Maxwell Grits His Teeth Against The Kind, Considerate Mockery Of His Own Habitual Greeting To His Former

Oh look. It's him again. The dumb ass whom finally gave up out of manipulation and listened to the voices

Rose themed corruption BABBBYYYYYYYYYYYY

They really want him back

{ isola starter call ! || @allhesaid ! }

Max clearly isn't the only one in this world who gets a sick sort of comfort out of watching other people suffer. He's entitled to it, as far as he's concerned; after what he's been through, it's only right that he gets to enjoy himself at someone else's expense. It's what They did to him it's what They're doing to Charlie right now and he can pass that pain along as much as he wants to, thank you very much.

(He thinks about the wave of Hounds that came three days before the completion of the portal. The fear in Wilson's eyes hadn't sparked any sort of joy that time, not like it did before. It's a lot harder to want to see someone hurt when they're sacrificing their safety to keep you alive. When they sacrificed everything to give you back your life in the first place--)

But these wannabe gladiators aren't Wilson, and Maxwell doesn't owe them a single thing. Besides, they volunteered for this, probably. All of the fun of watching people get hurt, none of the nagging guilt and regret for his past actions. What could be better!

He waves over his server, his eyes never leaving the fight.

"A Clover Club, please. Two, actually."

Is he here to perform? He hadn't thought about it; he had simply been wandering through town, carefree, until he had found somewhere that caught his eye. Naturally, that had been somewhere with a stage.

"I don't have any of my usual gear, unfortunately..."

But he doesn't need his Codex or props to wow an audience. He's the Amazing Maxwell! All he needs is his charm and some playing cards, and he has both of those in spades.

"But as a matter of fact, yes, I think I will perform. Once you've completed your lesson, of course. Are you a professional tutor, madame?"

(Her friends go ignored for the moment, all attention on Anne.)

Maria scoots to the side when the stranger sits next to her. She's still giving him a dirty look.

Anne seems more appreciative of the new audience member. "Aw, thank you!" she says with a smile and a curtsy.

"Yep, these are my friends!" she answers for them. "Are you here to perform, or you just droppin' by?"

Maria eases up on the glaring, though she keeps her arms crossed. Pearl smiles slightly, and Umbra nods in greeting. (Mister Blue, still standing by Maria's side, simply waves his tail and snorts.)

His smile drops in an instant, irritation flashing across his features. No, no, no. That's not how this works. His playthings don't get to question him and add terms of agreement and try to trap him in something clean-cut and binding like he's a genuine demon.

"Well, that goes without saying, doesn't it?" And he hasn't said it. Technically, it's still not part of the deal. ...he'll certainly need the Librarian's information translated, though, as that little demonstration has shown. How frustrating.

"I don't appreciated being taken for a fool. If you insist on beleaguering me over every little point, perhaps you would care to learn my secrets from someone else. Now, do we have a deal or not?"

His gaze is stone cold, revealing nothing.

"Just a moment, if I may," He rumbled.

"For the sake of clarity, of course." The Librarian was playing too. He knew Maxwell's type; he was one of them. Though, his methods of getting his way perhaps differed. He rarely used honeyed words.

"For one another's portions of knowledge, are they expected to be transcribed in the common language of Radial Island, which we all have inexplicably learned without study?"

Then his mouth opened again and the sounds of chimes and gongs came out instead of words. Or what most would consider words.

"Mira, then." He'll forget her name in no time at all and go back to calling her "child," or perhaps "the observant." Maxwell tends to characterize his pawns by what they do, rather than who they are.

...! "Was that--?"

The victim's ghost...?

Color him impressed. It seems his Mira can do more than just raise Max's spirits.

What an intriguing thing she's turned out to be.

Maxwell is no stranger to ghosts. One of his past deals revolved almost exclusively around keeping one of them tied to the physical realm. He's seen Abigail play, fight, rest, and everything in between. Verbal communication was not her strong suit, at least not to anyone other than her sister, but... still. She was capable of expressing something. Can this spirit not at least give them a hint regarding their killer?

"How did you do that?" he asks Mira with gentle, genuine curiosity. And then: "Did you get anything of use out of it?" Or was she just taking pity on the spirit, allowing it to leave rather than sit around watching people fail to help it?

