I would have picked a quote about shadows [OPEN]

[atouts]

Who: Childermass & open.
What: Having finally gotten his shadow teleport spell to work, Childermass is trying to iron out just how to control the damn thing...
When: During the Mainframe stop, before Performance week.
Where: Around the carnival.
Warnings: n/a

i. all around the carnival

It's a whole lot of trial and error, it seems, this shadow magic, but at least Childermass doesn't anticipate ending up anywhere deadly as he goes from shadow to shadow, place to place. He's found early and late in the day works best, when the sun is forcing shadows to cast at an angle. Night time only deepens and darkens the entire world, which, in theory, you might expect to make it the easiest time of all, but there is such a thing as too many doors...

So, during these days before the carnival opens, it won't be uncommon to suddenly find a tall, somewhat dour-looking (exciting as messing around with magic like this is, he just isn't the sort to let on to that easily) Englishman abruptly existing where there hadn't been an Englishman — or anyone at all, for that matter — before! Look fast enough and you'll catch him moving like he's just stepped out of somewhere, though there's usually nothing but shadows and whatever is casting them behind him.

This could be inside buildings, the cookhouse, the Big Top, all around the forest—

ii. or in your trailer, any trailer at all

Or accidentally shadow-stepping straight into the closet in your trailer or maybe even the bathroom, if the lights been left off in there by some chance. There'll be a THUMP of Childermass walking directly into something — a broom, the shower curtain, whatever it is — and then a muttered curse of, "Oh, damn it. Not again."

And here he thought he was going to be better about this than Strange was...

Comments

one of the worst starters i've ever written, enjoy the monster you've created

[whattaprick]

This -- being able to rinse off the dust and sweat after a couple of hours of serious exercise -- is as far as Lambert's concerned the most incredible luxury the Carnival has to offer. If there's one thing about this place he's going to regret not being able to take back home? It's the modern plumbing. Maybe one day he should sit down with one of the engineers, figure out how this shit works, and how he can build something similar back in Kaer Morhen. Especially the heated water.

The Carnival's quiet in the morning hours, making it an ideal time to work through his drills -- he longs for a real target, shadow-sparring with his sword only goes so far -- and practice the little magic he has at his disposal. If the mushi incident has reinforced anything, it's that he can't afford to let himself get rusty. Though Mainframe's been harmless enough at first glance, who knows how quickly that can change?

Such are the idle musings running through his head as he ducks under the shower, scrubbing vigorously around his scalp and the base of his horns to rinse the shampoo clear. With the lights off, the darkness and the running water lend itself well to contemplation, eyes sharp enough to see what he's reaching for even in the greyed-out shadows. Lambert having no idea what shower thoughts are, he's oblivious to the realization that he's joined a grand tradition of navelgazing while going through his morning ablutions.

The witcher's moved on to speculating about what they'll be serving for breakfast when his medallion (which, naturally, he hasn't taken off) hums sharply against his chest. That's all the warning he gets before, abruptly, there's a body walking into him.

The sudden impact catches him off guard enough that when he tries to whirl and face whatever the hell has just showed up in his bathroom, his feet slip on the floor (okay, maybe showers aren't so damn great) and the attempt to grab his attacker just mostly turns into an attempt to grab whatever he can of them to keep upright, back slamming into the fixtures painfully enough to draw a hiss of pain.

https://media.giphy.com/media/8fen5LSZcHQ5O/giphy.gif

[atouts]

If there was ever going to be a time to pinpoint "worst moments from the carnival", this would undoubtedly end up in the top five if only because it means he did, at this particular point in time, manage to do something more embarrassing with his teleporting around than Strange ever has (at least, to Childermass's knowledge). He had been aiming for "somewhere near the Nightrider's trailer", not exactly where he was at this given moment. Well, magic can be fickle. Not a lesson he needed reminding of, yet there it is all the same.

Apparently, it can also be wet since that's the first startled thought to enter the magician's mind when he steps out into what can only be a steaming hot shower. That anyone would be taking a shower in the dark is mind-boggling, but that's a complaint he'll have to go over later because his second thought is that he's walked right into someone — in their shower — and that someone is grabbing the front of his shirt.

