lostcarnival | ⇨ The Tourist Trap: PROLOGUE

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⇨ The Tourist Trap: PROLOGUE

Who: Anyone, anywhere in Portland.
When: Any time before the start of the event.
Where: Portland area, in the new reality.
What: Once you've submitted your AU summary, you can use this post to do some CLOSED THREADING to play out some character interactions that happened before the event start. This means that memory regains will not be in play yet. Open top levels are not allowed - these threads are intended to sort out closed interactions between planned backstory connections, during the week leading up to the actual event start.
Warnings: Could be anything.

PORTLAND, AS YOU KNEW IT↴

The shift went unseen and unfelt. One moment you were one person, and the next, another. This before all that, though, in the new life that you remember living here in Portland. No memories of your true self have arisen yet, and at the time this was the only life you knew. Did these events truly happen at all? Or do they only exist in memory?

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This time of the day is always usually busy at the cafe, the sort of day they need to take reservations in advance and keep people on a strict one-hour only policy. That's not too much of a problem for the cafe's regulars, though, who are familiar enough with this routine. After months on the job, Lambert at least recognizes most of them now, including the stiff-backed woman in her sixties who comes in on the same day of every week, at the same time, who orders the same drink and sits at the same seat.

According to the staff who've been working at the cafe longer, she's been going to the cafe for a couple of years now, but that's about all they seem to know about her, never having seen anyone come in with her. She never stays more than an hour, she'll pet the cats, and she goes. Lambert would wonder about it, except he actually values that she's one of his less troublesome, less visibly weird customers (yeah, you with the feathers, he sees you and he's trying desperately not to let his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline at whatever's happening) so he lets her have her privacy, and that's that.

Except today's a little different. Today, when the woman rises out of her chair and quietly heads outside, Lambert feels that sharp, familiar twinge in his gut, the way it always does. Since he's right in the middle of putting together a drink when it hits, and he's holding two shots of really hot coffee at the time, he takes the time to gingerly finish what he's doing before tearing out the door yelling over his shoulder that he's taking his break and bolts out the door, looking around a bit wildly to try and figure out where the hell she's gone. Shit, he really hopes she hasn't gotten into a bus or a car... but the feeling hasn't simmered down. If anything, it's only gotten stronger.

Sans is one of those regulars that comes in and out multiple times a week, though most of the time he's at least had the decency to look like a human while doing it. Wearing a human guise is a casual habit that he doesn't put much thought into - at least until it occurs to him that someone can tell that he's something unusual. Back in the day that might have been a legitimate concern, but these days...

Well, it's mostly just kind of funny. Honestly, they are way freakier angels to lay eyes on than him, even if his skeletal familiarity makes it a bit too close to home.

Sans has left the cafe a bit early this time, mostly because one of the visitors has pinged his death senses. He doesn't know how exactly this old lady is going to bite it, but it seems fairly inevitable to his Sight. Maybe it will be something as straight forward as a stroke, or a heart attack. Maybe it could be a murder. He doesn't actually know until it happens. He hangs outside the cafe feeling unpleasantly sober until she makes her way out, casually following after her like it's no big deal.

And then the barista, Lambert, goes running out after her. His first wild assumption is that the guy's going to have something to do with her death, but then it doesn't seem to be going that way at all.

Sans lurks after them, not really sure what to make of it.

The trouble with Lambert's precognition is that it rarely gives him insight on what to do. The best it gives him is a clear sense of direction and a sense of urgency to get there. Figuring out what's going on and how he needs to intervene, that's all on him.

Fortunately for him, or not, the woman hasn't gotten very far, just a block or so over, where she's waiting for the light to change, the sense of anticipation grows. As Lambert jogs up to her, trying to figure out what the hell he's even going to say, he glances around the street. Downtown, there's always a decent amount of foot traffic, but they're not in the thick of it, and whatever tourists are around seem to be minding their own business.

The light changes, and the woman oblivious to his presence begins to step out into the street. A surge of discomfort so fast and sudden makes Lambert reach out frantically to grab her by the wrist before he can think of anything else to do, pulling her up short and making her whirl in anger then confusion as soon as she turns around.

"Wait," Lambert says desperately, not entirely sure how the fuck he's supposed to spin this. Maybe he could come up with an excuse that she left something behind? That he'd forgotten to give her something on the way out? That there was something he needed her to sign?

Before he can say any of those things, a pickup truck comes screeching around a corner and barreling through the intersection, dragging a piano behind it as its speakers blare a familiar-sounding pop tune that gained some viral infamy for its use in a movie some time back. There's a cameraman on rollerblades with a huge camera rig perched in the truck bed, obviously trying to record the piano as they yank it along (and the girl playing the piano and awkwardly perched on a seat is looking remarkably calm about the whole setup). Tourists laugh and wave at them passing by, others taking videos and pictures on their phones.

Unfortunately, nobody notices the dog darting across the street or the kid chasing after it until about a half a second too late.

