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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A> Soliciting for the United Order (all week)

Everywhere across the city and her streets this week, you are bound to spot a ragged, teenage changeling harassing supernaturals of all types. He appears to be a normal brown-haired boy at first glance, but if you can see through his glamour, you may notice he has lavender eyes and pointed ears. As he stalks down the sidewalk, his beige coat sways behind him, revealing a glimpse of blue and white: wings like that of a kingfisher, connected to his hips.

Wherever he may be--the park, outside the cat cafe, on your doorstep arguing with a homeless werechicken--he is approaching a supernatural person with a blunt attitude and a con-artist's sharp smile. He will stand in your way on the sidewalk. He will lean in the doorframe and block your entrance to the cafe. If they try to blow him off, he will say aloud for all to hear that a strong changeling or warlock such as yourself ought to ally itself with a group where everyone is equal, a group that may just change things.

Human heads turn. He's threatening exposure unless they step aside and speak with him on the matter. He doesn't care who they are, or how easily they could beat him up.

Maybe it's you that he's harassing. Either way, it all pretty much starts the same:

"Hey there. Are you looking for more community than the Pack and Circle provide?" That's it. Sell that rebel group.

B> Looking for Lost Birds (2nd)

Roses have been lurking in the back of Allen's mind as of late. It's a distracting topic, this constant fear that the Rose Queen could be watching them all, moving to destroy or claim every changeling her precious purebloods have ever sown.

It's been so preoccupying, he hasn't had the time to dwell on the new memories that have popped their strange, ugly heads in his mind.

But while his mind is occupied with one mystery, he can't ignore something so glaringly, obviously dangerous as bloodied posters calling for a meeting place in the woods. Can no one be discreet anymore? It's like villains aren't even trying.

Soon after a poster has been slapped on a wall near the fountain park, Allen kneels below it and tests the hotness of the matches between his fingers. Anyone passing by or gathering will see the glamoured changeling subtly pocket a handful of feathers, matches, and rose petals.

He quickly rises and rushes by, bumping your shoulder as he passes with nary a glance. There's a figure running from the crowd, and Allen is already throwing up a don't-look-here-charm. He does not disappear so much as blend into the crowd. You can see him if you look out the corner of your eye, but if you try to stare directly at him, he just isn't there.

Do you follow to yell at him? Will you investigate with him? He's certainly suspicious . . .

Wildcard!

[Do we have CR plans? Assumed CR? Do you just wanna hit me with another prompt? Please do! Either ask for a specific starter or throw me one.]

A small blue bird soars above the crowd, flitting between pedestrians to the other side of the street and back again. Strangely, the kingfisher hovers near any interesting conversations, as if it's listening in. It alights on the railing of a stairway, head cocked to the side. The moment the conversation trails off, it moves on. It never stays long.

Even discounting its eavesdropping, perhaps the strangest thing is kingfishers don't belong in cities. They belong on the water. In Europe.

The bird scans the street below before dropping down on a trash can just off the sidewalk. It sorts through the slim pickings on top before shaking its whole body, as if offended by the selection. It's all soda cans and beer bottles. Useless. It begins preening itself adorably instead, beak thrust under a wing.

Kingfishers are definitely not common in Portland, Yuya knows that much. Which is why it catches his attention among all the other standard doves and pigeons, and he stops during his cut through the park with a corndog in hand. He approaches, slowly, and stops a few feet away--he doesn't want to startle the bird into leaving after all.

While Allen is preening on the trash can, Yuya rips off a small piece of his corndog and tosses it to him. Or at him, if his aim is no good.

The corndog piece bumps right off Allen's wing and onto the ground. The bird spooks, flapping wildly with a startled squeak. But rather than flying away like any natural bird should, it looks straight at Yuya before dropping onto the ground and snatching up the delicious morsel.

Hey, free food is free food. All is forgiven. After gobbling it down, Allen hops closer, head tilting questioningly. Please, sir, can I have some more?

Yuya flinches when he accidentally hits Allen with the food... but at least it doesn't scare him away. In fact, to Yuya's delight the kingfisher comes right up to him.

