[open]

[whattaprick]

Who: Lambert and YOU
Where: The Carnival
When: During the downtime between Atlantis and their next world.
What: Any Witcher worth his salt knows the first thing you should do when you're in an unfamiliar environment: get the lay of the land.

1. not the nurse you're looking for
[ You might have come into the medical tent looking for supplies or something else. If you were looking for Zecora, prepare to be disappointed because there's a scarred man scowling heavily as he clatters around the place, not working on anything in particular.

He doesn't seem to register there's someone else around -- or is he just straight up ignoring you??? ]

2. by the woods

[ With the carnival no longer water-logged, Lambert's taken a walk of the perimeter, even stepped into the edge of the woods, but he hasn't tried to press any further, although he's stood and looked at it for some time.

There's no sense letting his skills get rusty, so he mostly spends the time-- night or day-- sparring invisible enemies, steel sword flashing as he weaves it through the air.

When he's not swinging a sword around, you'll find him sitting on the dirt, legs folded under him and eyes closed. ]

3. getting to know you?

[ Lambert doesn't normally care about getting to know people, but he also normally doesn't stay anywhere longer than a few months, either. And that's at Kaer Morhen, where he can always get blind drunk and fuck off into the woods and kill some drowners if he needs to let off some steam instead of dealing with the other Witcher.

If he's going to be here for a year and a day? He's going to at least need to know names.

So wherever you are, whatever you're up to, you might notice a newcomer watching you for a few moments before he speaks up. ]

So what do you do around here?

4. wildcard!
[ If we discussed a previous scenario or you just want to do something not covered here, go for it! I'll match whatever prose style you go with. ]

Comments

[atouts]

He'll never step foot into the medical tent again.

"Some very good friends of mine pointed the way out to me." Which is a very uninformative way of saying his tarot deck had a hand in it, especially since he isn't so inclined to bring them up easily. "What in the world is an ekimmara?"

[whattaprick]

As long as he doesn't experience life-threatening injury, that probably won't be a problem, now will it?

"Hm. Some friends," he snorts, but the next question makes him smirk, even as he takes another drink. "An ekimmara's a kind of vampire. Ugly fuckers, but they're fast and vicious. Not hard to beat, as long as you know what you're doing."

And have the right equipment, which reminds him that his silver sword confiscated, and that makes his smile fade. "So did you plan on making a bargain to stay, or did you get tricked into it?"

[atouts]

A kind of vampire?

There's more of a reaction to that, beyond what's so far been a fairly careful mask of disinterest, even in spite of the questions. It isn't even much, only a raise of his eyebrows, but it is there. That someone who tracks vampires just happened to wander into the carnival... That's interesting. He won't say so out loud, but it is.

"I planned on it," he says, shrugging and taking a second or two to drink, consider his next question. "And you? You don't seem the sort who would take well to being tricked."

[whattaprick]

Honestly, the apparent disinterest does more to provoke Lambert's interest and desire to poke and pry more than having a regular conversation would. Like worrying at a loose tooth with his tongue, Childermass' more visible reaction only encourages him, leaning his elbows on the edge of the table.

"I don't." Childermass' response to his question is annoyingly vague, so he could leave it at that, but this isn't going to be a productive question and answer session if they stick to responses under five words, is it?

"Normally, I'd be trying to figure out how to stop something like this, not working for it. But since she could give me what I wanted, I made a deal." Simple as that. "What'd you ask for?"

[atouts]

Lambert's going to find it to be only increasingly annoying to get longer or even, in this particular case, real answers out of Childermass. It isn't a dislike for the man or anything that keeps him from answering a few of them truthfully, but that if there's information he won't be sharing with Strange, then it's only fair to leave everyone else out in the dark as well.

So to what he asked for, he'll say, "The location of a vast but very much lost treasure trove left behind by a pirate king. You wouldn't know him, but he died a very rich man. Secretive, too, as no one's found where he kept all he stole since his death."

It's utter bullshit, but the problem with that is Childermass has one hell of a poker face. Even if there is a hint of amusement behind it, he still manages to sound entirely serious. Though, since he's hardly given a true answer to that, he'll at least keep from turning the same question back on Lambert.

