ITP: LARS DEALS WITH STRESS POORLY (A SHOCKER)

[mossbuds]

Who: Lars and YOUUUUUU
When: S1:D41 morning, afternoon and late night
Where: 1) home trailer, 2) ferriswheel, 3) misc right
What: Lars gets his first changes! And also, loses his mind a little! He's shaken up by changes, and also the events from the Matrix finale.
Warnings: As always, Lars's potty mouth. But also, booze?????

BTW i will mimic format- so if you wanna do prose or action either's cool


➨ 1. Holy Fuck Not This Shit (closed to Strange)
Lars wakes groggily, feeling exhausted. His sleep schedule's all fucked up—he hasn't been able to sleep well since the shooting at the Big Top, and not having work to drag his ass out of bed just makes the problem worse. Miserable as he is, on top of sleepless nights, it's so easy to just stay in bed all day. But even for Lars, it's been a lot of sleep.

Having concluded his 13 hours of recent sleep around 2pm, Lars finally pushes himself up. He then realizes his mouth feels—weird. He moves his tongue in his mouth, which feels too full, and finds his teeth feel... thinner. Horrified and suddenly very awake, Lars lurches forward, parting his mouth a little bit to touch his teeth—which are all thin, long and sharp, doubled in number.

In response, Lars lets out a pretty long, shrill scream.



➨ 2. Drown Your Sorrows (or Don't)
It has been a pretty dang shitty couple of weeks. Besides having his second harrowing near death encounter with Steven, wherein he was almost shot one or nine times, that which Lars has been anticipating with dread for several weeks has finally occurred. After following up the horrifying discovery of his first transformation with an undoubtedly infuriating exchange with his annoying roommate, Lars has decided to finally get the hell out of the trailer, for better or for worse.

Overwhelmed with despair, anxiety and this momentary anger, Lars decides to follow some very stupid advice, because he's completely at a loss. He doesn't have any friends here—besides Steven, who Lars wouldn't want to unload on (he has trouble opening up to even his best friends; he wasn't about to make a kid listen to that), and he doesn't have any sufficient distractions for his rapid firing Gen X brain. So after a few cursory inquiries, Lars gets to the cook house. And with entitled confidence, he swipes a bottle of liquor, but does wait until he's positive he won't really be caught.

He shoves into his bomber jacket side, zipping it, and squeezes it in place with his elbow as he storms out. Kind of following another thread of advice, Lars heads for the ferris wheel. It's currently unmanned, since it's off week, and Lars abuses his POWER OF KEYS!! to open up the gate around it and clamber into one of the low hanging carriages.

There, he shoves himself down on the seat, scowling. He fishes out the bottle, grumbling as he screws off the cap of it, his head a dumb echo chamber of self pity—and naturally, follows that up with a swig of what appears to be some heavy, brown liquor. His eyes immediately go wide and he sputters, only managing to swallow half his swig before he spits the rest out gracelessly. This dissolves into a bunch of coughing and a hard, full body shudder as Lars winces his eyes shut, hiding his mouth behind his sleeve as he attempts to recover.

Whyyyy do people drink this shit, actually?????



➨ 3. Panic! At the Center Stage
Having failed miserably at unwinding his tension that day, and having woken up rather late, Lars is wide awake and anxious around midnight. He made it back to his trailer earlier in the night, but is feeling restless again. He gets up, grabs his bomber and abruptly departs again.

He decides going for a walk—a sober walk (not that he'd even gotten drunk) at night in the crisp air might soothe his brain a little bit. Well, maybe. So he just anxiously strolls about at a quick, unrelated pace, his arms shoved into the pockets of his jacket with stiff, uncomfortable posture. As he's walking, he feels himself actually begin to get worse—he increases the pace of his steps to a jog as he feels his heart race for no reason.

He squeezes his eyes shut as he begins to run, veering away from the center stage in a hurry. He stops somewhere near the misc right, winded, and rests his palms on top of his knees as he hangs his head. Once he kind of catches his breath, he hiccups a little with a small sob, chin dimpling. He straightens up, putting his hands over his face as he takes a deep breath, trying to get himself to calm down so he doesn't cry in public like a complete fuckin' baby.

[ooc: for reference, he looks like this!]

Comments

3

[waitingforplayer2]

Chiaki rarely has much reason to extricate herself from Yuugi, who she cuddles with on a fairly regular basis now, every night. But sleep is coming to her slowly, and the stumping walk outside her trailer disturbs her. She rouses herself and looks out the window -- and manages to recognize the lanky figure turning the corner.

