Despite the boss’s previous sour mood upon returning to the island the crew still found time to celebrate their “great haul”. Maxwell was, as usual, excluded from the celebrations even though he was the whole reason they got the haul in the first place. Not that he minded, the crew usually over indulged in both booze and other indulgences. Not to mention, unless they were on the sea, Brutos generally got rather irritated if Maxwell was anywhere near a situation that could turn violent. Maxwell wasn’t sure if it was some twisted way the fishman showed he cared, at least a little, for him, or if he simply didn’t want his greatest asset to get ruined. Either way Max, as well as the crew, never wanted to risk it. So now the brown haired male sat in his room in the rather large building they used as their home when they were on island and listened to a couple of rodents bicker about various things that he assumed were important to them.
“Can we get back on track please.” Maxwell said, gaining their attention once more. The rodents stopped bickering and looked up at him as if they had forgotten he had even been there.
“Like I was saying, Brutos wants more. I would really appreciate it if you and any information now that you give it to me.” “More what?” One of the rodents asked. It looked over Maxwell in a way he had come to realize was the rodent trying to see if he had any snacks on him.
Max produced a couple crackers from his pockets.
“More everything, info, stolen valuables, those kinds of things. He is mad about not getting to that guy before the Livers did.” He handed one cracker to each of the rodents.
“Not your fault rats can’t fly.” One of them squeaked quietly to itself. To which Max almost instinctively cringed. Even though he knew Brutos was not in the house, nor could he understand the rodents, it still made him nervous when they spoke even slightly ill of him. And they did this often. They had a lot to say about a lot of people on the island but the various territory leaders were the favorite topics. Not to mention the offense they felt every time anyone referred to the people The Grime King killed as rats. If he and his higher ups could hear the things the actual rats said about them they would have likely exterminated all of them by now.
“Oh! I remember now, I was going to tell you when you came back but you were getting yelled at.” The other said as the first stuffed its little mouth with as much of the cracker that could fit. “Some of shark man’s last stock have been talking about revolting. I don’t think fish for brains would like it if talk of his supply being bad got out.” Again Max cringed at the subject, he hated thinking of other people as stock but what could he do.
“Thanks, do you know where they are?” The young male asked the rodent. To which it nodded and went on and on about the location of this “bad stock”. It took a bit to piece together where exactly the rodent was talking about. Sometimes they were not the most attentive creatures and they got side tracked a lot.
“Okay, anything else you guys have for me?” He asked when they finally got a few other small pieces of information sorted out.
“Ah yes, we left the pile of shinies in the usual spot, got some good stuff this time I think.” The rodent who previously had its mouth full of cracker seemed rather proud of itself. Max got up to check the hole in the floor where the rats liked to stuff their things. There were a few shiny stones, some Max was almost sure were various gems if they were cleaned off, a couple rings, and various other jewelry, there was even some stuff he was sure they had taken from some raven’s nests, various shiny wrappers and things like that. He would have to be sure he gave those back. The birds hated when the rats stole from them even if it was by accident.
“Thanks.” Max muttered, shooing the two rodents and sitting back to sit in silence for the first time in a while.
Sometimes Max forgot that to them this was just a way to get food, whereas to him it was a matter of staying in a position of relative safety. He wasn’t sure what would happen if Brutos no longer viewed him as useful but he knew for sure it wouldn’t be pretty. Thinking back Maxwell had been a child when he had eaten his devil fruit, stolen from Brutos’s old crew back before the fishman was a captain. That had been close to ten years ago, and seven years since Brutos started up his own crew. Five since Maxwell and Brutos crossed paths once again and the fishman persuaded, if you could call it that, Maxwell to use his abilities to benefit his crew. In return Brutos would make sure nobody else ever laid a hand on Max. Nobody else being anybody but Brutos himself.
With a sigh Maxwell sorted through the remaining trinkets that had been brought to him. Discarding the things he was sure carried no value, and placing the valuables in a bowl beside his door that someone would pick up later. Max wasn’t usually allowed outside of the crew house, unless of course someone else was with him. The captain was too paranoid that someone else knew what the boy could do and would scoop him up, but yet he refused to teach Maxwell how to defend himself. It annoyed Maxwell, but what was he supposed to do about it?
After all was said and done Maxwell leaned against his door and listened to the sound of laughter that came from somewhere else in the house. Likely some of the crew returning after their celebrations. He could go out and join them but he was so exhausted from the time on the sea that he decided not to. Being on the ocean made him nervous, after all, the sea hated him. In a way he was relieved he was no longer allowed on the ships. Solid ground was his friend. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the next time the crew went out to sea leaving Maxwell here with one maybe two “babysitters” who would likely lose interest after a day or two. Oh the things Max would get up to then.
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