Oh, How He Wishes He Could Sic His Hounds On This Fox In True Hunting Party Fashion.

{ isola starter call ! || @ciphertone ! }

"Yes, yes, yes, I understand, knowledge comes at a price, my tiny mortal mind won't be able to contain it all. I'm not stupid, and I'm not new to this sort of thing, either."

He's been on both sides of the whole "cursed deal" situation, and if he can't handle himself at this point, then he deserves to go mad from whatever secrets are locked away in those tomes.

"My request is simple. I'd like to know what your organization has archived on the process of entering and leaving this dimension, and I'd like to know what my options are for using magic before my personal effects are returned to me. Now. Can you help me or not?"

"You don't think I could handle my own against Fae royalty?" He's joking, of course; whatever powers ruled over her version of Britain were undoubtedly on par with Them in terms of their command of magic-- and underlings. Maxwell would have been swallowed up and spit out and turned to dust in no time at all, he's sure.

"You assume correctly. I didn't even encounter true magic until I left the area entirely. My world was woefully devoid of the stuff. ...legends of your kind notwithstanding."

"Did you know any humans at all before your arrival here?"

@codexvmbra

● "Hmm... I suppose the legend behind the Baobhan sith comes from Scottish folklore, but I am a fairy that was born and raised in Britain." She'd been surprised to meet a human that heard her name and immediately drew the correlation between it and those legends. Was he perhaps from that part of the world?

"It wasn't really the Britain you seem to know, though. Unless your Britain was ruled by fairies? But I seriously doubt you'd be alive if that were the case, human."

;;

whoops. got sucked into adventure mode. gonna get back to replies in t-minus... now!

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."

That had better be an attempt at flirting, and not an insult, or Mr. Server will find himself bloodier than the cage fighters.

...ah. Yes. Alright. Definitely flirting.

Like practically everything else there is to life, Maxwell is woefully out of practice when it comes to rapport of the amorous variety. He nearly finds himself blushing, which would be ridiculous, and instead leans heavily into "playing it cool" so as to not come across as an absolute fool.

"Don't flatter yourself."

Perhaps he's over-correcting. Whoops.

"You'll get a better tip bringing me my drinks than you will stroking my ego." Debatable.

"Unless you'd care to take a break, sit down, and tell me what you really think."

his gaze is met with a warmer one from will, seemingly unfazed by the stranger's cold behavior. where expectation waits for a rude comment, he's given a surprisingly polite one instead, a nice contrast to his attitude.

" well, that's a shame. all dressed up and you're by yourself? " will can immediately tell the man in the tailored suit is all about pride just from the way he sits up, shows off his outfit. instead of shying away, the writer steps closer, glides the tips of his fingers over one of the shoulder pads.

" custom made, huh? well, you're a sight and a half. it really complements your figure. " turning his attention to the notepad, he writes down the order, takes another look around the room. dar'khol is pretty forgiving, but will doesn't want to lose a customer because he's too busy hitting on someone.

spotting noone intending to order, he resumes the conversation. " so you're a man who likes his suits fashionable and his fighting rough. is that what brings you here, or was it the devilishly handsome server? "

{ 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."

"It is."

He glances around, coming to stand near the Librarian. While the fox appears altogether disinterested in the display, there's a gleam of amusement in Maxwell's eyes.

"My, my, I should have known you had a violent streak." When you nearly clawed me in half. "I think this will all be great fun, if we let it be. Don't think of it as doing them a favor-- think of it as being offered the opportunity to let off some steam. ...something you clearly need."

He's already made up his mind to try his hand at defeating the waves of monsters; he enjoys watching combat more than he enjoys partaking in it himself, but he's certainly not going to pass up the chance to put his new book of spells to the test.

"Have you gotten any new abilities? As far as I'm concerned, that's already made all of this ridiculousness worthwhile."

Candy Culling

Even as panic took the people, he sat, watching it all, a cup of coffee in hand. Catching someone in his peripheral vision, he addressed them.

"It's you, Great Maxwell." He drawled, sounding bored.

"What do you make of it? The staged people, the candy magic?"

He sips.

"I was contemplating whether to do as they ask. On the one hand, I don't tend towards doing things for others with such little information given.

On the other hand, everything is awful and I wouldn't mind pounding these disgusting, sticky, oozy, melty monsters to crumbling bits... and perhaps learn something of our captors further inside the castle."

@codexvmbra

{ isola starter call ! || @oriar ! }

Now that he knows he'll never get back to the Constant, there's a strange pull to return there. That's you in a nutshell, William Carter. Always chasing what you can't have.

He doesn't really want to go back, of course. Not to the Throne, and not to the life of a survivor.

But.

It's been so long since he's been in civilization-- really been in it, not crept shadow-like into the real world-- that he finds himself retreating to the semi-familiar isolation of the forest quite soon into his stay on the island. He's indulged himself nonstop in the finer things of society, and now he needs to pause and reset before all of these recent changes completely overwhelm him. He imagines that this forest, with its easy-to-find forageables and mundane fauna, will be a perfectly relaxing alternative to his own spider-infested woods.

He's wrong.

Maxwell tears through the forest, eyes wide and wild. He's seen-- something. Something tall and shaped like Them that made his skin crawl and his sanity fall in an instant. He doesn't know where he's going, just that he needs to get away, and he almost doesn't notice when another figure (human-sized, thank goodness) appears out of the mist in front of him.

He makes a valiant effort to skid to a stop before he runs into them, but doesn't quite succeed; Maxwell slams into the stranger, toppling them both to the ground in a heap of limbs and disturbed leaves.

He scrambles to untangle himself, his gaze darting feverishly back and forth around the misty clearing.

"It's-- there--! It's coming, They're coming--! What are you waiting for, get up!"