lostcarnival | [open]

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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. ]

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Repair work.

[He gestures at the motor of the carnival ride in whose guts he was elbow-deep just a moment ago.] Or, well, making sure everything's in working order. This one just needed a tune-up, nothing's really terribly wrong with it. Yet.

What about you? Are you new here too?

"I sit around and scowl as I write things."

It's an incredibly deadpan answer from an equally deadpan sort of man. Childermass cuts a somewhat severe figure even seated at a table in the cookhouse as he is, even with those patches of raven feathers, dressed in his usual black and white, even if, on closer inspection, those clothes have more wear and tear to them than one might assume from afar. In any case, whatever his job actually is (and it isn't that, it really isn't), that is what he's currently up to.

There's more space to spread out pages on a table out here than in his trailer. Much easier access to coffee, too. While there are loose-leaf sheets out there, chiefly covered in quick thoughts or notes relating to Atlantis, the real writing and the occasional drawing is taking place in a little memo book. He had looked up from it at Lambert's questioning, but only briefly, then gone right back to his work as he answered.

[ Lambert might have spent even longer than usual just because he was trying to figure out what the hell is going on there. It's more complicated than anything he's used to, that much is for certain, but at least he knows what it's for since he's seen merfolk using it over the last few days. Being underwater doesn't seem to have hurt its operation any, yet another of the carnival's mysteries. ]

No, I've been here for years and was just hiding under a rock this whole time. [ That's audibly sarcastic, but Lambert saunters closer, more interested in getting a look at its inner workings than anything else. ]

I'm work with the doctor and the nightrider. [ Who or whatever that is. ]

[People who willingly sign up for a contract are in for the longhaul, unlike those accidental debt sorts who look for opportunities to leave early. Papyrus can't blame them, not really, but it sure means a lot of faces come and go after only a couple months. And one of those faces was his old roommate, leaving the trailer emptier and lonelier than before. Not much of a place to spend much time.

When he learns that he's about to get a new roommate, there's only one thing for it: making sure this new person feels properly welcomed.

One of the advantages of being the janitor is getting first dibs on the trash people leave. Most of it's just trash, sure; but you don't live sealed in an underground cave system, dependent on debris from the world above for getting novelties, without learning to pick through some garbage to get to the treasures. Or just straight-up using the garbage to make treasures.

So after a day of finishing cleaning up sea debris, checking on the remaining sand sculptures, and searching for party supplies, Papyrus calls it a job adequately done and heads home to the trailer.

And who needs to knock when you're entering your own living space? He just walks right in the door, hands full of a basket of food from the mess haul, a succulent potted plant, and unlit sparklers.]

[The sarcasm gets a look that's somewhere between reproachful and reprimanding, as though Jamie cannot believe Lambert's manners and takes personal offense to them.] I just started here too, I dunno who's new and who isn't.

[The motor is a mess of gears, wires, and fiddly bits crammed inside a metal housing whose access hatch is lifted up out of the way and secured so it won't come slamming down while Jamie's working on it. It's also liberally coated with grease, as is Jamie. Maintaining machinery isn't tidy work.]

More doctors are always good, I guess. [He's not sure about this man's bedside manner, though.] What's a nightrider do?

"Cushy job. Wish I'd thought to sign up for that instead." Lambert doesn't seem particularly put off by the response, as he's heard every possible variation on 'fuck off' over the years and has learned to thoroughly ignore them all. What he will do is step closer, studying the paperwork spread over the desk with amber eyes that have dilated in the dim light.

The feathers and the black and white clothing call to mind Yennefer, not that he's actually met the woman in person. But he's heard enough of her from Geralt to make him gag, that much is for certain.

Reaching out, he idly plants a finger on a sheet to nudge it aside and see the writing underneath.

[ Lambert is meditating.

Or trying to. He's never been very good at it in the first place, but he's more used to it than he is the narrow bunk, which is arguably more comfortable than kneeling on the ground. The trailer floor under his knees is hard and unforgiving, but he shuts sensation and focuses on his breath. Naturally, it's right at the moment when he finally manages to fall into a trance, the door opens.

