Happy Haloween!!

Oh, good lord. She's speaking to him.

Static crackles in his mind and in the silent night air, and Maxwell looks at her, stricken.

...no, not speaking. And not to him. The spirit is just... coming into existence, that's all.

That's all.

"Thank you," he mumbles, something he's only ever said sarcastically to his typical puppets, but which is entirely genuine when spoken to her. He shivers under the pale blue of the lantern. He should be dead right now. Like her...

IT LOOKS AT HIM.

"Stop that!" Maxwell snarls, eyes wide and terrified. He takes a step back, freezing when he nears the edge of the ring of light.

What is he thinking? Of course she isn't looking at him. He's just lost what was left of his sanity summoning her, that's all.

That's. All.

"We're going home. I-- I'm going home. Come. And don't you dare drop that light."

With spectral candlelight, the spirit materialises.

It has no will. She. SHE. SHE. SHE. SHE. SHE WAS-

The absence of anger, of feeling is noted as its feeble attempt dissolves into radio static, lost and numb. It moves, conjured with its lantern to illuminate the surrounds. It knows it does this, even if it does not see. Vague stimuli to give it a perception, of course, but only what is necessary. The darkness. Objects. It notes its summoner, moving before and beside him, crowning him with protective light.

It feels again. So, it tries to speak, ultimately useless when it has no mouth. However this time, perhaps from something it can percieve stirring in its core, it does face him. Looking. That's all. It wishes it could cry, only for a moment. It can't wish. It is bound to the summoner, but in this moment it has managed more than it had in its past. It seems, even if fleeting, aware.

Prompt 17: inhuman

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.

Impudent, infuriating vermin--!

Maxwell lunges, claws outstretched. He's going to throttle this fox until his fur turns blue, and then some!

He throws his entire (meager) body weight behind the attack, intending to tackle the Librarian to the ground and show him just how much "terror" he instills in the Nightmare King.

He smirks, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

"Perfectly happy," He crooned. "And I shall, in turn, transcribe my knowledge into the legible and understandable common tongue just as you will."

He tented his fingers together, his grin just a touch malicious.

"And your apology, Great Maxwell: I am sorry that you felt such terror at my threat as to withdraw our agreement. I will be gentler in future as not to cause you fear."

Maxwell's stony expression softens into a smile, and then sharpens again, his grin all teeth.

Finally.

"Waiting for one to fall into my lap, rather."

As expected, his time here in Spirale has been nothing short of paradise. His mind has been blessedly devoid of Their whispers and demands, he has been provided with all the necessities and none of the dangers he offered his own captives, and he has even found his Codex returned to him for what he can only assume was good behavior.

He's happy. Content.

...bored.

That's the true price of peace, he's found. No risk means no reward, and no challenge means no satisfaction of beating it. He's thriving, yes, but is he living?

"Your move, my friend." He gestures grandly to the board. He has already set it up in anticipation of a game, and has placed himself on the side of Black.

"I have no timer with me, so please, don't rush. Consider your moves as carefully as you'd like."

"Do you require an explanation of how to play? I'd hate to begin on unequal footing."

@codexvmbra

The burning sun above brings heat to the Land of Burnt Umber; unseasonable warmth did nothing to deter the locals and the travelers from gathering around the caravans of one of the smaller desert towns. Merchants peddled their wares, speaking loud and enthusiastically to attract the attention of those preparing to embark into the shifting sands of the wilds.

Legato had been drawn to this place out of sheer curiosity. Some of the merchants had quite the collection of oddities and curios-- artifacts that seemed arcane in nature, or downright strange. Curiously, he inspects some of these stands, trying to avoid a conversation with a far too energetic young man who was hellbent on selling Legato a new water skin.

Fatigued by the conversations and the bustling of the crowd, he slips away, opting to find a quieter place to linger. In doing so, he comes upon a shady veranda attached to an old building, drenched in the shadows cast by the sun overhead. A break from the heat was welcome, but, something else tugged Legato's attention--

There sits a man dressed in rather dapper attire, face pale like marble. Before him, a small table, a chessboard placed upon it, and an empty seat longing to be occupied. Hmm.

Without a single word, the stoic man saunters forward, and claims the seat, golden eyes looking across the game board.

" Are you looking for an opponent? " Legato inquires calmly, the winds of the desert audible in the background.

"It is."

He glances around, coming to stand near the Librarian. While the fox appears altogether disinterested in the display, there's a gleam of amusement in Maxwell's eyes.

"My, my, I should have known you had a violent streak." When you nearly clawed me in half. "I think this will all be great fun, if we let it be. Don't think of it as doing them a favor-- think of it as being offered the opportunity to let off some steam. ...something you clearly need."

He's already made up his mind to try his hand at defeating the waves of monsters; he enjoys watching combat more than he enjoys partaking in it himself, but he's certainly not going to pass up the chance to put his new book of spells to the test.

"Have you gotten any new abilities? As far as I'm concerned, that's already made all of this ridiculousness worthwhile."

Candy Culling

Even as panic took the people, he sat, watching it all, a cup of coffee in hand. Catching someone in his peripheral vision, he addressed them.

"It's you, Great Maxwell." He drawled, sounding bored.

"What do you make of it? The staged people, the candy magic?"

He sips.

"I was contemplating whether to do as they ask. On the one hand, I don't tend towards doing things for others with such little information given.

On the other hand, everything is awful and I wouldn't mind pounding these disgusting, sticky, oozy, melty monsters to crumbling bits... and perhaps learn something of our captors further inside the castle."

@codexvmbra

"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.

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

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;;

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