The Magician's Brief Flash Of Defensiveness Quickly Melts Away When Faced With Cecil's Charm. This Unique

It's not an uncommon question; everyone wants to know how he did it. Sometimes people demand answers in that certain insufferable, accusatory tone, waiting for him to slip up as proof that he's lying, tricking them, or simply insane. But it never happens, because this is the truth-- whether they like it or not.

"I used to be a normal stage magician. Skilled in sleight of hand, but not in any real magic. I wanted--"

Maxwell's brows raise. Did he hear that right?

"If that's the term you want to use, I give you permission." That's a new one, alright! It makes Max smirk, and keeps him from immediately launching back into a narrative all about himself. He has to give the kid credit-- they aren't boring him.

"What's your name?" He gives them a glance over again, this time with interest in who they are, not just what they look like.

"Yes, of course." Who doesn't want to learn more about his power. "Let me stop you before you get your hopes up too high; even the most brilliant experts in Craft magic can't come close to what I've done, so unless you'll be content with typical summoning spells, you should avoid it altogether. Think of it like the Big Bang; we can make some remarkable advancements here on Earth, but a creation event of that magnitude is a one-and-done deal. Even I couldn't make all of this again. That's the price I paid to allow magic to be a diffused resource. So that others might share in a glimmer of my power."

Isn't he generous.

. . .

Well now they're just really confused !

William nods along, stopping as Maxwell does and feeling a need to cover his face, tail coiling around his ankle. It's all so embarrassing, even if he is being complimented. He hates being Afterborn . . . ❝ I-if you say so . . . ❞ They say, looking down at his wringing hands in note of the black claws. Then to Maxwell's own, and back again.

❝ I guess I got another question first . . . Uh, how . . . how did you get into all of this ? I mean, you're talkin' about magic like— I mean, you seem to really know your stuff . . . about that, a-and about me. ❞

William winces, gritting his teeth. He's rambling. Deep breath.

❝ How did you get into magic, and learn so much ? And also uh— areyoumyfather ? ❞ William manages a hasty mumble, looking down past fidgeting claws to the paved ground. ❝ I think I'd like to learn more about you and your magic. A-about your power. ❞ They add, a desperate effort to skirt around that. Their face is on fucking fire.

His wrongs! Maxwell snarls again, and their shaky truce nearly goes up in smoke for the second time.

He jabs a clawed finger at the Librarian's chest.

"Listen, pal, I'm not the one who jumped straight to threats of skewering you on my blade!" Sure, he had offered some threats of his own, but only after his ungrateful would-be partner had first!

"Apologize for letting it cross your minuscule mind to challenge me. Is that clear enough for you?"

He scoffed.

"You would then also have to admit your wrongs."

"You truly do insist on these one sided exchanges, don't you? I suppose you wouldn't be winning if you had to give the same amount as you got.

So, tell me then. What exactly is it that you find I have so transgressed that an apology is in order?"

It worked. Their rickety, slapped-together, pitiful excuse of a portal did what nothing else could and took him mind body and soul out of the Constant.

Scrambling back from the edge of the cavernous pit next to which he’s landed, Maxwell casts hasty glances around. He could hug Mr. Higgsbury, kiss him even! They’re free! They’re free!

But Wilson is nowhere to be seen.

Had the portal broken behind Maxwell? He feels a surge of regret so strong it surprises him, but he shoves it down and pushes himself to his feet. If he had to choose between freedom for himself or his pawn, he’d choose himself, of course. He’s paid his dues to that wretched place and those wretched shadows, and he’s never, ever going back.

…which means that he shall have to reacquaint himself with civilized society.

He knows as soon as he steps through the portal that he’s not in his original dimension. That’s frightening, yes, but nothing he can’t handle; it seems he’s not the first person to arrive here from a different world, and although some of the technology is completely new to him (what is this item he’s been given? It certainly doesn’t look like a phone!), he’s creative, resilient, and determined to make his new home better than his last.