This isn't her business, she thinks. He probably just wants to be left alone.

She goes looking for him anyway.

Her hops aren't exactly quiet, and she doesn't have much of a lead on where Lars went. But it isn't blind hope leading her as she eases herself out of the trailer, still in her nightshirt. Her keen ears follow Lars' walk, eventually a run, and she begins to hop after him, as quietly as she can. It's not until he stops that she manages to catch up.

[mossbuds]

Lars is too distracted by his debatably petty turmoil to notice Chiaki, and he sniffles, wiping his eyes and cheeks. Occasionally, thick tears drop from his eyes. He isn't crying a heavy, messy cry, and he hasn't since his coworker trapped him on an island, really—it's just a dam that's been waiting to crack, but Lars has been doing a good job keeping it at bay. He doesn't wanna lose the entirety of his shit now.

Grumbling, Lars takes a deep, deep breath, wiping his eyes for what's hopefully the final time. He clenches his fists, trying to veer his mind away from the fact that he's turning into a hideous monster—and that he misses his parents, and Sadie, and the entire dumb city. He focuses on his breathing, but can still feel he's uncomfortably teetering on the edge of a breakdown.

"Calm down," he mumbles at himself shakily. "God, calm down, calm down, calm down..."

[waitingforplayer2]

This isn't her business, she thinks.

It's not entirely clear to her what to do, really. Her coworker is just standing there sort of talking to himself. He's obviously not okay.

When she isn't okay, sometimes she just needs some time to herself. But sometimes she doesn't. She hasn't really figured that out herself.

She fiddles with the game console in her pocket, and flicks the on switch by mistake, causing the little machine to emit a loud musical chime -- startling her as much as it does Lars.

3

[faking]

Speaking of complete fuckin' babies...

"Well now," says a boy's voice, gone very soft. There's a little sigh to accompany it, something sounding bone-weary, a stretching of limbs and probably the heart. "Well now." This time it's a little louder; he must want to be heard. Not that he sounds angry or anything. Not that he sounds much of any way in particular...

A mild glow hits the air as Alois Trancy peeks himself around the edge of the center stage's perimeter. He must have been tucking himself away, up against the stage's shadowed flank. Now he reveals himself just enough to let his squinting eyes glitter at Lars in his own luminescence.

He gives one sniff, for once more practical than haughty. "I was crying here first," he says finally. His voice doesn't crack or anything, but at least he sounds serious. His cheeks are wet, too, so there's that. His gemstones have finally reached his face, in just a couple of places, including one tiny amethyst that almost functions as a beauty mark below his eye. When he blinks over at Lars, his wet eyelashes almost stick together, and his elongated ears give more of a twitch than his passive face.

[mossbuds]

"Fuck!!"

Lars jumps considerably, his hands lifted in immediate panic when he hears Alois—only catching him the second time, and he whirls around to catch him. He recognizes him immediately, but sees that—he's also a little different. Come to think of it, Lars isn't sure he's seen Alois very recently. He'd assumed that Alois had gone through all his changes. He looks shocked, momentarily, like he's at a loss for words.

Then, things sinking in again, he hurriedly wipes his face with his arm, making a weird sound between a growl and a shout. "Nnnnngah! Damn it, I ain't cryin'," he lies obviously, knowing full well that he was caught. But whatever. "I'm just allergic to shitty magical circus hellscapes."

At least he's embarrassed enough to be pulled away from his impending fit of sobbing, for now.

[faking]

At the display—Lars is right to be embarrassed, in Alois' opinion—both of Alois' eyebrows raise, although his eyes are only about half-lidded... before his eyebrows crease a little, in the center, angled upward. His mouth twitches— "Haha—" It's pretty close to actual laughter. Then he huffs out a short breath as though he's offended by that fact.

"...Okay," he says, at last, settling with his shoulder against the side of the center stage, still out of view. But what is visible of him indicates a mellow posture. "I hear you want a change of landscape, for an affliction like that, but I wager that's rather the point here, isn't it. Well, maybe you just need to build up a tolerance." The line of his mouth is thin, but raises just enough that it might be called a smile. He disappears, though, quite suddenly, pulling his head back around the corner and out of sight.

One moment more, and now comes his hand, still crested with crusts of gems, still glowing in that eerie magical way. He's wearing his gold-and-ruby ring, of course. There's a lemon in his palm, just a little one. "Here," comes his disembodied voice.

2

[cuckooed]

"Careful," a voice came from behind. "You're liable to combust if you drink Islay scotch like that."

