"What A Coincidence," Maxwell Says, And Does Not Elaborate.

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."

"Unless your mom is a chef in the Capital, no, I don't want the snacks she packed you." Are you kidding him right now?

What??

"Look, pal, I don't know every single Afterborn by name. That's not how this works. Is there a reason I would know her personally? If not, then I don't."

He begins walking. He knows exactly where he'd like to eat, and it's not out of this child's grimy backpack.

"That's not the sort of question I had in mind. This is a rare opportunity for you-- get creative! Ask me whether I prefer fur or scales. Ask me if Afterborn are better at magic than Beforeborn. Ask me why I made you! Just don't bore me."

❝ Right. ❞ Both of those sound generic as fuck, but this guy already corrected them, and has his own fucking statue— which William gives another look. Sheesh.

. . .

Damn, okay. The plot thickens. William's first instinct is that the open arms is an invitation for a hug but, no way. No. If the man is his real father, then . . . ❝ I'd love to ask you some questions ! ❞ More like a million.

. . .

Shit, and he wants food too ?

❝ I uh, got bits t'spare. ❞ Maxwell has the title of "the Great", which means he can definitely afford to eat more than William can pay. Whatever. ❝ Or uh, I could spare a snack or two my mom made ? ❞ He feels a brief twinge of silliness before the question escapes him. . . ❝ You wouldn't happen to know her, would you ? ❞ William probably looks a bit more pathetic and kitten-like than intended, looking up at Maxwell with pleading glowing eyes.

fake idgafer. i saw tht haunted look in ur eyes

{ 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."

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

Maxwell's lip remains curled in a snarl. There is... a point to be made, yes, that the Librarian's words were nothing more than an empty threat. At the same time, it's a matter of respect. And lack thereof.

"Oh, please. As I said before, I always hold up my end of a deal. Just because you'd resort to violence doesn't mean I'd do the same."

Is Maxwell really trying to claim the moral high ground after everything he's done?

"If it's such a non-issue, then just apologize and let us get on with things. Unless your pride is more important to you than your pursuit of knowledge, Mr. Librarian."

The Librarian chuckled, a deep noise.

"Between us...if I have assessed you correctly...an empty threat as it was, for I did admit that I did not have my blade on me...should be nothing more than a trifle, yes?"

"Or are you such a stickler for this polite, respectable folly that you won't admit that, if within your power, you'd attack and peel the knowledge from my bones?"

William trying out his magic tricks on kids for the first time XD

Dialog

W: Ladies and gentlemen, I am the great William, I will show you magic!!

W:I will pull a bid out of my palm( hand) !

Wendy n Abigail:......

W:Tough crowd huh?.... (; • - •)

;;

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

"That's Maxwell the Great. Or The Amazing Maxwell, if you prefer." Not that he isn't also magnificent, it's just not in the name.

Ah. There's that recognition. It always comes eventually, even if magicfolk don't always fully understand why it's there.

"That's right." Maxwell grins, spreading his arms wide. "Putting two and two together, now, are we?"

That would make one of them, because Max has to admit he's a liiiiittle confused about the non sequitur. Ah-- unless the child means the history of their people.

"There isn't a person in this world more qualified to answer your questions, then. Treat me to lunch between shows and I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Oh, this man has a flair for drama. William can respect that . . . given, it makes sense, doesn't it ? Him being a performer and all . . . ❝ And that's why you're Maxwell the Magnificent then. Got it ! ❞ William says, misremembering the title in full confidence via newly formed mandela effect.

The theatrics aren't over yet, however when—

William this time lets out a nervous chitter from the other's claw as realisation sets in. He looks down at his own hands as if to confirm it.

No fucking way.

❝ Are you— you're— ❞ William's throat runs dry, words escaping him. This feels too surreal. He has to be wrong. But— shit. That would explain a lot about him. His own black claws. His own interests. His connection to the Capital.

Still, they can't jump the gun. They have to be smart. Their heart is racing.

❝ Y-you know, I uh . . . I'm in town because I was trying to get . . . records. Learn some stuff. About my history. ❞ Ring any bells ? His eyes are fixated on the man.

;;

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