#fuchs oc

The conversation had gone off into the weeds, now on some tangent that had something to do with Lexikon and a cricket. Becker couldn't be bothered with it. He sat staring across the bar trying to think of a way to avoid having to take an assistant. There had to be an answer.

Cigarette smoke struck him and he huffed it from his nose.

He tried recalling what exactly was listed in regulations. Had there been anything about assistant requirements? Everyone had one, of course, but was it mandatory? Could the Council actually hold him back without one, or was that something Møller was making up? It had been so long since Becker had read basic regulations, he didn't know for sure. Hell, he couldn't remember if he still had the book—

"Walram."

The softness of the voice startled him, turning away from Fuchs to the hand on his shoulder.

That was the moment he felt aware of the fact he was home. Maxinne was tall, trained to deal with men through words and genially than battle or violence. Technically a civilian, she was a professional entertainer, caretaker, and teacher known as a Bijou.

"Earl of Löwen, I haven't seen you in ages. How are you, love?" Tucking a long lock of dark hair behind an ear, she squeezed an arm around Becker's shoulders.

"Restless," he sighed. "This is new, did you make it?" He motioned to her dress. She usually wore bright or flashy shades, he assumed because they complimented her brown complexion, but the maroon dress was nice. A modest neckline, square shoulders with short sleeves and a skirt to her lower leg. The skirt was a shade darker and flared only slightly.

"Mhm, do you like it? It's warm."

"Maxi!" Fuchs half sang, throwing an arm out towards her. She slipped around Becker to meet him, swallowed in his hug. There were only a few Bijou Becker had met personally, but none were as lively as Maxinne. To her core, she was kind –but not afraid to stand her ground. She had a broad, flat face with carefully sculpted brows and painted eyes. But there was protectiveness behind her playful smirk.

“Oh, how I missed you.” Fuchs muffled into her long, dark waves.

"Where have you been?" Maxinne leaned back, doing her best to fix his messy hair.

"Where haven't I been?" He laughed, wobbly on the stool. "Where's Gabi?"

"She's teaching a class today. Agh, sit down, won't you? You're making me nervous." She giggled, pressing on his shoulders. "A Gedriht falling on his ass in public won't look good."

"That's no way for a lady to talk," Fuchs' face scrunched and she grabbed his jaw, squeezing his cheeks. Becker never understood how she mustered enough patience for Fuchs after dealing with patrons all day.

"I'm so happy to see my boys back home. Are you here to stay?" Her dark eyes rolled back to Becker, frowning at his sigh. "You only just got here, love. You can't already want to leave."

"He doesn't want to leave," Fuchs mumbled in her hand. "He's mad at us."

"Mad? What did you do?" Maxinne glared at Fuchs.

"It wasn't my fault! Møller did it. They wanted him to have an assistant. I didn't agree to it." Her glare softened and Becker noticed the way she hesitated to look at him.

"Well, I'm sure that will take some adjusting. Try to be patient. How are they so far?"

"I can't say." Becker glanced to Fuchs, grinning at his scowl.

"You rat, I'm not a spy."

"Well, how about a drink to celebrate." She clapped her hands, stepping away from them to go behind the bar.

"Maxinne, do you really have to?" Becker leaned on the bar, Fuchs jabbing a fist into his arm. "Can't you see he's already at his limit?"

"Oh, now, he still has a few good rounds in him." She waved it off, popping the cork free. "He hasn't even started singing yet." Fuchs didn't seem to hear, sliding his glass eagerly towards her. "So, where did they send you this time?"

"East, to Gerrick." Becker watched her pour the clear liquid into his short glass. It might has well have been water, not sure why she bothered but he didn't argue with her. "Rus rebels have started to get greedy with borders, we had to put a stop to it."

"Rus? Not Brogaldans?"

"They've been fairly quiet on the north coast. It's Lexikon and this idiot who can't calm their lines." He thumbed to Fuchs who had already finished his glass.

"Maybe they'll finally transfer you to South Command then."

"Can't," Fuchs winced a burp.

"He's right," Becker took a sip. "Forbidden, remember?"

"Still? Because of that one time?" She shook her head, taking a moment of quiet and absently pouring Fuchs another glass. "Old men never let anything go."

"All the better for me, I don't have to clean up his messes that way."

"You have a point there." Her attention was pulled over to someone else at the bar. "I'll be right back, but do visit more before you're sent out again. We don't see much of you anymore." With a pat to his arm she left. Fuchs watched her go, sighing deeply.

"It’s good to be home, huh?"