Hello! With Prior Reserve, Applying For Maxwell From Don't Starve! My Application Can Be Found At /app.

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.)

"What a coincidence," Maxwell says, and does not elaborate.

Mmm. Yes, he should, shouldn't he?

"I'm from the Capital." And that's practically explanation enough. "They pour a great deal of resources into pretending that neither I nor my creations exist. Which is fine, for the most part; as nice as it would be to have proper recognition, I know that politics and thronerooms aren't for me. I belong here, among my people, doing what Iove."

Who would choose rotting in a gilded cage over being worshiped properly upon the stage?

Maxwell stops in front of a small creperie, gesturing for William to enter first. They've arrived at "lunch," apparently.

"So, Mx. William, any other burning questions in that brain of yours?"

Maxwell has noticed that William has been somewhat tight-lipped about themself. Normally, he wouldn't mind in the least, but this talk of the Capital has him thinking; careful, Will, or he might start to wonder whether there is some sinister reason you ask so much and volunteer so little.

It's not an uncommon question; everyone wants to know how he did it. Sometimes people demand answers in that certain insufferable, accusatory tone, waiting for him to slip up as proof that he's lying, tricking them, or simply insane. But it never happens, because this is the truth-- whether they like it or not.

"I used to be a normal stage magician. Skilled in sleight of hand, but not in any real magic. I wanted--"

Maxwell's brows raise. Did he hear that right?

"If that's the term you want to use, I give you permission." That's a new one, alright! It makes Max smirk, and keeps him from immediately launching back into a narrative all about himself. He has to give the kid credit-- they aren't boring him.

"What's your name?" He gives them a glance over again, this time with interest in who they are, not just what they look like.

"Yes, of course." Who doesn't want to learn more about his power. "Let me stop you before you get your hopes up too high; even the most brilliant experts in Craft magic can't come close to what I've done, so unless you'll be content with typical summoning spells, you should avoid it altogether. Think of it like the Big Bang; we can make some remarkable advancements here on Earth, but a creation event of that magnitude is a one-and-done deal. Even I couldn't make all of this again. That's the price I paid to allow magic to be a diffused resource. So that others might share in a glimmer of my power."

Isn't he generous.

Fuel is important, duh 🙄

fake idgafer. i saw tht haunted look in ur eyes

It worked. Their rickety, slapped-together, pitiful excuse of a portal did what nothing else could and took him mind body and soul out of the Constant.

Scrambling back from the edge of the cavernous pit next to which he’s landed, Maxwell casts hasty glances around. He could hug Mr. Higgsbury, kiss him even! They’re free! They’re free!

But Wilson is nowhere to be seen.

Had the portal broken behind Maxwell? He feels a surge of regret so strong it surprises him, but he shoves it down and pushes himself to his feet. If he had to choose between freedom for himself or his pawn, he’d choose himself, of course. He’s paid his dues to that wretched place and those wretched shadows, and he’s never, ever going back.

…which means that he shall have to reacquaint himself with civilized society.

He knows as soon as he steps through the portal that he’s not in his original dimension. That’s frightening, yes, but nothing he can’t handle; it seems he’s not the first person to arrive here from a different world, and although some of the technology is completely new to him (what is this item he’s been given? It certainly doesn’t look like a phone!), he’s creative, resilient, and determined to make his new home better than his last.

Armed with nothing but a book (has the Codex rejected him now that he’s escaped Their grasp?), he warily accepts the offer to be transported to his new lodgings and readies himself for the next chapter of his life. Checkmate, hands shaken, the game is put away for good.

;;

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

"Then it's very kind of you to offer up your expertise in this impromptu lesson."

He gives a polite nod, pushing himself to his feet and straightening his suit. As the dancers exit the stage, Maxwell steps up to its center, gazing out at the mostly-empty sea of seats.

He's hit with a sudden, horrible wave of deja vu.

Stage lights, brilliant and blinding, hazing over his vision. He can't make out the expressions of the crowd, but he doesn't need to; the only face he needs to see is hers, and there she is, smiling at him with love and hope and desperation. He's been gone, hasn't he. Mentally, at least. He's been sneaking off and hiding away and driving himself crazy pouring over that book, and she's noticed, and she's worried, and she's hoping that if they just get on stage again like they used to that everything will go back to normal. He knows it won't, but he'll indulge her this one last performance; he's never been able to say no to Her.

