke and mirrors-- he could produce apparitions from thin air, amazing all that were able to lay eyes upon these wonders. He even took on an assistant: a wonderful young lady by the name of Charlie. The two were a first-class act, able to fill any theater in any city. But with this fame came a cost.
The Codex Umbra's contents were not meant for the rigorous consumption Maxwell’s shows demanded. Every translation, every incantation-- all of it only strengthened the voices of the nightmares that lied within the pages, slowly draining him of his senses. By incorporating the book in his acts, he dug a grave for his own sanity. Charlie saw it too, but by the time she took action, it was too late. Their final act soon came upon them, plunging them into the ruthless world known as "the Constant".
Very little can be said for sure as to what happened when the duo reached the Constant. The mere mention of it causes Maxwell to bottle up, so one can only assume a tragedy must have befallen them. Whatever the case might be, the outcome, at least, is clear: Charlie was doomed to a fate in the dark, prowling and hunting any so unfortunate as to be without a light, while Maxwell was ascended to the Nightmare Throne, becoming what was essentially the Constant’s “god”.
The Nightmare Throne’s power was nothing to sneeze at. While seated upon the Throne, the ruler could control the worlds contained within the Constant however they pleased; they could create horrific beasts, bestow fortunes upon its inhabitants, or lay destruction upon the land. But even with all of the godlike ability bestowed upon Maxwell, he was still merely a puppet, a toy for an entity known only as “Them”. Eventually, the entertainment value They once saw in him diminished, and for reasons once again unknown, Their temperament towards him soured. It wasn’t long until he became a prisoner of the powers he once commanded.
Days, centuries, eons passed upon the Throne. Forced to continue watching over the Constant, Maxwell watched survivors flood in, each tempted by some desire or hubris, just as he was. He endured years of watching them struggle, survive, thrive, and die, until one of them finally had the courage to find their captors and give them a piece of their mind: a scientist named Wilson, who was as clever as he was stubborn. After passing the traps and obstacles set out by Them, Wilson overcame Their trials and found Maxwell at the very end, beaten and dejected. Despite all the retired ruler’s warnings, Wilson found enough pity within him to end Their torment and take Maxwell’s place as Their prisoner.
Now, without the immortality and godlike abilities bestowed by the Throne (and with a deep disdain for Ragtime music,) Maxwell's left with little more than the clothes on his back and the book in his hand. But he's... free, and he’s armed with an eternity’s worth of near omnipotent knowledge to aid him in his final escape.
Personality:
Conceited, shrewd, and full of spite, Maxwell is sure to get whatever he wants, even if it means sacrificing a bit of himself in the process. Still, if the Constant taught him anything, it was to always makes certain of what cards lie on his side of the table before making a move. Having been both the puppet and the puppeteer a few times in his life, he knows the value of picking one’s battles carefully, especially when he’s found himself more on the “puppet” side. Thus, even with all his hubris, Maxwell acknowledges that patience is a virtue, one that he’s certainly had ample time to practice.
While he can flash a smile and put on a fabulous show in the presence of preferable company, Maxwell's years in the Constant alone haven't exactly made him a socialite. His kindness and willingness to perform favors are rarely without a price, and he tends to come off as cold, at best. Irritate him enough, and you may even be met with an ugly retaliation. Though now off of the Nightmare Throne, the presence of Them still adds a touch of cruelty and viciousness, should the moment strike him exactly wrong. Though the occurrences are rare, it might be best to be wary of that book at his side when provoking his wrath; the old king still has a few nasty tricks left up his sleeve, after all.
Should you find yourself able to get on his good side, you might even be lucky enough to get the old magician to relax a little, maybe even open up. To his companions and allies, Maxwell is surprisingly caring, though he’d never readily admit to it. Having spent so much time being everyone’s “bad guy”, he’s certain that, at this point, trying to justify unwarranted acts of goodwill would be more of a hassle than simply dismissing them. Just be wary for any job offers as his assistant: you may want to... decline.
Fears:
After his arrival to the Constant, Maxwell learned quite quickly to fear the dark. While yes, poor visibility was not preferable in a world teeming with all sorts of creepy crawlies, the darkness itself brought its own dangers. They, along with his former assistant and companion, Charlie, lurked in the shadows, bringing harm to those unfortunate enough to be without light. Just one bite from Charlie was enough to put down an unarmored Maxwell, making him wary of any gruesome hisses that haunt him from the dark.
