One of the interesting things about how we see Maxwell is that - while a certain amount of stuffiness is how he is and how he was raised - the context of his first adventure naturally steers him to be less whimsical than he otherwise might have been.
Like. He is under huge stakes/pressure. His family is on the verge of financial ruin, so he's trying to save them. Professor Macleod's message indicates that she's in mortal peril and there's a ticking clock on getting there in time to help. The Macleods will lose their home if he can't produce results to fix his family's financial situation. And he wants to impress his heroes.
Even ignoring the last one, all of the other three are extremely serious situations with a massive heaping of responsibility and urgency to them. Any one of them would make a normal person stressed to the gils and desperately rushing.
And then the veteran Wind Riders keep wanting to stop and play with flying turtles and nut pugs and stuff. And get annoyed with him for not wanting to waste precious time on things that aren't saving his family and the Professor and the Macleods.
How much more relaxed would he have been, how much better might they have gotten along, had his first adventure been when his family had no financial problems and the Professor wasn't missng presumed in mortal peril?
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Chapter Twenty-Three: Enigmas at the Ectic Station
Maxwell Gotch x reader
Warnings: minor feels
Word count: 1730
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I will throw myself down the stairs to avoid having it done to me...
It has been a very long few months for me and my household but I have also had this chapter sitting in my notes for at least a month now so I'll just blame the demons for this one.
Enjoy!
Olethra stood silently beside you as the two of you stared up at the balloon of the ship, eyes locked on the black mass that was stitching the fabric together. The sun had already started to set, casting a glow over the reflective surface of the creature.
"So," the younger girl broke the silence, eyes locked onto the goop as it writhed, tendrils flicking out every now and then, "is Van a squid now?"
You don't reply immediately, blinking owlishly up at the balloon before turning suddenly, brows furrowed, "Did you just ask me if Van is a squid?"
She shrugs, avoiding your eyes as she scratches the side of her face awkwardly, "Hearing it out loud definitely made it sound weirder than thinking it." With a singular nod she stares down at a notch in the boards of the deck, "Back to the drawing board."
"Fair enough."
The silence falls over the two of you again, attention returning to the mass slithering across the damaged balloon, watching the way it seems to bubble.
"I'm sorry," she breaks the silence again, turning to you abruptly, "you thought the meat grinder was hot?" Her eyes are narrowed, peering up at you incredulously.
Tilting your head you weigh your answer, shrugging as you turn to face her as well, "Mostly because it was Maxwell." You pause for a moment, face pinching as you rethink the statement, "I think."
At the sight of her brows raising in confusion you shake your head, aiming to push the subject aside, "You trying to set us up too?"
With a scoff she turns away, sputtering slightly as she's put on the spot, "No..." she presses her lips together, trying to ignore your constant stare and losing, "Maybe..." her eyes shift to you, side eyeing you as you huff out a laugh, turning to your previous position of observation.
Before the silence can settle awkwardly you break it, voice softening as you address the young adventurer, "How you doing Olethra?" Her head turns to you, brows high and eyes wide as she registers your words, "You holding it together with everything happening?"
She shrugs weakly, "I think so." You continue to stare at her, watching as she fidgets slightly before a deep sigh escapes her, shoulders drooping slightly, "I dunno," her hands flop by her sides, brows furrowed as she continues, "I guess I'm just happy to even be a part of it all. This was something I thought I could only dream about for so long, so being here now still doesn't feel completely real." Her eyes are wide, reflecting the stars as they start to appear one by one.
You chuckle lightly, bringing a fist up to gently shove her shoulder, "Took living the dream a little too literally." She lets out a short laugh at the action, a suppressed smile lighting up her features.
With a smile you rest the hand on the same shoulder, locking your gaze onto her own heavily, "You know, if it does become too much, you can always come find me." She raises a brow at the offer, head tilting curiously as you shrug, folding your arms over your chest, "It was definitely overwhelming for me when I was younger."
