lostcarnival | ⇨ THE CELEBRATION

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⇨ THE CELEBRATION

Who: Everyone, especially YOU.
When: Day 60 - Day 65
Where: The Celebration
What: The carnival workers are invited to spend the week within the realm of the Celebration, the grounds of a party that has been going on for centuries. Accommodations are luxurious, but those with keen instincts might notice something off about this whole arrangement... (Questions can go to the original setting post!)
Warnings: Booze, drugs, sex, and everything in between.

THE CELEBRATION↴

If you observe that the layout of the Celebration grounds seem inconsistent, then you would be correct. In reality, what lies at the end of each corridor depends largely on what the guests of the Celebration want at the time - if a few people find themselves craving a drink, a bar may appear. If a group finds themselves wanting to dance, a club will open up. This goes on at all hours of the night, and given how many dedicated partiers fill the building, the services are well used. It isn't instantaneous, and the Host has to consciously decide to provide that service, but the changes are fast none-the-less.

► ROOMS: Each trailer pair will be assigned a room to themselves - whether or not it has two double beds or a single king sized bed seems essentially random. Hopefully you aren't too sensitive about keeping that space to yourself. The curtains at the far side of the room don't actually lead outside, but instead to a walk-in closet filled with the Host's best guesses at the type of clothing you might like. They may not hit the nail on the head, but at the very least all the clothing will be in your size. The styles could be just about anything, from any universe, but they do tend to average out to clothing that is Earth-ish. Either that, or clothing that looks like they are meant for elves from a high fantasy novel to wear.

► SHOPPING: If none of your pre-picked outfits tickle your fancy, plenty of boutiques and clothing shops can also be found around the grounds - whatever you're thinking of, you'll probably be able to find a shop appropriate for it eventually. Though, maybe it doesn't really count as shopping if you don't have to pay for any of the things you take back to your room with you? Unfortunately, from the sounds of it, you won't be allowed to drag all of your haul back to the carnival with you, so you better enjoy it while you can.

► DINING: There is no daily schedule to follow, after you arrive. You are free to attend the dining room whenever you wish, and will be seated at large round tables with whoever else may be around at the time, and can either order from the menu or most dishes you may think of off the top of your head. If you don't like the fine dining experience, there are also a selection of smaller cafes and eateries that open and close at varying times of day - and, of course, you can always call for room service.

► ENTERTAINMENT: There is plenty of live music around the grounds (not that you can ever seem to remember who the performers were afterwards) whether it comes to harp music while you eat or a full set of DJs in the club you found. If you are inclined to look for them, you may also find some cozy lounges with big screen TVs, and access to a multi-universal quantity of films. What's there or isn't there is unpredictable, but if you come from a standard variety of Earth you probably recognize some of them.

► SUBSTANCES: You don't have to be coy about it - just ask one of your servers, and you'll be able to get whatever kind of vices you might be craving. Drugs, alcohol, ice cream... it's all good. If this sounds like a nightmare for potential addicts, you would be correct. It's not uncommon to see people clearly over-indulging in certain locations, though guests are usually escorted back to their rooms if they take ill - only to see them back at it again the next day.

► SPA DAY: If you'd like to take a swim, pools of various aesthetics are easy to find. So are hot tubs, and saunas, and Host servants who are willing to give you a massage or manicure. If the party crowd isn't your scene, there are plenty of more low-key opportunities to indulge.

► GREENSPACE: There is one park area on the grounds, which appears to be constructed on the rooftops of other parts of the complex. While there are trees and greenery, there is no real sky that you can see - only the illusion of one. It may start to occur to you over time that no window or rooftop actually leads to any kind of outdoors. The Celebration really is there only thing here.

These are really just examples, and you can get creative with what kind of services you find offered while here, when it comes to generally mundane comforts. It really feels like the Host wants to win you over, as if you staying just a little longer has some sort of intrinsic appeal.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's by this point that Strange is just annoyed. Not only have none of the workers here let him go back to the carnival but he can't get that nagging, pulsing feeling out of his head. No matter what sort of distraction he threw himself into, the reminder of what he left back at the Carnival cuts like a knife through any attempt at fun. All he had to do was just check on that ointment, to make sure it was there, he didn't even have to use it (though a part of him was curious as to it's effects) then surely he could go back to the fun that he's supposed to be having and desperately wishes to be having.

Maybe if he played a few rounds of billiards then it would at least clear his head. Before he can make it to the billiard table, however, a familiar voice catches his attention.

