lostcarnival | ⇨ The Tourist Trap: WEEK 1

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⇨ The Tourist Trap: WEEK 1

Who: Anyone, anywhere in Portland.
When: October 1st - 7th, 2017
Where: Portland area, in the new reality.
What: Memories begin returning to the displaced as the fall gets chillier. How the hell did we end up here, again? Also, apparently, the fair is in town.
Warnings: Individually marked!

PORTLAND BY NIGHT↴

Memory regains will come into effect at the beginning of October, to whatever degree you've decided upon, and may be regained at whatever pace you desire from then on. For those with their full carnival memories, it will be like waking up in the body of someone else - for those with half and half, it will be like rapidly recalling sets of memories from a totally different life. Those with full amnesia will simply feel as if this is how it's always been.

Unfortunately for you, memories aren't the only thing you have to deal with. The supernatural community of Portland is bustling all of a sudden - could your presence and these events somehow be related?

► THE OUTER CIRCLE: As of the start of the month, the Portland Circle of Enlightenment will find itself starting to get swarmed with members from other chapters. Most notably, it would seem that a small cabal of top mages from the North American Enlightenment Council will be making their home in Portland's HQ. For anyone but the highest of ranks, the purpose behind their visit will be unclear, but it seems like something is definitely up on a metaphysical level. The Circle will be buzzing with rumours of unique planar activity and threatening omens. It seems that it all started with an unusual flare of activity in the planetary ley-lines, starting approximately a week ago. However, even if you would usually be the type to keep tabs on such things, you will find that you oddly have no memory of observing this phenomenon yourself.

► THE ANIMAL FAIR: Good news, the fair is in town! Or, at least, it would be good news... if this was a regular fair. Instead, what's being observed is a bunch of nearly identical flyers, spread all around Portland - each of which bears only the words "THE ANIMAL FAIR", a seemingly bloody paw-print of unknown origin, and the directions to a vague forested location outside of the city. It's dated for October 7th, and all instances of its posting having been discovered with a scattering of rose petals, crow feathers, and pre-burnt matches laying on the ground around them. Most are taking this to be some kind of bizarre viral marketing campaign, but others may know better.

► THE EARTH SPIRIT: If you have connections to The Pack or any of its many variations, you'll probably hear whispers of something very odd that occurred last week - according to the elders, it sounds as if the Earth Spirit, the magical and spiritual center of the planet, has suddenly taken a wound. It's not clear why or how, but there is a fair bit of concern among spiritual types, as it is werebeast belief and nebulous magical fact that the magical forces within the earth are the source of all magic here, as well as the source of life. While many werebeasts claim to have felt the Spirit succumb, you strangely have no memory of such an event occurring. Though things do feel strange, if you know how to tap into the Spirit yourself.

► THE WAR CRY: Though Anath's rain of terror across North America lasted for the first fifteen years or so of the Severing, most independent demons have had enough time to start taking the arch-demon's relative inactivity for granted. For that first while, the warrior queen had seemed determine to rebuild an army on earth by forcing her scattered brethren into service - only for her to gradually settle down in a fortress somewhere in Texas and dig in her heels. Of course, this was too good to last - it sounds as if she and her demonic legion have begun tearing their way up the west coast, their goals remaining a mystery. Their destination, however, is almost certainly Portland.

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This time. This time, it'll be the letter that's good enough to send, that won't keep Jaeger waiting too long, and also won't make it look like the sender is a useless wreck of an angel. Clutching paper and a pen Iuliael sweeps through a common room, managing to mostly hang on to a human shape, though one clad in white wrap with changing patterns of wide eyes printed on it, and not in the usual street clothes. You can be a bit more relaxed about things like that in Sanctuary, though going around as a knot of wings covered in eyes is still out.

As usual Iuliael is singing with a distant and resonant voice, seeming happy despite the tone of the song. "You're afraid what-ever choice you make won't be exactly the right mistake-"

Wait, there's a child here on the couch. Sometimes people don't like singing! Like when they sleep! "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry! Did I wake you up?"

Steven hears the sound of Iuliael's voice while he's still half asleep, and the emotions it causes him are hard to describe. The sound of singing voices as he sleeps is so comfortable and right, but he isn't sure why. He wakes up slowly, not fully realizing the source until the angel pauses to speak for him.

