Oh, Good Lord. She's Speaking To Him.

"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.

Is he here to perform? He hadn't thought about it; he had simply been wandering through town, carefree, until he had found somewhere that caught his eye. Naturally, that had been somewhere with a stage.

"I don't have any of my usual gear, unfortunately..."

But he doesn't need his Codex or props to wow an audience. He's the Amazing Maxwell! All he needs is his charm and some playing cards, and he has both of those in spades.

"But as a matter of fact, yes, I think I will perform. Once you've completed your lesson, of course. Are you a professional tutor, madame?"

(Her friends go ignored for the moment, all attention on Anne.)

Maria scoots to the side when the stranger sits next to her. She's still giving him a dirty look.

Anne seems more appreciative of the new audience member. "Aw, thank you!" she says with a smile and a curtsy.

"Yep, these are my friends!" she answers for them. "Are you here to perform, or you just droppin' by?"

Maria eases up on the glaring, though she keeps her arms crossed. Pearl smiles slightly, and Umbra nods in greeting. (Mister Blue, still standing by Maria's side, simply waves his tail and snorts.)

"You dare threaten the Great Maxwell?" He bares his fangs in turn and raises his hands in a grand gesture. It's... not quite as intimidating as it might be if he were forced to capable of appearing monstrous and twisted.

Insolent little worm... if only Maxwell still had his puppets, he would slash this pampered, pompous pup to ribbons!

"Deal's off, Beast. You've made a very grave mistake today. I hope for your sake that you find your blade returned to you before I get mine. Impermanent death won't save you; it means that I will be able to destroy you as many times as I see fit."

Pleasantries, done.

"If things went without saying they would not be written."

He grit his jaw, his lip lifting to reveal his fangs.

"Do not act the wounded party with me. You are trying to play me just as I am trying to play you. I would skewer you atop my blade if I had it, I would kill you without a thought if death stuck here. But I do not have my blade and death is inconsequential here.

What is it they say? Lets....make nice."

There are many ways in which this "deal" could go awry for Maxwell; off the top of his head, he thinks that if he were to use that wording on one of his pawns, he'd ensure that they didn't "forget" him by plaguing their nightmares until they went mad. ...that would be quite fun, actually. Maybe he'll steal borrow the phrase if he ever goes back to his old ways.

For now, however, he'll live with whatever consequences come from shaking the hand outstretched to him. He's suffered through worse.

Blackened claws close around the entity's fingers and Maxwell marvels at the being's strange biology. Perhaps, if things go well, he can ask for information about his guide's home realm. It's always smart to be aware of what's out there, especially if what's out there is in the habit of dealing in forbidden knowledge.

"Is it your hope that we will discover a way out together?" That is to say, is he itching to escape?

Honestly, not what he was going to mention when the other strolled in here and started asking about magic and information, but he appreciates the straightforwardness! He loves someone with enough ambition and reckless disregard to fly directly into the sun. His lower eyelid lifts into a grin, although he doesn't move to fulfill his request quite yet.

“IF IT’S HAPPENED, I’LL HAVE SOMETHING ON IT - AND I’D BE HAPPY TO SHOW YOU! IF YOU SWEAR TOLET ME IN ON WHATEVER YOU’RE PLANNING. IF YOU’RE TRYING TO GET OUT OF HERE, USE ANY CRAZY MAGIC… WELL, JUST DON’T FORGET THE GUY WHO POINTED YOU IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION! DEAL?”

His hand stretches across the desk at that - sure, his deals might not technically have any power anymore, but this guy doesn't know that! Besides, he likes the gesture anyways. Feels natural, and he's not giving it up.

;;

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

Lecter might not yet wish to give the impression that he's engaging in close, careful observation, but Maxwell doesn't hide the fact that he's taking his own mental notes on the psychiatrist's behaviors. So far, so good, it seems.

"Oh, I comprehend it just fine, pal." He "comprehends" that They are a bunch of sadistic pieces of shit who love nothing more than to see him suffer. ...but of course, Lecter's right. Maxwell's only human, despite the physical and mental changes he's undergone during his time on the Throne, and They are distinctly not. For every secret he's uncovered about Them, three more wait, undiscovered, under the surface. Symbols and shapes flashing before his eyes, dark hands beckoning him deeper--

Maxwell frowns. He doesn't like that comparison.

"Then you had better help me remove the boulder altogether."