She looks unconvinced at the idea, not quite connecting the two concepts together, "Really?" You? Overwhelmed? She couldn't see it.
"Still is." You shift your gaze to the sky, watching as the stars become clearer by the second, mapping the constellations you'd been creating every night, "Don't be afraid to lean on everyone a little bit."
She stares unabashedly, noting the way your face relaxed as your eyes skipped from star to star, clearly as earnest as you could be. With a smile she mirrors you, "Okay."
A boot kicked the gally door open then, revealing Pappy as he lugged a big pot in front of him, "Beans are ready!"
The winds are rough and cold, battering against the crew as each of you carve a way through the waist deep snow. Your hands are constantly shifting, regulating the air temperature as much as you could around the group without losing the mist coverage you had. It felt odd to be trailing along with the rest of the crew instead of dashing ahead, wind beneath your heels, but everyone had agreed it would be smarter to stick together, hoping to avoid an early confrontation. Instead you found yourself struggling through the snow, feet sinking with every step in the unfamiliar terrain.
"Are you in need of assistance?" Torse moves along beside you, unimpeded by the layers of powder that had accumulated.
You blink owlishly up at the automaton, not quite sure how to answer until you find your foot suddenly immovable from its icy confines, "I mean... I'm not exactly used to slumming it. Flying isn't quite as safe right now."
Suddenly, a metal arm is wrapped around your frame, "Here." You are lifted easily, placed safely on his shoulder well above the ground, and safe from your foot freezing permanently to the ground, "Is this sufficient enough?"
You can't help but notice he holds his arm up over your lap, the large spikes across his shoulder angled in a way that ensures your comfort, "Uh..." with a small pat on his arm you give him a smile, "Yes. Thank you."
He nods shortly, turning his attention forward once more as he continues to walk with the rest of the crew, "It is no problem."
At the other side of the group, Maxwell glances over, noting your new position on the shoulder of the Zernian warrior. Something in his chest pangs at the sight, distracting him enough for the keys in his hand to start lifting without him noticing.
"Gotch!"
His head whips back at the sound of Monty's voice, pulling him back to the task at hand, "Huh? Oh!" Quickly he holds the key up, leading the group closer to the doors of the reasearch station.
As the crew moves about the tower you find Comfrey's office, opening drawers and rummaging through shelves meticulously gor any information. Light footsteps enter the room, alerting you to Olethra's presence easily as she trails after you. Whiping your head back you throw her a smile, voice filled with mirth, "Well, if it isn't The Kid."
A grin flashes across her face before she coughs into her fist, struggling to maintain a semi serious expression, "No autographs, please!" You laugh as she holds her hands up, shaking your head before returning to your search.
The two of you move about the room in tandem, searching separately and idly chatting about random things you find. You stop short as you open a drawer, coming across a stack of letters adressed to Comfrey. Skimming through you look for symbols and seals, plucking free some that catch your eye, only to pause as you catch the contents of one in particular.
Placing the stack to the side you skim its contents, missing as Olethra leaves the room with tears tracking down her cheeks.
He forgets to feel bad as his head turns about the room, concern taking over when he realises you aren't with the group and tracing Olethra's path back to Comfrey's office. Upon entry he can't see you and almost turns to leave, barely catching sight of your boots peaking from behind the desk.
As he rounds the desk his concern increases, noting the white knuckled grip you have on the letter in your hand, jaw clenched and eyes stone cold as you stare down at the paper.
You jolt as he says your name, low and careful as if speaking to a wild animal, wide eyes making him pause in his approach. The silence thickens between the two of you as you stare up, not really seeing him for a second before letting out a shaky sigh.
Without a word you hold the letter out to him, folding your arms around yourself once he takes it from you.
"My patience runs thin Macleod.
I have gone to great lengths to procure this child and now I find out the mother is dead? You will give me compensation for the loss of property or I will see to it that you lose everything just as I have. Its father has now been sent to retrive it. See to it that he does or you will be delt with.
You will not ruin this for me Macleod."