Of course, his eyes widen when he sees the form he's looking at. He's never seen something like this, for sure. It kind of causes his mouth to stop working, momentarily.

"N-No?" he manages, even though it's technically not true.

"Oh." Is that the truth? Iuliael is terrible at telling if people are lying - as part of the Dove they'd always known, but they no longer can look into someone's soul, and it's so hard to read people in other ways. Probably it's true? Does the child have a reason to lie?

That Steven is a changeling, and staring wide-eyed, hasn't actually registered yet. Iuliael is pretty observant when it comes to music, poetry, and wonder. Everything else, less so. "Well - do you mind if I sing? I can be quieter! Or I can leave, if you like. I don't want to cause any trouble." A helpless smile crosses the angel's face. "Or... or if you have a request I could sing that?"

Edited 2017-06-03 03:40 (UTC)

"You can sing," Steven says, relaxing a little, though Iuliael is still quite the sight to behold. "I... Don't know any songs, though."

He probably did once upon a time, but none of the names are proving easy to remember. Even if he did, would an angel guy know any of them? This is pretty far out of his realm of understanding.

"That means they'd all be new to you," Iuliael says, delighted. You do get the sense that Iuliael is often delighted; the smile comes broad and easy and somehow touches not just the approximation of normal human eyes but the eyes that appear to be printed on their clothes. Or on fine fabriclike wings wrapped like clothes, anyway. "I have a letter to write but I think a different song might suit it better. So, how about this."

They lay the paper out on a coffee table, sink to the floor, and take up the pen with the awkward grasp of someone whose understanding of how to use it is more academic than practiced. After a moment, staring at the page like they've forgotten Steven is still here, Iuliael starts to hum the first notes and mark the paper, slowly, painstakingly.

It's hard to describe the angel's voice. It's not as glorious as 'the voice of an angel' ought to be, nor does anything stand out as being wrong with it. It seems like they can hum the instrumentals and sing harmony with the lead vocals all at once, but that's not as striking as the obvious love they have for the song. "We all need somebody to lean on," Iuliael croons, laboring over the paper.

Steven watches him work, settling back into his position on the couch with a faint look of wonder on his face. It's a soothing sound, perfect or not. The fact that it isn't perfect, or otherworldly in its glory, is even better, in its way. It feels and sounds real, even though the angel can apparently sing more than one part at once.

He watches the angel write, and its clear that the process is somewhat laborious, which is a curious thing. One wouldn't expect a creature like that to struggle with something so simple, but the fact that he does draws Steven closer, endeared by the vulnerability of it. As he listens to Iuliael sing, he starts to feel sleepy again, his eyes falling half lidded and his thoughts beginning to scatter to other things.

This feels so familiar, being sung to sleep. He remembers his dad's voice singing to him, more times than he can count. Laying safe in his arms, or cuddled up on the floor of a van, it all feels so natural and so pleasant.

He doesn't even realize that his dad doesn't own a van.

There. It's not a great letter. It's very simple, without the sweeping grand formality angel letters call for; if Iuliael went to Nimami she would help and make it proper, but then it wouldn't be Iuliael's letter any more, would it? This is the best they can do right now and that's going to have to be good enough. Iuliael folds it, opens and refolds it since the edges didn't quite line up, and with an effort of power sends it away. It's done.

Finally the angel notices the child again, guiltily realizing they'd gotten distracted. This is... cross-reference features... probably a changeling child, and in trouble. There's nothing Iuliael can do about that. Even Nimami, or Helen is the human name she's picked, even she can only do so much, and she's so focused and capable. It's so tremendously sad.

You are supposed to pull blankets over people who're sleeping, leaving their heads uncovered. Iuliael casts around for something that could work like a blanket. A rug? Too stiff. How about a slip cover? Yeah. Iuliael removes a fringed, elaborately patterned cover from an ottoman, which is plain underneath, and lays it carefully over the child.

With the letter out of the way the angel is curious, but it's been impressed on them that you don't wake people unless they need to be awake right now. Iuliael drifts through the room and settles to wait, finding another song that shouldn't wake anyone, another series of songs, and just goes on, entirely overtaken by the pleasure of singing them. This happens often.

Steven sleeps more soundly then than he has for a while, the angel's crooning gently reminding him that he's not alone, even as he rests. He doesn't quite notice the fabric that's been draped on him, since it feels so natural. He'll sleep for a solid three hours if left undisturbed, before gradually awaking to the familiar tune.

