Chapter Text
December 27, 10:12 PM
Berry Big Circus
Lodging House Plaza
Russell knelt on the ground over a mysterious brown box almost half the size of him. Max leans over to peer down, hoping to get a peek at whatever had been stressing the ringmaster out all night.
Max: So? What on earth is it, anyway?
Russell: …We’re about to find out.
Max: (He doesn’t even know?! Then what could there possibly be to stress about?)
Max: Quit worrying, won’t you? It’s bad for the heart, Russell.
Russell only sighs in response, leaving Max’s comment hanging in the air. There had been multiple failed attempts from the magician all night to make conversation, hoping to bring up that idea that he’d been meaning to tell. But Russell wouldn’t budge. Nothing more than one-word answers and dismissive sighs, anyway. What a fabulously dreary night.
After staring at the box in uncomfortably prolonged silence, Russell moves shaking hands to the clasps to finally open it.
Max: Sweetie, what are you shaking for?
What the hell could be inside to have Russell shaking like that? A pit of dread formed in Max’s stomach. Obviously, there was something Russell wasn’t telling him–hell, he’d hardly spoken all night. But something was wrong.
And before Max could even process what was happening, something shot down inches away from Max’s face, tearing his hat off of his head. Russell slumped over the box when the thing hit the back of his neck with an uncomfortable crack. Was that— Max’s own trophy?!
???: Whuh–WHAT?!
Somebody was shouting. Max looked up to see Moe peeking out of the open window to his room. Tears well up in his eyes as he looks in mild shock at Russell's body, then Max. Back and forth a couple of times as he tried to process what was happening. Truthfully, Max was doing the exact same thing. Not that Moe would believe it.
Moe: Russell–? Is he—did you…WHAT DID YOU DO?!?!!
Russell is dead, and Moe thinks he’s just caught Max in the act.
Max’s ears are ringing. He starts sputtering out some denial that he can hardly hear over his heart beating in his chest. Moe continues to shout, all of it is for naught. Max is hyperventilating, shaking his head frantically, and…it isn’t even a conscious choice, really, when his legs begin to carry him away from the crime scene in a quick jog.
Maximillian Galactica continues to run until he spots the flashing red and blue in the distance.