"You'd normally be trying to stop this, you said?" He'll finish drink number two and pour a third, not feeling any sign of a buzz or being tipsy whatsoever yet. Seems the necklace works after all. Good to know. "And you track vampires. Does most of what you do involve dealing with the supernatural?"

In a more violent way than his deal with the Ringmaster, of course.

[whattaprick]

"Uh-huh. And I'm a baron in Toussaint." While he can believe that it's within the Ringmaster's power to grant such a wish, he can't believe such a shabby-looking man has any interest in that kind of wealth, unless it's possibly to stop being shabby in the first place. It's entertaining enough to mentally picture Childermass standing stone-faced and grim at the bow of a ship hunting for pirate treasure, though, that Lambert doesn't seem particularly interested in pressing the point.

Instead, he pours himself another drink, knocking it back before he slouches back in his seat.

"Dealing with monsters," he affirms. The alcohol seems to have taken the edge off his manner, shoulders more relaxed as Witcher metabolism makes quick work of the stuff. He needs it: talking about being a Witcher in any capacity always pisses him off, so he might as well be drunk for it. "Vampires, drowners, specters, succubi ... and the rest of it." He waves a hand, dismissing it all.

"What were you before coming here?"

[atouts]

"Oh? Had I known I was in the presence of a baron, I would have gotten one of the better bottles from the kitchen."

See? He can joke. It just happens to be dry and deadpan through and through. It is a ridiculous story, one he didn't expect Lambert to believe in the least, but he isn't about to change it (until he asks again, then it will definitely be a different, entirely fabricated reason).

What he was before the carnival, though, now that does take some consideration. How to put it? He's still reluctant to go around claiming to be a magician, so that's out, which leaves, quite simply, "I was in the service of a magician prior to the carnival, thankfully the sort without monsters being involved."

[whattaprick]

So he does have a sense of humor -- it succeeds in startling a sharp bark of laughter out of Lambert, anyway. Guess the guy isn't as uptight as he acts, unlike other people he knows.

His answer makes his nose wrinkle, though. "Was that another magic contract too?" While he doesn't have anything in particular against mages, most are far too powerful and far too fond of meddling in politics for Lambert's taste. Though magic users come in all temperaments, and he waves a hand.

"I guess I owe you two answers, now." It's entirely arbitrary rules, of course, but it ups the entertainment factor of the evening a bit.

[atouts]

Okay, that laugh earns itself an arched eyebrow, as if he himself hadn't thought it that funny, but whatever. If he found it funny, then it was. Suggesting Norrell would have him under a magic contract, however, is apparently what Childermass finds hilarious.

His laugh isn't much like Lambert's at all, more of a soft, amused huff of air before he finishes his third round of whiskey. Yeah, speaking of that particular magician? He's pouring out another one and he isn't being stingy this time.

"No, not at all. He saved those for anyone he considered a threat or wished to be rid of," is at least one answer he can give honestly. His former master's prickliness is hardly a secret to anyone at all. "And you can make up for asking twice by telling me about the magicians in your own world."

[whattaprick]

In turn, Lambert doesn't get what's so funny about what he just said, but he snorts softly at Childermass's answer.

"Too good to get his magic dirty? Doesn't sound so different from back home." And he'll mirror the act of pouring himself a fresh drink, both pleased and a little annoyed that he's keeping pace -- between the two of them, the bottle is going fast, and he's only just starting to feel the warm buzz creeping up the nape of his neck. It's a big question, but luckily it's not the first time he's been asked this, so the answer's fresh off the top of his mind.

"There's all kinds of mages. The ones with the most talent and power spend years studying, shut up in an academy. Others end up becoming druids or priests -- they say their power comes from the gods, but I think that's bullshit." He pauses, taking a drink. "If they play their cards right, they can end up getting a position at the side of a king or a jarl as an advisor. Piss off the wrong person, though, and they can end up dead just like anyone else. It's a bad time to be a magic user, since the King of Redania's decided to hold a witch hunt for fun."

