Foster Van Denend (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
control_freak) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lostcarnival2017-02-13 04:44 pm
control_freak) wrote in lostcarnival2017-02-13 04:44 pm
Entry tags:
[Closed] I forgot to include a title so now there's not one
Who: Foster van Denend and Annabelle Blishwick
What: Annabelle, new to the carnival, meets her sketchy undead roommate
When: Post Atlantis.
Where: Trailer 18
In spite of the Ring Master's insistence that he neither retire in the barn nor have any kind of privacy--the consequence of daring to ask TO sleep in the barn and then making the mistake of explaining why--Foster actually hasn't had a roommate for a little while now.
Long enough for him to have disregarded the potential for one to arrive at any time. And long enough to have earned exactly 780 pieces of Atlantean gold by means of aggressive commercial self-degradation. 780 gold coins that are now spread haphazardly across literally every available surface inside trailer 18, as well as the trailer floor. Literal drifts of coins rise in the corners, and there are clear paths where the scant foot traffic of one (1) idle necromancer have scattered them aside.
An idle necromancer who is, at the moment, less "idle" and more "asleep on a pile of coins, which happens to also be his bed."
No, the undead don't usually sleep.
But. Well, they do get bored.
What: Annabelle, new to the carnival, meets her sketchy undead roommate
When: Post Atlantis.
Where: Trailer 18
In spite of the Ring Master's insistence that he neither retire in the barn nor have any kind of privacy--the consequence of daring to ask TO sleep in the barn and then making the mistake of explaining why--Foster actually hasn't had a roommate for a little while now.
Long enough for him to have disregarded the potential for one to arrive at any time. And long enough to have earned exactly 780 pieces of Atlantean gold by means of aggressive commercial self-degradation. 780 gold coins that are now spread haphazardly across literally every available surface inside trailer 18, as well as the trailer floor. Literal drifts of coins rise in the corners, and there are clear paths where the scant foot traffic of one (1) idle necromancer have scattered them aside.
An idle necromancer who is, at the moment, less "idle" and more "asleep on a pile of coins, which happens to also be his bed."
No, the undead don't usually sleep.
But. Well, they do get bored.
no subject
She's never really lived with anyone besides her mentor, who was some crazy old wizard and her only real mirror for social behavior. She can't imagine what people who aren't him are like, exactly, besides the distant memory of her family, or her bullying peers. It's not that she's scared, though, exactly—she's just a little anxious. And maybe little excited.
The other reason is because you never know what the hell a person could be up to. She'd learned not to barge through rooms when it had resulted in one or nine instances wherein there was a small explosion or similar disaster due to her startling the hermit.
Suffice to say, she was not prepared to find a half naked man passed out on a bed of golden coins. Her eyes widen, and she presses her hands over her mouth in surprise, and she can't help but gasp. She soon notices there's gold—fucking everywhere, and she gapes in shock for a moment.
Then, she begins to laugh.
"What in the world?"
Her voice can barely be registered as a whisper, just a breath of baffled amusement.
no subject
One large, floppy ear lifts, flicking hair and nothing else.
But he shifts, immediately regretting the choice to try and sleep off the passage of time when he registers the sound that's actually waking him. It takes an extra second or two for him to recognise what the sound is, though.
He props up on one arm almost immediately, still blinking, something that oscillates quickly between alarm and incredulity warring for control of his face. It shows off his prehistoric teeth, and the act of sitting up knocks two or three coins to the floor.
"What--"
'The fuck' probably comes next. Is this real? Is he--has he ever hallucinated before? What does he--? How is he supposed to react to this, besides a feeling of vague betrayal?
no subject
She looks around her feet, then his feet, feeling awkward. "I'm your new roommate, apparently. I'm Annabelle."
no subject
Any other time--any other time--Foster would have found her apology to be unspeakably hilarious. From the fact that she was apologising (to him! Him!) to her gratuitous description of his current bed 'situation'--
Instead, he just stares at her in absolute silence for two or three actual seconds.