This has Childermass backtracking wildly, grappling with the same big of magic that brought him here in the first place and throwing himself back through the shadows. The first inclination is, naturally, to get the hell out of there. Too bad he's about to find that, firstly, with water on the mind that's going to put him tumbling out through an overhanging branch's shadow cast across the water of the carnival's lake. It's a drop-off rather than a shallow part, so he at least won't run into anything when spat out directly below the surface.

Secondly, whoever latched onto him back there? They're coming along for the ride. Enjoy the suddenly cold water, Lambert, because it's about to be everywhere.

[whattaprick]

To an outside observer, of which there are thankfully none, the whole thing must seem a bit of a slapstick ballet -- Lambert reels back one way, only for the intruder to yank him another in his haste to step back, his hands tangled into the front of his shirt pulling him forward with the magician's momentum falling back into shadow.

The world tilts in a shadowy, watery blur as he makes the transition from steamy shower to comparatively freezing lake. The change in temperature has Lambert shouting -- or trying to -- but all it gets him is an explosive stream of bubbles up his mouth and water up his nose. Forcing his eyes open, he keeps one hand fisted into the fabric under his hand and kicks to the surface, pulling sodden magician along with him. Because of course it's got to be a magician.

He breaks the lake's surface, coughing and spluttering, hair in his eyes and water dripping off shoulders and horns as he fights to tread water with a hand still gripping hard into cloth; his tail swishes frantically, doing its best to help. Like fuck he's letting him go: he knows how this shit works, and if he tries to make another swift exit, well he's fucking wrong.

"Strange!" Lambert thunders once he gets his breath back, although he's still sounding a little choked. "What the fuck?!"

Who else would be as reckless as the man who's literally mad?

[atouts]

Childermass would be, apparently, albeit his recklessness was entirely by accident. He comes up coughing out water all the same after a brief struggle underwater to try — and fail — to escape Lambert's grasp. Once he realizes he's at least dragging him up to the surface, though, he'll work with him to get there. Air, slightly more important than free movement.

Once up there, however, he spits out the last of the lake water and manages, "Wrong magician." To at least let Lambert know that, no, for once they can't actually blame one Jonathan Strange for this ridiculous predicament.

He treads water as well, trying to keep himself up above the surface as his clothes, heavy with water now, try to drag him back down. Quick enough thinking has him looking up at the very same branch that cast the shadow they got dunked into the lake through. It's close enough to them that— yeah, he reaches up and grabs onto it. It's low-hanging and seems sturdy enough, for now.

[whattaprick]

It's probably hilarious how utterly flabbergasted the witcher looks for a moment, using the hand that isn't holding on to the magician to shove his hair back out of his eyes so he can just stare incredulously at him, as if to confirm that yes, it really is Childermass who stepped in on his shower and yes, Childermass who just pulled him into a lake with him.

"What the fuck," he says again, slow and enunciated this time, even as Childermass grabs on to the branch above. Shock is quickly being replaced by irritation, if the red flush creeping up his neck even in the cool water is any indication. His arm flexes where he's using his strength and disbelief to keep Childermass suspended as his clothes take on more water -- a problem Lambert doesn't have, though he's experiencing some of his own.

"Are you crazy?! You could've killed us!" Unlikely since Lambert's a damn good swimmer, though still mildly possible in Childermass's case with all those clothes, the poor fuck. Turns out adrenaline fueled teleportation is only fun when your balls aren't shriveling in a cold-ass lake!

[atouts]

"Am I crazy? Who in their right mind bathes in the dark?"

While Childermass would no doubt agree that, yes, the look on Lambert's face is something to remember and have a sensible chuckle about for years to come, it's hard to do that right here, right now, when he's been dunked into a goddamn lake. Drowning isn't a worry since he has something to hold onto, but it's still a huge pain in the ass and he's absolutely certain that he's lost a shoe somewhere along the way.

