God of Merchants, Travellers, Fertility, and Revenge
|Name|Maximón
|Alias(es)|San Simón, to his worshippers, and before the Spanish Inquisition, he was known simply as Mam, the pan-Mayan term for “grandson” or “grandfather”. In recent years, however, for the sake of blending in with humans, Sebastian Morales has become his alias of choice.
|Gender|Male
|Sexuality|Greyromantic Pansexual
|Relationship Status|Single, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
|Pantheon/Faith|Mayan/Folk Catholicism
|Occupation|On paper, he’s a salesman at a company in Anaheim selling agricultural implements, but off the books, he runs a secret, moonshining business out of his own basement.
|Godly Appearance|Maximón, in his
true form, is rather nondescript. A humanoid figure, tanned skin and dark hair suggest a Hispanic background, but his face is perpetually obscured by a churning curtain of smoke, emanating from the cigar between his lips, like ripples on the surface of a pond. Much like his effigies, he is most often dressed in the style of 18th-century nobles, colourful garlands of summer flowers draped around his neck.
But, of course, the first thing everyone notices is the blood.
Under his clothes, it’s quite a ghastly sight. The flesh around his shoulders and knees are gashed with angry, red lacerations that never seem to heal completely, blood and ichor oozing from the wounds. They were souvenirs from his his transition into his current incarnation, in which he’d gotten ripped limb from limb by a mob of angry husbands. Even the slightest movement causes him no small amount of pain, and his gait often comes off as stiff and mechanical.
Maximón looks to be a man of Hispanic roots in his mid to late thirties, olive skin stretched over a tall, leanly muscled frame just a shade off of 6’1”. His hair is dark - thick, curly locks the colour of midnight haphazardly mussed, and when the situation calls for it, teased or slicked back into a pleasing coif. Under his neatly trimmed beard (he’s barely ever clean-shaven), you’ll find a near-constant smirk, full of placid insouciance; revealing his perfectly straight teeth when it inevitably stretches into a grin. The same flippancy can be seen in his eyes - deep, brown orbs forever sparkling with levity, the beginnings of crow’s feet marring their corners.
To say that Maximón dresses to impress would be an understatement He is always immaculately garbed - all dress shirts, and made to measure slacks - even in the most casual of situations. Whenever he’s out in public, you’ll never see him dressed down below the threshold of “smart-casual”, something he accomplishes through sheer force of will, and more tangibly, clearance sales at retail stores. Taking his not-at-all stable income into consideration, it’s almost miraculous that he manages to dress the way he does without digging himself into a bottomless hole of debt.
As is befitting of his drawling, whiskey-fugged persona, Maximón always smells faintly of tobacco, alcohol, and incense. The scent seems to have seeped through his clothes, sticking to his skin like a tattoo, and even scalding hot showers don’t do a thing to get rid of it completely. It’s just as well, he thinks, since he spends most of his free time getting drunk at nightclubs, but more often than not, he finds the whole affair an inconvenience.
|Personality|Maximón isn’t a benevolent god - far from it, actually. To his worshippers, he’s known as a bully, one that demands regular offerings, and their undying piety, lest they incur his wrath. Of course, he is not without any redeeming traits. For all his lies and trickery, he is damned good at what he does, and never makes a promise he does not intend to keep. Depending on which day of the week you catch him on, he can either be your best friend or your worst enemy. To his subjects, he’s always cordial, almost sickeningly sweet, giving them exactly what they want, each and every time they come crawling back.
As for those he has no need of, however, they often find themselves put off by his hostility. Going from Prince Charming to little shit in about two seconds flat is a specialty of his. He doesn't abide by the rules, he doesn't play fairly, and he certainly doesn't let anyone think they can get one up on him. Naturally venomous, aloof, and even distant, he is used to putting on a variety of faces to achieve the means to an end. He won’t hesitate to mock a person’s stupidity and praise it all in one breath. Never assume that what he says is what he truly feels - it’ll be the last thing you ever do.
Interestingly, while he has a rather obnoxious habit of grandstanding, he has very little tolerance of the habit in others. Maximón frequently admonishes others to get to the point. But with a keen wit, a penchant for absurdism, and a horrifyingly macabre streak, you get the sense that Maximón always has a snicker hidden at the corner of his mouth, even if everyone around him is a little afraid to join in. Unlike his kin, however, Maximón isn’t overly confrontational. He’s really no good in a head-on fight, and the only way he can ever hope to win is through underhanded means, which fortunately, is something he has no qualms about.
|Family|Itzamná - The creator of Maximón and his three brothers. None of them have seen him since their creation, and even after the fall, his whereabouts remain unknown. Any information is scarce, made up of carvings and inscriptions scattered across South America.
Ixchebelyax - Itzamna’s wife, and Maximón’s mother. Much like Itzamna, little is known about her, and she is but a vague memory in Maximón’s mind.
The Bacabs - Maximón’s brothers, literally. All four of them were brought into existence by Itzamna, from the interiors of the earth, and tasked with holding up the four corners of the sky. While they used to be on good terms, the Spanish Inquisition put a stop to it. The four brothers argued for days, weeks, months about what was to become of them, now that Catholicism was beginning to take root in the minds of their people, and when a consensus couldn’t be reached, they ended up parting ways. Maximón hasn’t heard from any of them since, though he often finds himself worrying about what became of his brothers.
Dorado - A fat, ginger cat that spends its days basking in the sun, doing absolutely nothing of value. On a whim, Maximón decided to adopt a cat from a local shelter. Perhaps he’d hoped Dorado would aid him in ridding his home of rodents, but it quickly became evident that the feline was extraordinarily lazy, and now, Maximón finds himself stuck with a furry, whiskered parasite. Of course, he could just throw him out, but he’s developed quite a soft spot for the cat (not that he’d ever admit to anyone).