"No."
It comes out fairly calm, but sharply final.
no subject
"Yes, actually," she counters helpfully.
I don't have? Any icons for this? Send help
It's more emphatic this time. He's sitting up now, his head bent so he's staring up at her through his bangs.
NO ONE CAN HELP U
"Yes," she pushes back, just as sterny. She takes a slow step forward, insistently asserting herself, daring him.
no subject
"That's.... unacceptable. To be stuck with something so vile and repugnant, hanging around at all hours... what a sick joke. The Ring Master can't force someone to live with such a hideous, worthless existence like mine." He makes total eye contact, leaning forward now, his hands gripping the sheets he'd been sleeping on top of, fistfuls of gold and fabric.
"I'm filthy! I'm hideous--ha, haha, I'm repulsive! Gross! You don't want to be around something like me. Everything in here has been stained by my touch. Contaminated by my presence. "
no subject
"Maybe so," she says mildly, despite her look of slight shock. She was anticipating some sort of fight, not this. She's never really seen someone behave this way. "But it is what it is. If what you're saying is true, perhaps it would be better of you to take pity on me."
Above shading complete strangers if they're acting crazy???? Nope.
He's not confused, YOU'RE confused
He's the one who's confused, though.
Take pity on--? Isn't that? Impossible? Isn't trying to save her enough? Isn't he trying to spare her the months of misery the Ring Master has otherwise condemned her to endure? He tangles one hand in his already-messy hair, lip curling even as his face creases with something like distress.
"A loathesome insect like me... isn't even capable of pity."
Such emotions are reserved for higher orders of animals. Pity is, by its very nature, the feeling of something like sadness for one beneath you... isn't it?
we're all confused
"Well, you're going to have to figure out a way to get over it." Annabelle is trying Foster's logic, a little, but it's hard because they've only just met. But, it's also kind of a fun challenge. She crosses her arms. "Would it make more sense for you to try thinking of it as you being so insignificant, the weight of your presence doesn't register? Therefor, it's okay: I can live here."
Round One: ANNABELLE WINS
Oh.
Of course.
Of course.
Foster blinks once. Then a second time, rapidly.
"... I...."
He...
She's right. How... arrogant of him to even assume she'd care. Here he was, making a big deal about things because he was upset, and she... saw right through him. Transparent. Inconsequential. He can feel that tingling, indescribable rush of his own worthlessness under his skin, his eyes a little unfocused.
He doesn't want a roommate, obviously. He'd sooner live in the barn, with the menagerie, where a dumb animal like him belongs--and he would be alone, as is his wont and as he deserves. He'd rather cut off his own hand. He'd rather rip out the stitches in his throat, rotted blood dribbling down his front in great clots. He'd rather any number of vile things than live with another person--sharing his space, his awareness, constantly, with an actual human being.
But what he wants... literally couldn't matter less.
So he doesn't even argue, just... sits back, his face blank.
A CLUMSY CURTSY
Annabelle doesn't seem interested in grilling him, seeming satisfied with his lack of a response. He's clearly stumped, which she thinks is sufficient for now.
"Also: your name? I gave you mine."
no subject
He looks up again, quickly. He'd already completely forgotten that he'd gotten her name, let alone whether or not he'd told her his own.
"It's Foster."
He doesn't know what else he should say after that, though. Nothing. That would be most fitting.
no subject
"Or not, depending on what makes more sense to you, I suppose."
Still holding her skirts, she looks around their trailer, furrowing her dark brows.
"Have you lived here for a long while?"
no subject
"Colloquially speaking?" Seeing as he hasn't 'lived' here at all, technically. "Just a few weeks... or I guess that's a couple months." One brown hand pushes back through his hair again, restlessly pressing furrows into the tangled blond curls.
"This, ah..." He glances at the... mess. It's mostly just scatterings of piled gold. "This is all from someplace we just left."
no subject
She looks back at him, smiling with almost impish interest. The prospect of adventure and boons is tantalizing as ever.
"...And what was that like?"