Though since he does have that branch, no need to tread water now. He grabs at the witcher's hand, where he has a hold on his shirt, and tries to pry him off while still muttering back, about as irritated though not as hotly or as red-faced as Lambert is.

"As if some water could kill us," he scoffs. "There was never a chance of ending up far from the shore, not when there's nothing casting shadows out as far as the deepest parts of the lake. Not the right kind, anyway."

[whattaprick]

Of all the--

"I can see in the dark, you cock!" Lambert isn't confining himself to muttering. Lambert is very loud, very offended, and above all else, very unwilling to let Childermass go. "I'm not the shadowy pillock invading people's bathrooms practicing his next carnival act!"

For all his bawling, Lambert is less offended by being caught at a private moment as he is annoyed by being caught off so thoroughly off guard, and in the wake of his shouting he pants, chest heaving. It's hard to maintain that volume and tread water at the same time, so he reaches up to grab at the branch too, bringing his face all but nose to nose with the magician as he growls.

"Since you brought us here," he grates out, grin horrible and forced, "You can bring us back, can't you?"

[atouts]

"It isn't as if I were trying to invade your bathroom! Who cares if you can see in the dark, it's still a bloody stupid idea!"

If Lambert's going to raise his voice, Childermass sure as hell will, too. Like seriously, who does that? Just standing around in a bathtub in pitch black? Really? It's only a momentary crack in his usual bored neutrality towards the world, however. He reins his own temper back in after that — or tries to, anyway — since it's utterly useless to keep on floating in a lake arguing with a naked man. The one bright side of being soaked through with water is at least his feathers are too waterlogged to puff up, but small blessing there.

Instead of continuing the little row, he looks around them. It was a fluke they came out of the shadow on the water in the first place, but looking at it now, with all the splashing they're doing, it's too distorted. That means he shakes his head in reply to Lambert's question, looking up again.

"Not on the water. We'll have to get to shore and use a more solid shadow."

Yeah, 'solid shadow' isn't a thing, but in this case? That's what he's going with to separate a shadow on land versus a shadow on water.

[whattaprick]

"Oh, a d'yaebl aép arse," Lambert says disgustedly, the intent to use the curse apparently not making it past the fae magic's automatic translations. He blows his breath out in an explosive huff, finally letting Childermass go (though not without a shove -- since they're in no danger, after all).

"Magicians always have to complicate things, don't you? A solid shadow isn't even a thing!"

Non-solidness being a defining trait of shadows and all that. With that professional opinion delivered, he isn't any more invested in continuing this argument submerged in water than Childermass is. The witcher twists around to face the shore and releases the branch, surging off with a splash of lake water that is slightly more violent than it needs to be. As soon as it's shallow enough for his feet to touch the floor of the lake, he switches to wading, dripping lake water and shivering as the air hits damp skin.

At least his tail can't get waterlogged. Instinctively, it swishes back and forth, shaking itself off in a flash of golden scales as he stomps, stark naked, to shore. His back's already reddened in places, spots that promise to bloom into bruises from the unfortunate run-in with the shower fixtures.

[atouts]

More violent than it needs and therefore definitely splashing Childermass with water as he takes off like that, which earns a fairly undignified startled sound out of him. He wipes his face off after, which is such a pointless gesture when you're already in the damn lake, and glowers after the witcher before letting go of the branch as well.

"You know what I mean," he mutters after because he knows Lambert's no idiot (as much as he likes to call him one, it's far enough from the truth). A shadow on solid land, it can't be more obvious! But fine, whatever, he focuses on making his own way back to shore. Clothing soaked through drags on him, slowing him down, so his effort is fairly graceless, but he gets into the shallows without running into trouble. His exit from the lake comes with less stomping, however. He pauses briefly on the shore itself to look down and sigh at the mud he's stepping in, still one shoe down. That's one sock ruined for sure...

"I can get us back through any other shadow, just not one on the water. We would have to jump through it again for it to work."

And if he's bothered by the witcher's nakedness, there's at least no sign of that. It's hardly the first time he's seen the man naked and, knowing how crass Lambert is, he doubts it'll be the last. Pretty pointless to make a big deal out of it at this point.

