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It hasn’t been all that long since the formation of their impromptu adventure party, and Max is a little unsure of how long it’ll last. Taric—Max still refuses to call the man ‘Mister Wizard’—and Brodude seem happy enough with this arrangement, and at least somewhat trustworthy. Ruby, on the other hand, seems to fluctuate between trusting them and doubting them at the drop of a hat. He wouldn’t be all that surprised if, eventually, their antics end up driving her away, but he wouldn’t be opposed to her sticking around, either.
Her abilities are useful, although Max hasn’t exactly given her as many opportunities to sneak around as she’d probably like. If you ask him, bagpipes really are a must when attempting stealth, though she very clearly does not agree. If looks could kill… he’d certainly be a dead man.
To be clear, Max still doesn’t need their help. No, he could’ve done all this alone, or at least attempted to do so, but—it was… nice. Being around them. Having people to mock and joke with and annoy is something he has, unfortunately, missed. Although if Brodude insists on throwing himself in front of every attack aimed at Max, they’re definitely going to have a problem.
Jason does, admittedly, often look as if a strong breeze might knock him over, and Ruby doesn’t always seem keen on fighting directly, but Max? He’s not delicate, nor fragile, and he’s perfectly capable of taking a few hits. If one glancing sword or dagger was enough to take him out, he wouldn’t still be here today. It’s one thing for Max to put his own life on the line, but he can safely say he isn’t very fond of others doing the same for him.
Now that the group has settled in a fairly standard inn, the sort that Max has spent many a night in, he’s decided he’ll be the one to patch up Brodude’s wounds. He’s by far the most qualified, what with his medical knowledge and healing spells. You can’t get very far as a lone adventurer without picking up a few things to avoid infection or death, but he’d also been taught some bits and pieces as a child.
All that is to say that fixing up injuries that others gain is his duty, even though he’s not much in the mood for socializing currently.
Sat across from a merrily crackling fireplace, Max rummages through his satchel, pulling out the bandages and supplies he has on hand. He keeps a watchful eye on his companions as he does so—Logan is already gone, retired to one of the bedrooms some time ago. He cited a need for ‘beauty sleep’, though Max is fairly certain no amount of sleep could fix whatever is wrong with that man.
Ruby, meanwhile, is sharpening her daggers in a dimly lit corner, positioned where she can easily see all the entrances and exits to the room. Brodude had left some time ago to speak with the tavern’s barkeep, but the heavy wooden doors swinging open attracts Max’s attention as the dwarf re-enters the room. Getting up, freshly earned bruises faintly twinging as he moves, Max strides towards Brodude, still feeling a bit peevish.
“I’ll help with that.” He gestures to the gash on Brodude’s arm, not yet big enough to be an urgent concern but not small enough to be ignored.
Brodude attempts to wave him off, nonchalant but still friendly, clearly intending to just walk past him. “No need, I can wrap it myself.”
Max frowns at the casual display of carelessness, somewhat offended by the notion that he could do a better job treating the injury. “Sit.”
He hopes his tone gets across how little he wants to argue about this as he points at a stray chair nearby, settled a short distance away from the fireplace. It’s been a long day, and the last thing he needs is to be ignored. Wisely, Brodude takes the hint after a small pause, dutifully following his instructions. The wooden chair briefly shudders underneath the weight of the dwarf’s muscular figure and the large weapons on his back, but it holds just fine.
Brodude regards him silently as Max pulls up the other man’s sleeve enough to start carefully inspecting the wound. He needs to know if it’s big enough to warrant a healing spell, or if he should just skip it. The injury is hardly a pretty sight, but Max barely bats an eye at blood these days, and it appears small enough to treat without using up any magical energy. He pulls a spare clean cloth from his bag, wetting it with a bit of water he quickly steals from an unattended table.
He tries to be gentle as he dabs at the cut and the irritated skin around it, cleaning away dried blood so he can access the area more easily. Brodude doesn’t so much as flinch at what must surely be somewhat painful, the tensing of muscles the only sign he’s bothered at all. Max accidentally presses a little too hard and gets a quick intake of breath in return, but nothing else.
“You shouldn’t be so reckless, you know,” Max mutters, a familiar flash of irritation rising as he recalls how this even happened in the first place. “I would’ve been perfectly fine.”
Brodude looks a little lost, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Are you… upset?”
Max scoffs, deeming the wound clean enough as he puts the cloth down to grab a small container of healing salve he always carries with him. “I just don’t think you need to get yourself hurt to defend me.”
“It’s my job. This is what I’m good at.” Brodude shifts in his chair, voice slightly uncertain, but he states it like it’s a definitive, immutable truth.