"What?" Strange snaps before looking over at...Childermass? Who's smiling? Good Lord, he's gone mad again. That's got to be the only answer for this. Strange walks closer to Childermass, looking him over, as if expecting something to happen (though he couldn't guess what). No, it's not madness, this is Childermass legitimately having a good time. How odd. Odd and interesting. Surely Childermass had to be capable of enjoying himself and having fun. It's just that Strange has never really seen that.

"I suppose that all depends on what we're playing," Strange remarks as he sits down, still a little confused by the whole situation.

Or maybe it's that Strange isn't mad but Childermass is. How else would anyone explain this? While there's no real reason to assume the man doesn't have an enjoyable bone in his entire body, that he's gone this far down from how he usually is certainly can't be deemed sane and normal. Who would know, though? Who has ever seen Childermass be more than mildly amused, give more than a smirk or even a rare chuckle?

"It's... hm..." Well, regardless of how strange it is, Childermass doesn't seem to be noticing it himself and instead frowns very briefly down at his own hand of cards, as though the 'what' has escaped him, because it definitely has. Strange goes ignored for a moment while he leans over to the elvish woman — also playing — lounging next to him (far closer than could be considered proper, at that). "What was this called again? Something Grace. I only recall the last part."

One of the other elves pushes up a chair, gesturing for Strange to sit down with an inviting smile. He pauses for a moment, looking at the odd scene before he tentatively sits down. This is odd. This entire situation is odd and Strange really has no idea how to navigate this. Well, carefully. That's the obvious, navigate it carefully, but aside from that? No clue.

"Well, deal me in and explain the rules—that is, if you can remember. I'd like to actually put up a decent fight." And really, the more he gets Childermass talking, the more likely it is he could see what was wrong with the man. Obviously he enjoys it here. This place is designed to be enjoyed, it practically begs you to enjoy it. But there's a difference between enjoying and whatever this is. Childermass seems to have thrown himself into this place without any regrets.

No regrets, no worries. Had he had them before — and this being Childermass, he had, immensely — it no longer seems to matter. He likely wouldn't be able to tell you what had even been bothering him before. It's nice, actually, not having to be the one on guard or thinking about any of this at all for once.

"Please, I can remember that much," Childermass says with a laugh, coming back around to look at Strange once he's settled down at the table. "Try and get as many matching suits in your hand as you can. There's serpents, songs, angels, and knights. The game is over when someone draws the Angel of Death."

Like it's that simple, which, chances are, it is. Simple to play, possibly more difficult to win. Another player at the table deals Strange in, sliding five cards face down across the table to him and observation alone should make it apparent that keeping one's hand down the five and only five is part of it.

This is still entirely too weird. There's Childermass, laughing, leaning against that woman, playing cards, this is an entirely different side of the man that he had no idea even existed to begin with. Which really, was a bit silly. Surely Childermass enjoyed things, everybody had a hobby or two they enjoyed. It's just that when you never see someone enjoying a hobby, you start to wonder if they even have hobbies to begin with.

Still, this is the most relaxed he's seen Childermass in ages...which gives Strange an idea. Before this trip, Childermass had been so set on the timeline, so certain that he wouldn't tell Strange about his future, about what happened. But now, the man's so opened up, so caught up in the spirit of this place that surely he'd be a little more forthcoming. "I didn't know you were one for cards to begin with," Strange idly responds as he takes a look at his cards. It's possibly a stupid statement because duh Strange, Childermass has his tarot cards, but he's got to start up this small talk that might eventually lead to answers somehow. And well. Even with his minimal knowledge of the game, Strange knows that's a rubbish hand. No matter, he doesn't really care if he wins or loses anyway.

"We should play a round some time back home, once I've left Venice. The Italians have this wonderful card game called scopa. Like most things Italian, it's quite loud—I recommend playing it at least once, but I doubt any of our mutual acquaintances would be any good at it." Just the idea of anybody they knew back home getting drawn into a loud, shouting card game is enough to make Strange smirk slightly.

Edited 2017-02-18 19:43 (UTC)

"Why should you?" It is a good way to lead into speaking of home, even if Childermass finds him wondering at him enjoying cards hilarious. Most people do. It's by no means an uncommon way to pass the time, but still, he does add, "Have you ever known anyone to take an interest in what the servants do for fun?"

It's said in a good-natured enough way, however. It's just how their own time, their own England, is, especially in the south, and so Childermass can hardly hold it against anyone. He had more important things to do then, anyhow. Moving on, he discards one after examining his own hand and reaches across the table to draw a new card.

"Though if you wish to play a round of anything at all, you will have to do so during our year away," he goes on. "I doubt we will be seeing one another anytime soon once I return home."

That should sound far more ominous than it does, it really should, but he can't be bothered to be properly grim right now.