[whattaprick]

Being naked isn't bothering Lambert in the least, and even if it was, what would Childermass even do to remedy it? Offer him his sodden coat to preserve his long lost modesty, like a gentleman? At least the sun does a decent job dispelling the chill -- though on the whole, he'd still rather have clothes on and be properly dry.

Even in his irritation, though? Once he gets a proper look at Childermass, soaking wet as he is and one shoe down, Lambert's lips twitch despite himself. "You look like a wet crow," he says, but he's looking around at the ground with a frown. The shadow of the tree they're under is speckled with dappled light, not deep shadow. There's more darkness farther from the lake shore, but...

"Can you use your own shadow?" It's probably an inane question to the magician, who will probably have a very magician-y answer as to why that's is or isn't possible.

[atouts]

"And you still look like an overgrown lizard," Childermass shoots back, still a tad irritated (and who wouldn't be, down one shoe and looking this drowned). To the question, he only shrugs, but he'll at least offer a shorter answer than, say, a magician like Strange would. It's basically, "No, I can't."

And he doesn't actually know why, but traveling through his own shadow only met with resistance. Maybe because it was his? Did he need his own shadow to travel through other shadows? He's not sure he'll ever have a real answer to that question, as much as he'll still try to figure it out.

The shadow from the tree earns a wry look as he, too, notes how thin and sun-flecked it is. So, he gestures deeper into the woods.

"Come on, we'll find one that works soon enough."

[whattaprick]

"Nope, you called me a dragon once already," Lambert chirps back, all annoying cheer as he pretends to preen. "You don't have to act like you don't find me impressive."

Impressively annoying, maybe, but making fun of Childermass seems to have lightened the witcher's spirits considerably. He strides forward confidently, silvery scars stretching over muscle and gold scales glistening as they stride onward.

"Where'd you come from, anyway?" he asks, idly. The first time he'd seen Childermass pull that trick, they'd still fallen within earshot of their Pokémon. The second time ... well, he didn't actually know where he went, because he'd essentially run away. Now that they're not flailing around, he recognizes where they are, and it's a decent distance from his trailer. "And where were you trying to go?"

Because like Childermass, he knows the other man well enough to guess in his shower isn't where he intended to end up.

[atouts]

Childermass just rolls his eyes and trails along after the witcher into the woods. In this case, saying nothing is just about as good as saying anything at all, it really is. It isn't until he starts asking questions that he bothers to speak up again.

"From the other side of the carnival," he answers. "I was experimenting with varying distance between shadows. I was originally aiming for the supervisor grove."

More specifically, he was trying to end up just next to Lambert's trailer, but seeing as he's never actually been there, he's starting to think he knows what went wrong. Probably should have aimed for Joker's, but that would have been too easy. That all, of course, all goes unsaid.

[whattaprick]

"You technically ended up in the right place, just a very specific part of it. Better get that ironed out before you start jumping between cities." Lambert snorts, blissfully oblivious to the many possible reasons the magician's spell went awry. He steps into the shade of a tree so that he's fully in shadow, dilating his pupils to compensate for the shift in light, then turns to Childermass.

"Good enough?" He isn't waiting for an answer before he reaches out to grasp the magician's shoulder.

[atouts]

"I may leave ideas as mad as that to Mr. Strange," Childermass says with a snort. Between cities? It would be useful, but also quite a stretch. Maybe someday, someday far, far down the line. The shadows are no King's Roads, after all. In any case, he joins Lambert in the tree's shade and can't help but give the offending hand that lands on his shoulder an annoyed look. He supposes that as good as taking a hand, though, and his gaze flits back to the witcher.

"Hang on," is the only warning Lambert gets before he turns towards the tree and steps towards the shadowed side of its trunk. He'll be yanking him along as darkness, once again, comes up all around them. It takes one, two, three, four heartbeats before they're stepping back to where Childermass had originally planned to go—

Oh, no, sorry, that isn't where they're ending up at all. It's straight back into the shower, still running, because that is, unfortunately, what his subconscious has marked as 'back' right now. But hey, that's probably good news for Lambert! Less so for Childermass, who looks up at the dark ceiling of the bathroom with a sigh, muttering, "...again? You have got to be kidding me..."

