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The former king is well dressed to go hunting in the sewers for more minions. He has on a close-fitted suit, thicker than the usual, and is without his trenchcoat. He has an array of objects on a belt around his waist. His hair is pulled back under a matching ski-mask type looking bit of clothing, and his eyes show. On his head is a crown, but this one has lights on it so that he can see moving forwards. He did enter from an alley near to where the assault was.
There was, of all things strange persons in the tunnels. One of which was only nominally visible when she chose to be, she was pale to the point of translucent, and the back of her limbs were covered in projecting quills as she crawled on the ceiling of the tunnel. There was no question the child was not something of the surface.
Below her was someone known but familiar to few. Caliban was reading from a book watching her chase another child that seemed more fly than person down the tunnel. He called out, "Not above ground." Apparently custodian to the small. The tunnels were a curious network of lives forgotten about. It was he was left alone to dig through things that were never paid for legitimately.
Tantalizing from further down one tunnel, as Maximus veered away from the sound of the cars towards the darker, more intriguing sections of the sewer, his lights played against hte water, and made a shimmery effect on the stones above. He didn't bother to speak, so other than the light, he was fairly quiet. But, certainly the girls might see it and either be lured closer, or frightened away. Someone was in the tunnels.
The kids spotted someone or something new. The quilled 9 year old stealthed out of habit immediately. The fly child with the too large faceted eyes, and the penchant for crawling around like a refrigerator magnet on the tunnel ceiling was more curious. There was a small voice that came up near the man reading that said, "Caliban, THere's a mutant in the tunnel!" She was excited.
Caliban didn't even pause and said tiredly, "Yes. That is what we do."
She insisted, "Noooo a new one! Flyboy found em"
Caliban sighed and didn't even look up. "There's no mutant down there." It was the tired sing-song tone that he's corrected people on a hundred times. Though he did stop, and with the werewolves at recent, was moved to go find out. "Shuna, Get your friend. Go back." The book was put down. M. Poirot would wait another day. And it was with purpose that the hooded albino made his way through the tunnels curious.
And Caliban will discover that he, and his little band of weird mutants, was very near to being discovered by the man dressed in the black and silver suit. Beyond his height and weight, and that it is a male, there's little else to identify Maximus. Non-mutant. Shining flashlight-headpiece down their tunnel, creeping along in a way that doesn't belong there at all.
Caliban had sent the one away and went searching for 'Thing 2'. His voice fell low and it was hard to tell if he was directing this at the child on the ceiling that was too inquisitive for their own good, or the man that was not Mutant in their tunnels. The voice was a shooshed whisper of paper being torn with a hint of some…accent. "What it is that you are looking for? Come to catch fire with the surface? Come to get eaten by the werewolves or some of Kyle's mutts? The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Or do you not listen and have me feed you to them?" But lo there was a person there. The child grew afraid, and with that Caliban a bit more bold. He whispered to him making the kid cry out "GO!" And with that the kid went fleeing from the hooded man. "You." Most certainly directed to Maximus, "You do not belong here either."
"So, there ARE beings down here." Maximus answers with excitement, though there is a dark gloss over it. "I have come with important tidings. I SEE you, and I recognize your worth, " Ever does Maximus move closer, not a wolf, just a man, and not a particularly large one by appearances, "and I am prepared to be your king. Now, how many of you are there?"
Caliban tilted his head and answered with a dry, soft Slavic accent, "Kings? Two. I'm afraid you'll have to take this up with them. Who are you that cares not at all for your well being?" He seemed, by this, entirely confused. Did he assail the strange man? Funny enough, he did not. It was a light work weekend apparently. Still being greeted with aplomb instead of a gun, long pale fingers flicked and he bade Maximus to …follow him? "You must have traveled far, and you must be very tired." There was a sharpness to the albino's smile under the hood that found this all too amusing and entirely too opportunistic to pass up. Surface folk were always good for a ransom. At the very least? Maybe this was a Trojan horse for Masque to resolve other issues. Today was suddenly quite fortunate.
Maximus did follow, but only because of utter confidence. Here was a hooded and forgotten creature of the underground…like the alpha primatives…the /slave race/. He was fed superiority all his life, so he has no reason to doubt that he should also rule in these bowels. In fact, he seems accepting of the fate. "I have travelled far, but I am not tired, and I care for my well-being. I doubt I am in any danger from you. Or any of the other…lives…down here. You hide your face. You are either famous, or ashamed of it. I am His Majesty, Maximus Boltagon, rightful ruler of the hidden city of Attilan." With his tone he tries to make that sound impressive.
The grin under the hood stretched from ear to ear and Caliban had to admire the bravado! It would only make this more fun for himself. Oh the simple pleasures in life as to drag the high and mighty into the much with him; a battle of terrible wills. Caliban was a creature that flippantly used fear to flummox and fell even the foremost of fiends. Tonight? Tonight he tried flattery. It was like a grand game really. "Oh, clearly you are but of the utmost of import to come all the way down here to placate our need for guidance. And yes, perhaps one or both or none. Or I do not care for the damp on me." Oh the tunnels, how you drip drip drip. "Come along or we will be late. Terrible first impression then."