Strange can't help but raise an eyebrow at that. He discards two cards because well, when your hand is awful, might as well, before picking up two extra. But what on Earth does Childermass mean by that statement?

"I won't stay in Venice forever, you know." Because that's what he means, right? He doubts they'll see much of each other because it's a bit hard to meet up for card games when one member of the party is on the continent. "Once I bring Arabella back, I imagine we'll return to Shropshire. We'll meet up for cards then."

She always liked it there, after all. And there's certainly no way that Strange would willingly reintroduce himself to London society, not after all the rumors and gossip that had inevitably been spread about him since his departure. Though he's not entirely sure what those rumors might be, he knows enough about the personalities of certain people (cough DRAWLIGHT cough) that there were rumors and gossip to begin with. It would be cruel to subject Arabella to that.

It's difficult to play cards with someone who's gone missing, but even now Childermass won't say that, not directly. So instead he shrugs. At least that hasn't changed about him!

"I was under the impression that she would prefer Venice," is what he says instead, which doesn't reveal anything in particular, although it's most certainly not a fact one could expect him, of all people, to have an inkling of. Another card ends up discarded, another drawn, still no angel of death this round. If Strange watches the other players at all, he'll eventually catch at least one making off with something from the discard pile as sneakily as possible rather than drawing fresh from the deck.

Edited 2017-02-18 23:11 (UTC)

"I didn't know the two of you had talked about these matters." It's obvious from Strange's complete and utter lack of a poker face that his hand isn't getting any better and those strategic choices he's been playing in an attempt to have a better hand are doing absolutely nothing. He also has straight up spotted that other person attempting to cheat. Well then. So it's that sort of a game, then? Next round he'd be more on his toes.

"Still, further ahead in my future and all that. I'm certain the two of you had plenty of time to talk." He discards a card to draw another, chatting all the while as if nothing's bothering him. "I doubt Norrell would be particularly fond of—oh damn." With a frown, Strange turns to show the angel of death card to Childermass, with a grumpy little frown.

It is, it is. Keep an eye on everyone and the less sly of the cheaters will be apparent, while one or two — including Childermass, which should be of no great surprise — may also be cheating, but they sure as hell aren't doing it in a noticeable way.

"And that's the round," the elven woman that's been leaning against Childermass chimes in once the death card comes up.

Everyone shows their hands, some have awful cards, others with two matches, three matches, but this game goes to that same woman, who's managed to get five of the serpents. They aren't playing for anything, so after that it's only a matter of Childermass collecting all the cards back together and shuffling them with the ease of someone who's done this a thousand times before.

"If that's what you would like to think," Childermass says as he deals the cards back out. "Though what Mr. Norrell would or would not be fond of is no longer any business of mine."

Now that's interesting. Strange and Childermass won't be seeing each other and now Childermass considers Norrell's actions to be none of his business? It seems like the man's gone and washed his hands of London magicians, something that isn't believable in the slightest. Once again, there's more to this than meets the eye and Strange wants to find out the specifics.

"So you've finally left the man?" Strange can't help but idly ask, as he takes his cards. "I've no idea how he'll manage to get along without you. Norrell has a tendency to keep...interesting company." Said in a dry tone of voice that makes it perfectly clear just how little Strange thinks of the 'interesting' company. Looking at his hand, Strange raises an eyebrow before turning back to the game at hand.

"There was a disagreement," he says, finishing up with the cards and picking up his own hand to see what he has. There's no indication as to whether his cards are good or bad, the way he furrows his brow having more to do with how Strange just had to bring up Norrell while he's here trying to have a fun time.

He'll discard, draw another card.

"Between himself, his interesting company, and myself, but this is hardly the time to bring up such unpleasant people, wouldn't you agree?"

Moreso meaning Lascelles than Mr. Norrell, though he won't specify as much.

Strange, unfortunately, interprets the unpleasant people as closer to Mr. Norrell than anyone else. As such, the idea of gossip is too good to let go. After all, the idea of a disagreement strong enough to cause Childermass to leave? He's not entirely certain he knows what he's fishing for in trying to pry information of the future from Childermass, but the causes of the disagreement certainly sound interesting.

"I don't know—I think that it's a good time! After all, I'm sure you've a litany of complaints about the man. What better place to air all your grievances than a place where you know neither of them will show up?" It's all said in a very matter-of-fact tone as Strange discards a card to pick up another.

"I've always found that complaining does wonders for my state of mental well-being. I'll complain to Arabella, she'll complain to me, we both end the conversation feeling refreshed and renewed. It must have been ages since you've actually complained about anything."

