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: (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.
whattaprick: (rethinking my life choices)

[personal profile] whattaprick 2017-05-30 09:49 pm (UTC)(link)
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."
Edited 2017-05-30 21:50 (UTC)
whattaprick: (sincerity)

[personal profile] whattaprick 2017-06-04 10:24 pm (UTC)(link)
"Not really. Game goes up to best out of three, and you're supposed to draw seven cards each round, so splitting it wouldn't work. " Lambert shrugs, shifting positions so his tail is slightly less pinned under him. "I could lay them out, show you how it'd work in a game, but unless the Acquisitioner starts bringing in gwent decks you're just going to have to use your imagination."
Edited 2017-06-04 22:24 (UTC)