[atouts]

One day Lambert will figure out he was cheating on the drinking, but until then! It's not half bad, enjoying decent enough liquor without having to worry about losing his edge. All in all, a fine test of the necklace.

"Of course. What gentleman would ever get their hands dirty?" Or, as Lambert had put it, their magic.

Besides, with Childermass around, there had always been someone else to do that for him. No reason to add that part, though, so he'll go back to listening instead. Overall, it didn't seem too off for what he would have expected, save for that last part. At that part, he can't help but frown and lean forward again, resting his elbows on the table's top.

"But why would he do that?"

[whattaprick]

"A noble and a mage? Great, his ego must have been twice as inflated." Lambert rolls his eyes.

"I don't know his reasons. I don't hobknob with royalty, and knowing my luck he'd probably have me killed on sight too. I do know his father was assassinated when he was too young to rule, and one of his advisors was a sorceress. Rumor is, she might have arranged for it herself -- so she could take over." He shrugs, swirling his drink around his glass before taking a gulp.

"Your guess is as good as mine. Revenge? Fear? Inbreeding? Whatever made him hate magic doesn't matter. The witch hunters and the priests of the Sacred Flame make sure Novigrad burns with pyres all the same."

[atouts]

"I'll make a note never to visit Novigrad, in that case."

It's an idle comment, seeing as chances are Childermass will never step foot anywhere that Lambert is from, but a good plan nonetheless. There's no telling where the carnival might land itself one day. Anyway, he leans back away from the table again, taking his glass with him when he goes, although at this point he's taking his time with his drink.

There's no real rush now that he knows he won't be getting drunk, so...

"And a gentleman in England is not necessarily also a nobleman," he does feel the need to follow up on that particular assumption. He doubts he would have ever been able to address Norrell as 'my lord' without stopping to laugh. "In my own time, that is, although I do not think that would make a great deal of difference to you."

[whattaprick]

"You're right about that. It does make a difference if one can pay me more than the other." Lambert keeps leaning on the table, apparentlly having found a comfortable position to settle in while he nurses his drink. Can't let himself go dry for long, though, so he takes another sip.

"Tell me more about England." It's a place, obviously, but the name alone doesn't tell him whether it's a tiny hamlet, a kingdom, or a city. He eyes his glass with some consideration, then reaches down to his belt, unhooking a flask and tipping some of the fluid inside into his glass. He doesn't offer Childermass any.

[atouts]

"A country northwest of the continent, on an island," added in case 'just off of the continent' doesn't mean that to Lambert. "Used to be two separate kingdoms, one in the north, one in the south, but it hasn't been that way for a few hundred years now. We do still have a king, but it's parliament that decides what England does now, not him."

There's a lot more he could go on about, but he is trying to summarize, else they'd be stuck talking about the place all day. Not the worst fate, not at all, just possibly of little interest to the other man.

"And yourself? Where would you call home, Lambert?"

There. Back on track with the question total.

[whattaprick]

The only islanders Lambert knows of are headstrong, quick-tempered, and fond of their drink -- so it's a bit odd to be thinking of Childermass as one, even if he logically knows there's no reason to expect islands from different worlds to have anything in common. What the hell is a parliament though… it sounds suspiciously bureaucratic.

In any case, that's more of a loaded question than Childermass probably realizes. Lambert pauses to consider the question, sipping from his drink in the meantime, before he finally puts it down to speak.

"Don't really have a place to call one," he answers. Kaer Morhen doesn't count, he figures. And the village he grew up in ... he can't even remember its name, though he can remember the fury on his father's face. "Once you're on the Path, you're on it for life. No Witcher's ever died in his bed."

[atouts]

Extremely bureaucratic.

"Too mercenary for one place, is it?" He asks without really expecting an answer. Overall, even that isn't much of a surprise to Childermass, although the lack of at least a country or a kingdom is interesting. Was he just something outside of it all? Truly from nowhere at all? "Although you've lost me on what you mean by Path."