Maxwell's brow furrows more and more as he reads the short letter, "Property?" His eyes flick up to you as you breathe back to claritty, "What is this?"
With a wry smile you reach a hand up, plucking the paper from his grip and folding it deftly, "This is a letter from - who I now know is - my grandfather." Your stare down at the paper, looking as if you could light it aflame with your stare alone, "Talking about me and my ma like objects." A huff of sour laughter escapes you as you move back onto your feet, ignoring the hand Maxwell holds out for you, "Something less than human."
He watches closely as you slip the latter back into its envelope, jaw ticking as you shove it a little less than carefully into a hip pouch, "How do you know who it's from?" His words are slow, cautious, putting pieces together in a puzzle he doesn't have.
Your eyes meet his own sharply and he feels himself jolt slightly, causing you to soften with a resigned sigh, "Because I have a whole chest of them back on the ship. Same writing. Same seal. Same everything." With a huff you shrug, moving to shift the notes on Cpmfrey's desk into a pile, "But now's not the time I guess." Tapping the edge of the pile straight you lay the stack down, plastering an easy smile onto your face and nodding in faux satisfaction.
"Wait-"
"Really Max." His brows are furrowed as you turn to him once more, hands planted on hips as you grin up at him, "We got work to do!"
As you walk past, patting his shoulder with a wink he stays frozen, letting you leave as he watches after you. Confusion and concern flood him, unable to even slightly react to the mask of flirtation and bravado you had slid on so quickly.
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People (neighbours, fellow socialites, the general public, readers of Monty's books, whichever paperpusher got stuck with the legal proceedings of the head of two govt departments attempting to gun people down above a different nation over a 'stolen' airship) keep assuming that the explanation for why Maxwell chose to help Olethra try to find her grandmother instead of siding with his family is a heterosexual one.
Maxwell and Olethra getting increasingly irritated because no. They are friends. They are not of compatible orientations. And even if they were, what a horrifically dim view of humanity to have to assume it had to be romance and not the call of adventure or having more moral fibre than a chocolate eclair that lead Maxwell to drop everything to try to help.
"As a gentleman it was my duty to help regardless of who-"
"Ew, no! Also My girlfriend is right there!"
Basically, besties vs stupid societal expectations.
Like, D20 is not a particularly morally ambiguous show - no shade to it, it's a DnD show and DnD is not built on a basis of morally ambiguous storytelling. (In fact, DnD has a long, long history of each new generation of players looking at the last and going "excuse me, you had WHAT power? And you said it was okay that you used that because you were the Good GuysTM so it wasn't wrong when you did it? Do you hear yourself???".)
We're meant to like Samwell. He stands up for Maxwell in the first episode, he's called "reasonable", he quotes Sam Reich, and he fights on the correct side in the final battle.
Nevertheless: death of the author, etc. This is fandom.
...and the word reasonable, given the state of the Gotch family, always bugs me.
It's not just that the people who play the role of family peacekeeper (as Samwell does) often end up glossing over and pressing victims to forgive the abusive members of the family in the name of "peace" (how often have we all been the one who was bullied, caught fighting back, and told to be reasonable, when reasonable meant just shut up and put up with it, how often does being reasonable become "well i only saw you hit your sibling so i have to base my response on what i saw because i only have your word that they started it").
It's also. Samwell was the heir. And people will ignore all sorts of horrors if standing up to them and making a scene is portrayed as "being unreasonable".
Like. We know that when Maxwell an Wealwell went missing and Longspot didn't care, that's when Samwell snapped and left, but before that? How much did he know before that? How much was he willing to put up with? Was he fine with everything until it affected the safety of his brothers or was he - the heir - being kept in the dark? Did he make it onto Straka because of wacky Zoodian hijinks or did he have prior knowledge? Mustn't he have, to have been able to track down a biangle alone?
Obviously, I'm not saying Samwell is a bad person or that canon implies he did a heel turn rather than always being good.
It's just that the possibility of moral ambiguity is there.
