"Now Was That In The Settlements, Or In The Capital Itself?"

Starvetober day 27: siblings little jack and william!! Klei please give us a short with them both I beg you

happy haloween!!

Lecter might not yet wish to give the impression that he's engaging in close, careful observation, but Maxwell doesn't hide the fact that he's taking his own mental notes on the psychiatrist's behaviors. So far, so good, it seems.

"Oh, I comprehend it just fine, pal." He "comprehends" that They are a bunch of sadistic pieces of shit who love nothing more than to see him suffer. ...but of course, Lecter's right. Maxwell's only human, despite the physical and mental changes he's undergone during his time on the Throne, and They are distinctly not. For every secret he's uncovered about Them, three more wait, undiscovered, under the surface. Symbols and shapes flashing before his eyes, dark hands beckoning him deeper--

Maxwell frowns. He doesn't like that comparison.

"Then you had better help me remove the boulder altogether."

His daily routine? What does that have to do with anything? Shouldn't Lecter be asking about the content of the nightmares, trying to dig deep into Maxwell's psyche? Or worse, asking about Carter's childhood, so he can try to blame visions of Them on some tripe about how William's father and mother didn't love him enough?

"I treat myself quite well. One might consider it to excess, but I do not. Let's see... I recently became gainfully employed as a sort of... fashion model. Not a role I ever expected myself to hold, but one for which I am very well-suited." If only Higgsbury were here to appreciate the pun.

"Besides that, I sometimes explore the wilderness, or find myself at various establishments dedicated to providing entertainment and drink. Currently, my favorite is the Skullrender."

Maxwell seems as though he could go on and on about himself, but he finally stops, awaiting the next question. Was any of this actually helpful?

there's a successful attempt at not letting the surprise felt show, not having expected maxwell to so willingly discuss what haunts him. it's an annotation written down, as is the small fact he refused to take a seat ( " perhaps an indication of hesitation when it comes to therapy - standing facilitates the search for an exit " ).

soon, however, the pen is dropped, and hannibal's hands come to lay flat on the journal atop his lap. he wants to ensure maxwell knows he's being listened to. actively taking notes after every sentence is a good technique to guarantee the patient feels observed, to give off the impression hannibal is studying them closely ( and as far as he knows, there's no reason to steer maxwell in that direction just yet ).

" that's, unfortunately, not shocking. whenever the human brain lives through a scenario just past the bounds of its comprehension, there are lasting marks - a seemingly everlasting pull towards the place which traced its suffering. your body may not be there, but it is where your mind resides still. " his head tilts, a sign of compassion. " in some ways, you will resemble the figure of sisyphus, cursed to forever push the boulder uphill - only to find himself returned to the base of the incline upon success. "

for a split moment, he returns to writing, taking note of the nightmares. soon enough, his gaze finds its way back to maxwell. it's soft, almost. " noone can 'fix' these visions of terror but yourself, maxwell. i am merely limited to help you along the way. "

hannibal leans back, thoughtful, then finally adds: " for now .. i want you to describe to me your daily routine. the places you go, how you treat yourself. "

And catch he does! For all of his posturing, Maxwell is physically quite weak, and he doubles over as soon as those claws slash across his front. The Stars have not seen fit to return his armor, and he takes the full brunt of the attack.

Pain blooms in his chest, and red begins to stain his suit; it gives the appearance that the vibrant poppy on his lapel has begun to drip its color like splattered ink.

Ow.

On instinct, Max pulls out the book the Stars have given him and flips it open. Nothing happens.

"Fine, fine, yes! You've proven your point." Max's expression is still twisted into a hateful snarl. If only he still had the power to pull irritations like the Librarian into a hell of his own making...

"Now finish the job or leave me to lick my wounds in peace."

Surprised, his body pulls back as it sees Maxwell's lunge. But Maxwell makes contact all the same. The Librarian, while lithe, was exceptionally taller than most humans and human adjacent.

Thus he was tackled down, but not flat to his back. Instead his lengthy legs were sprawled out and he was sitting up with his arms holding him up behind him. His eyes were bright and he looked both like he were smiling wide and mashing his teeth for attack.

"Your claws suit your countenance well, a predator! Take a look at mine!"

He sat forward, swiping an arm in an arc in front of him, claws out, trying to catch Maxwell.

Inktober Day 09: Swing! Decided to go with maxwell and charlie swing dancing! referenced a picture i found from vintagedancer

{ isola starter call ! || @hewillnevervisit !}

"Oh, don't worry, pal. I always hold up my end of a deal."

Maxwell's sharp, toothy smile makes him look almost as fox-like as the Librarian himself. He's extended a blackened, claw-tipped hand, waiting for the other to shake on their trade.

Knowledge for knowledge.

Max has, as always, worded the terms of their arrangement such that he's not technically lying. He's promised the Librarian that, in return for teaching Max the secrets of his own studies, the magician will transcribe a portion of his Codex from memory for the Librarian to keep.

...Maxwell may have neglected to mention that the Codex Umbra is fully encrypted, but, hey, a little deciphering should be nothing for one so well-acquainted with books, right?

"So what do you say? Ready for a peek behind the curtain?"

maxwell playing chess with one of his shadow puppets and losing

Oh look. It's him again. The dumb ass whom finally gave up out of manipulation and listened to the voices

Rose themed corruption BABBBYYYYYYYYYYYY

They really want him back

Eugh. Maxwell doesn't bother to hide that he's rolling his eyes.

"Yes, memorized, go on." He's watching the other performer's hands, of course, and doesn't miss when the card goes up into his sleeve. Classic, predictable, boring. And here comes the "oh no, I'm totally, honestly, really messing up!" bit. A typical diversion with a bit of showmanship to sell it all.

"Get on with it." The card's in one of the man's pockets or in his other hand or somewhere equally--

Something slips from Max's shoulder and he catches it, staring at the three of clubs.

"This would be impressive, if you hadn't used real magic to do it."

The entire point of this exercise is to practice stage magic, not spells! Is he just trying to rub it in that Maxwell's own magic is on freeze right now?

The magician pouts like a petulant child and looks down his nose at Nikolai.

"All you've done is proven you need to rely on your extra abilities to perform the simplest of acts. I bet you couldn't entertain a theater full of children without resorting to these parlor tricks!"

A LAUGH spills out of him at the defensiveness. he understands, though ! the pain of seeing a trick go awry. even the most seasoned magicians slip up from time to time, right?

nikolai himself works very hard to keep his skills sharp ( a mistake in his line of work can cost him his very life, after all ) and so he takes the deck and shuffles it. he's smiling, delighted, he loves meeting someone who understands magic and showmanship !

"i am indeed perfect," he agrees, that easy smile on his face. "thank you for noticing."

with a flourish, he draws a card—the three of clubs, but he's not really looking—and holds it up. "memorize this one. now..."

he shuffles the deck again, sliding it into his sleeve and activating his ability, making the card appear out of thin air above maxwell's head, falling onto his shoulder. how long will it take the man to notice?

"drat, where did it go!" he asks, feigning ignorance and patting his pockets as if searching for it.