Ngl It’s The Absolute Funniest Thing That Max Is Working For A Shady Organization And Doesn’t Know

Maxwell is still sneering, pride wounded and temper high, but he listens, eyes narrowing the longer the Librarian speaks.

The fox is still interested in an exchange, even after the turn this conversation has taken.

Fine.

"I may be convinced to continue with this-- if you apologize."

He'll even make this a fair trade and write in Common, as expected. It's not as though he'll be giving up any of his power by sharing pages of the Codex, after all; he's Their favorite, and unless They think They can get to him through the Librarian, it's exceedingly doubtful that They'd grant the fox any real abilities. The singular benefit of having Their "favor"...

"A pleasure," Maxwell says flatly, offering his hand again.

He took in the man's words, his ears swiveling atop his head.

"Hold a moment."

"If I were back from whence I came I would have no words for anyone who encountered me. But...I am not there. And I am glad of it. Away from the cyclical suffering.

I want to learn as is my nature now. You want to learn. I have no grand plot to try and return to that place, thus the learning is for learning's sake.

Perhaps we drop all the preamble. We do not need to give one another all the answers. It is not true study otherwise. But I've an aching curiosity and if possible, I would like to fulfill it. You want to know too, don't you?

Great Maxwell, was it? I am the Librarian."

Lecter might not yet wish to give the impression that he's engaging in close, careful observation, but Maxwell doesn't hide the fact that he's taking his own mental notes on the psychiatrist's behaviors. So far, so good, it seems.

"Oh, I comprehend it just fine, pal." He "comprehends" that They are a bunch of sadistic pieces of shit who love nothing more than to see him suffer. ...but of course, Lecter's right. Maxwell's only human, despite the physical and mental changes he's undergone during his time on the Throne, and They are distinctly not. For every secret he's uncovered about Them, three more wait, undiscovered, under the surface. Symbols and shapes flashing before his eyes, dark hands beckoning him deeper--

Maxwell frowns. He doesn't like that comparison.

"Then you had better help me remove the boulder altogether."

His daily routine? What does that have to do with anything? Shouldn't Lecter be asking about the content of the nightmares, trying to dig deep into Maxwell's psyche? Or worse, asking about Carter's childhood, so he can try to blame visions of Them on some tripe about how William's father and mother didn't love him enough?

"I treat myself quite well. One might consider it to excess, but I do not. Let's see... I recently became gainfully employed as a sort of... fashion model. Not a role I ever expected myself to hold, but one for which I am very well-suited." If only Higgsbury were here to appreciate the pun.

"Besides that, I sometimes explore the wilderness, or find myself at various establishments dedicated to providing entertainment and drink. Currently, my favorite is the Skullrender."

Maxwell seems as though he could go on and on about himself, but he finally stops, awaiting the next question. Was any of this actually helpful?

there's a successful attempt at not letting the surprise felt show, not having expected maxwell to so willingly discuss what haunts him. it's an annotation written down, as is the small fact he refused to take a seat ( " perhaps an indication of hesitation when it comes to therapy - standing facilitates the search for an exit " ).

soon, however, the pen is dropped, and hannibal's hands come to lay flat on the journal atop his lap. he wants to ensure maxwell knows he's being listened to. actively taking notes after every sentence is a good technique to guarantee the patient feels observed, to give off the impression hannibal is studying them closely ( and as far as he knows, there's no reason to steer maxwell in that direction just yet ).

" that's, unfortunately, not shocking. whenever the human brain lives through a scenario just past the bounds of its comprehension, there are lasting marks - a seemingly everlasting pull towards the place which traced its suffering. your body may not be there, but it is where your mind resides still. " his head tilts, a sign of compassion. " in some ways, you will resemble the figure of sisyphus, cursed to forever push the boulder uphill - only to find himself returned to the base of the incline upon success. "

for a split moment, he returns to writing, taking note of the nightmares. soon enough, his gaze finds its way back to maxwell. it's soft, almost. " noone can 'fix' these visions of terror but yourself, maxwell. i am merely limited to help you along the way. "

hannibal leans back, thoughtful, then finally adds: " for now .. i want you to describe to me your daily routine. the places you go, how you treat yourself. "

William trying out his magic tricks on kids for the first time XD

Dialog

W: Ladies and gentlemen, I am the great William, I will show you magic!!

