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Rorick Skyve
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As soon as Ben started talking, Maxim slightly lifted his head, looked up at him, only to get a load of sarcasm into his face. Less than flattering image. It was Ben, not like there had been any doubt about it, but now he could at least see him with his own eyes. Bent over, hand still extended. He couldn't quite understand. If this was a game, then the other boy certainly did keep a stiff upper lip. Either that or he was a masterful actor.

Either way, he'd remain wary. His heart was at least going at a slower rate now, the pain subsiding. He could not see a weapon on Ben, not in his hands, not worn on his belt. Maybe hidden somewhere under his clothes? Maxim's eyes scanned the one towering over him for a second, head to toe - no, didn't seem likely, no real room for it. Maybe in his bag, but then again, he'd have no time to draw it without Maxim noticing.

Maybe he really was safe, for now. He wanted to believe it, though the fact that it was Ben of all people who he'd have to trust in made that decision infinitely harder.

Maxim put both his hands on the ground, lifting himself into a seated position. Ben's hand was still directly in front of him. He considered ignoring. Really, the last thing he wanted to do was to accept help from the likes of him. Still, it wasn't a smart move to make. It was already peculiar enough for that boy to aid him, him disgruntling Ben any further could have easily had consequences he'd rather forgo. So only one thing to do.

Maxim grit his teeth, simultaneously chewing on his lip. Then he extended his own hand to take Ben's. A shiver went through him as soon as he made contact and it was purely unpleasant. Slowly, he got to his feet, one corner of his mind still expecting Ben to conjure a dagger out of nowhere and shove it between his ribs.

Finally, he was standing again, though he immediately took another step backwards. He'd keep his distance from that one. "So you're telling´me you're unarmed then?" His tone was skeptical, estimating. Three people he ran in so far and none of them truly armed. What were the odds?

He stayed silent for a second, pondering about whether or not to say it. Doing so was practically admitting he had erred in his assessment of Ben. At least about his current intentions. Damnit. It was common courtesy, he had to do it, even when he'd have to forcibly expel the words from his throat.

"Also, thanks."
Peoples and Sheeples for V6
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Good Omens · The Library