He's not wrong, that much is certain. There are few with as much a right to complain about Norrell than there is John Childermass and yet for all the complaints he could list, every reason for dislike, he can't honestly claim to bear him all that much ill will. Even his departure from Hurtfew had been by pure necessity when no one else would do what had to be done.

That said...

"That may very well be, Mr. Strange, but last I checked, I am not your wife," he has to point out that much, at least. A husband and wife sharing complaints is a little different! "And if I were to start complaining about him now," and he'll discard again, draw again, rearrange his cards some. "...hm... now, if I were to start, we would be here all night.. or all day. Whatever time it is."

Yeah, he lost track of that days ago. No big deal. He looks up from the cards again, this time to reach over and check how much is left in one of the various bottles sitting on the table between the players and the cards and the various other objects littering it. Giving it a shake to verify that, yes, that's empty, he also adds,

"We would also need a few more of these, I think..."

"Well then after this hand is finished, we'll get a few more bottles!" It's said innocently enough, with a little laugh. Yes, this is the plan now, continue to get Childermass sloshed as he puts together the pieces of what happens in his future and hope that it ends up with actual information and not with a passed out or vomiting Childermass. Surely, this is a wonderful plan and nothing will go wrong.

Ha. Oh how he wishes. While it would probably be easy to get Childermass further drunk in this state, picking what's useful from what isn't might be harder.

"Still, losing track of time, now? That sounds like something I would do." He's teasing, as he reaches over to discard another card. It is true, though. The amount of times he's gotten lost in his own thoughts is borderline ridiculous. "I'm the one who's guilty of spending hours meddling with magic, after all, both here and at home."

Strange is going to be damn lucky that Childermass can hold his drink with the best of them on that part, but there will be no promises on coherency. He's just as likely to get real answers as he is a lecture on some random magical topic he happens to know far too much about.

"Does it matter here?" Another card drawn, another cast away into the pile, and a chuckle of his own that has little to do with his hand, but the rest of the players are free to be mistaken. "I do not think this place even functions within our own idea of time. Have you seen any clocks? Any way to see what time it is outside? Or... or..." What else? He gestures vaguely in the air, grasping for what to say. "I wonder if there even is an outside?"

"I honestly don't know," Strange can't help but remark, with a little frown. He pauses for a moment, mulling over his cards as well as the idea of outside. There is that greenspace, but it doesn't even have a proper sky. Even that beach area felt like someone had painted a roof and thought it would serve as a sky.

How odd. Is there an outside to begin with? And where exactly were they?

"They won't let us leave," he grumbles, rolling his eyes as he takes a card. Obviously, this is a sore spot and one that he will gladly whine about. After all, they somehow arrived here, there had to be a way to leave as well. "All I want to do is return to the Carnival for a moment or two but no, apparently that's not allowed."

"You do?" That distracts him from his cards again, looking up and over at Strange. He gives an amused snort and turns again, this time towards the other players. "Did you hear that? Our good Mr. Strange only wants to leave for a moment or two."

Which is, it would seem, an occasion to laugh at poor Strange. It's not meant to be mean-spirited, it's only they all find it funny. Even Childermass laughs about it and moves to clap a hand on the other magician's shoulder.

"Come on, man, why ever would you want to leave? I thought you were meant to be the fun one!"

Which is definitely true when compared to both Norrell and Childermass and even he is well aware of it, his own habit of being grim (grim habit not appearing in this episode, but stay tuned).

Strange takes the laughing in stride, rolling his eyes slightly. Why would he ever want to leave. Certainly not due to the fact that he's got a contract he wants to ride out, a wife he eventually wants to see, and a small little jar of cursed ointment back at the Carnival that he just wants to verify is still there. But aside from all that, seeing Childermass like this is...worrying. He'd want to leave because seeing Childermass like this, laughing, mingling, being friendly is odder than any other aspect of the celebration he's seen so far.

Also, the fun one? Well, that's certainly something he's going to tease Childermass about later. As it is, he answers the question almost nonchalantly,

"For starters, I haven't seen hide nor hair of the Ringmaster since we arrived here. I've been meaning to pick her brain about a particular form of magic, I can't do that if she's vanished off to who knows where. Of course," he sighs, "I doubt the Celebration would let anyone die in the first place. It'd ruin the party."

But that does raise an interesting question. There's so much here that could potentially kill someone—but could someone even die here in the first place?

Mad and prone to recklessly throwing magic about, sure, but that qualifies as far more entertaining to the general public than gloom and doom and a bookworm. Though speaking of gloom and doom, Childermass continues to grasp Strange's shoulder and he'll give it a shake, leaning closer.