His daily routine? What does that have to do with anything? Shouldn't Lecter be asking about the content of the nightmares, trying to dig deep into Maxwell's psyche? Or worse, asking about Carter's childhood, so he can try to blame visions of Them on some tripe about how William's father and mother didn't love him enough?

"I treat myself quite well. One might consider it to excess, but I do not. Let's see... I recently became gainfully employed as a sort of... fashion model. Not a role I ever expected myself to hold, but one for which I am very well-suited." If only Higgsbury were here to appreciate the pun.

"Besides that, I sometimes explore the wilderness, or find myself at various establishments dedicated to providing entertainment and drink. Currently, my favorite is the Skullrender."

Maxwell seems as though he could go on and on about himself, but he finally stops, awaiting the next question. Was any of this actually helpful?

there's a successful attempt at not letting the surprise felt show, not having expected maxwell to so willingly discuss what haunts him. it's an annotation written down, as is the small fact he refused to take a seat ( " perhaps an indication of hesitation when it comes to therapy - standing facilitates the search for an exit " ).

soon, however, the pen is dropped, and hannibal's hands come to lay flat on the journal atop his lap. he wants to ensure maxwell knows he's being listened to. actively taking notes after every sentence is a good technique to guarantee the patient feels observed, to give off the impression hannibal is studying them closely ( and as far as he knows, there's no reason to steer maxwell in that direction just yet ).

" that's, unfortunately, not shocking. whenever the human brain lives through a scenario just past the bounds of its comprehension, there are lasting marks - a seemingly everlasting pull towards the place which traced its suffering. your body may not be there, but it is where your mind resides still. " his head tilts, a sign of compassion. " in some ways, you will resemble the figure of sisyphus, cursed to forever push the boulder uphill - only to find himself returned to the base of the incline upon success. "

for a split moment, he returns to writing, taking note of the nightmares. soon enough, his gaze finds its way back to maxwell. it's soft, almost. " noone can 'fix' these visions of terror but yourself, maxwell. i am merely limited to help you along the way. "

hannibal leans back, thoughtful, then finally adds: " for now .. i want you to describe to me your daily routine. the places you go, how you treat yourself. "

{ isola starter call ! || @astrallithid! }

Maxwell sits on a weather-worn stone, his jacket folded neatly over his lap and sweat gathering on his brow. His heart can't take this heat! Is this what summers are like for his pawns? If so, he counts himself lucky that he managed to escape before the season turned.

He sways, sight unfocused with the shimmering haze of heat rising off of the expanse of sand around him. He had wanted to come see the grand skeleton of the desert. It is quite impressive a sight, but not one worth passing out for. But he's here now, and he didn't exactly have the chance to whip up a chilled thermal stone for the trip.

...good lord. The Amazing Maxwell is going to die from exposure of all things.

As his breathing turns more labored, Max catches sight of another figure approaching the Bones of the Forgotten. He stands too quickly, hoping to wave them down, and collapses onto one knee. They appear to be a hearty sort (far more suited to traversing inhospitable climates than Max himself), and they're sure to be able to help-- if they're kind enough to stop and assist a stranger stranded in the sands, of course.

"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.

"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.

"Now was that in the settlements, or in the Capital itself?"

Maxwell makes friendly small-talk to the woman at the counter before leading William to a cozy little table. It seems he's at least somewhat well-known in the area, as he and the employee recognize each other immediately; he must have been genuine when he said he likes to be out among his people. ...that, or she's seen his gaudy statue.

"I don't run a charity, if that's what you mean. And I'm not their caretaker; I may have brought you into the world, but it's up to you to live your own life."

"And you, Mr. William? Do you help out your fellow magicfolk?"

What kinda coincidence ? William isn't asking that one.

One of the first very real things Mister Maxwell here has said. ❝ Yeah— they do, don't they ? Y'know, as a kid . . . I never even really saw other Afterborn like me. I knew they existed, but never met 'em. I didn't even know about woad— err, magic — 'till a couple years later, and even then I didn't . . . get to use it myself until about a year ago. ❞ So yes, he gets it. The Capital would do better, and be better if they took their fingers out of their proverbial ears.

Look at that, he got them talking a bit. And, they have arrived at food. Yahoo !

❝ So, d'you do anything else out here or just your magic shows ? Do you help Afterborn out or anything like that ? ❞