He grins, ripping off more small crumbs of corndog bread and dropping it to the ground. And then he's fishing through his pocket to find his phone, pulling up the camera. "That is way cool."

Allen is already tearing into the breadcrumbs when Yuya pulls out his phone. He fluffs up self-consciously, which really just increases his cuteness factor by fifty. Human PR probably isn't a good thing. It'll go on the Internet, people will be on the lookout for a kingfisher in town, and it'll be harder to eavesdrop. (How thirsty does he think people are for cute animal pictures?)

Yuya will probably have enough time for one or two photos before Allen lifts into the air and alights on Yuya's shoulder. Picture that, punk.

Don't mind if he just edges toward the rest of his corndog . . .

Edited (I CAN ENGLISH) 2017-06-08 00:59 (UTC)

Two pictures is enough for Yuya. He's checking how blurry the second one is when Allen lands on his shoulder. He glances over, then puffs up proudly with a grin.

"Hey! Are you gonna come with me, then?" He tilts his corndog closer. Guess he's done with that now, if feeding the kingfisher keeps it docile.

Allen sticks his tiny beak right in that thing and voraciously pecks away at it. That's enough of an answer, right? Yuya has earned himself a kingfisher companion for a while.

So much for caution.

Yuya wonders if he can just take Allen home with him. He has a while walk home to figure out how to convince Bob to let him keep him.

He keeps walking, veering away from his usual shortcut over the fence so as not to disturb Allen while he eats. This is awesome, he's a bird-whisperer.

It's about ten minutes of walking and eating, tweeting along with Yuya if there's any conversation, before Allen gets bored. His little bird tummy is full, and while that will wear off shortly after transforming back into his every day form, for now, he's content.

Rather than ride Yuya's shoulder all the way home and risk exposure, Allen takes off into the air -- turning round for just a moment to chirp a thank you, goodbye -- and zips down the street and into a nearby dark alley.

He drops down behind a trashcan and, thinking he's alone, lets himself transform into a boy. His lavender eyes and silver hair may not be anything like the kingfisher's colors, but his wings stretch out from his hips as Allen reaches behind his neck and stretches.

Yuya's so lost in daydreaming about his new fancy bird pet, he almost misses Allen leaving. He starts suddenly and stares up at Allen as he tweets--and then disappears into the alley.

"W-wait!" Yuya bounces to the alley quickly, watching him dart behind the trash can. "Come back! It's really nice at my home, you'll like it--uh."

He slams his hands against the top of the trashcan a little too loud as he pushes against it, leaning over to stare down at... a boy. Not a bird.

Definitely not a bird.

This isn't the first time Lambert's seen this guy hanging around the cafe harassing customers -- usually people who look strange to Lambert's vision, too, some of them even more fantastical than the boy. When he's not doing that, he's pressing his face to the window and creeping out the people inside. It's bad for business, and more than once already he's had to chase him off either with pure physical intimidation or pastry bribery.

Lambert thinks the latter is a terrible thing, guaranteed he's just going to keep showing up like a stray cat, but he's obviously not getting enough to eat.

Today, though, he isn't in a generous mood. Which means when he spots the kid moving towards one of the customers leaving the cafe -- a business man who resembles a hedgehog stuffed into a suit, clearly someone who doesn't need more stress on top of city life -- he heads over to intercept, clapping a hand on Allen's shoulder before he can accost them.

"And where do you think you're going?" Lambert says, with forced cheer. It's probably vaguely terrifying, because he looks and sounds like death warmed over.

Edited 2017-06-08 22:53 (UTC)

Allen slowly turns toward the taller, burly man that has more right to be a bouncer than a damn barista. He grins, nervous lips stretched thin over far-too-white teeth, and answers like they're old friends and the man will hopefully not tear him in twain.

"Oh, you know. Seeing the sights. Admiring your beautiful cafe. Making faces at cats." Allen casts his eyes around them, looking for a way out. "Hopefully making friends?"

Lambert is tired of this. Not of Allen coming around to bother customers in particular -- though he's always been smart enough to keep it off the cafe proper -- but this whole week's been a hell of a rollercoaster as it is.

