Lars (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mossbuds) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lostcarnival2017-01-10 06:09 pm
mossbuds) wrote in lostcarnival2017-01-10 06:09 pm
Entry tags:
ITP: LARS DEALS WITH STRESS POORLY (A SHOCKER)
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!]
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!]
no subject
It's a great fad, I heard about it from a foreign prince who told me it was all the rage in his land, it cures every heartbreak known to any man, it's all worthwhile. Lots of fun and ridiculous lies he could say, but he's tired, so instead there's just the soft thud of his head resting against the stage's side.
"So rude, as ever, you make such bad impressions." His voice has tilted down into something sour... which may be a good thing, since it's at least more of an emotional output than his recent vocal wither. "I gave you a small one, it's not so bad, just accept the kindness and do as you ought to. It's good for you."
no subject
"Who just...eats a lemon, though?" Lars asks sincerely, looking at the lemon dubiously before looking back up at Alois. "I mean, look, it's ...nice that you're givin' me one, or whatever, but I can't just eat it by itself." He sniffs, idly wiping a cheek that still feels cool from the wetness. He's distracted enough that his episode is passing. "I gotta use it when I'm like cookin' or somethin'..."
no subject
Now he puts half his body into view, clinging to the corner of the stage with his hands and angling his upper half so that he can fully look at Lars. "You can eat it by itself, you just don't want to. I don't blame you. It's a truly terrible experience. Makes your teeth feel soooo ghastly, you might want to die. And those weird places beneath your mouth, that feels bad, too." Though his legs aren't in view, it's obvious he's shuffling a bit, and then he kicks some lemon rind out into the open. "But that's kind of good. It passes. Your teeth are hurting and your mouth is watering all fierce and awful, but you can sit there knowing it will be done soon. And it gets a little less bad with every time, because you know what to expect. So if you go ahead and eat it, even if it's terrible, the terrible thing at least has a limit. You can be sure of it if nothing else."
Awful lot of introspection for citrus, right? But he must have been thinking about it quite a bit. And this genuinely is his way of trying to be nice.
He's just clumsy as fuck and doesn't have the greatest trains of thought.
no subject
"Uh...dude, are you okay?"
Lars may have just been caught crying and everything, Lars is becoming increasingly positive that Alois is actually losing his god damn mind. He never struck Lars as aggressively sane or anything, but jesus.
"Why the hell're you sitting in the dark, cryin', and eating fuckin' lemons even though it's awful? You sound like you're losin' it."
no subject
Then he takes a deep breath.
"Anyway, I'm all right, I was only crying because I felt like it, and the lemons have good meaning to them, and it's not that dark because I glow, in case you haven't noticed. Otherwise..." Otherwise... He scrunches up his mouth, seemingly impatient. "You were the one gasping like a lady near to fainting! Never in all my life have I witnessed such a display of absolute nervousness. 'Losing it'! You have a condition of the nerves, my friend."
no subject
"Who the hell wouldn't?!" Lars explodes loudly, the high octave of his indignant voice bouncing through the neighboring pillars. Now Lars is losing it—or rather, he already was. "This place fucking sucks," he shouts with exasperation. "I only came to this stupid place because I was sick of the tiny place I came from, and all the dumb problems there—" Of his invention, but anyway, "—and I got fuckin' stuck here!! With a job even more boring than the job I had back home! No fuckin—internet, no girls, no friends, no family—I almost got killed the other day—"
Theeeere it is. Lars's eyes are stinging with fat tears, dropping as immediately as they're replenished, his brows knit angrily as he throws an arm out to the side. "—and I'm turning into an ugly freak like the rest of you assholes!! I don't even get to have my damn humanity!" His anger dissolves; he's been trying to prop it over his despair. He grits his teeth, dropping his head into his forearm as his shoulders shake with a sob. "And you want me to just eat some fuckin' lemons, you fuckin' idiot. Fuck you."
LARS IS GOOD AT MAKING FRIENDS
no subject
There does come a point, though, where he has to look away; it's deeply uncomfortable to watch this much unfiltered emotion (not least because it's way too familiar to him). He tugs at the hem of one of his sleeves, swallowing a few times to try and get that discomfort (guilt) out of his throat.
"If you're feeling this bad," he mumbles, "you ought to realize that others of us must be, too, so it's no wonder I was crying, right? I'm just saying." His voice is halfway to apologetic, but too defensive to properly carry it.
His eyes lift back up, though his face is tilted downward. He's flushing with an unwelcome sort of shame. Alois knows very well that he'd make a mess of anyone's face if they made him feel as awful as Lars is expressing. And he knows, too, that he is... a measure more fortunate than Lars in the department of faerie dysphoria. Lars looks markedly different than he did when Alois first saw him, while Alois' own changes are minimal in comparison.
So, basically, Alois is able to face the fact that he's a piece of shit. But what's new?
"You do look a sight," he says finally, and he sounds like nothing weird or bad just happened between them. "It's no wonder. I can tell you need the lemons now more than ever, but I don't think you're ready for them. You'll need another method."
What he really wants to do is hide behind the corner of the stage again, but weirdly, his introspective self-criticisms make him feel like he needs to posture himself as prideful. So he steps even further away from the stage, and examines the fingernails of one glimmering hand.
"Anyway, I'm banking on still being human. Don't say otherwise. It's bad."
no subject
"Just cuz I'm feelin' bad doesn't mean I'm sayin' nobody else does," he says tensely, wiping his nose. "I didn't come here t'get myself fuckin' embarrassed and preached at."
no subject
But he does hate to be preached at, himself. And if someone stood in front of him and monopolized the conversation with their misery over his, he'd want to whack them in the face. Granted, Alois is a known hypocrite, so these truths don't make him particularly sorry for his behavior. But his conscience does exist, you know, so when Lars wipes his nose, Alois puffs out his cheeks and raises his shoulders like he understands the scolding.
"Well, don't be that embarrassed," he says, simultaneously snotty and magnanimous. "It's only me."
no subject
"Helps you were just cryin'," he scoffs. "Don't know why you'd come to this place, though. I kinda ended up here on accident." He sniffs again, taking a deep inhale, which also sort of stammers. "Was tryin' to walk it off... but it caught me, I guess."
no subject
Though his eyes are still on Lars, he slowly weasels another tiny lemon out of the pocket of his coat. Like it's normal.
"Don't you have favorite places? At which to feel things?"
... ?????????
no subject
He's kind of beginning to understand that he might be the problem, but he doesn't know what to do with that, so he's trying not to look at the fact too closely.
"Everywhere in this place fuckin' sucks. There's no real privacy outside'a your own room, anyway." Lars rolls his eyes, and adds, "If you're lucky."