His eyes focus and get sees that the angel is still there. He smiles a little too himself, feeling actually relaxed for the first time since his escape. He listens for a while longer while awake before finally speaking.

"What's your name?" he asks.

Outside it's still dark, and people have not started coming down to see about breakfast yet, but that point is closer.

By then Iuliael's wound up singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star", treating the nursery song with more dignity than it usually gets and singing about the traveler in the dark like it's touching and meaningful. They get to finish the song, which is appreciated.

"I am Iuliael." The grave statement is completely ruined a second later. "You woke up! Hello! Were you happy sleeping? I didn't want to watch, I heard that kind of thing's creepy." And belatedly. "...oh, what's your name?"

The angel doesn't glow, or rather, they do, but the effect is mostly like they're in slightly brighter, cooler lighting than their surroundings, in this case the cozy golden light of a couple of lamps.

Steven smiles a little and says "It's okay. I liked listening to you singing. It helped me sleep."

He sits up a little, stretching - and notices the slip cover? He lifts the edge of it in a hand, perplexed. Did the angel do this? "Um."

"I'm Steven," he answers, before he forgets. "Did you give me this?"

"I sing a lot," Iuliael says, with a tone of voice that carries a rare suggestion of wry self-awareness. "But I'm glad you liked it. Yes. Don't sleeping people need blankets? Are you done now? Should I put it back, Steven?"

Iuliael pronounces Steven's name with the exact same emphasis as when he said the name, handling it with the delicate tongs of someone who memorizes names carefully because they don't always come easily.

Edited 2017-06-07 00:14 (UTC)

Steven sits up, curling his arms around his knees. He nods his head, smiling a little, because the way Iuliael talks is really cute. He's kind of weird, but that's alright. At least Steven doesn't feel as worried about seeming weird in return.

"Yeah, I'm done. Thank you," he says. His smile brightens. "I like to sing, too. I think."

Nodding Iuliael takes the slip cover back and arranges it more or less correctly on the ottoman, all smiles as Steven admits to liking singing. "We'll have to sing together! That's the thing I'm best at, you know. I could teach you a song."

Yeah this is probably right, and definitely not time to think about how other angels don't have to fuss over these things and also 'get' gender and don't have to ask what they've got to ask.

"Are you a boy, or a girl, or uh... an other?" Iuliael asks carefully. Sometimes people get angry and expect it to be obvious but it's really not, there's a long list of clothes and physical characteristics that are often really subtle or outright hidden and also aren't always indicative.

Steven blinks. He doesn't actually think much of that question, or of the fact that it's ambiguous to Iuliael. It's never really something that's been a concern to Steven, so his response is casual.

"A boy," he says, looking a little curious. "Why?"

"I wanted to know. You're not wearing a skirt and your hair is short, but lots of girls don't wear skirts and have short hair. I'm not good at telling just from looking... people say it's easy, but I can't." Iuliael shrugs. There's a colorless, eye-spotted shawl draped across their shoulders now, where there probably wasn't before.

"But it's good you're a boy. It's generally good you're a boy, it's not better than being something else," the angel clarifies. "I like all the genders, but I can be a boy too. Call me 'he', okay?" In some unfathomable past when Iuliael had been human, there must have been a gender, even if it was one of the in between ones. It's kind of exciting.

"Oh! Okay," Steven says, understanding what the angel is saying, or what he intends, at least. His nods, and then smiles in friendly agreement. "I like all the genders, too. I think."

He sounds a little hesitant at the last part because he isn't sure how many genders there are. He must not know a lot about genders, yet.

"I wouldn't mind being a girl either! But I'm pretty sure I'm a boy." He doesn't honestly know what the difference is supposed to be, besides weenies maybe, and not even always that apparently?

"And that's good! Angels don't... some angels have genders. The more humanlike ones, or the ones that can be more humanlike and then they really liked a gender and kept it. I don't really understand, but it's fun."

He totally plays dress-up with pronouns, trying them on to see how they look or to match the people around him, then casually casting them off for next time.

"There's a lot of things I don't understand. Maybe some day I will, though. I've been getting better, I've been able to remember more things." That helpless smile again. "Did you meet Helen?"

Not having a gender seems practical, from Steven's perspective, considering how irrelevant its always felt. But, he's also not up enough on that kind of discourse to have much to say about it, either. Which means his interest sticks to some of that other stuff.