The air's filled with the screech of tires as the driver slams the brakes and tries to swerve, and the piano and the platform it's on swing in a wide arc, the momentum sending the girl tumbling off her bench and onto the pavement with a shriek of surprise. The piano, though? The sudden twist and turn all but slingshots it away from the truck and across the intersection to the warble of a thousand miiiiiles and slamming right into the woman from the cafe.

Or it would have, if Lambert hadn't grabbed her and practically carried her out of the way before she even realized what was happening. So instead, the piano crashes into the corner of the building with a highly unmusical crunch, and Lambert's left with an armful of old grandma who instantly responds by smacking him in the face with her bag and demanding to be let down.

Edited 2017-06-14 00:20 (UTC)

Sans had been holding back, just to see what happened, and what he sees... well, if its anything, it's not disappointing. Everything from Lambert's weird inclusion into the situation, to the completely inane manner in which that woman almost died - it's an absolute curiosity, and it leaves even an angel of death gobsmacked.

'Almost died' is a really important descriptor here. According to this doom sense, that lady was supposed to die for sure, and he was being called in to escort here. Now, there feeling is just gone completely. Huh. Weird! This is sort of weird, right?

Does someone have to get in trouble for this now? Sans honestly isn't sure.

He approaches all casual like and taps Lambert on the shoulder. He gets what's happening, but nobody else does, apparently.

"Whoa there, pal. You might wanna do what the lady asks."

Honestly, Lambert can't let go of the woman soon enough, with or without Sans's interference -- and oh god, it's the customer with the unsolicited book recommendations who Lambert can't quite bring himself to look directly at. Great, just what he needed on top of everything else.

As soon as she's free, the woman huffs and brushes herself down. The other onlookers at the scene are more focused on the boy and his dog, who have apparently been heroically pulled out of the truck's way by some blond, musclebound, overall more photogenic young man who's now surrounded by a crowd. Someone's already probably put this on social media; the video's probably going to go viral and end up being broadcast on one of those talk shows. The only people who've registered what's happening on this side of the street are the angel, the barista, and the woman who's now giving Lambert an icy look and a reprimand about keeping his hands to himself, before she walks off with and leaves them both in her wake.

Exhaling, Lambert rubs a hand down his arm and winces. The pang of discomfort in his stomach is gone, but he's pretty sure he pulled something with that little stunt and he's going to need ice it tonight. He needs to get back to work soon, but there is the matter of the guy beside him.

What's he even doing here, anyway? Lambert blinks at Sans, scowls, and pushes his glasses back up his nose.

"You could've done something about that," It comes out more accusatory than he intends. His heart still hammering in his chest, adrenaline flooding through his system from the near miss, makes Lambert forget all about pretending he isn't seeing anything unusual, not the guy's skeletal grin or the wings spreading out from his back.

Edited 2017-06-19 20:00 (UTC)

Could he have? Sort of. But, well. You know.

"Not my department," he comments, watching the woman go with a weird feeling of ill ease. His connection to that soul is lingering, even if it apparently isn't his to claim anymore. It's not a sensation he's felt too often, and he's not sure if he likes it or not.

"...You're probably thinkin', 'wow what I just did there was pretty weird,' but... I don't think you know just how weird, do ya?"

Theoretically saving a mortal's life should be a great thing, but Sans is well aware that as an angel with order from heaven he'd never be allowed to do it. Interfering with someone's natural path was never what he was made to do. Where do you even stop, with that kind of thing?

"Not your department?" Lambert looks at Sans incredulously, though he has just about enough common sense not to yell it, but hiss it softly between his teeth. He's not going to even address the actual question, that's how annoyed he is, as he's amply demonstrating with the wild gesticulation of one hand.

"I thought the whole point of having a guardian angel was to have someone looking after them."

Admittedly, if your guardian angel looked like Sans, maybe you were the type of person who didn't have long to live on this earth anyway. Sans looks less like a guard and more like a carrion bird waiting to descend.

That gives Sans a bit of pause because, wow, kind of a sore spot there, buddy. He raises his hands in mock defense, and three of his seven eyes seem to roll of their own accord. Not to mention... it's a bit surprising that Lambert can see his true form well enough to know so concretely that he's an angel. Fascinating.

"Not all angels are guardians, pal," he says. Maybe his image of a carrion bird is more accurate than one might expect - except for the part where Sans actually gets anything out of the equation. "I'm what they call an angel of death."

It's said with an oppressive amount of gravitas, his eye sockets momentarily going dark. The moment is quickly over, however, as Sans shrugs.

"Y'know, a psychopomp? Spirit guide? So, like I said. Not my department."

You'd think Lambert would have picked up on that sooner, between the whole skeleton and near an accident thing, but considering the most offensive thing he's seen Sans do at this point is maybe pet a cat, the oversight makes sense. Sort of.

