#codexvmbra

[codexvmbra]

{ 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?"

[railheist]

The posse has set up shop at one of the amphitheaters in Archimedes Ward. Anne is practicing on stage with a few other dancers she's found, teaching them how to do the can-can.

The other three women sit around the theater. Pearl's reading a book about finances, Umbra is mending her bow and arrows, and Maria is tending to Mister Blue.

And there seems to be someone else who wandered in... Maria gives him the stink eye. Pearl and Umbra look over, and Anne seems too invested in her dancing to give more than a glance.

@codexvmbra

[hewillnevervisit]

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

[cyberengle]

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

[fairyknight]

@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."

[codexvmbra]

"Please, Charlie, be gentle!"

He knows how pathetic he sounds, how hypocritical it is of him to beg for mercy when it's his fault she's trapped in the darkness in the first place. But he can't help it; he's terrified, stumbling over roots and grasping hands as he tries in vain to outrun the night itself.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! What kind of idiot wastes their torch during dusk?

The dead kind.

He had been nervous, that's all. Winter's just around the corner and he had been doing one last resource rush before the warmth of Autumn fled for good. So many puppets up at once had sent his head spinning and shadows crawling in the corners of his vision and he hadn't been able to take the dim light of the setting sun. The puppets are gone now, abandoned along with their resources (what a god damned waste), leaving Maxwell with no light, no means to make another, and just enough clarity of mind for regret.

It's over. Charlie won't be gentle (she never is), and Max will be lucky if the others ever find his corpse in the upcoming snowstorms, much less bother to bring him back to life.

No. No, he refuses to die like this. This is still his world, and he must have something up his sleeve--

In the momentary glow of a firefly cluster, Maxwell holds the Codex aloft, murmurs to himself, and summons her.

@radiosent -- !

[codexvmbra]

{ 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?"

[codexvmbra]

{ 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."