Ah, the taste of peat and barley. And the smell, too, once a bottle's open; once she picked up on it it was like a vulture to carrion. So Koel steps forward, still behind Lars' carriage as she speaks.

"You're not a very good delinquent, you know. Or good at choosing a less staunch drink."

[mossbuds]

Lars jumps and then stills in both fear and mortification, his hand still clamped over his mouth, its twin around the neck of the bottle. Unable to help it, he coughs against his hand, tears in his eyes from the burn. Not knowing anything about alcohol, it's no wonder Lars went and picked something so... inappropriate.

He coughs again, wiping his mouth as he turns to face Koel and scowl. His instinct is to shrink in shame apologetically, because he—stole, in the height of wild, angry teen boy emotions.

He sniffs once.

"Who's a delinquent," he mutters rhetorically, intending to sound cranky, but it sounds more sulky. "Booze is free, ain't it. Compensation for turning into disgusting freaks?"

He shudders again, a little. Eugh. Even on the aftertaste, it's awful; Lars absolutely can't handle bitter flavors.

[cuckooed]

"Not if you're underaged." This poor kid looks ready to drip snot from his nose hairs being singed. "'Freak' or no. You shouldn't worry about drowning your sorrows as a kid. You'l have plenty of time as an adult to find the right drink, I'm sure."

1, duh.

[kingsroads]

Strange had been sitting at the table, writing in a small little notebook. Childermass was keeping notes, he might as well take notes also. After all, the other man was definitely going to leave before he would. He's so wrapped up in his writing and making his notes that he doesn't notice Lars has woken up in the slightest...until Lars lets out an ear-splitting scream and Strange almost falls out of his chair.

Well obviously something's wrong. Getting up, he rushes over towards Lars's room...and then pauses for once because he's gotten yelled at enough for suddenly appearing via mirror, he's not going to be yelled at this time. So, tentatively, Strange yells in Lars's general direction,

"Is everything alright?"

lispy boy

[mossbuds]

"No!!" Lars shouts back, then claps his hands over his mouth, because that word—felt...weird. It's good that Strange didn't barge into his room, though, because Lars is naked. He jumps out of his blankets a little clumsily, and grabs a pair of underwear off the floor. He hops into them unsteadily, then examines himself in the mirror (he now makes it a habit to be dressed in front of mirrors, okay).

He...screams again, seeing his eyes, and leans forward, pulling his lower eyelids down. He opens his mouth, jolting with shock as he sees his teeth and reeling back. He comes back forward, however, to roll out his tongue, curious because he'd seen some strange blue gums. His tongue basically topples out, twice as long, a little thinner, and ultraviolet.

"Holy thit!!"

2

[atouts]

It just isn't Lars's day, is it? Because the way he lifted that bottle — poorly, by the way — was enough to draw Childermass's attention. He's mostly been lurking, not much interested in chatting after the entire 'agent possession' ordeal, but at the very least he should go after the poor lad and tell him he's a terrible thief.

So he does, only he doesn't bother lifting the 'don't see me' spell right up until after Lars has holed up in the ferris wheel carriage and proven, not only is he a bad thief, but he's also a really bad drinker.

"Have you even ever drunk anything like that before?"

Surprise, surprise, Lars isn't alone in the carriage, though Childermass has at least been kind enough to end up sitting across from him rather than right next to. It's already creepy enough, no need to make it that much worse. Anyway, speaking out is what breaks the invisibility. So, yeah. Just suddenly there. That's magicians for you. He's even acting as though there's nothing weird about it at all, instead holding a hand out for the bottle.

"Here, let me see that."

[mossbuds]

"Duwahghhhgh SHIT!!"

It's startling enough for the ever high strung Lars, and he fumbles with the bottle, nearly dropping it. He gathers himself tensely, eyes wide and angry as he stares accusatorily at the man who just appeared out of thin air to take a shot at his already fiber thin masculinity. These stupid fucking magic men. Rude as hell.

But... Lars doesn't want to possessively cling onto the scotch in defiance. It's gross, and he doesn't want to have to posture by drinking more, so he irritably shoves it in Childermass's direction.

"...I haven't drunk nothin' before," he mutters. He wanted to lie and say he's just used to better stuff, but he's. Tired. Totally deflated and without bravado.

2

[drrdrrdrr]

"Hey, donut kid!" The top of Amethyst's head appears over the edge of the window of the ferris wheel carriage a few seconds later. (She definitely isn't tall enough to achieve that without doing something awful like elongating her neck, so it's probably better not to take a closer look. "You gonna finish that?"

amethyst no

[mossbuds]

Lars is spooked, and he clutches the bottle of whiskey. He stares with wide eyes, not totally dissimilar to Amethyst's skin tone, his bony knees hiked high. "Wh—!"

