Maxwell's Lip Remains Curled In A Snarl. There Is... A Point To Be Made, Yes, That The Librarian's Words

{ isola starter call ! || @ciphertone ! }

"Yes, yes, yes, I understand, knowledge comes at a price, my tiny mortal mind won't be able to contain it all. I'm not stupid, and I'm not new to this sort of thing, either."

He's been on both sides of the whole "cursed deal" situation, and if he can't handle himself at this point, then he deserves to go mad from whatever secrets are locked away in those tomes.

"My request is simple. I'd like to know what your organization has archived on the process of entering and leaving this dimension, and I'd like to know what my options are for using magic before my personal effects are returned to me. Now. Can you help me or not?"

"This is ridiculous!" Maxwell gripes, looming over the star-speckled girl to stare down at the corpse. "We can't even take a train in this blasted place without fearing for our lives?"

Not the first time death has set its hand on your shoulder in the compartment of a train, is it, Mr. Carter?

"That's it. I refuse to spend the rest of this trip looking over my shoulder waiting for a knife in my back. I suggest that the one responsible reveal themself now."

He raises his (perfectly average, perfectly powerless) book threateningly, fixing a cold glare on each of the other gathered guests.

Unsurprisingly, no one steps forward.

Then all hell breaks loose. Accusations fly, worried murmurings spread, weapons are raised and doors are locked. Some self-proclaimed investigator makes the tired-out suggestion that everyone pair up for safety, and before Maxwell can slip out to lock himself far, far away from all of this idiocy, he's paired off with the person closest to him-- the girl.

"...this won't prevent either of us from being murdered, so for your sake, I hope you're sharper than you look."

@codexvmbra

While most of the city had that sharp chill of cold due to the snow and the time of the year it was, it never seemed to be the same level of cold she was used to. So when she heard of an area even colder than the city, Mira felt the need to visit it, to feel even some semblance of normality, if she ever had such a thing.

That was what had her visiting the Twilight Tundra, albeit, she still isn't sure how it went from visiting the area to being on a train that went around the whole branch but that comes with exploring didn't it.

The size of the train car did have her feeling slight unease, reminding her a bit too much of the room she was stuck in on Adam ship. But, she doesn't get to think back to it too much until there's panicked screaming coming from the other side of the train car, people going on about a body on the floor and a murderer amongst everyone.

Like the others, it draws Mira over, to try and glance at the victim laying on the floor, an un-phased expression on her face when she catches sight as she blinks. While it is the first time she's seeing it personally, such a sight was common in the memories she'd see from various souls.

This is Paradise. To hell with his Codex, to hell with his power!-- he has been gifted the only thing he truly wants right now, and the only thing They could never give him.

Charlie's safe. Jack's happy. Even Higgsbury is probably still at home, chugging away at his doomed experiments. It's as though William Carter never existed, and thus, neither has his long string of failures and regrets.

Maxwell is finally, for the first time ever, truly free.

He strolls into the amphitheater without a care in the world, meeting the stranger's glare with a smug, unbothered grin.

"Oh, dear, am I interrupting something? I didn't realize this space was reserved." It's not, he's sure, and he's in too good a mood to let one nasty look drive him out or goad him into a fight.

Instead, he plops down in a seat right next to the one who glared at him, beaming at the dancers on stage. This is what Charlie looks like right now, he bets-- she's found another performer to work with, and is having the time of her life. Unharmed, prosperous, sane.

"Bravi!" he calls out to the dancers on stage. Then, to the small group in the audience with him: "Friends of yours?"

The posse has set up shop at one of the amphitheaters in Archimedes Ward. Anne is practicing on stage with a few other dancers she's found, teaching them how to do the can-can.

The other three women sit around the theater. Pearl's reading a book about finances, Umbra is mending her bow and arrows, and Maria is tending to Mister Blue.

And there seems to be someone else who wandered in... Maria gives him the stink eye. Pearl and Umbra look over, and Anne seems too invested in her dancing to give more than a glance.

@codexvmbra

;;

let's get this show on the road with an isola plotting / starter call!

"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."

"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.

