{ Isola Starter Call ! || @ovcrcoat ! }

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.

His wrongs! Maxwell snarls again, and their shaky truce nearly goes up in smoke for the second time.

He jabs a clawed finger at the Librarian's chest.

"Listen, pal, I'm not the one who jumped straight to threats of skewering you on my blade!" Sure, he had offered some threats of his own, but only after his ungrateful would-be partner had first!

"Apologize for letting it cross your minuscule mind to challenge me. Is that clear enough for you?"

He scoffed.

"You would then also have to admit your wrongs."

"You truly do insist on these one sided exchanges, don't you? I suppose you wouldn't be winning if you had to give the same amount as you got.

So, tell me then. What exactly is it that you find I have so transgressed that an apology is in order?"

"For now." He's not going to set a limit on how much he drinks today; Maxwell isn't going to deny himself anything for as long as the (admittedly meager) funds he's been provided with last. It's time to celebrate!

...so why isn't his server scurrying off to help him get started?

Max turns from the fight, intending to fix the other man with a cool stare that should help motivate him to leave, but then he notices the way his server is eying his outfit.

"No. I'm here alone."

He sits up taller, straightening out his sleeves and his lapel. He doesn't blame the man for gawking; he cuts a striking figure in his suit.

Thank God he arrived in real clothes as opposed to those rags he had on in the Throneroom.

"It's custom made." Obviously. As if anyone would sell a jacket with those shoulders without it being a special request.

"Banter" has begun to achieved, as long as you count Maxwell talking solely about himself to be worthwhile conversation; it doesn't seem as though he's about to comment on the other man's taste in fashion, or on the other man period.

the fights are part of the reason will wanted to get employed at skullrender. nosy and without the ability to mind his own business, the writer finds brawls such as these fascinating. of course, watching them here sheds him of the guilt included in enjoying the occasional exchange of punches: the participants know what they're getting into, it's the main draw of the establishment.

.. that, and having a chance to meet the most interesting of people. the man that just called him over is unusually well dressed for this sort of afternoon. of course, there's nothing wrong with overdressing for any event, really - will does it all the time - but it was rarer to see in skullrender.

" oh, hi! " the notepad in his hand lifts with a smile, " and will that be all? "

will's gaze darts around, checking for anyone else wanting to order. the rest of the crowd seem to be intensely focused on the fight, so perhaps he can afford bantering for a little bit. " two, hm? are you expecting a date, mister .. ? "

he doesn't move from his spot near the stranger's table. in fact, it looks like will's waiting for something - for him to be looked at, so he may be caught non-discreetly studying the man's outfit.

"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.

"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."

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Offering both affordable designs and more exclusive, tailored options, Faucher Lace House & Boutique is here to serve the most scintillating tastes at all price points.

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ABOUT. 𝒢℘ POSITIONS. 𝒢℘ FORMS. 𝒢℘ CHORUS. 𝒢℘ NAVI.

Maxwell has sympathy for the jittery machine; it's hard not to, when he's seen his own prized creations in various states of functionality much like this, busted up and broken down by overzealous survivors.

But.

"I would sooner take fashion advice from a well-dressed baboon than I would from someone sporting an outfit like yours, you clown. Try that again, and this time, don't presume to give me advice."

@codexvmbra

"Who're you goin'— going out to see, huh? Must be somebody real—ly special! Ha— ha!"

"It's alright. You don't have to tell me. But... I'd be willin' to give ya some f— f— fashion advice, if you'd lend me your ear."

Maxwell doesn't try to hide it this time; he laughs, loudly, attracting the attention of many of the other passengers. Some look at him with confusion, others with suspicion, and the pair being pointed at turn to whisper urgently to each other. What a lark!

"What? No, no. Well, maybe, who knows? Maybe our dear deceased was this close to blowing the lid off of their little operation, and they needed to ensure their silence."

From the look of those men, however, Max is skeptical they'd have the guts to go through with a stabbing.

"But this information is relevant to something else. Have you heard of blackmail, child? It's when you hear things, you tell them only to me, and I make us both rich."

Not necessarily off of this tidbit of information-- as the girl's pointed out, others have probably overheard different pieces of conversations in this small space. But in the future...

Yes, Max decides. He's keeping her.

"What's your name, kid?" he says with a smile, moving to sling an arm around her shoulder and pull her back against the safety of the wall with him. No more playing meat-shield for this one-- he likes her.

After Max's outburst of laughter (rather inappropriate considering the circumstances), more and more groups are beginning to look in his direction, glancing between him and his partner with increased suspicion.

...whoops.

There is absolutely no missing the change in his facial expression as she watches it morph through several emotions before seeing it land on a wide grin upon his face. He.. Liked hearing that as a response? Why would that information bring him such joy? It didn't seem he personally knew them.

"They weren't exactly quiet about it, I'm sure others overheard them."

Still, upon him asking about another pair in the car with them, she's moving to look towards them, not even being subtle about it as she's taking a moment to think back to when each individual was walking through the car besides her as she was sitting there, not even questioning why he'd wish to know such things.

"...Let's see.."

Mira then lifts a finger, pointing towards the sweaty and nervous one, before speaking.

"Something called embezzlement from the corporate job he has or something of the sort," then, she moves to point at the terrified one, "Helping him out, and his dad is the owner of the company."

Mira then moves to look back towards him, not catching how the pair of men are shooting their gaze towards her after just so casually saying such things.

"I do not see how any of this helps stop any more stabbings. Unless this information is relevant somehow?"

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.