"Right," he drawls, then grimaces, rubbing his other hand over his face. "Look, it's not a good week to hang around here." Thanks to knowing too damn much about the fae now, anyone going out of their way to bother people that don't look normal to him, they're pretty suspect.

"Don't you have something better to do with all this time?" He doesn't ask if he has somewhere better to go to. That answers itself easily enough.

This kid again. Childermass has his own problems — a mage demanding poisonous plants and other things, the Rose Queen demanding he deal with an unknown faerie, things — and catching Allen harassing people isn't one he wants to deal with today. He should just keep walking, ignore him and the fear of exposure he's threatening some poor plant-based changeling with, but there's just something utterly frustrating about it.

Don't these people have a right to privacy? A right to tell someone to get lost, leave them be? After everything else they've been through? So Allen is about to find the older, taller Winter changeling stepping in before he has the chance to finish raising his voice to announce what they are, a hand snapping out to grab for the boy's collar and drag him roughly around to face him instead should he get it.

Of course, the other changeling — being an escapee from the Rose Queen no doubt, if the flowers sprouting from their hair tells him anything — will immediately lurch back in horror at the arrival of tall, dark, and crow-like. It's not a secret among the other changeling that he still works for the Queen, but he isn't here to drag anyone off back to her gardens. Not this time.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? This? You're still doing this? When has this ever worked for you?"

He says it in a low growl, pitched so only Allen and the poor flowery changeling nearby can hear.

Allen's collar is easily grabbed, and he quickly finds himself face-to-face with the sourest face he's seen all day. He does his best to match it.

His first instinct is to stick out his chest, stand on his toes, and defend his methods. It's a childish impulse, and he kicks it down his throat and into his gut. He forces his scowl to transform from pissed to fairly unaffected, but it's clear that last line got to him.

No, this has never worked for him. More often than not, it gets him beat up. But dammit, he's desperate, and with a war probably brewing, he's got to try something.

The flowery changeling is fearfully backing up from the display, planning to make a break for it, but Allen's attention is on Childermass.

"It nets me some allies. Got your attention, didn't it?" Allen spreads his arms wide -- if Childermass' grip is still on his collar, he's not struggling. "What would you recommend I do?"

And Childermass is more than happy (well, not really, not truly) to keep on holding Allen's attention so the other changeling can slip away unaccosted. He isn't here to grab and drag changelings back to the Rose Queen's court, not today, hopefully not tomorrow, preferably never again, but he knows that's too much to hope for. That, however, isn't the topic here.

"I'm not your ally," he growls back, shoving Allen away again by his collar once he's noted the flowery dude making his less than daring escape. It's only then that he'll let go. "And I recommend you let people decline in peace. Just because the Rose Queen doesn't have you on her radar doesn't mean there aren't things lurking nearby, listening, keeping an eye out. You really want allies? How about you don't put their lives in danger from the get go?"

Edited 2017-06-21 21:08 (UTC)

Allen stumbles back, and it takes him a moment to regain his bearings. By the time Childermass is quite done, Allen is readjusting the collar of his jacket irritably.

"The fear works to motivate them, I think. I'm not trying to make friends," Allen responds, brows drawn together, confused as to why anyone might want such a thing and concerned Childermass isn't aware friends are a terrible idea. Are they going to need to have a talk? "But we're not going to change the way things are around here if we don't all work together."

"Then your so-called order is never going to amount to anything," is the answer Childermass has for that, looking down his nose at Allen and scowling the whole while. "You'll be no better than the faerie courts, acting like that. Having people do your bidding through fear alone and, worse, you've no way to actually force them to stick around like they do."

So useless, basically, at least in his own mind. Although the outlook Allen has isn't a big surprise. It's typical of Winter Court the most of all, recruiting and ruling through fear and strength alone.

Edited 2017-06-26 02:53 (UTC)

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⇨ The Tourist Trap: WEEK 1

Allen | OTA

Closed to Yuya // birb feeding

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A, as discussed! October 5-ish, afternoon

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