In an abstract sense, Lambert's aware he has a roommate, and the trailer does show signs of someone else being there, but not much. After the cavernous, vast openness of the witcher fortress, the idea of sharing a small space with another person isn't something he knows how he'll handle. But if there are going to be any problems, he might as well find out now rather than later.

Lambert opens his eyes and sees a skeleton standing in the doorway. Years of instinct take over like a well-oiled machine, flicking rapidly through what he knows about the undead and gauging the distance to the door and where his sword is to come to an instant decision on the best course of action.

Flames roar out in front of him as he rolls to his feet, hands outstretched, but the space is just too small for so explosive a spell ... and he promptly sets his own shirt on fire. ]

Haven't figured that out yet. [ That at least is honest, because he hasn't really had a chance to figure out exactly what he needs to be doing. ''Mercenary" doesn't explain a whole lot of anything. ] Can't be that important right now or someone would've been looking for me by now.

[ Jamie's probably right about Lambert -- he's likelier to deliver tough love -- but unless he gets injured, it's not going to be a problem right? ]

Guess us new people ought to stick together. How long have you been here?

[For an instant the trailer fills with fire, so sudden and bright that Papyrus can't see a thing. The burst engulfs even him, the flames and heat squeezing on his bones and hurting a fair bit. If he weren't so used to hanging out with Undyne, he might even mistake it for a violent attack. As the flames recede, he's covered in soot, outfit rather more tattered and charred than before. The weclome basket is crumbling, the food is charred, and the succulent looks so singed and dry that it might never recover.

On the plus side, the few surviving sparklers are sparking.

He forces a grin to his face, plopping the damaged gifts on a table, as he takes a closer look at his new roommate. They're far enough away to be a little difficult to take in all the details, but they look like they might be human? Also, a little bit on fire.]

Wow! You're really in the spirit of this thing! But, maybe tone it down a little? You're supposed to introduce yourself before the explosions.

[ There are scorch marks on the ceiling and doorway, but most of the damage It's lucky, in a way, that Igni isn't really meant to be a sustained spell. The flames on his shirt have died down from the initial blaze just from how quickly he's moving, but the edges are still alight when he brings his sword up and brings it swinging around, aiming to cut off a limb. That's the best way to deal with the restless dead; keep them from moving and they'd be sitting ducks.

Of course, he wasn't expecting it to speak, and it's jarring enough to bring him up short. You can't really stop a blade once it's in motion, though, so the best he can do is turn the swing into a clumsy jab instead, driving awkwardly to the vicinity of Papyrus' ribs instead.

His gaze darts between the sparklers, the ashes gently drifting in the air, and the rictus grin (do skeletons really have another expression though???) on his face. Finally: ]

What the hell are you? [ It's amazing how much this place has prompted that out of him the past few hours alone. ]

Edited 2017-02-11 00:39 (UTC)

[She'd gotten the tip about a new scout from the Ring Master. Finding him wasn't especially hard--there aren't that many new faces at any given time, and she's got about 50 eyeballs (even if most of them are covered up by clothing) with which to do the looking.

Spotting him? Is a piece of cake. And once she has him in her sights...

...well, first she climbs down from the ferris wheel.

Then she makes a beeline across the carnival, stalking his trajectory. She turns the corner just in time to cut him off, stepping out from around a tent in all seven and a half feet of her four-armed, monstrous multi-eyed glory. She towers over him, her 'normal' eyes obscured by the sunlight on her glasses' lenses.

But the rest of them stare him down from her arms, shoulders, sternum...]

........

Edited (LMFAO WHOOPS) 2017-02-11 02:17 (UTC)

Quick sketches of merfolk, maybe a few buildings from Atlantis, notes regarding mer culture, at least one minor complaint about fish not knowing how to mind their own business are all that can be gleaned easily from a glance. Childermass doesn't seem particularly worried about Lambert messing with the papers. If any of it were a secret, he sure wouldn't be working on it out here.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll do fine wherever you've ended up." He's still looking down, writing, but his previous once-over of the other man when he did look up before was enough to make a few educated guesses at to where that might be. "With the Nightrider or the Warden, I imagine."