W:I will pull a bid out of my palm( hand) !

Wendy n Abigail:......

W:Tough crowd huh?.... (; • - •)

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.

{ isola starter call ! || @corporatevalue ! }

This is unacceptable. Yes, maybe losing his puppets is the price he's expected to pay for protection from Them, but-- but-- the creators of this world could at least give him a replacement for his servants! Dropping him into the middle of an unfamiliar realm with nothing but the shirt on his back and a mockery of his Codex in his hand? It's unfair! It's criminal!

It's exactly what he deserves, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.

...or tolerate it.

"Enough of this beating around the bush. I've made it very clear what I'm looking for, and if that means aligning myself against whatever passes for law enforcement around here, then so be it." How much more direct can he be? He wants something powerful, magical or otherwise, and he couldn't give less of a damn how Ms. Jenson has sourced it.

"So I'll say this one more time; let's talk about your real big-ticket items."

"The Stars, you mean? They can't possibly care what we mere 'mortals' do." He allowed his pawns free run of his world. In fact, he quite enjoyed when they found gunpowder and blew themselves and other creatures into smithereens. The powers that rule this realm are almost certainly the same.

"Mm. No, I don't intend to limit myself to weapons of that kind." She knows what he wants-- objects of power and intrigue, not one's run-of-the-mill, boring old revolver.

Oh, yes. She knows exactly what he wants.

Maxwell watches with a sharp gaze. He wouldn't mind having a source of energy for himself; his time on the Throne has left him rather frail, as loathe as he is to admit it, and it certainly wouldn't hurt to have an easily-accessible pick-me-up on hand.

And.

Maxwell's brow rises in surprise as she demonstrates on her own assistant. That comes across as quite cold, even for him. She's quick to return the energy stolen, but still-- was that truly necessary?

Necessary or not, it's provided a quite compelling demonstration.

"I am highly interested in this piece. I intend to avoid combat as much as possible until my own powers return, so the subtlety afforded by this item is well worth the wait. However..."

He glances around as though his dear Codex will slip from the shadows into his grasp.

"I wonder whether you have anything that could mimic the abilities I'm used to. I've come to enjoy certain freedoms that come with having servants at my beck and call." He glances at her assistant; she can relate, he's sure.

"I wonder if now would also be an appropriate time to ask about, er. Payment options." Better to admit outright that he almost certainly isn't rich enough to pay up front-- he would hate for her to become irritated and decide to perform a second demonstration of that box on him.

"I wonder whether there would be any opportunity for me to provide my services to you as a form of partial payment? I think you'll find I can be discreet when needed. And I know when to keep my mouth shut and my eyes to myself."

"When it comes to the city of spirals; I don't believe it is law enforcement that should be worrying you," she'd hum in thought. Indeed, were 'righteous' otherworlders - vigilantes - far more troubling. Gifted with all sorts of diverse abilities, including ones that'd be sheer fiction within her homeworld. "— but I recognize you're resolute."

That a newcomer was itching to break laws in a world where they don't even yet know the extent of what they're dealing with, to the point they'd find themselves traversing the low levels of fibonacci so soon… Ms. Jenson wasn't sure whether she should find the courage commendable, or find the lack of prudence appalling.

Not like her personal assessment of the other's character mattered much; he was a customer all the same. If he insists on making a potential mistake, who's she to impede?

She signalled to her subordinate with a mere headtilt. Spirale had no Port Mafia; true - she had the luck of seeing a couple of familiar faces, one of which being with her here today, but that was about it. Her current main occupation wasn't even connected with any of this — but, ah, how irresistible it is, to be the supply in where there's just this much demand. Within a business she felt right at home in, no less.

Ms. Jenson carried an amused expression whilst speaking. "Often I find new customers rushing here to purchase firearms, and if you insist; I do offer them. But if you're looking for powerful; simple steel won't cut it."

The subordinate would return with a suitcase, placing it on her desk. "You seem like the cunning sort," she'd observe, choosing a descriptor that was - somewhat - less accusatory than to assume them to be the type to backstab others. "— so I believe I've something that'll grant you considerable leverage."