Armed with nothing but a book (has the Codex rejected him now that he’s escaped Their grasp?), he warily accepts the offer to be transported to his new lodgings and readies himself for the next chapter of his life. Checkmate, hands shaken, the game is put away for good.

;;

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

Tap. Tap tap tap.

That’s it, he gives up. This blasted device has bested him once and for all.

“Does anyone here actually know how to use one of these ‘cell-phones’?”

BITE BITE SNARL.

...ahem.

"How generous of you." Yes, he'll bloody your bloody cape. Give you,,, a damn difficult stain to remove. Small victories.

He coughs again, wetly, and unbuttons his vest to better assess the damage. His shirtfront has been torn through in relatively clean lines, but is still what he considers unsalvageable. It's not that Maxwell can't mend clothing-- he's rather skilled with a sewing kit, actually-- but it seems like just a little too much effort now that he actually has access to such luxuries as money and shops. He'll use it as an excuse to fill out his wardrobe.

"I don't suppose you'd care to pay for the damages, as well? As a show of comradery."

He snorts and chuckles.

"As you say. Follow me...we won't be wanting to go out the front. The owners may not take kindly to the stains and trails of blood we're making and I don't care to bother with diplomacy with them."

He led the two of them to a side door and out. It let out to a little porch area with only two tables, assuredly meant for patrons who wanted a bit more privacy.

Taking a seat he crossed one leg over the other and smirked at the man.

"Great Maxwell," His tone was dripping with sarcasm and self satisfaction. "Would you care for a bit of my cape to wrap your wounds? As a show of...comradery."

Okay? So why the hell is he asking Maxwell about her? Does he think the King is omnipotent? Flattering, but no.

Max keeps walking as he replies, pausing here and there to raise a finger with every answer. "One: fur. Two: yes, magicfolk are more in-tune, but don't let that dissuade any Beforeborn friends you might have who are interested in picking up spells. It's accessible to almost anyone. And three: you are a product of my love of the fantastical--"

Here he stops fully, giving the young man an appraising look over.

"Yes. Absolutely divine. There are plenty of Beforeborn who would kill to be that shade of violet. ...and a nice, expressive tail... you didn't come out half bad at all. Don't you think the world's a more beautiful place when we allow ourselves to dream of what could be, not what is?"

Success, Mx. Stranger; you've made Maxwell's eyes light up with that last question.

"The Prestige. Anyone can remove something from this world. But only a real magician can bring it back."

It's creation. It's reformation. It's the promise that everything will be wrapped up neatly in a pretty little bow, and that nothing is truly gone forever.

"What would you like me to bring back into your life, child?"

Okay so THAT hint didn't work . . .

❝ I was just tryin' to— nevermind. I was just tryin' to make conversation. ❞ Ahem.

. . .

Huh ?

The fuck ?

William follows of course, without any question. ❝ Well yeah, that's what I was tryin' to figure out . . . but my mom ain't Afterborn, y'know. Given, she's not my birth mother. ❞ This is all stupid. He should let it go, or just ask directly. Why is he like this ? ? ?

❝ Yeah, nevermind . . . ❞

Anyway. Maxwell continues to be the personality of all time, and William has to confess to himself that he is captivated ! ❝ Hah ! Okay, well, I gotta ask ya all three of those. Go in order. Scales or fur ? How's the magic ? Why didja ' make me ' ? And . . . ❞ Make it about him. William is certain that's the trick, just as long as he can think of something interesting. ❝ When you talk about magic, what's your favourite ? Ever. Of all time. ❞

"Then it's very kind of you to offer up your expertise in this impromptu lesson."

He gives a polite nod, pushing himself to his feet and straightening his suit. As the dancers exit the stage, Maxwell steps up to its center, gazing out at the mostly-empty sea of seats.

He's hit with a sudden, horrible wave of deja vu.