[whattaprick]

Just as he'd gotten dry too, but this time, Lambert can at least laugh about the chagrin in the magician's voice to make up for being met by a wall of warm water smacking him in the side again.

"Least we can't get any wetter." He reaches out to turn off the water, letting the magician go as he does. "Come on, I think I've got at least one extra towel around here..." Assuming the magician doesn't just take this as his cue to fuck off back through the shadows, not that Lambert would care if he did. The important part is that he doesn't get dragged along for the ride this time.

Pushing open the fogged enclosure, the first order of business is to locate towels, and after that, if the magician didn't take his exit he won't get to, because the Nightrider's flicking the lights on. The bathroom is considerably roomier than anything the basic trailers have, with a big (currently fogged) mirror taking up the space above t he counter. Lambert tosses Childermass a towel, even if it won't do much for him than let him wipe his face off, and briskly sets about drying himself off, hair sticking up in uneven spikes as he scrubs the towel between his horns.

[atouts]

Fucking off back through the shadows is actually a thought he heavily considers, though he wastes those precious seconds where he could pull his vanishing act getting out of the shower and trying not to run into anything in the dark as he does. Not everyone can see in the dark, Lambert, which is why he still thinks showering in the dark is just plain ridiculous. By the time he's out and shaking water off of himself, the lights are on and that's that.

"At least it's warm water," he will give it that much. He was already soaked, but the hot water and the steamy bathroom at least chases the chill of the lake away. He still looks like a drowned crow, however, and it's extremely lamentable. He is definitely taking the towel tossed his way, though, and his first order of business is to pull the tie out of his hair — hard to dry all of it if it's stuck tied back as it usually is — and then try and scrub that all dry, towel over head.

It's not the worst of what's soaked by any means, but soon to be cold water dripping down his neck? No thanks. He'll deal with that first.

[whattaprick]

"Should've studied water instead of shadows," Lambert says snidely, muffled by his own vigorous rub-down. As soon as he's wiped off everything that matters, he wraps the towel around his hips, then scowls at the rapidly forming puddle under the wet magician.

"You're making a mess. If you're sticking around, change out of those, wring them out, and I can dry them. There's clothes on the counter." He'd meant to change into those himself, of course, but since he's not the one dripping over everything ... in any case, if Childermass is so inclined to take up the offer, said clothes are a bone-patterned shirt from and cargo shorts from Alola.

As for the witcher himself, he's pushing the bathroom door open to head out to the lighter, open space of his trailer. It's unsurprisingly bigger than the standard trailers, and it's pretty devoid of the standard knickknacks or personal possessions one might expect. Though there is a table set up on the far end as a workbench with his weapons, potions, and rune stones, a stack of reports sit next to a half finished sandwich on the kitchen counter, and there's still the feeling of a lived in space.

[atouts]

Tempting as it is to ask just how Lambert thinks water magic would help them, he doesn't rise to the bait. Shadows made sense, even if there was, as he's so thoroughly discovered, a learning curve. That he's "making a mess", however, does earn a scornful look. He really is half-tempted to just shut the door, hit the lights, and vanish again, but then he'd just end up dripping all over his own, much smaller trailer. Honestly, this is just trading one set of complaints for another (undoubtedly from Rita, should he show up tracking mud and lake water everywhere).

He does still close the bathroom door after Lambert, though, and takes his sweet time going through the motions of peeling wet clothing off and wringing them out, drying off himself, before swapping the wet clothes for the dry. He's sure he looks ridiculous in the shirt and shorts, but he'll get over it in a minute or two.

All in all, it takes about ten or so minutes before he steps out into the trailer proper, wet clothing folded and tucked under one arm until he knows where to put them.

"Should I hang them up or do you have a dryer in here?"

For all he knows that might be yet another perk of a supervisor's trailer. Speaking of, this one is definitely a far cry from the trailers of Joker and the Psiioniic, which were decorated and cluttered to some extent. Seeing one lacking in the years of picking up random junk with the carnival is interesting enough for Childermass to spend a moment just looking around.

