Well, Well!

Maxwell's stony expression softens into a smile, and then sharpens again, his grin all teeth.

Finally.

"Waiting for one to fall into my lap, rather."

As expected, his time here in Spirale has been nothing short of paradise. His mind has been blessedly devoid of Their whispers and demands, he has been provided with all the necessities and none of the dangers he offered his own captives, and he has even found his Codex returned to him for what he can only assume was good behavior.

He's happy. Content.

...bored.

That's the true price of peace, he's found. No risk means no reward, and no challenge means no satisfaction of beating it. He's thriving, yes, but is he living?

"Your move, my friend." He gestures grandly to the board. He has already set it up in anticipation of a game, and has placed himself on the side of Black.

"I have no timer with me, so please, don't rush. Consider your moves as carefully as you'd like."

"Do you require an explanation of how to play? I'd hate to begin on unequal footing."

@codexvmbra

The burning sun above brings heat to the Land of Burnt Umber; unseasonable warmth did nothing to deter the locals and the travelers from gathering around the caravans of one of the smaller desert towns. Merchants peddled their wares, speaking loud and enthusiastically to attract the attention of those preparing to embark into the shifting sands of the wilds.

Legato had been drawn to this place out of sheer curiosity. Some of the merchants had quite the collection of oddities and curios-- artifacts that seemed arcane in nature, or downright strange. Curiously, he inspects some of these stands, trying to avoid a conversation with a far too energetic young man who was hellbent on selling Legato a new water skin.

Fatigued by the conversations and the bustling of the crowd, he slips away, opting to find a quieter place to linger. In doing so, he comes upon a shady veranda attached to an old building, drenched in the shadows cast by the sun overhead. A break from the heat was welcome, but, something else tugged Legato's attention--

There sits a man dressed in rather dapper attire, face pale like marble. Before him, a small table, a chessboard placed upon it, and an empty seat longing to be occupied. Hmm.

Without a single word, the stoic man saunters forward, and claims the seat, golden eyes looking across the game board.

" Are you looking for an opponent? " Legato inquires calmly, the winds of the desert audible in the background.

;;

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

"For now." He's not going to set a limit on how much he drinks today; Maxwell isn't going to deny himself anything for as long as the (admittedly meager) funds he's been provided with last. It's time to celebrate!

...so why isn't his server scurrying off to help him get started?

Max turns from the fight, intending to fix the other man with a cool stare that should help motivate him to leave, but then he notices the way his server is eying his outfit.

"No. I'm here alone."

He sits up taller, straightening out his sleeves and his lapel. He doesn't blame the man for gawking; he cuts a striking figure in his suit.

Thank God he arrived in real clothes as opposed to those rags he had on in the Throneroom.

"It's custom made." Obviously. As if anyone would sell a jacket with those shoulders without it being a special request.

"Banter" has begun to achieved, as long as you count Maxwell talking solely about himself to be worthwhile conversation; it doesn't seem as though he's about to comment on the other man's taste in fashion, or on the other man period.

the fights are part of the reason will wanted to get employed at skullrender. nosy and without the ability to mind his own business, the writer finds brawls such as these fascinating. of course, watching them here sheds him of the guilt included in enjoying the occasional exchange of punches: the participants know what they're getting into, it's the main draw of the establishment.

.. that, and having a chance to meet the most interesting of people. the man that just called him over is unusually well dressed for this sort of afternoon. of course, there's nothing wrong with overdressing for any event, really - will does it all the time - but it was rarer to see in skullrender.

" oh, hi! " the notepad in his hand lifts with a smile, " and will that be all? "

will's gaze darts around, checking for anyone else wanting to order. the rest of the crowd seem to be intensely focused on the fight, so perhaps he can afford bantering for a little bit. " two, hm? are you expecting a date, mister .. ? "

he doesn't move from his spot near the stranger's table. in fact, it looks like will's waiting for something - for him to be looked at, so he may be caught non-discreetly studying the man's outfit.

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

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

"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.

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?.... (; • - •)

And catch he does! For all of his posturing, Maxwell is physically quite weak, and he doubles over as soon as those claws slash across his front. The Stars have not seen fit to return his armor, and he takes the full brunt of the attack.

Pain blooms in his chest, and red begins to stain his suit; it gives the appearance that the vibrant poppy on his lapel has begun to drip its color like splattered ink.

Ow.

On instinct, Max pulls out the book the Stars have given him and flips it open. Nothing happens.

"Fine, fine, yes! You've proven your point." Max's expression is still twisted into a hateful snarl. If only he still had the power to pull irritations like the Librarian into a hell of his own making...

"Now finish the job or leave me to lick my wounds in peace."

Surprised, his body pulls back as it sees Maxwell's lunge. But Maxwell makes contact all the same. The Librarian, while lithe, was exceptionally taller than most humans and human adjacent.

Thus he was tackled down, but not flat to his back. Instead his lengthy legs were sprawled out and he was sitting up with his arms holding him up behind him. His eyes were bright and he looked both like he were smiling wide and mashing his teeth for attack.

"Your claws suit your countenance well, a predator! Take a look at mine!"

He sat forward, swiping an arm in an arc in front of him, claws out, trying to catch Maxwell.

;;

let's get this show on the road with an isola plotting / starter call!

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?"