Nonetheless, at the emphasis on death, Lambert will take a step backwards, instinct overriding logic. He looks immediately annoyed afterwards, especially when Sans goes back to shrugging right after that little show. He huffs, crossing his arms, then frowns and glances in the direction the woman walked off in.

"So, what," he says, slowly. "You were supposed to guide her?"

Sans follows that gaze of towards the direction the lady left, too. Well, she's gone now. It's out of his hands. Maybe back in the day he would have had an arch-angel to report to, that he could ask for advice on the subject.

Not anymore. All he's got now is his own moral compass, and instincts from being created to fulfill a very specific purpose. He guesses he'll just have to let this go.

"I was suppos'ta make sure her soul made it to the afterlife, as intended. Angels of death don't actually kill anybody, y'know. It just means we know when it's coming, and what to do after."

He winks a few of his eyes.

"That is, provided some bonehead hasn't mucked the whole thing up."

Edited 2017-06-24 17:40 (UTC)

Lambert can't help bristling defensively at that. No question he's the 'bonehead' in this situation, and though Sans' wink is probably meant to be reassuring on some level, Lambert very much isn't. Reassured, that is.

"So what happens now?" He asks tightly, muscles tense, body keyed up for a fight as he stares Sans down with a challenge in his expression. Not that he actually ... has any hope in hell of fighting something like angels of death or whatever, but if Sans thought that revelation was going to get him to cower or back down, well, he can shove that thought right back up his bony angel ass.

"You got angel cops who chase people down for this kind of thing?"

"Eh."

Sans offers another non-committal gesture. If Lambert is expecting a fight he's about to be disappointed. Sans isn't big on fighting people in general.

"Maybe upstairs would have been worried about it back in the day, but now there's nobody on this case but me. So... I guess you got lucky."

He doesn't even feel like he should be suggesting people don't try to save another life. It's just... complicated. Sans doesn't like complicated things.

"Nice of ya to save an old lady, anyway."

Without any aggression from the angel -- and isn't that weird to think about -- Lambert will settle down, if only just. Still, he can't help looking at him, frowning. Something about what he just said--

"What do you mean by 'back in the day'?" Because seriously, what does that mean?

Sans takes his turn to look a little puzzled. Isn't it obvious...? Except, no, maybe not. After all, this guy doesn't exactly sound like a supernatural expert.

"Back when Heaven and Earth were still communicado. Nobody's been able to go back and forth for years."

And then he carries on without leaving room for questions.

"But that just makes me wonder - how long have you been able to see I'm an angel?"

There's only so much you can pick up from internet research, after all, and Lambert's never been willing to dive feet-first into this shit. But that does ring a vague bell, though he'll have to take a moment to actually remember where he's heard about something similar.

At least Sans's question is a little more straightforward to answer, even if it makes him cross his arms defensively.

"A few months, maybe. I couldn't, when I first got here." Honestly, it's a struggle to recall a specific time. He'd only started working at the cafe a few months ago, and got briefly turned into a cat in the middle of that, so keeping track of which customers were and weren't actually inhuman before wasn't high on his list of priorities. "I wasn't sure, but the description fit."

Sans spreads his wings illustratively, and then closes them again. When he does that, his radiance gets a bit hard to look at. Presumably, only for people with the ability to see like Lambert.

"Well... it's not exactly subtle."

Sans snickers to himself.

"An' here I thought you were just edgy around me for normal human reasons."

Lambert squeezes his eyes shut against the glow, averting his face quickly -- enough of a response, probably, though the half-hearted glare he levels at the angel suggests Lambert's considerably less amused by the proceedings.

"You mean being roped into your weird book club?" Seriously, someone approaching you out of the blue asking if you'd like a Good Book, that's a little kooky as far as Lambert's concerned. "Because that is a pretty good reason."

"I'd say I do a decent job of acting human for someone who totally isn't," he says, with another shrug, though he looks mostly amused now. At least Lambert is getting over the angel of death thing without making it a huge ordeal. "On that note... wanna grab a drink and talk about good books, later? You kind of put me out of a job, today."

Sans totally doesn't do a good job of acting human at all, if one were to ask Lambert, but no one ever is interested in Lambert's opinions so that will go unsaid.

"I have to go back to the cafe," he says, but it's not a 'no.' As far as he's concerned, he's not at fault for anything, but... he pushes up to pinch the bridge of his nose, exhaling. "But fine. Later. I could use a drink anyway."

"Cool. Then it's a date," Sans will say, giving Lambert finger guns, as he nonchalantly starts backing away without looking where he is going. It's not completely clear whether he is now being extra weird just to bother him, or if this is just his genuine behaviour. Probably the later, honestly.

When Lambert finally breaks eye contact with him he will abruptly disappear. He'll be back at the end of your shift, brosef.

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⇨ The Tourist Trap: PROLOGUE

Fate Averted [Sans], some months ago

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SORRY, THIS IS RIDICULOUS

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gaze too intense

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