[whattaprick]

Honestly, he'd expected after the door closed that Childermass had left, so he just raises a brow to see him walk back out. Lambert's managed to fish out a change of clothes for himself -- another tank top, thisith a bone pattern on it, this time with blue flames lighting up its ends. It's mildly comical since the difference in height and bulk means that the same size tends to slightly ride up on Lambert's torso and fit a bit tighter than it does on Childermass.

"Hah. Looking good." He is, most assuredly, just saying it to give him shit because yeah, Childermass looks like an underdressed scarecrow. It is interesting to see how much further those feathers extend, though he'll only give him a curious once-over before he holds out a hand.

"Give it here." Once he's got it, Lambert's off to toss it into whatever passes for a magical equivalent of a dryer, and Childermass is free -- for a few minutes, at least -- to poke around as he pleases. The only other personal possession of interest, besides the notes on the counter and Lambert's workbench, is the deck of green-backed cards carelessly scattered on another low table top. If he's so inclined to investigate, one of the cabinets by the kitchen is a small bar stocked with potions and alcohol, some of the latter recognizably from Alola.

[atouts]

'Looking good' only earns Lambert a huge roll of his eyes. Childermass knows better. This kind of clothing just isn't for him, although if he were feeling particularly mean, he'd point out they weren't looking any better on Lambert, either. Too big for one, too small for the other.

But while Lambert's away to the magical dryer or whatever — something his own trailer is sorely lacking, yet another reason to stick around for the time being — he will take the chance to poke around. Most of it isn't too interesting to him. He doesn't care to read about Mainframe, seeing how he's blatantly avoiding the digital world, but the cards? He'll definitely pick up the cards to look at, though not having the faintest idea what gwent even is, he can only frown at them a little and ask, "What are these for?"

in which i make gwent less fourth wall breaking i suppose

[whattaprick]

"What?" Lambert calls back, over the sound of, yes, a dryer being started up and activated. Don't think too hard about it, because Lambert certainly isn't; he's figured out the dials enough to not shrink his clothes three sizes and that's about the limit of his desire to understand the machine. It beats hanging up his clothes and very carefully using Igni, anyway.

When he re-emerges to squint at what Childermass's got in hand, he snorts. Of course he'd go for the cards.

"Those are for gwent. It's a game from back home." He flops down on the end of the low couch, lounging against the armrest. The cards themselves don't feel flimsy in the hand, though they do have a slightly worn-in quality around the edges. They're marked with text and numbers -- illegible at first, though if Childermass focuses on them he'll find the Carnival's magic kicking in to reveal such illuminating names as 'Smuggler' and 'Archer.' The illustrations are minimal, more symbolic than graphic, with a row of symbols underneath that have no immediately obvious meaning.

[atouts]

Considering gwent cards are the right size for a tarot deck, of course he went for the cards. Expecting anything else would a surprise. Childermass picks one, in particular, out from the rest to take a close look at. Checking the quality, the weight of the cards. If he could find paper stock like this—

Well, no matter. Using a spare joker left behind by Joker was one thing. He doubts Lambert has a card suitable for the Fool even if he was inclined to lift one for himself.

"How do you play it?"

[whattaprick]

It's been a long time since he actually had to explain the rules to someone who has no idea what gwent is at all. It shows in his face, the moment of brief surprise and mild confusion before he leans forward, picking up the cards and shuffling through them absently and laying out examples on the table as he goes.

"Two players, one deck each. Goal of the game's simple enough: build a bigger, better army than your opponent. Wouldn't be a proper army without different forces, though, so you've got all kinds. Sword means a card's a close combat fighter, melee. A bow's for archers, mid-range, and for long range you've got the ballista... hmm, though this one's a Scoia'tael deck, so I don't have any."

He reaches out, taps the gold gilt on the edge of the card the magician is holding: the elf queen, more ornately decorated than the others, her miniature expression scornfully staring out at the magician. "... and that's what they call a leader card."