His expression shifts from terror to indignation. "What, this entire bottle of scotch???" He gestures to it dramatically. "I'm 130 pounds! I'd probably die!"

2, also

[osteothropy]

Aw, fuck.

See, he knew that he has literally given this advice himself, but now that he sees it unfolding - well, he's not especially pleased with the result. Especially since, according to his stalker-vision, the kid has dragged out a murder quantity of scotch to one of the stationary rides. That just sounds like a recipe for accidentally offing yourself, in his opinion.

Which is probably a garbage opinion when Sans, himself, is actually sort of drunk right now. Shit. This is why he's fucking terrible.

He leaves it be for a while, not really feeling like he has any place to intrude, while simultaneously being aware that this is probably actively his fault in the first place. After witnessing some dramatics from a distance, he finally makes the determination that he has to do a thing, even if it's a stupid thing.

He appears sort of unceremoniously. Lars has probably seen him around by now, but may not have connected him to the time they'd spoke on the radio. Sans had figured out the opposite mostly just because he can be clever like that, when he tries.

"Hey," he says, leaning over the edge of the carriage. "Any luck?"

[mossbuds]

Lars yelps when Sans suddenly catches him, and immediately feels like he's in trouble. He knows Sans is one of the supervisors, though he doesn't know anything else—he has seen him at a distance, and has both puzzled over and admired him. Cuz on one hand, skeletons are really cool. On the other, he's super tiny and non threatening, so kind of less cool.

Lars's hand is loosely over his mouth, shielding another cough, and he grits his teeth. He decides to bluff confidence.

"Mind your business."

OOPS shit that was—too far, over compensating; too ballsy. He immediately looks a little sheepish, realizing himself, and moves back into looking sullen and put out. He then blinks, having reflected on it a little, and he glances back at Sans, the dawning apparent on his face.

"...Er...I mean...uh, yeah, a little," he answers, completely contradicting his reflexive and initial response. Conceding is as close as Lars ever gets to apologies. He looks at the bottle, seeming perplexed. "My head's a little fuzzy."

Just the babiest beginnings of a buzz.

3

[puddingemote]

It's late, and Tamaki should really be in bed. In fact, sleeping sounds excellent right about now, but after all the time he missed being kidnapped, and then resting up from being kidnapped, and then resting up from having a bug removed from his stomach, he feels like he should put in the extra hours to make up for it. (It's weird, for him, but lately he's felt more incentive to work than be lazy.)

Right about the time Lars comes running in, he's up in the silks, trying to get his splits right. It's a lot harder to do the splits without the ground to force his legs to the right angle, especially since he hasn't gotten the hang of wrapping the silks around his legs properly for support. As it is, he usually ends up floundering around in a tangled mess. At least he has a safety net up right now.

He's untangling himself when he hears the little sob from Lars's direction, faint enough that he almost isn't sure that's what it is at first. But Lars is definitely crying, he realizes when he gets a look at the other guy, and Tamaki hovers awkwardly in the air, wondering what he should do.

Should he try to cheer him up? In the orphanage, there were two types of criers, the kind who just wanted someone to comfort them and the kind who wanted everyone to leave them alone. Tamaki has no idea what kind of crier this guy is.

Regardless, he probably shouldn't stay up in the silks and stare at him like a creeper. Unceremoniously, Tamaki lets himself drop into the safety net like some kind of dead bird. He's been told not to get down that way, but no one is around to scold him.

Then he rolls off the net and lands with a thump on his feet.

"You okay?"

[mossbuds]

"Fuck!" Comes Lars's response, proving himself to be the latter type of kid. More specifically, he wanted to be left alone unless in the presence of a close friend who he trusted. Which isn't a type of person that Lars has. Not here.

He hurriedly wipes his face using the fabric of his jacket over his arms, cheeks burning with humiliation. At least this guy isn't anyone Lars has seen before; the changes that Lars are so upset about won't necessarily be news to him, with fresh eyes.

"Obviously not!" He explodes irritably, wishing he could get himself to stop. He suppresses another sob, and it sort of squeezes itself out of his throat in a growl. Thick tears come anew from the center of his eyes, and Lars hesitates to close his eyes, cuz he doesn't want them to fall. They do, and he grumbles, wiping his eyes again. "God, this fucking blows," he grumbles bitterly, sniffling as he wipes his face. "This is like a nightmare crafted lovingly and come to life for my personal hell."