How many times had he held this exact conversation with Higgsbury while they had been bickering over the construction of their makeshift portal? At least Herta is gracious enough to be able to admit the truth-- magic is science we don't understand yet and is therefore more impressive than anything some common chemist can cobble together, and all that.

"My condolences. I know the feeling." He had been intrigued to find his Codex returned to him, but it had turned out to be nothing more than a joke at his expense; the words and chants contained therein currently provide none of their previous power. Nothing more than markings on a page.

"And I look forward to watching you do so." What can he say? He's always found self-purported geniuses to be oh-so-fun to play with; they're so certain of their own abilities that they make the most amusing mistakes.

"How do you propose to begin your investigation? The Stars are, by all accounts, fully omnipotent in this realm."

@codexvmbra

✧ "I suppose this would qualify as "magic"." Herta mused at a curious question posed to her as she floated along. A man had asked her about her levitation. "But it could also be considered "science". Magic is merely science's ultimate form, as far as I see it." Its why she had no qualms with being considered a witch or a mage, even though she was technically a genius. The genius, in fact.

"I'd show you a little more, but those pesky Stars have had their way with my talents. My genius remains, and yet the laws that govern my abilities have been tampered with. A shame, but I do look forward to unraveling the mysteries of out captors."

me *surrounded by a pack of wolves that are about to eat me*: settle down puppies!! I only have two hands , i cant pet you all at the same time!!!!! Haha !!!! i love you all

"The Stars, you mean? They can't possibly care what we mere 'mortals' do." He allowed his pawns free run of his world. In fact, he quite enjoyed when they found gunpowder and blew themselves and other creatures into smithereens. The powers that rule this realm are almost certainly the same.

"Mm. No, I don't intend to limit myself to weapons of that kind." She knows what he wants-- objects of power and intrigue, not one's run-of-the-mill, boring old revolver.

Oh, yes. She knows exactly what he wants.

Maxwell watches with a sharp gaze. He wouldn't mind having a source of energy for himself; his time on the Throne has left him rather frail, as loathe as he is to admit it, and it certainly wouldn't hurt to have an easily-accessible pick-me-up on hand.

And.

Maxwell's brow rises in surprise as she demonstrates on her own assistant. That comes across as quite cold, even for him. She's quick to return the energy stolen, but still-- was that truly necessary?

Necessary or not, it's provided a quite compelling demonstration.

"I am highly interested in this piece. I intend to avoid combat as much as possible until my own powers return, so the subtlety afforded by this item is well worth the wait. However..."

He glances around as though his dear Codex will slip from the shadows into his grasp.

"I wonder whether you have anything that could mimic the abilities I'm used to. I've come to enjoy certain freedoms that come with having servants at my beck and call." He glances at her assistant; she can relate, he's sure.

"I wonder if now would also be an appropriate time to ask about, er. Payment options." Better to admit outright that he almost certainly isn't rich enough to pay up front-- he would hate for her to become irritated and decide to perform a second demonstration of that box on him.

"I wonder whether there would be any opportunity for me to provide my services to you as a form of partial payment? I think you'll find I can be discreet when needed. And I know when to keep my mouth shut and my eyes to myself."

"When it comes to the city of spirals; I don't believe it is law enforcement that should be worrying you," she'd hum in thought. Indeed, were 'righteous' otherworlders - vigilantes - far more troubling. Gifted with all sorts of diverse abilities, including ones that'd be sheer fiction within her homeworld. "— but I recognize you're resolute."

That a newcomer was itching to break laws in a world where they don't even yet know the extent of what they're dealing with, to the point they'd find themselves traversing the low levels of fibonacci so soon… Ms. Jenson wasn't sure whether she should find the courage commendable, or find the lack of prudence appalling.

Not like her personal assessment of the other's character mattered much; he was a customer all the same. If he insists on making a potential mistake, who's she to impede?

She signalled to her subordinate with a mere headtilt. Spirale had no Port Mafia; true - she had the luck of seeing a couple of familiar faces, one of which being with her here today, but that was about it. Her current main occupation wasn't even connected with any of this — but, ah, how irresistible it is, to be the supply in where there's just this much demand. Within a business she felt right at home in, no less.

Ms. Jenson carried an amused expression whilst speaking. "Often I find new customers rushing here to purchase firearms, and if you insist; I do offer them. But if you're looking for powerful; simple steel won't cut it."

