Feralreason 1 - Blog Posts

"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 ? ❞

"What a coincidence," Maxwell says, and does not elaborate.

Mmm. Yes, he should, shouldn't he?

"I'm from the Capital." And that's practically explanation enough. "They pour a great deal of resources into pretending that neither I nor my creations exist. Which is fine, for the most part; as nice as it would be to have proper recognition, I know that politics and thronerooms aren't for me. I belong here, among my people, doing what Iove."

Who would choose rotting in a gilded cage over being worshiped properly upon the stage?

Maxwell stops in front of a small creperie, gesturing for William to enter first. They've arrived at "lunch," apparently.

"So, Mx. William, any other burning questions in that brain of yours?"

Maxwell has noticed that William has been somewhat tight-lipped about themself. Normally, he wouldn't mind in the least, but this talk of the Capital has him thinking; careful, Will, or he might start to wonder whether there is some sinister reason you ask so much and volunteer so little.

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.

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.

Okay? So why the hell is he asking Maxwell about her? Does he think the King is omnipotent? Flattering, but no.

Max keeps walking as he replies, pausing here and there to raise a finger with every answer. "One: fur. Two: yes, magicfolk are more in-tune, but don't let that dissuade any Beforeborn friends you might have who are interested in picking up spells. It's accessible to almost anyone. And three: you are a product of my love of the fantastical--"

Here he stops fully, giving the young man an appraising look over.

"Yes. Absolutely divine. There are plenty of Beforeborn who would kill to be that shade of violet. ...and a nice, expressive tail... you didn't come out half bad at all. Don't you think the world's a more beautiful place when we allow ourselves to dream of what could be, not what is?"

Success, Mx. Stranger; you've made Maxwell's eyes light up with that last question.

"The Prestige. Anyone can remove something from this world. But only a real magician can bring it back."

It's creation. It's reformation. It's the promise that everything will be wrapped up neatly in a pretty little bow, and that nothing is truly gone forever.

"What would you like me to bring back into your life, child?"

Okay so THAT hint didn't work . . .

❝ I was just tryin' to— nevermind. I was just tryin' to make conversation. ❞ Ahem.

. . .

Huh ?

The fuck ?

William follows of course, without any question. ❝ Well yeah, that's what I was tryin' to figure out . . . but my mom ain't Afterborn, y'know. Given, she's not my birth mother. ❞ This is all stupid. He should let it go, or just ask directly. Why is he like this ? ? ?

❝ Yeah, nevermind . . . ❞

Anyway. Maxwell continues to be the personality of all time, and William has to confess to himself that he is captivated ! ❝ Hah ! Okay, well, I gotta ask ya all three of those. Go in order. Scales or fur ? How's the magic ? Why didja ' make me ' ? And . . . ❞ Make it about him. William is certain that's the trick, just as long as he can think of something interesting. ❝ When you talk about magic, what's your favourite ? Ever. Of all time. ❞

"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.

"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.

"Not unless they've earned them, which no one else has. Statues without status is just tacky. But mine... mine set the stage. When you see Maxwell, you see magic."

He laughs the sort of laugh one might use when a toddler is too young to realize they've done something foolish; it's not a cruel laugh, but it's clear that the Afterborn is being dismissed as a silly, naive little thing.

"I'd say so. I'm only the reason you exist, pal." Another touch-- this time a poke at the young man's chest.

"And I know exactly who you are."

CHRIST ALIVE.

He wasn't jumpscared, no sir. Honest.

❝ First of all, don't do that . . . uh, please. ❞ He's quick to add, hearing his mother's voice. ❝ Second . . . 'excited' ? Why's that ? Is it normal for magi-ci-ans to have statues of themselves ? ❞ No snark, it's an honest question ! Maybe it is, he doesn't know how all of this works.

William does, however, know better than to tell a stranger which settlement he's from. ❝ South of here. You wouldn't know it . . . ❞

William's lip twists as they fold their arms. ❝ As for history, I felt like I knew my stuff pretty well 'til you said that . . . why ? Should I know who you are ? ❞

"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.