2

[dorkypantsuit]

He only came over because he saw the gate open. He's just sort of walking about, thinking about this and that when he sees it. Assuming it was simply forgotten he moves over to close it. That's when he hears Lars sputtering and notices someone's actually sitting in one of the ferris wheel's carriages. He's not concerned, but he is curious, so he comes closer.

"What you got there?" he asks, smirking just a bit as he sees the brown bottle and begins to piece things together.

[mossbuds]

Lars's eyes widen and he chokes again, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he stares at the Psiionic. Lars doesn't feel like he's in trouble, exactly—Psiionic doesn't really seem strict in that regard. But it still feels weird and embarrassing, since Lars is pushing himself out of even his own comfort zone; he's only let himself go this far along because he would like to be someone who can drink straight liquor someday. It fits the aesthetic he's always trying to go for, which—just totally doesn't suit him, obviously.

He sniffles, his nose having started to run a little from the burn of the alcohol. He looks at the bottle, brows knit. He pauses for a moment to read the label.

"Uh—scotch, apparently."

2

[pipers_son]

Unfortunately for Lars, the Ferris Wheel- whether it's in operation or not- is one of Joker's favorite places to be ever since he first got the hang of flying. It's still in the carnival grounds, so he can respond to anything that needs his supervisor attention immediately, but it's high up enough that he knows he doesn't have to really worry about anyone bothering him. After all, he's pretty sure that, right now, the only other people who have wings or the ability to fly in the carnival... well, he can count it on one hand, which is good, because it's only one hand he's got.

Honestly he's just trying to catch a nap on one of the higher carriages when he hears the gate being open, and he leans over curiously just in time to see a lanky figure hustling in. Even from this height, Joker can tell from his posture that the kid is smuggling something. Hey, he used to do the same, once upon a time, although... He's not entirely sure this kid's little bit of theft and his theft are the same.

Ah, hell.... As a supervisor, he should probably do something about this, shouldn't he? Still, Joker gives him a couple of minutes before he finally gets up to flutter out of the carriage, gliding down onto the ground. Lars will be able to hear the flutter of wings a moment before Joker comes into view, landing smoothly and raising an eyebrow at the youth while he smiles.

Oh, so that's why he came down here. Joker recognizes that bottle.

"Y'know, when yer gonna get drunk, s'usually best ta do it in yer trailer. Less chance of bein' bothered, and ya don't have ta stumble drunk through the carnival and get inta who knows what kinda trouble."

[mossbuds]

Lars tenses when he hears the flutter of wings—it's not difficult to figure out that it's probably some carny who's sprouted flight capable extremities, and that he's caught. He resigns himself to it immediately with a guttural sigh and a roll of his eyes, wiping his mouth. While he's at it, he thumbs the corner of his eyes—choking on the scotch made him tear up, a little.

"Less chance of bein' bothered, except when you live with a frickin' lunatic," Lars retorts. Strange would likely leave him to his business and wouldn't interfere with Lars drinking, even if Lars wasn't a sneak about it—but Lars is just chafed by his earlier interaction with Strange. Not that he's ever anything but chafed with Strange, but this time it's more emotional and personal for Lars, being so vain and thus so wounded by his transformation.

what we planned etc

[mirrortide]

They'd met briefly earlier when he'd spat out whatever it had been when he was drinking, complaining that it tasted terrible. And Lapis, being Lapis, had more or less flown off to try and find him something better. She's uh, sort of not expecting to find him crying by the time she gets back with more bottles of... Okay, she doesn't actually know whats in them, but. Lapis lands not too far away, armful of various bottles clacking together.

"Um. I brought you some... other drinks?" She's trying really, really hard to be helpful? And boy, it sure is awkward talking to a distraught human. "I thought maybe one of these might be something you'd like?"

RIP

[mossbuds]

Lars seems surprised—and startled—to see Lapis again. Earlier, she'd flown off without a word, or at least, no real indication as to where she was going or what she was doing. He'd been a little uneasy about her from the get go, finding out pretty quickly that she was gem—by her appearance, and by the obvious, tear-shaped stone between her shoulder blades.

And of course, she has to catch him now, like this.

"Wh—what?" Lars sniffles loudly and kinda grossly, closing his eyes tightly as another wave of thick tears roll down his face. He tries to blink them away, looking at Lapis in confusion, his face ruddy with the upset and embarrassment.

It takes him a second to process this. She went and—got more alcohol? For him???

"Y—really? Me? Why?"