The subordinate would return with a suitcase, placing it on her desk. "You seem like the cunning sort," she'd observe, choosing a descriptor that was - somewhat - less accusatory than to assume them to be the type to backstab others. "— so I believe I've something that'll grant you considerable leverage."

Out the suitcase, she'd take out what looked like an ornamented box, crevices hinting that it - actually - doesn't open fully. More importantly, the box didn't appear intimidating.

Quite the opposite, actually; it'd not look out of place within an herbal store, its use of pastel green, white and gold giving a gentle, inoffensive impression. "This is based on an existing, permissible product from Cotes Fantasci, and if not used - will pass as one just fine. Much like the genuine article, it's able to supply you with energy, but; it is modified to include a lethal twist."

While it is unlikely the customer could hear the order she'd mutter to her subordinate, it is possible they noticed a fleeting yellow spark that'd occur right after.

Tilting the box towards the poor guy, she'd push the subtle button on the bottom, which loosened the lower part of the box, creating a gap in the crevice that runs through the middle of the gadget. "Naturally, you could just use it for its assumed purpose; it has you gradually recover energy, and whenever you're done and back in good shape— simply push it shut," she said as she did as much, closing the cube. The volunteer didn't say anything, but he did look visibly more vibrant than earlier.

"But," started, as she pressed the button once more. "— as it has your target gradually regain energy, you can also choose for them a different fate."

She'd quietly count, eventually reaching for the lower part of the box, but instead of pushing— twisted it. Response was instantaneous; as the box closed shut, the subordinate's legs gave into fatigue and he collapsed to the ground, coughing.

"Taking back the energy you've granted in one. swift. move. Yes, the target will be fine if it is done mere seconds after activating the box, but if you let it run for a few minutes?" a grin. "It may not be capable of giving you more energy than you'd usually have in good health, but all the surplus — it accumulates in secret. Twist it then, and you've got instantaneous death that - to anyone else - looks like it's been caused by starvation."

Well. Cannot have her subordinate be plagued by exhaustion on the clock. Using the box once more to let him recover, and after she had pushed the box shut, she'd place it on the table. "There are clear disadvantages, of course. Useless in the midst of active combat, for one, as it requires a lengthly idle time period for the desired effect."

Shrugging, she gestured to the suitcase. "If you'd be willing to tell me what kind of situation you're anticipating, I am sure I've something more tailored to your needs."

What an apt observation. How refreshing it is to meet someone else who recognizes the value of looking one's best!

"Correct." He'll take it as a good sign that Lecter can read people well. That is his job, isn't it?

Maxwell, for his part, does not take a seat. Good, Doctor. You sit. Forever. For some reason, the idea of settling into a chair in this enclosed space is utterly appalling.

"..." How to begin? Being honest, vulnerable... it's certainly not something he's used to. But he expects he'll be asked to pay a pretty penny just to be here, so he might as well get something out of it.

"I expected that being cut off from the dangers of my 'home realm' would likewise sever their hold on me, but I find that I am experiencing just as many nightmares now as I did before."

If anything, the nightly visions seem to have only grown worse since his arrival. It's as though the Stars have tampered with his very ability to mentally recover from moments of distress; he doesn't think that's possible, but he supposes it would be foolish to assume that anything is beyond their capabilities. And since he can no longer rely on a dapper suit and natural confidence to reassure him and sooth his nerves, it seems appropriate that he seek outside guidance.

He does not intend to spend his vacation in paradise plagued by terror.

"So what do you think? Is that something you can fix?"

it's not often that hannibal encounters someone dressed as well as him. in fact, he's noticed how rare it is to find someone dawning a suit for the sake of it, undistracted from the need of any social gathering. the man in front of him - maxwell, his file tells him - is dressed as if he will attend a networking event right after therapy, and so hannibal immediately knows he'll have much fascinating to say.

" ah, looks like we both dressed up for the occasion, " he says with a polite but amused grin, observing maxwell enter the room from where he's sat. " come on in, maxwell. you don't look like the type to pursue a psychiatrist's opinion, if you don't mind me saying. what brings you here? "

@codexvmbra liked for a starter!