Stage lights, brilliant and blinding, hazing over his vision. He can't make out the expressions of the crowd, but he doesn't need to; the only face he needs to see is hers, and there she is, smiling at him with love and hope and desperation. He's been gone, hasn't he. Mentally, at least. He's been sneaking off and hiding away and driving himself crazy pouring over that book, and she's noticed, and she's worried, and she's hoping that if they just get on stage again like they used to that everything will go back to normal. He knows it won't, but he'll indulge her this one last performance; he's never been able to say no to Her.

"Er-- welcome." Maxwell clears his throat, sweat suddenly beading at the back of his neck. "Forgive me, it's been some time since I've practiced my art."

He inhales, exhales, and plasters on his most confident smile.

His deck of cards is a familiar, grounding weight in his hand, and his smile gradually becomes more genuine as he taps it out and begins to shuffle.

"I'd like to demonstrate some of the classics with you here today. If I might have a volunteer?"

"Oh, thanks! No, nothin' like that. I'm just a dancer but maybe I could teach!"

"I think we're just about wrappin' up. Why don't you show the folks what you've got?"

Maria leans in a bit, now interested. Umbra sits calmly, awaiting the performance. Pearl takes out a notepad from her purse, ready to write about whatever comes next.

MAXWELL ! PASSION CASTER/HEART STEALER {MAGE, with THIEF traits}

CHARACTER SKILLS: FIERY CARAMEL APPLE: As you raise a hand up into the air, a giant, flaming apple covered in caramel will be summoned; allowing you to hurl it towards any foe that stands in your way. It works on single targets, and on groups. This is a pretty dangerous way to go bowling, but hey, it’ll get you a good score! SUGAR PLUM FAIRIES: If you’re ever trapped in a dark place and can’t find your way out, simply summon a group of dancing sugar plum fairies to light your way to safety! So long as the spell is active, they will follow you wherever you go; each of them creating light in a ten foot radius. SLEIGHT OF GUMMY HAND: Every thief needs to know how to steal! With this knowledge you can easily sneak treats out of any distracted person’s cookie jar. It can be very useful in battle too, if the big boss you’re facing has an important item you’ll need to get through to the next level! SUGAR GLASS: You’re so good at tricking people, you can even make them see things that aren’t really there! Of course, these illusions will be completely made out of candy, but they will let you conjure items, monsters, or even change your own appearance. The candy people might fall for it a little easier than your friends, however.. especially when you suddenly have a beard made out of sour belts.

CHARACTER STATS:

STRENGTH: 3

MAGIC: 14

ENDURANCE: 0

SPEED: 3

Maxwell grits his teeth against the kind, considerate mockery of his own habitual greeting to his former pawns. Eugh. He doesn't need pity! ...except that's exactly what he needs, and the very reason he waved this man over in the first place. Right. His pride can wait.

"Do you see any horses around here?" he snaps. It comes out sounding somewhat flat and breathless from exhaustion, and he gives a halfhearted apology immediately afterwards. He has got to learn to bite his tongue around people who can literally choose whether he lives or dies.

"I have no mount. What-- what can I offer you for the use of yours?" Max pauses, then admits, weakly: "I don't think I'll be able to make the journey on foot. I can barely... stand."

Balduran had decided to take a small break from his exploration of the Mistwood- the Castle of the Forest King had proven itself much more difficult to find- and he wasn't too keen on being stranded in the forests during the night. To remedy this, he'd simply pushed forward- right into the Land of Burnt Umber. He'd quickly become friendly with the locals- a perk of that natural charm of his- and they'd told him of the Bones of the Forgotten. As any good adventurer would, Balduran made sure to prepare for a long day in the desert heat. He was lucky enough to have found a few desert carrots. He was told the creature he rode was called Jewel of the Desert. Luckily it seemed to be just like riding a horse.

Balduran let his steed drink at a strange oasis when they both became wary from the heat. He found that he could not bottle any of it. At least, there was a place to come back to if he needed to rest.

When he set out again, it wasn't long before he spotted someone who looked about ready to pass out. A man in a suit- ❝ Hey- ❞

❝ You look like you've seen better days- There's an oasis not far from here- at least not if you're riding on horseback- ❞