"Er-- welcome." Maxwell clears his throat, sweat suddenly beading at the back of his neck. "Forgive me, it's been some time since I've practiced my art."

He inhales, exhales, and plasters on his most confident smile.

His deck of cards is a familiar, grounding weight in his hand, and his smile gradually becomes more genuine as he taps it out and begins to shuffle.

"I'd like to demonstrate some of the classics with you here today. If I might have a volunteer?"

"Oh, thanks! No, nothin' like that. I'm just a dancer but maybe I could teach!"

"I think we're just about wrappin' up. Why don't you show the folks what you've got?"

Maria leans in a bit, now interested. Umbra sits calmly, awaiting the performance. Pearl takes out a notepad from her purse, ready to write about whatever comes next.

Prompt 17: inhuman

This one's always disturbed Maxwell with stirrings of guilt, even back when such a thing hardly seemed possible.

He didn't bring his pawns here to watch them give up. He's not an evil man! He doesn't enjoy despair, he enjoys-- enjoyed--

It doesn't matter now. The point is, if he had known she'd kill herself right in front of him and never fight to be remade, he wouldn't have brought her here.

"It's not my fault," he mutters, and it's unclear whether he's speaking to himself or the shadow.

It takes all night for them to trek back to the main camp's area of the forest, and Maxwell curses up a storm when he realizes he forgot to go back for the gathered resources. He can picture it now, all the nagging and disappointed looks from the other survivors. Or worse, pity, worry, their reassurances that it's okay that he can't manage to pull his weight because they all know how old and weak and useless he is.

Maxwell rubs at his temples against the low, pounding headache beginning to form there. Despite her light, his shadow is draining him, making him nervous and tense.

It's time to dispel her. Finally.

Except... as he turns back towards her with his hand raised, it feels more like murder than waving away smoke. Where does she go when she's not with him? She's a creature of darkness now, so surely that means she resides in Their lair along with all the other twisted, formless beings of the night.

With Charlie...?

"...it's-- it is time to release you now." Maxwell watches her, fear still evident on his face. "Is that what you... want?"

' Thank you. ,

It wants, in a fleeting moment of consciousness. An urge pulling it to appreciate, and in turn communicate.

It says nothing. It thinks nothing. A command from the summoner to which SHE is bound.

Can it stare ? Does it manage ? A mere silhouette, an idle form lost within an enveloping fog from its perspective. Yet to those with beating hearts in the Constant, it is a whisper of smoke and decay in a flick of eroded smoke. Like the wrenching tear of film on a projector, the shadow snaps and morphs. Static lingers for a breath, before it reconstitutes into something whole once more.

Orders.

The shadow does not waver, its lantern held steadfastly in its "hand," enveloping the summoner in protective embrace.

This order makes it feel. It flickers again. It only moves when he does.

{ isola starter call ! || @oriar ! }

Now that he knows he'll never get back to the Constant, there's a strange pull to return there. That's you in a nutshell, William Carter. Always chasing what you can't have.

He doesn't really want to go back, of course. Not to the Throne, and not to the life of a survivor.

But.

It's been so long since he's been in civilization-- really been in it, not crept shadow-like into the real world-- that he finds himself retreating to the semi-familiar isolation of the forest quite soon into his stay on the island. He's indulged himself nonstop in the finer things of society, and now he needs to pause and reset before all of these recent changes completely overwhelm him. He imagines that this forest, with its easy-to-find forageables and mundane fauna, will be a perfectly relaxing alternative to his own spider-infested woods.

He's wrong.

Maxwell tears through the forest, eyes wide and wild. He's seen-- something. Something tall and shaped like Them that made his skin crawl and his sanity fall in an instant. He doesn't know where he's going, just that he needs to get away, and he almost doesn't notice when another figure (human-sized, thank goodness) appears out of the mist in front of him.

He makes a valiant effort to skid to a stop before he runs into them, but doesn't quite succeed; Maxwell slams into the stranger, toppling them both to the ground in a heap of limbs and disturbed leaves.

He scrambles to untangle himself, his gaze darting feverishly back and forth around the misty clearing.

"It's-- there--! It's coming, They're coming--! What are you waiting for, get up!"