Finally, the countless children he has fathered. Maximón doesn’t know any of them, and he doesn’t much care to. The day he agrees to pay Child Support is the day the world ends.
|Strengths|- Adaptable
- Charismatic
- Discreet
- Efficient
- Shrewd
|Weaknesses|- Amoral
- Capricious
- Domineering
- Egocentric
- Indulgent
|Likes|- Tequila
- Cigars
- Cats
- Warm weather
- McDonalds
- PDA
|Dislikes|- Liars
- Winter
- Prudes
- Vodka
- Locusts
- Children
|History|Maximón can barely recall the days prior to the Spanish Inquisition. To the Mayans, he was known as Mam, a facet of the Bacabs, a four-faced god tasked with holding up the corners of the sky. Countless millennia were spent this way, watching the moon rise and fall over the horizon, until Itzamna and Ixchebelyax, with their immense power, created the first humans from a golden field of maize.
As it had been prophesied, the falling of the sky would cause a cosmological upheaval that would bring about the destruction of the world. Maximón and his three brothers never left their stations, but when the first ships landed upon the shores of South America, they knew that things would be changing. The Maya abandoned many of the cities of the central lowlands, or were killed off by famine. A series of prolonged droughts, among other reasons, is thought to have decimated the Maya, who were reliant upon rainfall. Slowly, the Mesoamerican Pantheon faded, losing their influence over the people, replaced by thoughts of saints and martyrs.
Maximón supposed he was one of the lucky ones. Instead of wiping him from existence, the advent of Catholicism changed him into something else entirely. Unlike his brothers, he never was one for letting fate run its course. He found a niche in the villages of rural Guatemala, where poverty and starvation ran rampant. It was easy enough to capitalise on the opportunity - they desired something better, and in exchange for a few offerings, he was more than happy to oblige.
The humans created effigies, crude representations of him made from wood, shrines dedicated to Maximón springing up across the country like toadstools after rain. He had prevented his own demise, and for a while, he was perfectly happy ignoring the ceaseless quarrels of these so-called greater gods. They could’ve torn each other to shreds, and Maximón wouldn’t even have bat an eyelash.
But they just had to drag him into their mess, didn’t they?
Despite his non-involvement, Maximón was strong-armed into giving up his powers after the war. To say that he was angry about it would be a gross understatement. Why did he have to suffer the consequences when he’d stayed neutral? It burned under his skin, the injustice of it all, and his resentment for the gods who caused it grew, day after day.
Still, as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t just sit around all day, sulking. For a long, long time, he was a merchant, travelling from continent to continent upon galleys to trade in spices and fabric. Then, he was a conman. Ease with words had always been something that came naturally to him, and during this time, he earned a sizeable fortune off the naivete of giggling, Victorian heiresses.
The dawn of the 20th century brought Maximón back to the shores of America. Unfortunately for him, however, he soon realised that humans weren’t as stupid as they used to be. He’d gotten used to an extravagant lifestyle, squandering his fortune on things that had simply been given to him centuries ago - cigarettes, booze, and anything else that inhibits the senses. But like any businessman worth his salt, Maximón decided to carve out his own path in the world.
To this day, the moonshine operation that Maximón ran back in the 1920s is still operational, albeit on a much smaller scale. It’s just a little something to supplement the unimpressive commission he earns as a salesman, but recently, he’s been looking to obtain a license to sell his booze topside.
|Opinion on Mortals|Maximón doesn’t have anything against them, since, you know, they’re the ones who had given him offerings - but this isn’t to say he feels any sort of affection for humans, either. It’s more of a business arrangement than anything; they indulge his vices, and in return, he provides the means to indulge theirs.
|Theme Song|Lazaretto – Jack White“My veins are blue and connected
And every single bone in my brain is electric
But I dig ditches like the best of 'em
Yo trabajo duro, como en madera y yeso.” |Favorite Myth|The Punishment of Loki
|Mortal Skills/Abilities|To be frank, in his countless years of existence, Maximón hasn’t applied himself all too much. His endeavours are often half-hearted, and he considers giving up halfway to be inevitable. Thus far, the only activities that have managed to capture (and retain) his attention are singing, and playing the guitar. Perhaps it reminds him of home, but he thinks it an asset, as much as it is a hobby. With a few carefully placed arpeggios, it’s almost too easy to enthrall his audience; and while he isn’t the type to whip out his guitar in the middle of a bar for an impromptu rendition of Wonderwall, he can’t say that he doesn’t like the attention.
As is befitting of his patronage, Maximón is a keen businessman. Consequences, both long and short term, never escape his perception. There isn’t a moment he acts without having thought about it twice, and courtesy of his innate ease with words, he always manages to strike up a favourable bargain.
|Immortal Skills/Abilities|Maximón is known to be a link between Xibalbá (The Underworld) and Corazón del Cielo (The Heart of Heaven). Those in poor health visit his shrines in Guatemala to seek help, and through his priests, Maximón is able to tether their souls to the mortal plane, at least temporarily. When the likes of Anubis or Hades come calling, however, there isn’t much he can do to dissuade them. In the whole scheme of things, he can be said to be one of the weaker deities, and his dominion only extends throughout a portion of South America.
Additionally, Maximón also possesses the ability to bestow good fortune. Those blessed by him find themselves almost infallible, everything seeming to go their way, and for farmers - his most traditional clientele - a bountiful harvest come winter. But keep in mind, this effect isn’t permanent, nor is it all-powerful; walking straight into the path of an oncoming train is still going to turn you into jelly. To earn his favour, one must offer up regular gifts to Maximón in the form of money, alcohol, and cigars - but let it be known from this day forward that he despises the taste of vodka.
