MAXWELL ! PASSION CASTER/HEART STEALER {MAGE, With THIEF Traits}

the thorned rose cannot help but prick. it is its nature.

"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.

ngl it’s the absolute funniest thing that max is working for a Shady Organization and doesn’t know it. like bro would NOT care if he knew about the Extra Stuff they do, but he simply does not. He’s there to look good and sell clothes. That’s it /lh

Oh, good lord. She's speaking to him.

Static crackles in his mind and in the silent night air, and Maxwell looks at her, stricken.

...no, not speaking. And not to him. The spirit is just... coming into existence, that's all.

That's all.

"Thank you," he mumbles, something he's only ever said sarcastically to his typical puppets, but which is entirely genuine when spoken to her. He shivers under the pale blue of the lantern. He should be dead right now. Like her...

IT LOOKS AT HIM.

"Stop that!" Maxwell snarls, eyes wide and terrified. He takes a step back, freezing when he nears the edge of the ring of light.

What is he thinking? Of course she isn't looking at him. He's just lost what was left of his sanity summoning her, that's all.

That's. All.

"We're going home. I-- I'm going home. Come. And don't you dare drop that light."

With spectral candlelight, the spirit materialises.

It has no will. She. SHE. SHE. SHE. SHE. SHE WAS-

The absence of anger, of feeling is noted as its feeble attempt dissolves into radio static, lost and numb. It moves, conjured with its lantern to illuminate the surrounds. It knows it does this, even if it does not see. Vague stimuli to give it a perception, of course, but only what is necessary. The darkness. Objects. It notes its summoner, moving before and beside him, crowning him with protective light.

It feels again. So, it tries to speak, ultimately useless when it has no mouth. However this time, perhaps from something it can percieve stirring in its core, it does face him. Looking. That's all. It wishes it could cry, only for a moment. It can't wish. It is bound to the summoner, but in this moment it has managed more than it had in its past. It seems, even if fleeting, aware.

“of course, take your time…”

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."

Maxwell's lip remains curled in a snarl. There is... a point to be made, yes, that the Librarian's words were nothing more than an empty threat. At the same time, it's a matter of respect. And lack thereof.

"Oh, please. As I said before, I always hold up my end of a deal. Just because you'd resort to violence doesn't mean I'd do the same."

Is Maxwell really trying to claim the moral high ground after everything he's done?

"If it's such a non-issue, then just apologize and let us get on with things. Unless your pride is more important to you than your pursuit of knowledge, Mr. Librarian."

The Librarian chuckled, a deep noise.

"Between us...if I have assessed you correctly...an empty threat as it was, for I did admit that I did not have my blade on me...should be nothing more than a trifle, yes?"

"Or are you such a stickler for this polite, respectable folly that you won't admit that, if within your power, you'd attack and peel the knowledge from my bones?"

There are many ways in which this "deal" could go awry for Maxwell; off the top of his head, he thinks that if he were to use that wording on one of his pawns, he'd ensure that they didn't "forget" him by plaguing their nightmares until they went mad. ...that would be quite fun, actually. Maybe he'll steal borrow the phrase if he ever goes back to his old ways.

For now, however, he'll live with whatever consequences come from shaking the hand outstretched to him. He's suffered through worse.

Blackened claws close around the entity's fingers and Maxwell marvels at the being's strange biology. Perhaps, if things go well, he can ask for information about his guide's home realm. It's always smart to be aware of what's out there, especially if what's out there is in the habit of dealing in forbidden knowledge.

"Is it your hope that we will discover a way out together?" That is to say, is he itching to escape?

Honestly, not what he was going to mention when the other strolled in here and started asking about magic and information, but he appreciates the straightforwardness! He loves someone with enough ambition and reckless disregard to fly directly into the sun. His lower eyelid lifts into a grin, although he doesn't move to fulfill his request quite yet.

“IF IT’S HAPPENED, I’LL HAVE SOMETHING ON IT - AND I’D BE HAPPY TO SHOW YOU! IF YOU SWEAR TOLET ME IN ON WHATEVER YOU’RE PLANNING. IF YOU’RE TRYING TO GET OUT OF HERE, USE ANY CRAZY MAGIC… WELL, JUST DON’T FORGET THE GUY WHO POINTED YOU IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION! DEAL?”

His hand stretches across the desk at that - sure, his deals might not technically have any power anymore, but this guy doesn't know that! Besides, he likes the gesture anyways. Feels natural, and he's not giving it up.

... ..... .......

This patron doesn't just look like an owl, she's as silent as one, too, it seems. Maxwell's tempted to make a snide comment about how inappropriate her combat attire is for a refined establishment like this one, but... no. She's an attentive member of his audience regardless of how out of place she is, and he will play the gracious host. He can't have his short temper reflecting poorly on his new place of work, after all.

How truly mortifying it would be to get fired from a job so easy a well-dressed Pig could do it.

"Good day," he says pleasantly, offering a shallow bow. "I appear to have caught your eye." That, more than anything, cools his urge to address her with snark; Maxwell does so love to be admired.

His smile and soft, inviting gaze are both the carefully crafted facades of a performer-- enough to make any average customer feel truly, wonderfully seen.

Whether they do the same for Engle, only time will tell.

"If there's anything I can help you with today, don't hesitate to ask. It's what I'm here for."

This place, the Faucher Lace House & Boutique, seems to have gathered quite the flock. Even a newcomer like herself can't help but notice the crowd.

Fashion and espionage are really more in Guin's department, but if Engle wants answers about her missing team, she'd have to fill in for the rest of them.

Between her combat boots and her tactical gear, she's not exactly dressed for a shopping trip. One of the models, a tall man, takes notice of her, and Engle looks right back at him.

Her gaze is unrelenting, and she breathes almost as minimally as a mannequin.

The question remains: which one of them is going to break first?

@codexvmbra

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?"