atouts: (020; le monde)
john childermass ([personal profile] atouts) wrote in [community profile] lostcarnival2017-05-13 08:17 pm

I would have picked a quote about shadows [OPEN]

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...
whattaprick: (crap did i break a nail)

[personal profile] whattaprick 2017-05-15 06:02 am (UTC)(link)
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?
Edited 2017-05-15 06:05 (UTC)
whattaprick: (quelle horreur)

[personal profile] whattaprick 2017-05-15 05:20 pm (UTC)(link)
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!
Edited 2017-05-15 18:36 (UTC)
whattaprick: (there's an idea)

[personal profile] whattaprick 2017-05-16 04:56 am (UTC)(link)
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?"
whattaprick: (these wooounds they will not heeeal)

[personal profile] whattaprick 2017-05-16 11:56 pm (UTC)(link)
"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.
Edited 2017-05-17 10:47 (UTC)
whattaprick: (Default)

[personal profile] whattaprick 2017-05-17 10:18 pm (UTC)(link)
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.
whattaprick: (fight me bro)

[personal profile] whattaprick 2017-05-18 02:39 am (UTC)(link)
"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.
whattaprick: (eeeyyy lmao)

[personal profile] whattaprick 2017-05-19 06:26 am (UTC)(link)
"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.

whattaprick: (ugh not this shit again)

[personal profile] whattaprick 2017-05-20 01:27 am (UTC)(link)
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.
Edited 2017-05-20 01:42 (UTC)
whattaprick: (Default)

[personal profile] whattaprick 2017-05-22 03:45 am (UTC)(link)
"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.
whattaprick: (did you even notice?)

[personal profile] whattaprick 2017-05-26 05:21 am (UTC)(link)
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.
whattaprick: (i activate my trap card)

in which i make gwent less fourth wall breaking i suppose

[personal profile] whattaprick 2017-05-28 04:47 am (UTC)(link)
"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.