Codexvmbra - FREEDOM SUITS ME.

"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.

"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.

Maxwell grits his teeth against the kind, considerate mockery of his own habitual greeting to his former pawns. Eugh. He doesn't need pity! ...except that's exactly what he needs, and the very reason he waved this man over in the first place. Right. His pride can wait.

"Do you see any horses around here?" he snaps. It comes out sounding somewhat flat and breathless from exhaustion, and he gives a halfhearted apology immediately afterwards. He has got to learn to bite his tongue around people who can literally choose whether he lives or dies.

"I have no mount. What-- what can I offer you for the use of yours?" Max pauses, then admits, weakly: "I don't think I'll be able to make the journey on foot. I can barely... stand."

Balduran had decided to take a small break from his exploration of the Mistwood- the Castle of the Forest King had proven itself much more difficult to find- and he wasn't too keen on being stranded in the forests during the night. To remedy this, he'd simply pushed forward- right into the Land of Burnt Umber. He'd quickly become friendly with the locals- a perk of that natural charm of his- and they'd told him of the Bones of the Forgotten. As any good adventurer would, Balduran made sure to prepare for a long day in the desert heat. He was lucky enough to have found a few desert carrots. He was told the creature he rode was called Jewel of the Desert. Luckily it seemed to be just like riding a horse.

Balduran let his steed drink at a strange oasis when they both became wary from the heat. He found that he could not bottle any of it. At least, there was a place to come back to if he needed to rest.

When he set out again, it wasn't long before he spotted someone who looked about ready to pass out. A man in a suit- ❝ Hey- ❞

❝ You look like you've seen better days- There's an oasis not far from here- at least not if you're riding on horseback- ❞

How many times had he held this exact conversation with Higgsbury while they had been bickering over the construction of their makeshift portal? At least Herta is gracious enough to be able to admit the truth-- magic is science we don't understand yet and is therefore more impressive than anything some common chemist can cobble together, and all that.

"My condolences. I know the feeling." He had been intrigued to find his Codex returned to him, but it had turned out to be nothing more than a joke at his expense; the words and chants contained therein currently provide none of their previous power. Nothing more than markings on a page.

"And I look forward to watching you do so." What can he say? He's always found self-purported geniuses to be oh-so-fun to play with; they're so certain of their own abilities that they make the most amusing mistakes.

"How do you propose to begin your investigation? The Stars are, by all accounts, fully omnipotent in this realm."

@codexvmbra

✧ "I suppose this would qualify as "magic"." Herta mused at a curious question posed to her as she floated along. A man had asked her about her levitation. "But it could also be considered "science". Magic is merely science's ultimate form, as far as I see it." Its why she had no qualms with being considered a witch or a mage, even though she was technically a genius. The genius, in fact.

"I'd show you a little more, but those pesky Stars have had their way with my talents. My genius remains, and yet the laws that govern my abilities have been tampered with. A shame, but I do look forward to unraveling the mysteries of out captors."

RULES --

INFORMATION FOR INDIE INTERACTIONS --

IR APP || IR STARTER CALL --

ISOLA RADIALE (AFFILIATED GROUP) --

[graphic image by the incredible @feralreason !]

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.

୨୧ FAUCHER LACE HOUSE & BOUTIQUE. ୨୧

Church bells ring in the distance as you follow Archimedes' winding whitened alleys to a lively street populated with delightful little bistros and cafés. Nestled amongst them with its large, wide windows is Maison des Dentelles d'Faucher—a chic boutique specializing in the intricate yet classy fashions of the Elweruan and Oldstuz Empires.

Offering both affordable designs and more exclusive, tailored options, Faucher Lace House & Boutique is here to serve the most scintillating tastes at all price points.

If you are interested in our Chorus Package, please speak to the shop manager on duty who can guide you to a private consultation.

ABOUT. 𝒢℘ POSITIONS. 𝒢℘ FORMS. 𝒢℘ CHORUS. 𝒢℘ NAVI.

maxwell playing chess with one of his shadow puppets and losing

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?"

"Unless your mom is a chef in the Capital, no, I don't want the snacks she packed you." Are you kidding him right now?

What??

"Look, pal, I don't know every single Afterborn by name. That's not how this works. Is there a reason I would know her personally? If not, then I don't."

He begins walking. He knows exactly where he'd like to eat, and it's not out of this child's grimy backpack.

"That's not the sort of question I had in mind. This is a rare opportunity for you-- get creative! Ask me whether I prefer fur or scales. Ask me if Afterborn are better at magic than Beforeborn. Ask me why I made you! Just don't bore me."

❝ Right. ❞ Both of those sound generic as fuck, but this guy already corrected them, and has his own fucking statue— which William gives another look. Sheesh.

. . .

Damn, okay. The plot thickens. William's first instinct is that the open arms is an invitation for a hug but, no way. No. If the man is his real father, then . . . ❝ I'd love to ask you some questions ! ❞ More like a million.

. . .

Shit, and he wants food too ?

❝ I uh, got bits t'spare. ❞ Maxwell has the title of "the Great", which means he can definitely afford to eat more than William can pay. Whatever. ❝ Or uh, I could spare a snack or two my mom made ? ❞ He feels a brief twinge of silliness before the question escapes him. . . ❝ You wouldn't happen to know her, would you ? ❞ William probably looks a bit more pathetic and kitten-like than intended, looking up at Maxwell with pleading glowing eyes.