On a deeper level, behind his snarky attitude and past his usual arrogance, Maxwell is afraid of failure. From his criminal record to the lost lives of loved ones, Maxwell’s shortcomings torment him, reminding him that the slightest imperfection could cost him dearly. Therefore, any dependence others may have for him to just do something right is a burden that always weighs heavy upon his shoulders, for he knows well the fate of those that suffer from his faults.
Weaknesses:
No longer under the protection of the Nightmare Throne, Maxwell isn’t quite as durable as he used to be. Nowadays he finds himself even more fragile than your average person, leaving him unable to take quite as many hits as most.
In addition to his physical frailty, Maxwell endures some heavy sense of guilt, especially in regards to his companion, Charlie. Though he tries to cover it up with a stony demeanor, the tragedy continues to torment him.
Mundane Strengths/Abilities: After spending an insurmountable measure of time watching over the prisoners of the Constant, observing every moment of madness, hopelessness and death (while also enduring the demons that come with the Throne), very little phases the retired king of the Constant. Maxwell has just about seen all there is to see… and more.
Maxwell is able to not only endure and recover from more traumatizing nightmares better than most, but think more rationally in most fight or flight situations. After all, when strapped to a chair in the company of monsters, the most valuable thing one might have left to hang onto is their sanity. It just wouldn’t be dapper to go without.
Sensitivity/Magical Ability: The Codex Umbra offers many talents to its users, especially concerning those of shadow magic. Some tricks and skills Maxwell has picked up include:
-Manipulating shadows into the simple forms of creatures or objects. Creatures tend to only last briefly, and cannot do anything but remain as an image. Objects tend to be more on the side of tools, such as shovels, picks, or even swords. Whatever he summons, it may cause some mental stress upon Maxwell until the shadows are dispelled.
-Creating shadowy doubles of himself that might act in his stead. While unable to speak or think by themselves, they are at least able to perform simple commands, such as attacking a singular target or interacting with their environments. Creating doubles takes an unfortunate toll on his mind, making him more vulnerable to horrors he would otherwise brush off. Once the puppets are dismissed, Maxwell is able to recover his senses as normal.
-Drowning out the dark with a spell of light. As this spell is powerful enough to flood your average living space and dispel the shadowy creatures that may dwell within, it’s both mentally and physically exhausting on Maxwell to perform. Therefore, he is not likely to use the spell often, and if he should use it more than once within a short length of time, the distress it causes could incapacitate him.
Additionally, having worked with magic for so long, Maxwell is sensitive to other beings and objects imbued with magic. While he may not know every detail about it, he at least has a pretty good idea as to when something supernatural is going on. Shadow magics and magics dealing heavily with mental strain and manipulation tend to be more towards his specialty.
Supply List:
-The Codex Umbra: a spellbook that allows Maxwell to work his magic. Its text is in ancient language that, while not indecipherable, is quite uncommon.
Game Transfers: Nothing to see here.
Sample RP post:
“I don't understand why I have to tell you this more than once, Higgsbury. It's not happening.” Maxwell glared down at his campmate, arms tightly folded across his chest. He did not dare to look at the clunky formation of rocks that stood beside them, unwilling to humor Wilson’s proposition for even a moment. Wilson, however, was completely beside himself with excitement, pickaxe in hand and rearing to go.
“Aw, come on, Maxwell! Where’s your sense of adventure, your spirit for discovery!” He pleaded, adding on by throwing his hands to the sky in hopes that his enthusiasm might rub off. Maxwell, though now eyeing the pick that was just flailed carelessly around his personal space, only offers an apathetic shrug. “Must’ve left that all down there before I plugged it up. Come on, this discussion is over-- we’re going back to camp.”
He turned on his heel, ready to march the two back to safety when the scientist latched onto his arm. A preemptive eye-roll was all Max could get in before Wilson started his whining again with, “Come on-- just a peek? Not even 10 minutes! I’m dying to know what’s going on down there!