Out the suitcase, she'd take out what looked like an ornamented box, crevices hinting that it - actually - doesn't open fully. More importantly, the box didn't appear intimidating.

Quite the opposite, actually; it'd not look out of place within an herbal store, its use of pastel green, white and gold giving a gentle, inoffensive impression. "This is based on an existing, permissible product from Cotes Fantasci, and if not used - will pass as one just fine. Much like the genuine article, it's able to supply you with energy, but; it is modified to include a lethal twist."

While it is unlikely the customer could hear the order she'd mutter to her subordinate, it is possible they noticed a fleeting yellow spark that'd occur right after.

Tilting the box towards the poor guy, she'd push the subtle button on the bottom, which loosened the lower part of the box, creating a gap in the crevice that runs through the middle of the gadget. "Naturally, you could just use it for its assumed purpose; it has you gradually recover energy, and whenever you're done and back in good shape— simply push it shut," she said as she did as much, closing the cube. The volunteer didn't say anything, but he did look visibly more vibrant than earlier.

"But," started, as she pressed the button once more. "— as it has your target gradually regain energy, you can also choose for them a different fate."

She'd quietly count, eventually reaching for the lower part of the box, but instead of pushing— twisted it. Response was instantaneous; as the box closed shut, the subordinate's legs gave into fatigue and he collapsed to the ground, coughing.

"Taking back the energy you've granted in one. swift. move. Yes, the target will be fine if it is done mere seconds after activating the box, but if you let it run for a few minutes?" a grin. "It may not be capable of giving you more energy than you'd usually have in good health, but all the surplus — it accumulates in secret. Twist it then, and you've got instantaneous death that - to anyone else - looks like it's been caused by starvation."

Well. Cannot have her subordinate be plagued by exhaustion on the clock. Using the box once more to let him recover, and after she had pushed the box shut, she'd place it on the table. "There are clear disadvantages, of course. Useless in the midst of active combat, for one, as it requires a lengthly idle time period for the desired effect."

Shrugging, she gestured to the suitcase. "If you'd be willing to tell me what kind of situation you're anticipating, I am sure I've something more tailored to your needs."

{ isola starter call ! || @hewillnevervisit !}

"Oh, don't worry, pal. I always hold up my end of a deal."

Maxwell's sharp, toothy smile makes him look almost as fox-like as the Librarian himself. He's extended a blackened, claw-tipped hand, waiting for the other to shake on their trade.

Knowledge for knowledge.

Max has, as always, worded the terms of their arrangement such that he's not technically lying. He's promised the Librarian that, in return for teaching Max the secrets of his own studies, the magician will transcribe a portion of his Codex from memory for the Librarian to keep.

...Maxwell may have neglected to mention that the Codex Umbra is fully encrypted, but, hey, a little deciphering should be nothing for one so well-acquainted with books, right?

"So what do you say? Ready for a peek behind the curtain?"

"I cannot understand you."

But if nothing else, she's proven that she's listening. She's in there, aware... why doesn't she attack him? Why hadn't she dropped her light and left him to Them like he left her? It'd be no less than he deserves.

Is she showing kindness, or does he simply have her shackled too tightly for her to act on her own?

Ah-- that's it!

"My other puppets-- that-- that is to say, the-- the-- the shadows at my command, they are capable of performing tasks without my direct supervision."

His brow furrows in concentration, and he attempts to connect with her as he would his soulless summons. She must be able to do something other than stand there and stare. Communicate with him. Tell him what to do to make this right.

' It's not my fault. ,

It faces him, looming. Staring. The light glows, and where he goes, it follows with a stable form.

It has a moment of clarity, and it forms an assessment of its caller. Stressed. He's stressed.

For a moment, it thinks, managing to recall a hazy blink of its own experiences. It knows it used to feel, and that it was unpleasant . . . but what was feeling like ? What was it like to have senses ? To be human.

The shadow hums more static, thoughts evaporating as it becomes a servant again.

Then, he acknowledges her.

He asks what it wants.

He asks what she wants. The static becomes a sort of breath; not exactly communication but . . . it hopes to be a answer. She wants to tell him that anything is better than the dark. That, it knows, it does feel.

"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.

{ 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."