Something almost haunted flickers behind his eyes, an unreadable emotion carved into his features for only a minute before it’s gone. Max suspects there’s more to this than meets the eye, and he’s half-tempted to ask, but he swallows any questions before they can emerge from his mouth. It’s hardly his business, anyway—they’re barely more than strangers—but Brodude hadn’t hesitated to risk his life for theirs. That counts for more than Max wants to admit.
And, despite his best efforts, Max likes Brodude, probably more than he does either of their other companions at the moment. They haven’t known each other long, but he’s been kind to Max and willingly goes along with whatever plans he comes up with, even if they’re almost definitely doomed to fail. It is so nice to have a partner in crime again.
“It's not the only thing. You can pull off a rather impressive backflip.” Max avoids making eye contact, keeping his gaze fixed on the wound as he applies salve to it with careful fingers.
“You weren’t too bad yourself.” Brodude chuckles, probably recalling how Max had very nearly acquainted himself with the ground.
It says a lot that despite Max’s rather poor attempt at acrobatics, Brodude still doesn’t have a hint of sarcasm or a mocking tone in his voice. Perhaps the quality of the backflip matters less to him than the person he met because of it, or perhaps Max is reading far too much into it due to his weariness from today’s ordeals.
“Uneven floors.” They both know it’s not really the truth, and Brodude gives him an amused look but doesn’t refute his claim.
The sense of friendly camaraderie between them is a bit… jarring. Max isn’t usually in the business of trusting people these days, or worse—getting attached—as he’s gotten in the habit of doing everything alone. He can be nice to some people if they’ve earned it, but it hasn’t been anything lasting. Loathe as he is to admit it, though, he has enjoyed his time with this group, and he suspects they won’t be splitting up just yet. He won’t get his hopes up, but perhaps it could be beneficial to have their skills and allyship in the future.
For a few moments, it’s quiet, neither of them saying anything as Max wipes excess salve off his hands, putting the lid on the small container and sliding it back into his satchel.
“I was a soldier. Before.” Brodude breaks the silence unprompted, sporting a troubled expression as Max glances at him. “Nobody ever cared if I got hurt.”
“Well, it’s not that I care,” Max does have a reputation to maintain, after all, so he keeps his voice nonchalant as he reaches for bandages. “but I don’t want to be patching you up all the time. I can take a hit, you know? I’m perfectly capable of defending myself, I don’t need you jumping in to protect me.”
It’s been a long time since anyone has tried to protect Max, anyway. Bit of a waste of time, isn’t it? He’ll just keep getting himself into trouble over and over again because it’s what he does, making any effort to defend him utterly pointless.
The look on Brodude’s face fades into a small smile as he leans back, the muscles in his arms flexing as he does so. “If you’re trying to tell me not to do anything stupid, you’re talking to the wrong dwarf.”
Max is beginning to get the feeling that they’re kindred spirits, for better or for worse. For some reason, he’s sure this won’t be the last time he’ll be treating Brodude’s injuries and scolding him over it, but he can’t seem to find the energy to push the matter any further.
“I’m surrounded by idiots,” He begrudgingly admits with a large, heavy sigh, and Brodude just laughs in response.
“You say that as if you aren’t one of them,” Ruby remarks unexpectedly from behind Max, startling a yelp out of him as he twists to face her.
Last time he checked, she was across the room, busy with her knives and whatever else she does in her spare time. How she managed to move silently enough to avoid his notice, he doesn’t know, but he finds it deeply unsettling.
“Must you sneak around everywhere? I have nothing for you to steal,” He complains, glaring petulantly at her, but she isn’t deterred, simply smirking before walking away without another word.
Grumbling under his breath about her audacity, he turns back to the task of wrapping bandages securely around Brodude’s arm, not missing the way the dwarf tracks him with curious eyes. Max ignores it—if he wants to share what he’s thinking, he will, and Max certainly won’t be the one to encourage him to open up. He is not drunk enough to deal with a heart-to-heart.
He finishes treating Brodude’s injury fairly quickly, and once he’s done, he gives him a small nod. “You’re free to go. The wound is small enough that it shouldn’t reopen easily, but don’t go testing your luck too much.”
“Thank you, Max. I appreciate it.” Brodude smiles at him once again, voice warm as he stands up, armor clanking as he leaves the room to presumably retire for the night.
What a peculiar man. Max reflects on the encounter as he packs his medical supplies away, bemusedly realizing that Brodude would’ve fit right in with the other circusfolk Max had grown up with. A backflipping dwarven warrior? That certainly would’ve been quite the attraction. There’s definitely more to Brodude than he’s letting on, though, and it likely has something to do with his own background.
But as Max stands, he notices the darkening sky through the nearest window, the sun nearly gone beneath the horizon, so he puts it out of his mind. Some mysteries are best left for another day, and he’d rather try and get some much-needed rest in the meantime.