"It Is."

"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.

"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.

"That's Maxwell the Great. Or The Amazing Maxwell, if you prefer." Not that he isn't also magnificent, it's just not in the name.

Ah. There's that recognition. It always comes eventually, even if magicfolk don't always fully understand why it's there.

"That's right." Maxwell grins, spreading his arms wide. "Putting two and two together, now, are we?"

That would make one of them, because Max has to admit he's a liiiiittle confused about the non sequitur. Ah-- unless the child means the history of their people.

"There isn't a person in this world more qualified to answer your questions, then. Treat me to lunch between shows and I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Oh, this man has a flair for drama. William can respect that . . . given, it makes sense, doesn't it ? Him being a performer and all . . . ❝ And that's why you're Maxwell the Magnificent then. Got it ! ❞ William says, misremembering the title in full confidence via newly formed mandela effect.

The theatrics aren't over yet, however when—

William this time lets out a nervous chitter from the other's claw as realisation sets in. He looks down at his own hands as if to confirm it.

No fucking way.

❝ Are you— you're— ❞ William's throat runs dry, words escaping him. This feels too surreal. He has to be wrong. But— shit. That would explain a lot about him. His own black claws. His own interests. His connection to the Capital.

Still, they can't jump the gun. They have to be smart. Their heart is racing.

❝ Y-you know, I uh . . . I'm in town because I was trying to get . . . records. Learn some stuff. About my history. ❞ Ring any bells ? His eyes are fixated on the man.

"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 ? ❞

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?.... (; • - •)

"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.

"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.

What an apt observation. How refreshing it is to meet someone else who recognizes the value of looking one's best!

"Correct." He'll take it as a good sign that Lecter can read people well. That is his job, isn't it?

Maxwell, for his part, does not take a seat. Good, Doctor. You sit. Forever. For some reason, the idea of settling into a chair in this enclosed space is utterly appalling.

"..." How to begin? Being honest, vulnerable... it's certainly not something he's used to. But he expects he'll be asked to pay a pretty penny just to be here, so he might as well get something out of it.

"I expected that being cut off from the dangers of my 'home realm' would likewise sever their hold on me, but I find that I am experiencing just as many nightmares now as I did before."

If anything, the nightly visions seem to have only grown worse since his arrival. It's as though the Stars have tampered with his very ability to mentally recover from moments of distress; he doesn't think that's possible, but he supposes it would be foolish to assume that anything is beyond their capabilities. And since he can no longer rely on a dapper suit and natural confidence to reassure him and sooth his nerves, it seems appropriate that he seek outside guidance.

He does not intend to spend his vacation in paradise plagued by terror.

"So what do you think? Is that something you can fix?"

it's not often that hannibal encounters someone dressed as well as him. in fact, he's noticed how rare it is to find someone dawning a suit for the sake of it, undistracted from the need of any social gathering. the man in front of him - maxwell, his file tells him - is dressed as if he will attend a networking event right after therapy, and so hannibal immediately knows he'll have much fascinating to say.

" ah, looks like we both dressed up for the occasion, " he says with a polite but amused grin, observing maxwell enter the room from where he's sat. " come on in, maxwell. you don't look like the type to pursue a psychiatrist's opinion, if you don't mind me saying. what brings you here? "

@codexvmbra liked for a starter!

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’?”