Maxwell Knows Exactly What That Means; He's Too Ugly To Show His Face.

{ isola starter call ! || @ovcrcoat ! }

"You did not see me slip the card into my other hand. It's unbecoming to lie, you know."

Maxwell shoots Nicolai a withering glare, frustrated by the fact that his practice partner is probably actually telling the truth-- that last sleight of hand pass was downright sloppy. It's been over twenty years since Maxwell last performed close-up tricks without the aid of actual magic (and he couldn't move his blasted wrists for the majority of that time, either), so there's bound to be a learning curve now that he's trying to return to the art. But still. This is embarrassing!

"Fine, then!" he hisses, tossing the deck down onto the table in front of the other man.

"If I'm so terrible at this and you're so perfect, you do it!"

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."

"Not unless they've earned them, which no one else has. Statues without status is just tacky. But mine... mine set the stage. When you see Maxwell, you see magic."

He laughs the sort of laugh one might use when a toddler is too young to realize they've done something foolish; it's not a cruel laugh, but it's clear that the Afterborn is being dismissed as a silly, naive little thing.

"I'd say so. I'm only the reason you exist, pal." Another touch-- this time a poke at the young man's chest.

"And I know exactly who you are."

CHRIST ALIVE.

He wasn't jumpscared, no sir. Honest.

❝ First of all, don't do that . . . uh, please. ❞ He's quick to add, hearing his mother's voice. ❝ Second . . . 'excited' ? Why's that ? Is it normal for magi-ci-ans to have statues of themselves ? ❞ No snark, it's an honest question ! Maybe it is, he doesn't know how all of this works.

William does, however, know better than to tell a stranger which settlement he's from. ❝ South of here. You wouldn't know it . . . ❞

William's lip twists as they fold their arms. ❝ As for history, I felt like I knew my stuff pretty well 'til you said that . . . why ? Should I know who you are ? ❞

"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.

"Now was that in the settlements, or in the Capital itself?"

Maxwell makes friendly small-talk to the woman at the counter before leading William to a cozy little table. It seems he's at least somewhat well-known in the area, as he and the employee recognize each other immediately; he must have been genuine when he said he likes to be out among his people. ...that, or she's seen his gaudy statue.

"I don't run a charity, if that's what you mean. And I'm not their caretaker; I may have brought you into the world, but it's up to you to live your own life."

"And you, Mr. William? Do you help out your fellow magicfolk?"

What kinda coincidence ? William isn't asking that one.

One of the first very real things Mister Maxwell here has said. ❝ Yeah— they do, don't they ? Y'know, as a kid . . . I never even really saw other Afterborn like me. I knew they existed, but never met 'em. I didn't even know about woad— err, magic — 'till a couple years later, and even then I didn't . . . get to use it myself until about a year ago. ❞ So yes, he gets it. The Capital would do better, and be better if they took their fingers out of their proverbial ears.

Look at that, he got them talking a bit. And, they have arrived at food. Yahoo !

❝ So, d'you do anything else out here or just your magic shows ? Do you help Afterborn out or anything like that ? ❞

"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.

{ 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."

"Hell if I know. Call someone, perhaps? It is supposed to be a phone, is it not?"

Who would Maxwell even call...?

"I've been told I can pay with it, among other things." So far, everyone's been gracious enough to handle that process for him when he's wanted to make a purchase.

"I suppose the first step would be to understand what it is actually used for. You have one, too, yes?"

"What're you trying to do?" Brad's not the most social, and generally doesn't care about others, but...

He can emphasize with a fellow grumpy old man.

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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."