[ By now, he's had a fiery introduction to his roommate and a watery introduction to his other boss, and it's evident that Lambert is going to have to get used to working with people that look like things he normally would be stabbing into at the earliest opportunity possible. So when the (horrorshow) person steps out from the shadows to tower over him, he still reaches up to get a hand on the steel sword on his back, but he manages to stop himself before he draws it more than an inch or so. ]

Do you have some kind of betting pool on who can freak out new people the most? [ He asks into the silence, teeth bared into a sharp grin. There was plenty enough hazing when he'd been training to be a Witcher, but not quite like this. ]

'Cause I'd say you're winning so far. [ He stays poised on the balls of his feet, ready to spring into action if need be, until he figures out exactly what she's doing here. ]

"Guess you're a regular detective," Lambert responds, taking the lack of reaction as an open invitation to seat himself right across Childermass and more properly shuffle through them. He's handling the paper with surprising care, nevertheless, and putting it back in the order he found them, someone used to skimming quickly for information that he needs.

"You're half right." The sword on his back isn't exactly subtle, and the scar on his face even less so. He doesn't elaborate on the other half.

"You don't seem like you'd be one of the performers." A carnival like this has no need of a historian, he's pretty sure of that. Accounting, maybe? But from what he can see at this angle, he's hardly likely to be working on a ledger. So that leaves ...

"Ringmaster's boytoy?"

Too bad he can't say the same for Lambert, not when he dismisses what he actually is here outright. That's funny in its own way and Childermass isn't about to correct him, though the next guess does bring his focus on writing to a sudden stop. He'll frown down at the page he's working on for a moment, brow furrowed, before leaving off hovering over the notebook to lean back in his chair instead.

"Oh?"

If his reaction could be called anything, it's mild curiosity (after a few added seconds of squinting funny at this random guy coming up with such a weird assumption, of course) and likely not the kneejerk reaction Lambert may have been hoping for. Nah, he just raises his eyebrows and tilts his head a little before asking, "And what makes you think that?"

[Yuugi's ears are about the only indication that he's actually paying attention to his surroundings, twitching on top of his head amid the spikes of hair. He looks up at the question though, a deck of cards in his hands that he shuffles a little absentmindedly.]

I'm a game operator. Mostly I just help run the games in the circle.

[New. That's about as obvious as a brick wall. No changes yet. Yuugi tilts his head in curiosity, fingers splitting the cards in his hand without needing to look.]

Can I help you with anything?

[Some don't, but this skeleton emotes plenty. His eyesockets widen like the skin and muscle around eyes, rather than the rigid bone he appears to be, high enough to crinkle at the stiffer rocks growing from his skull. His cheekbones droop with his lower jaw as he gapes at the attack.

And, displaying all the self-preservation skills of someone so utterly confident in their own constitution that it never occurs to them to dodge, Papyrus stays put. As if to prove his overconfidence, the sword stops just short of his smoking scarf.]

What am I...? Do you need glasses too? [Look at that, they already have things in common. What a promising start. Sudden indoor fires and all. He looks down the sword length, up at the scarred person holding it, and concludes they don't know how this works. Good thing the sword didn't come any closer, with their eyesight; that could have been bad.]

I'm a skeleton! [Surely, that explains everything.] And also a janitor.

If Childermass were a monster, Lambert would have his number. Regrettably, people are infinitely more complex ... and how or why someone so nebbish would willingly sign up to be a showman is beyond him. Also, to be fair: most performers he knows spend a good amount of time in tights and brightly colored clothing, so this dour, drab man's as far from his experience as it can get. While he doesn't get the reaction he was hoping for, he does get his attention, so he leans forward to rest his elbows on the edge of the table.

"You've obviously got an eye for art," he starts, tapping one of the sketches. "That's the type her kind like to collect, isn't it? Someone they can spirit away for a hundred years to entertain them, or feed off their energy. Don't think she's a succubi, but could be something related..."

Does he actually believe the crap that just came out of his mouth? Does it matter?

"... Also, as far as I can tell, nearly everyone else here is a kid or a monster. More of a monster," he amends, glancing down at the feathered arms. Lambert, dat's speciest. He shrugs. "Wouldn't be the craziest thing to happen around here, would it."