[whattaprick]

Lambert knows it sounds ridiculous, because he'd thought so the first time Vesemir called it that, but.

"It's just a fancy way to say working." He waves a hand vaguely, taking a gulp of his Witcher-spiked alcohol. Mm, that's the stuff. "I'm sure this comes as a surprise to you, but monsters aren't exactly lining up to throw themselves on my sword. I have to go to where they are, and then I have to find someone who's going to pay me for it."

[atouts]

"And if no one is paying, you just leave the monsters be and continue on?" Childermass asks after a moment of thinking on that. It's not as though he'll judge Lambert if the answer is, in fact, yes, he would just continue on his merry way, but he is curious to know.

[whattaprick]

"That's right." Lambert says, matter-of-fact. "Unless the monsters attack me first, obviously. Then I'll defend myself." Witchers don't work for charity, and there are enough ungrateful clients in the world that Lambert can't really shed a tear over it.

Now how had Jamie put it ... ? "Think of it as glorified pest control. Aren't there any monsters in your world?"

[atouts]

"Only if you count certain people among the monstrous," he answers with a shrug. Faeries, too, or at least one he never met himself. What else might come back into England now that magic's returned, even he doesn't know, but that's yet to pass. "England has seen very little in the way of magic and its creatures for some time now."

And then he'll nod towards Lambert's glass.

"What was that you added? Seems odd you'd need to put anything more into whiskey."

[whattaprick]

"Hah. Lucky England. Should hope it stays that way." It's said with some measure of sincerity, even. The moments where he can say he enjoys the work he does are few and far between. He's vague on his world history, but the Conjunction of the Spheres is something even he's heard of. More than a thousand years ago, and all the magic it brought is still royally screwing the world over.

At the question, though, he smirks. "White Gull -- Witcher brew. Don't get me wrong, this stuff is decent, but it adds that little ..." He wiggles his fingers. "...kick."

[atouts]

It won't, but that, too, falls into the gray area of what Childermass can and cannot say. Anything he tells the others could still make its way to Strange and so all he does is say, "What I do and do not hope matters little in that case."

In particular due to prophecies being involved. Those especially don't care for anyone else's opinion. Magic aside, whether it exists or doesn't exist or is coming back and bringing monsters, he'll raise his eyebrows some at Lambert.

"And I would say that it is rude not to share, but I already suspect rudeness is something you enjoy." Like before when he asked whether Witchers ignore monsters they're not paid to kill, there isn't really any air of disapproval here, either. More like a fact he's decided to state out loud.

[whattaprick]

"Funny, I thought it was polite not to poison someone I'm drinking with. Or is that different in England too?" Lambert grins, leaning against the table edge. He wasn't lying about the brew's potency; the latest glassful's left his eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed. He is not, however, going to bother denying the charge of rudeness, something so blatantly true that to say otherwise would be plainly farcical.

As he continues to prove when he slides the bottle across the table. "If you want to start seeing visions and puke up blood tomorrow, be my guest." It won't kill him, but he'll probably wish he was dead. He remembers sneaking out alcohol from Vesemir's stash as a kid, before the first set of mutations, and he'd more or less survived. Probably burned a permanent hole in his liver, but he survived.

"It's usually used for alchemy, but you look like you can hold your drink."

[atouts]

"Depends on who you talk to," Childermass says without one damn hint of worry. Apparently, Lambert's warning either doesn't hold water to the man or he really does think he can handle it (which he does, actually, but that'll be the surprise). He catches the bottle Lambert slides his way and takes a moment to hold it up, get a good look at it, before giving a sort of half-shrug to himself — like saying 'all right, whatever' without actually saying it — and opens it.

Less goes into his drink than he saw Lambert pour into his own, of course. He'd been told the necklace can only handle so much poison and, with it hidden away as it is, he can't exactly keep an eye on it for any dangerous color changes.

"Used for alchemy how, if I might ask?"

Sure, he's about to drink literal poison, but he's also still going to carry on with the conversation casually as he closes the bottle again and slides it back to Lambert. It's only after that that he'll drink the rest of his whiskey, White Gull and all.