“And you’ll be doing a lot of dying once you get down there, too! Surprisingly, Higgsbury, I’m not as willing as you are to lay my life on the line for such nonsensical, frivolous ‘adventures’. Let’s. Go.” With his final word, Maxwell tore his arm from Wilson’s grip and marched onward. Though normally a patient man, this antic had begun to push his boundaries. Walking away was all he could do to keep himself from snapping.
Wilson, frowning, let his arms drop to his sides as Max ripped away. As he glared after the magician making his great escape back to camp, Wilson straightened his posture and laid a hand across his chin, immediately thinking up a new way to… persuade Maxwell into staying. A sly grin lifted the corner of his mouth as he began to say, “Weelllllll I guess that’s that then. I’ll just have to… go down there alone, and then you can explain to the others why you went back without me!”
Maxwell froze, stopping dead in his tracks. Half-turning, he snarled back, “What?”
“I mean…” Wilson began, drumming his fingers together and glancing away, as if to feign some sort of innocence in his train of thought. “You…did say that ‘I’ would be doing a lot of dying down there, not ‘we’, so I could only assume you’d be leaving me to go aaalll by myself. To die! Alone. Without you.”
Maxwell narrowed his eyes. “I also said ‘let’s go’ not even two beats after.” This was received with a shrug of the shoulders, another attempt at feigned innocence from the gentleman scientist.
“Was that to me? I know how you like to talk to those shadows of yours. It’s really hard to tell who you’re talking to sometimes, you know?”
Rubbing his temples, Maxwell let out an irritated sigh. A moment of silence was shared by the two, though each approached it with their own, incredibly different tones: Maxwell, tired, annoyed, and grumbling to himself; Wilson, eager, grinning, and all too pleased with himself.
“10 minutes. That’s it.” A subtle “Yes!” hissed from Wilson’s teeth as he pumped his fist. His excitement was cut short, however, as Maxwell continued. “--but. If anything goes wrong and some horror follows us back to camp, wreaking mayhem on all the progress and effort everyone’s made in the past few months, you get to tell them of the brilliant plan you hatched to blackmail me into this nonsense.”
A wicked, bitter grin lay across Maxwell’s lips. “Agreed?”
“Now, hang on just a second---” Wilson tried to argue, but Maxwell already began to approach the rubble covering up the cave’s sinkhole, dragging a pickaxe from his pack and slinging it over his shoulder. He gave a ceremonious wave over the rocks before interjecting, “Time’s a-tickin’, Higgsbury.”
“R-right!” No time for arguments-- Wilson started hacking away at the rocks, all the while cursing himself for haggling with such a small wager earlier. Maxwell, either still too miffed by the situation or too above the labor, lifted his pick with one hand and flicked the wrist of the other, commanding some mass of shadows to take up his tool and work in his stead. He folded his arms and looked on as the two chipped away at the sinkhole, stewing in his thoughts. Slowly his irritation turned to gloom as the realization of what they would be revisiting settled in. Though certainly cross for being forced into the decision in the first place, his irritation also stemmed from his worries. Nothing good could come out of visiting the caves; it would only put them both at unnecessary risk, and while he hated to say it, he did worry for both of their lives. Somehow, through all his ramblings, mediocre puns, and… eccentricities, the scientist had grown on him.
The final crack against the stone pulled Maxwell back into reality, just in time to watch rubble clear away from the hole and reveal the rope he had used so long ago to satisfy his own curiosity. Even the piton that he used to secure it remained fully intact, as if it were driven into the ground just moments ago. Pity. Getting on his hands and knees, Wilson leaned over the hole and let out a slow, swooping whistle. “Loooong way down.”
“After you,” Maxwell retorted, and gave a little nod to the sinkhole. He certainly didn’t have to tell Wilson twice: after a little tug on the rope to ensure its security, the scientist was down the hole. Maxwell waited until every last strand of Wilson’s ridiculous haircut was out of sight before letting another sigh go and stepping forward. He lingered at the edge of the sinkhole, staring down at the inky blackness with a hint of despair in the furrow of his brow. Without even a sideways glance, he waved his hand, dispelling his shadowy puppet so as not to bring too much company into the caves.
“Just… 10 minutes, Carter,” He mumbled to himself, as if coaching himself for the journey ahead. With a deep inhale, he dropped to the ground and seized the rope, then began his slow descent after his insufferable campmate.