There's no stopping the utter confusion on her face when he's outright laughing loudly, very uncertain why such information is making him laugh like he is. Was such things funny truly? And it's even more confusing when he's saying such information isn't going to help find this murderer. Then why was he asking?

"Blackmail...?" Mira murmurs out as he's explaining it. This, blackmail makes them rich? Being rich involved money did it not? Which, honestly wasn't something she needed really. Then, he's pulling to stand besides him along the wall, and she lets him for now even if she jumps at the sudden contact, still unused to touch.

"Kid? I am not the age of a child, far from it. Others have taken to calling me Mira."

Gently, she's taking hold of his hand to remove it as she moves away from his side, towards the body in question again and seems to pause for a moment. While it's unseen to the others right this moment, she's watching the soul of the recently deceased as it flickers above it. She knows others touching her physical self don't trigger seeing into their memoires, but does touching a soul in it's purist form for her trigger it?

Without a word, she reaches out, seemingly grabbing at air before suddenly there's a tiny flash of light and floating above her hand is a white form of energy with various spikes rippling and pulsating, giving it the appearance of a multi pointed star. There's an almost pensive look on her face before walking towards the nearest window and the star shaped soul slips through the glass and into the wildness, floating away.

"I am sorry I cannot guide you..."

Her little display is enough to make others focus more on themselves for now and split further up.

"You don't think I could handle my own against Fae royalty?" He's joking, of course; whatever powers ruled over her version of Britain were undoubtedly on par with Them in terms of their command of magic-- and underlings. Maxwell would have been swallowed up and spit out and turned to dust in no time at all, he's sure.

"You assume correctly. I didn't even encounter true magic until I left the area entirely. My world was woefully devoid of the stuff. ...legends of your kind notwithstanding."

"Did you know any humans at all before your arrival here?"

@codexvmbra

● "Hmm... I suppose the legend behind the Baobhan sith comes from Scottish folklore, but I am a fairy that was born and raised in Britain." She'd been surprised to meet a human that heard her name and immediately drew the correlation between it and those legends. Was he perhaps from that part of the world?

"It wasn't really the Britain you seem to know, though. Unless your Britain was ruled by fairies? But I seriously doubt you'd be alive if that were the case, human."

Ah! It's the fashion-forward fowl he met at work. She's surprised to find he's not just a pretty face, it seems.

"Certainly. In fact, I'm something of an expert. Between my magic and your axe, we could take on any of the challenges posed to us, I'm sure."

Engle looks over the candy corn axe in her hands, then at the man marveling over his book.

"You've used magic?" Engle asks. Maybe he could help her with one of her spells...

Prompt 17: inhuman

"Not a fan?"

THE GUY jumpscare!!! Maxwell leans over from behind the Afterborn, observing the statue over their head.

"I don't know, I think it lends the place a certain grandiosity. It gets the crowds excited before they even step foot in the tent. But--!"

He straightens up, tapping long, clawed fingers on the stranger's shoulder.

"--everyone's a critic."

This young man is clearly passing through town (but not in the direction of the Capital if he knows what's good for him). Maxwell is somewhat surprised by their reaction to a statue of their King, but this happens sometimes with magicfolk from far away; it can take a moment for that natural connection to sink in, and for them to realize just at whom they're looking.

"Where are you from, kid? They don't teach you history out in the settlements?"

( for @codexvmbra )

Glitz ! Glamour ! This town's got it all, and it ain't even the final destination !

The Afterborn secure the straps of his backpack ( adorned with patches, faded marker drawings, and keychains, of course ) as he takes a look around the settlement. White glowing eyes match the circus of lightbulbs and neon, advertising food, fun, and anything else you could need in this final pit stop before the Capital.

Ever the sort for whimsy and bringing fantasy and fun to life, William was naturally drawn to the promise of a magic show. He had heard of those, seen a picture or two along his travels but had never had the opportunity to see a REAL one before. Making a bee line for the tent promising a grand show, he slowed as they were met with . . . interesting decor.

Ain't this the guy from the advertisements ? William thought before— ❝ Why the fuck wouldja have statues of yourself ? ❞ they wondered aloud.

;;

whoops. got sucked into adventure mode. gonna get back to replies in t-minus... now!