{ Isola Starter Call ! || @astrallithid! }

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 ! || @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?"

"It would seem so." He's not shocked by any means, but he's still intrigued. Prior to his arrival in Spirale, Maxwell had been under the impression that there were only two realms-- the "real world," and the world of shadows. It's interesting to see that someone who appears so human could be from a different Earth entirely. One without Italy! Imagine that.

Maxwell arches a brow, skeptical and amused. Ah, yes, she's from a good mafia. How quaint.

"You don't need to pretty it up for me. In fact, I think the two of us could help each other if you were honest about your 'values.' It must be difficult to thrive here without the support network you're used to; maybe we're both in need of allies?"

"What is it you hope to accomplish in Spirale, exactly?"

@codexvmbra

◈ "Italy? I apologize. If that's a country, then I have never heard of it. I could only surmise our worlds are very different, good sir." The woman bowed apologetically. She'd been speaking to this man for a short while and her name had been given. Evidently it reminded him of a land from his own world.

"I am a daughter of the nation of Rinascita. The Montelli family is a well known one there, and I do believe you wouldn't be incorrect to refer to it as a "mafia" based on traditional definitions. But I assure you we value our bonds with the people far more than wealth and power."

ngl it’s the absolute funniest thing that max is working for a Shady Organization and doesn’t know it. like bro would NOT care if he knew about the Extra Stuff they do, but he simply does not. He’s there to look good and sell clothes. That’s it /lh

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!

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...

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

... ..... .......

Maxwell bursts out laughing. This construct has been programmed with sass.

"Touché."

Perhaps it has more in common with that soulless automaton who wandered right into Maxwell's world than it does with his Chess pieces. But while WX-78 is entirely predictable ("kill all organics" this and "metal is superior" that), Maxwell truly has no idea what will come out of this 'bot's voicebox next.

What fun!

"Is that so. And I suppose you'd prefer I dress like you, then? Give up my 'haughtiness' for a complete lack of self-respect? Word of advice from me to you, pal-- whoever designed you? Sue 'em."

"..."

"Yeesh!"

He wants things to get mean? Two can play at that game!

"Alright— alrighty then, let me give 'er another try." The robot "clears" its throat, rubbing its gloves together. When it speaks again, its tone has a noticeable layer of aggression, contrasting its permanent smile.

"Well, I think you look like some kinda haughty schmuck that came straight outta the Victorian era."

That makes Maxwell falter, and not for the reason the Librarian might assume.

He hasn't been called a human in ages.

Demon, certainly. Vampire, on occasion. But human?

... ..... .........

"Don't touch me." There's no real bite to his tone anymore. With a pained grunt, he pushes himself shakily to his feet, clutching at his wounds.

"...four." Which means he's probably experiencing more of a five to seven on the pain scale, because he certainly can't be trusted to give an honest account of how badly the Librarian has beaten him.

"You may assist me in finding a good place to sit and stop the bleeding." What a gracious offer.

"Ah...human skin really is so brittle...so easy to tear..."

He breathed heavily, not having expected to exert himself like that today. He sat up and slowly got himself standing despite his own wounds.

He was acting tough in the moment but the claw marks he'd received were nothing to brush off.

"Oh shush. No need for drama. I'll be doing neither. Death means nothing here and leaving you would leave me at a loss, all that arguing for naught.

How severely do your wounds hurt you? I shall either pull you to your feet or pick you up, depending. One through ten measurement should be sufficient."