"Calling that art is more of a reach than I believe you're capable of," Childermass says, sounding indifferent about it even in spite of how, yes, that is something he drew himself. "So I can tell you now you're a bit off in your guess."

He won't, however, be helpful and tell him why nor what the Ringmaster actually is. If the man wants to play guessing games, he's free to keep at it, regardless of whether or not he believes what he's saying himself. As for Childermass, he just idly taps the pen in hand against the page he'd been working on, finally taking the time to size Lambert up. He'd been dismissive before, but if this guy is going to stick around and try to be annoying...

"But you are right about one thing. It wouldn't be the craziest thing to happen around here."

It's also not a thing at all, but why tell Lambert that?

[ What little physical changes Lambert has predate his arrival to the carnival, and most aren't as easily visible as the catlike yellow eyes sizing up the apparent inhuman traits the other has taken on. He's noticed more than a few hybrids around, no two shapes consistent, and while he has a guess at the cause he hasn't straight up asked anyone about it yet. ]

Just trying to figure out more about how things work here. Seems pretty quiet now that there aren't any visitors around.

[ He nods at the cards, voice taking on a tone that could be called friendly challenge. ] You any good with those?

[ Its all just so ... amiable. Lambert doesn't trust it, and he can't shake the feeling that any moment now someone's going to leap out from the shadows to yell "gotcha" for falling for it all, but he should ... also probably put out the fire on his clothes before he's left wearing nothing. This is a probably a stupid thing to do, but he takes a step back and draws the sword back with him, using one hand to shape the sign to extinguish the fire on his clothing and not yet sheathing his blade.

And then a horrible idea occurs to him. ]

Are you supposed to be my ... "roommate"? [ He asks slowly, in the tone of one not entirely familiar with the concept. ]

We get a bit lax between locations, yeah. I think this is the third rotation since I joined, but there's always something to do.

[Yuugi pauses, taking in the man's eyes before shrugging. Some of his traits are at least noticeable - his ears, the digitigrade legs leading to paws, the skin pigmentation. Others would have to be looked at closer, but for now the friendly challenge is met with a bit of a grin, baring sharper teeth as he reassembled the card deck and held it up.]

These? I'm pretty good, but I'm not on my grandpa's level. He taught me everything.

[He raises an eyebrow.]

Feel up to a game?

lLambert continues to look as thuggish and uncouth as the last time Childermass looked at him, the leather armor and the sword across his back giving him a distinctly mercenary look -- to say nothing of the scars cutting into his face, drawing sharp attention to inhuman eyes. The medallion on his chest, a wolf's head that's all angles, is almost ostentatiously ornamental.

"Can't say I've ever grown gills before," Lambert answers, apparently taking the statement as agreement. "Glad it wasn't permanent, as useful as it is. Does that kind of thing happen a lot?" He gestures at Childermass' ... everything, lips quirked.

So a brute with poor taste in jewelry, unless the wolf's head meant something else, and for someone calling the other carnival workers monster-like, he has to wonder about the eyes...

"You mean these?" He won't point out, well, everything, but the feathers along his forearms are the most obvious here. "The magic the Ringmaster uses has a bad habit of sticking to mortals, that's all."

Which you would think would be cause for some alarm or at least sounding a little more interesting than he's opting to be, but no, not with Childermass. Even if he does find it fascinating or even a little irritating, he's keeping it to himself. Although on that topic, he'll point right back towards Lambert with the pen he has.

"I take it that yours aren't from the carnival?"

Depends if you're up to showing me how to play, first. [ Taking that as an invitation, Lambert takes the nearest seat, resting his hands on his knees. ] I wasn't bad with cards back home, either. Gwent, if you've heard of it.

[ He sincerely doubts it, but it'd be a pleasant surprise if he did. ]

Name's Lambert. [ He adds, off handedly. ] And you're...?

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4: welcome party

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papyrus doesn't deserve this

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sometimes housewarming parties are warmer than you expect, that's just how it goes

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4. SURPRISE, IT'S YOUR BOSS

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HEY BOSS...

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