"If she's not around, she is no doubt busy. You aren't going to pester her about raising the dead, are you?" That much he'll ask with a sigh preceding it. It's comfortably less cheerful than the rest of how he's been tonight, even if chances are it'll also be short-lived. "I'm telling you, it will all be a complete waste of your time."

Edited 2017-02-20 03:04 (UTC)

Wait, what? That gets Strange's interest and any protests of well actually, he's going to pester her about a set-up to help keep himself from dying fall dead in his throat. This is much more interesting and worrying than any knowledge of how Childermass broke away from Norrell or any doubts that they'll ever meet again.

"What do you mean 'a complete waste of my time?'" he asks, trying to keep his tone as light as he can, not wanting to give away just how confused he is by Childermass's statement. "I want to bring back my wife, I hardly think that's a waste of my time in the first place."

"Yes, yes, you want to bring her back from the dead," Childermass says it is so flippantly that it may as well be cruel and mocking, the way it comes out. He moves away again, hand leaving Strange's shoulder so he can attend the game again. "There is one issue with that, however, that you have completely overlooked."

He gives his current cards a brief, scrutinizing look, then discards and draw again. It's what he pulls from the deck that gets another laugh out of him.

"Well, there's some bad luck so soon into the round," he says, tossing the angel of death down — face up — onto the cluttered table and while he does glance around the table first, it will end, again, on Strange. It's a distant and rather sleepy look because lord knows what he's on right now, but whatever it is clearly does nothing for keeping secrets or at least choosing more proper times to reveal them. "Your wife was never dead in the first place, Mr. Strange. You've been fooled."

What?

Strange's first instinct is to brand the man a liar, say that he must be wrong, call him out on what must be a horrible joke. But this is Childermass. The man was many things but not a liar. Could he even think of lying right now, considering he's on...well, whatever he's on? No, he wouldn't say something like that unless it was true. Strange only grips his cards tighter, knuckles turning white as he looked over at Childermass.

A little part of him is downright angry at this revelation. This is what Childermass had been trying to keep from him? Damn the timeline, this was his wife they were talking about.

"If my wife was never dead then what did I bury?" Because he buried someone, someone who looked remarkably like Arabella, someone who he thought was his wife. "And where is she now?" he can't help but add. Strange is trying to keep his voice level, trying to keep everything calm, but he can't help that little bit of hope that rises in his tone.

A question he can only offer a shrug to. If he knew, he would surely tell him, but being from Strange's future sadly does not mean having every answer.

"Your guess would be as good as mine," Childermass says, turning back to the table proper to lay down his cards. In such a short round, he only has two matching suits, so yet another loss for him. "I am not so inclined to go graverobbing unless given a very good reason to. It's always been nasty work..."

How and why he knows that he won't say. It's just one more shady activity to add to the ever-expanding list of shadiness (though one shouldn't be too surprised where some rare books end up).

"But the where that much I can tell you. She is in Faerie, of course. Where else could she be, with all this nonsense with faeries you and Norrell both managed to stir up?"

Strange sets down his hand as well. He also has two matching suits, so it's a loss for him—not that he cares about the game anymore. The young elfin man sitting next to Strange who laid down four of the angels won that round. Chattering, the rest of the players pass their cards back to Childermass while Strange grapples with this revelation.

Arabella was in Faerie. The thing that he buried, it must be a changeling or something of that sort because she was alive. She was alive and here he was, wasting his time at the Carnival and playing card games instead of going out and freeing her from whoever put her there in the first place. How long had she been there and what sort of a husband could he call himself if he left her for that long? He's so lost in thought and regret that he almost misses that last important bit of information Childermass let slip. Him and Norrell? When had Norrell sought the help of faeries? Certainly not during any of his tenure as the man's student, he was far too dead set against the idea. No, the only person who had stirred up nonsense about faeries was himself—well, and Lady Pole, he supposed, with those stories she told Arabella to tell him.

The pieces all slowly start dropping into place. The faerie stories that Lady Pole felt so important that he know, perhaps it wasn't a sign of madness but a sign of magic. After all, he knew madness, he had been mad himself, madness wasn't babbling about faerie stories, launching into tales of tiny men waging war against carpets, it was something much more than that. And now that he was able to look back at her ramblings with the knowledge of what madness was...perhaps she wasn't mad at all.

"Childermass," Strange asks in a worryingly calm tone, "what sort of faerie nonsense has Norrell stirred up?" Cause oh he's got an idea. But it would be nice to have some confirmation before he flies off the handle.

⇨ THE CELEBRATION

day 65, who's ready for everything to go to shit

it's finally his turn to ruin everything ever

they're just playing hot potato with 'ruining everything'

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