It strikes a familiar note.

"Um... yeah, I did," he says, but feels the need to backtrack a little. "Do you mean... you forgot a bunch of stuff? Why?"

"I did. It's all really complicated and messy, but, uh, there was this angel," and here Iuliael tips his head back, looks ceilingwards with a strangely intent expression, and sings a short phrase. The words are incomprehensible, but there's somehow a suggestion of fire and vastness and the joyful anger of righteous purpose.

Even before the reverberation's died down Iuliael's looking bewildered and good-humored again. "Or the Dove of God, though that's a really, really bad translation, it never liked translations but most people can't pronounce... um, anyway. It sent a hand down here to do things while it was in Heaven, and the hand got cut off, and became me. There's lots of things I'm not good at. It's like... why would a hand need to remember things, or judge, or... do anything on its own, when the mind that commands it can just tell it what to do?" He pulls his hand across his head and down his neck, awkward. They're good metaphors as far as he's concerned, but do they make sense to people who aren't so scattered?

"So I'm not as, as good at things as other angels. They're complete, and I'm not. But I'm getting better."

"I see..." Steven says, frowning. He thinks he does understand what Iuliael is talking about, sort of. If he's just part of someone, how could he do everything the full version had done? Or... something. Humans don't live the same way as humans, do they?

Steven has to admit he's felt the same way, since he escaped. Incomplete, like the fae parts of him are just an empty space instead of an actual piece of his identity. While at the same time, they aren't something he wants to be at all.

"I forgot things, too," he says, slowly. "When I was in the garden. I can't... really remember where I lived, or... a lot of stuff. It's really scary."

Oh, good. Sometimes when Iuliael's tried explaining things it's just resulted in blank incomprehension. He's been working on getting more concise, on not explaining every little thing. Doesn't mean he's always managing it.

"People act like memory's so solid, but it changes and washes away so easily. Some of it you don't even notice. I'm sorry that happened to you, though. It is scary." And Steven's at least part human and probably gets older, too. He might die or his people might die before he figured out where to go. Iuliael does have enough self-awareness not to say that thought out loud, at least.

Steven is silent for a little while after that, quietly accepting Iuliael's perspective. However, after allow it to sink in for a few moments, something else occurs to him.

"Do you ever... remember stuff that never happened?" he asks. "Like... you remember it happening, but... it's wrong?"

Iuliael was thinking of a song, but if the conversation's going to keep going that's good too! He has all the time in the world to sing, but not all the people in the world to talk to.

"It depends," he says hesitantly. There were things he'd done as part of the Dove which are now repellent, but Steven's first sentence suggests that's not the kind of wrong he means. "My memory isn't good. I've only just remembered, in the past few days, that I was human once. Sometimes it happens, a virtuous human is made into an angel. I... feel like this human was more normal, though."

He shrugs. "Maybe pre-angels are normal inside, and it's what they do? I don't know. Is that what you mean?"

"I don't know," Steven says more quietly, obviously bothered by the feeling but not sure how to phrase it. He had no idea that angels were ever humans either, actually, but he knows very little about angels so that makes sense. "It's stuff like... I keep remembering living next to the ocean, but I know I grew up here. I... don't know how that could fit in."

He glances away, frowning.

"I can't even remember where in the city I did live, but... for some reason when I try to remember I just think about the beach. I don't understand it."

"The ocean?" he echoes, and then for some reason he wants to say that's not an ocean and remembers it, just an instant of it, like a postcard. A body of water slate blue with the light from the sky, big enough that the other shore was too far away to see, but it was so still compared to the sea, merely wrinkled and rippled. The only waves were caused by wind. Seagulls. Sand caught between his toes. The smell, sunscreen and dead fish and none of the brine of ocean. An appreciation for the fine day, but under it, the thought. All this will be gone unless-

"Unless we stop them," Iuliael mumbles, his eyes wide. For a moment his clothing much more closely resembles odd wings gathered like fabric and wrapped like he's hugging himself. The memory is so clear but so short, and there's no context at all. Who we or they are, where that was, anything.

But it's also not relevant right now and it's so rude to zone out like this in a conversation! He blinks several times, trying to pull his scattered thoughts together. "Um. Maybe, uh..."

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⇨ The Tourist Trap: WEEK 1

Sanctuary

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THOUGHT OF SOMEWHERE TO TAKE THIS

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