The Thorned Rose Cannot Help But Prick. It Is Its Nature.

He continues to scowl at her; he knows what it would look like to the rest of the passengers, a grown man telling some poor girl to take the hit for him. Never mind that she volunteered, people tend to look down on those who aren't brave (foolish) enough to go gallivanting into trouble. So, yes, as far as he's concerned, she did call him a coward, and she can stay right there between him and the rest of these people.

Max's irritated expression slowly fades into surprise, then curiosity, then delight.

"You heard all of that?" What an observant creature she's turned out to be! And a humorous one, too; subtlety and propriety don't seem to be her strong suits.

Max grins unkindly at the couple, barely stifling a laugh at their embarrassment, then scans the train car for his new weapon's next target.

"What about those ones over there?" he says, nodding to another pair. One of the men looks sweaty and nervous, and the other looks downright terrified.

"Are they scared of the corpse, or do they have some other juicy reason to look so afraid?"

The pending murder investigation hasn't been forgotten, of course! But, well. If Maxwell's partner happens to be just as good at sniffing out shameful secrets as she is at solving mysteries, the magician is certainly going to take advantage of that fact.

Mira raises an eyebrow upon hearing his huff, unsure what she could have said to cause such a reaction from him before catching him making the comment that he isn't a coward, which makes her eyebrows knit. That wasn't what she had said, unless, the words she had spoken could be taken as such?

"....Unless words have suddenly changed their meaning, I did not call you a coward? But, I know I don't have all the meanings understood yet."

Although, she isn't sure how she can stand behind him to make sure he isn't stabbed in the back if he's keeping his back towards the wall of the train car, but she'd worry about that later as she listens to him go on what he'd do.

Then, when he's making mention of the pair near them, Mira tilts her head towards them, blinks for a moment before shaking her head.

"..No- They where arguing amongst themselves, a lovers quarrel I believe is what it's called. He's seeing his mistress or something more than she's okay with and this train ride was supposed to be time for them and he found out she's seeing another man."

Sadly, one skill she didn't have yet was tuning out conversations of others she wasn't supposed to pay attention to, so when she's just, telling him all that, the pair can only look at her wide eyed before looking extremely embarrassed and move along to the other side of the car further away.

happy haloween!!

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maxwell when wilson isn't around to save his ass: i am going to die from heat. i am going to take heat damage. i am going to wander out into the desert and die. i am going to lose 75 health to the sun

He pokes at the LifeSavers Book of Spells. A dusting of sugar coats his hand like fine snow. ...this'll take some getting used to. But, hey--

"Magic is magic."

"And getting to use it again sure tastes sweet."

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'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.

Prompt 17: inhuman