#and gale isn't afraid of getting cut. so they have a strange dynamic that isn't at all friends

[recitedemise]

@mercysought asked: ❛  let’s  pretend  like  we’re  friends .  ❜ from maxima :) (𝑺𝑶𝑭𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑺 STARTERS: no longer accepting.)

A strange request...but as usual, he's calm. Gale, dressed to the nines—a ravishing ensemble, his cloth of purple kissed prettily with teal—looks casually upon the twirling masses. He's little one for galas, more a man of libraries than lavish sprawls; however, with Maxima's quip, he craves home more than ever. Gosh, her cruel, foul mouth! Lesser men would wail. 

Fortunately, Gale, ears ringing with the crashing music, is hardly one to rile. As it were, he and Maxima go way back, far back, his chest with bomb and his hair more grey. She's scalding where he soothes. She's knives where he's poetry. And diametrically opposed, born to clash like the elements, Gale, beside her, finds a state of equilibrium; that is, he, inspired, grows sassy, too.

"Under better circumstances, I would advocate for being of the very same mind," he starts lamely, "but as it were, you've those morals of a corkscrew." You're a jester, Gale. He finishes his glass of wine, sets it down, and bunches his brows. Maxima... "I wonder what it is friendship with you entails. If you're asking for a dance, this is a rather roundabout way of doing it."

Not one to fear burns, Gale turns, her sharp eyes greeting him through the sheen of chandeliers. Things have changed since their youth, his life now compromised. (He needs her help.) She still dreams, he's sure.