Certainly The Latter; It's Not Her "integrity" He's After, Here.

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'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.

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."

This one's always disturbed Maxwell with stirrings of guilt, even back when such a thing hardly seemed possible.

He didn't bring his pawns here to watch them give up. He's not an evil man! He doesn't enjoy despair, he enjoys-- enjoyed--

It doesn't matter now. The point is, if he had known she'd kill herself right in front of him and never fight to be remade, he wouldn't have brought her here.

"It's not my fault," he mutters, and it's unclear whether he's speaking to himself or the shadow.

It takes all night for them to trek back to the main camp's area of the forest, and Maxwell curses up a storm when he realizes he forgot to go back for the gathered resources. He can picture it now, all the nagging and disappointed looks from the other survivors. Or worse, pity, worry, their reassurances that it's okay that he can't manage to pull his weight because they all know how old and weak and useless he is.

Maxwell rubs at his temples against the low, pounding headache beginning to form there. Despite her light, his shadow is draining him, making him nervous and tense.

It's time to dispel her. Finally.

Except... as he turns back towards her with his hand raised, it feels more like murder than waving away smoke. Where does she go when she's not with him? She's a creature of darkness now, so surely that means she resides in Their lair along with all the other twisted, formless beings of the night.

With Charlie...?

"...it's-- it is time to release you now." Maxwell watches her, fear still evident on his face. "Is that what you... want?"

' Thank you. ,

It wants, in a fleeting moment of consciousness. An urge pulling it to appreciate, and in turn communicate.

It says nothing. It thinks nothing. A command from the summoner to which SHE is bound.

Can it stare ? Does it manage ? A mere silhouette, an idle form lost within an enveloping fog from its perspective. Yet to those with beating hearts in the Constant, it is a whisper of smoke and decay in a flick of eroded smoke. Like the wrenching tear of film on a projector, the shadow snaps and morphs. Static lingers for a breath, before it reconstitutes into something whole once more.

Orders.

The shadow does not waver, its lantern held steadfastly in its "hand," enveloping the summoner in protective embrace.

This order makes it feel. It flickers again. It only moves when he does.

;;

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

Maxwell doesn't try to hide it this time; he laughs, loudly, attracting the attention of many of the other passengers. Some look at him with confusion, others with suspicion, and the pair being pointed at turn to whisper urgently to each other. What a lark!

"What? No, no. Well, maybe, who knows? Maybe our dear deceased was this close to blowing the lid off of their little operation, and they needed to ensure their silence."

From the look of those men, however, Max is skeptical they'd have the guts to go through with a stabbing.

"But this information is relevant to something else. Have you heard of blackmail, child? It's when you hear things, you tell them only to me, and I make us both rich."

Not necessarily off of this tidbit of information-- as the girl's pointed out, others have probably overheard different pieces of conversations in this small space. But in the future...

Yes, Max decides. He's keeping her.

"What's your name, kid?" he says with a smile, moving to sling an arm around her shoulder and pull her back against the safety of the wall with him. No more playing meat-shield for this one-- he likes her.

After Max's outburst of laughter (rather inappropriate considering the circumstances), more and more groups are beginning to look in his direction, glancing between him and his partner with increased suspicion.

...whoops.

There is absolutely no missing the change in his facial expression as she watches it morph through several emotions before seeing it land on a wide grin upon his face. He.. Liked hearing that as a response? Why would that information bring him such joy? It didn't seem he personally knew them.

"They weren't exactly quiet about it, I'm sure others overheard them."

Still, upon him asking about another pair in the car with them, she's moving to look towards them, not even being subtle about it as she's taking a moment to think back to when each individual was walking through the car besides her as she was sitting there, not even questioning why he'd wish to know such things.

"...Let's see.."

Mira then lifts a finger, pointing towards the sweaty and nervous one, before speaking.

"Something called embezzlement from the corporate job he has or something of the sort," then, she moves to point at the terrified one, "Helping him out, and his dad is the owner of the company."

Mira then moves to look back towards him, not catching how the pair of men are shooting their gaze towards her after just so casually saying such things.

"I do not see how any of this helps stop any more stabbings. Unless this information is relevant somehow?"

Prompt 17: inhuman

Maxwell of all people can relate. Even before the Codex Umbra was returned to him, when he was given a perfectly ordinary, perfectly useless book, he had kept the mundane tome tucked close to his heart in his inner jacket pocket as though it were the Codex itself. Familiarity can be a powerful thing.

"My offer stands. I assure you, I'm quite the expert when it comes to extracting the hidden meanings of books. So if you ever do wish to figure out why you have been given this one, you need only ask. ...but I won't be able to help if you aren't willing to let me take a look."

Maxwell drums his fingers over the cover of his own "mysterious book."

"Were you given anything else upon your arrival? Or allowed to keep anything else, I suppose I should say."

@codexvmbra

[📖] Girl held her book the way a child might keep a beloved toy close to them. It was clear she wasn't going to let anyone else get their hands on it. "I'm not sure why I have it...but I'm going to keep it." Even if she couldn't remember why it was important, she felt protective over it regardless.

"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.