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The Fiorious One
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Maxwell continued to nod along to what Mizore had to say, still pretending that he didn't it all to be pointless drivel.

After all, in Maxwell's opinion, the idea of making random pictures all over the island sounded like a complete waste of time. Nobody was ever going to see them, after all, with the exception of a handful of students who'll be dead within a few days anyway. Unless someone managed to find the island after the game was over, all Mizore was achieving was making the island look a little prettier.

The fact that she didn't sound particularly confident about her own survival didn't help. Seeing as preserving his own life was Maxwell's No1 priority, the idea of accepting death with open arms was practically alien to him. Hence the reason why he never found the idea of sacrificing your own life to be as noble or courageous as many people seemed to think it was. If a person didn't care enough about their own life to waste it in such a senseless manor, then why did they bother living in the first place? Frankly, as far as Maxwell was concerned, such people didn't deserve the praise that so many people seemed to give them.

Of course, he didn't outwardly show his disapproval of Mizore's actions. If anything, in a way, he was quite glad that she was a definite non-player with no real hope of survival. That meant that as long as he kept this facade up, he wouldn't have to worry about her deciding to stab him in the back at some inopportune moment. Whilst he'd originally planned on simply killing her the moment she'd finished stitching his arm up, he was beginning to quite like the idea of sticking around with this girl for a little longer. He could use a meatshield bit of company after having to deal with the competion entirely by himself for the past week or so.

Naturally, he still fully intended on killing her the moment she proved to be of no use to him... Or the moment she finally grew a braincell or two and realised that he was that Maxwell Lombardi fellow who kept on getting mentioned during the announcements. Whichever came first.

Until then, he continued acting as if he was some naive yank instead of the dashing Englishman he really was (Although it had become somewhat evident that he'd accidentally let his accent slip one or two times already... Thankfully, though, Mizore didn't seem to take any notice.)

"I see... Geez, I wish I'd thought of doing something like that. All i've done so far is hide and avoid getting shot at, which until recently has proven to be a fairly good strategy. Fucking dangerzones... Still, I guess it must of been quite risky for you to do all those paintings whilst trying to avoid all the psychop-AH!"

Now THAT hurt. Probably a lot more then the others if Maxwell had actually been concentrating. It was so painful, in fact, that he barely even noticed that Mizore had taken the opportunity to tuck his pistol into her sweatshirt pocket. Which was quite lucky for Mizore, seeing as if Maxwell HAD noticed this he wouldn't have wasted any time in killing Mizore right there on the spot. Thankfully though, the young Brit was far too distracted by the pain to focus on his gun, and by the time he opened his eyes again Mizore had already sucessfully hidden it.

"Sorry about that." she said before continuing to work on his arm.

I should bloody well hope so...

Despite being thoroughly irritated by the painful jab, Maxwell stayed silent as Mizore finished her work, not even showing so much as a scowl as she made the last couple of threads. Once she'd finished, the ambitious young killer took the chance to look over his fixed arm, wincing when he realised just how obvious the injury looked. There was no way he would be able to fully recover from this. It was a scar, just like the one on his left cheek and the one just below his right ear. Yet another constant reminder as to what happens whenever he lets himself get carried away.

After flexing his arm a couple of times to test it out, Maxwell slowly got up and put his black shirt back on, making sure to place his red tie in his pocket without Mizore noticing. He wasn't sure why, but somehow he got the feeling that putting it on right now wouldn't be a good idea. The last thing he needed was to provide even more clues as to his actual identity.

Once Maxwell had put the shirt back on, he turned his attention back to the short asian girl who'd stitched his arm back and decided that a proper thank you was in order. After all, despite the fact that this girl happened to bore him senseless, the fact still remained that acting like an ungrateful bastard wouldn't of been the gentlemanly thing to do. Besides, in all honesty, a small part of him WAS genuinely thankful that she was there to help him out. Plus, it wasn't every day that he came across someone whose first instinct wasn't to point a gun in his face for once. Even someone like Maxwell wasn't cold-hearted enough to not appreciate selfless help when it was given...

...Especially seeing as he could now take full advantage of the girl's naivety to suit his own ends.

"I.... I know I must have already said this a hundred times by now, but... Thank you. You have no idea how grateful I am to see a friendly face right now. To tell the truth, you're probably the first person i've met on this island who hasn't immediately tried to gun me down on the spot. I guess that either makes me one of the luckiest guys alive or one of THE most unluckiest in existance, depending on which way you look at it..."

He paused for a moment, taking the opportunity to look over his arm again before he resumed speaking.

"Still, like I said, thanks again for stitching my arm up, can't imagine how I'd of been able to do it without your help... I just wish there was some way I could repay the offer."

Well.... One thing does immediatly leap to mind, but that would probably be taking this one step a LITTLE too far.
V5 Characters

Brian Zhdanovich - Homestead
Ruby Forrester - Shopping Mall
Jenna Rhodes - Hotel

Deceased V4 Characters
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Riddles Of Monsters · The Woods: Inland