lostcarnival | ⇨ THE CELEBRATION

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⇨ THE CELEBRATION

Who: Everyone, especially YOU.
When: Day 60 - Day 65
Where: The Celebration
What: The carnival workers are invited to spend the week within the realm of the Celebration, the grounds of a party that has been going on for centuries. Accommodations are luxurious, but those with keen instincts might notice something off about this whole arrangement... (Questions can go to the original setting post!)
Warnings: Booze, drugs, sex, and everything in between.

THE CELEBRATION↴

If you observe that the layout of the Celebration grounds seem inconsistent, then you would be correct. In reality, what lies at the end of each corridor depends largely on what the guests of the Celebration want at the time - if a few people find themselves craving a drink, a bar may appear. If a group finds themselves wanting to dance, a club will open up. This goes on at all hours of the night, and given how many dedicated partiers fill the building, the services are well used. It isn't instantaneous, and the Host has to consciously decide to provide that service, but the changes are fast none-the-less.

► ROOMS: Each trailer pair will be assigned a room to themselves - whether or not it has two double beds or a single king sized bed seems essentially random. Hopefully you aren't too sensitive about keeping that space to yourself. The curtains at the far side of the room don't actually lead outside, but instead to a walk-in closet filled with the Host's best guesses at the type of clothing you might like. They may not hit the nail on the head, but at the very least all the clothing will be in your size. The styles could be just about anything, from any universe, but they do tend to average out to clothing that is Earth-ish. Either that, or clothing that looks like they are meant for elves from a high fantasy novel to wear.

► SHOPPING: If none of your pre-picked outfits tickle your fancy, plenty of boutiques and clothing shops can also be found around the grounds - whatever you're thinking of, you'll probably be able to find a shop appropriate for it eventually. Though, maybe it doesn't really count as shopping if you don't have to pay for any of the things you take back to your room with you? Unfortunately, from the sounds of it, you won't be allowed to drag all of your haul back to the carnival with you, so you better enjoy it while you can.

► DINING: There is no daily schedule to follow, after you arrive. You are free to attend the dining room whenever you wish, and will be seated at large round tables with whoever else may be around at the time, and can either order from the menu or most dishes you may think of off the top of your head. If you don't like the fine dining experience, there are also a selection of smaller cafes and eateries that open and close at varying times of day - and, of course, you can always call for room service.

► ENTERTAINMENT: There is plenty of live music around the grounds (not that you can ever seem to remember who the performers were afterwards) whether it comes to harp music while you eat or a full set of DJs in the club you found. If you are inclined to look for them, you may also find some cozy lounges with big screen TVs, and access to a multi-universal quantity of films. What's there or isn't there is unpredictable, but if you come from a standard variety of Earth you probably recognize some of them.

► SUBSTANCES: You don't have to be coy about it - just ask one of your servers, and you'll be able to get whatever kind of vices you might be craving. Drugs, alcohol, ice cream... it's all good. If this sounds like a nightmare for potential addicts, you would be correct. It's not uncommon to see people clearly over-indulging in certain locations, though guests are usually escorted back to their rooms if they take ill - only to see them back at it again the next day.

► SPA DAY: If you'd like to take a swim, pools of various aesthetics are easy to find. So are hot tubs, and saunas, and Host servants who are willing to give you a massage or manicure. If the party crowd isn't your scene, there are plenty of more low-key opportunities to indulge.

► GREENSPACE: There is one park area on the grounds, which appears to be constructed on the rooftops of other parts of the complex. While there are trees and greenery, there is no real sky that you can see - only the illusion of one. It may start to occur to you over time that no window or rooftop actually leads to any kind of outdoors. The Celebration really is there only thing here.

These are really just examples, and you can get creative with what kind of services you find offered while here, when it comes to generally mundane comforts. It really feels like the Host wants to win you over, as if you staying just a little longer has some sort of intrinsic appeal.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That gets laughter again from some, though there's a brittle quality to it this time. Until now, the escalation has met relatively little resistance, but being brought down to earth seems to stymy them for a moment even while Lambert takes a slow sip of his drink, looking around. Before the next player can say anything, though, the one who's been most ribald of all -- and periodically popping something pink and crystalline into her mouth all night --suddenly shudders, her bright yellow skin taking on a greyish tinge.

Lambert's reflexes, drunk or not, are swift enough to move him out of the way and onto his feet as she vomits noisily onto the seat he just vacated, sliding onto the floor twitching and glassy-eyed while foam bubbles at the corner of her lips. Immediately, a handful of servants materializes out of seemingly thin air, though they were really hovering close at hand the whole time. One whisks away the stained furniture, while another busies itself cleaning the mess off the floor. When Lambert looks up, the sprite is already gone, another of the servants having taken her away while his attention was elsewhere.

"Well," Lambert interjects into the silence, after a moment. "I've never had that happen to me." Heavily-lashed eyes snap to him with a focus that seems more uncanny now rather than flattering, accompanied by a gale of sweet laughter and cups lifted in unison.

Oh, that happens here all the time, one says. Another chimes in with I've lost count of mine like it's a point of pride, and Lambert feels the nape of his neck prickle as the medallion on his chest grows warm again, and the voice he's been ignoring in all the days since they've gotten here finally manages to pierce the fog of revelry: something isn't right here.

Even without the same reason to move that Lambert has, Childermass still pushes himself up to his feet, his immediate inclination to go over and help just before the Host's unnerving servants arrive to handle the matter. Unlike the witcher, he does watch them whisk the unfortunate sprite away with a discomforting level of uncertainty. That no one else around the table even batted an eye at that strikes him as wrong somehow, though he can't help but be on the fence over caring or not.

He remains standing a moment longer, leaning his weight heavily against the table to keep on his feet at all. Maybe he's had a little too much, now that he's finding something this simple taking such an effort.

"Does it...?" Happen all the time. He shouldn't be surprised, considering where they are, but he would have thought the sprite's friends would be a little more worried than this. He's wrong, apparently, the way they just carry on, and without the same kind of reminder to keep on being worried that Lambert has, he'll only frown a little while longer before sinking back down into his seat. Once there, he'll actually give a short laugh of his own and add, "Perhaps we should have stuck with card games after all. Shall we?"

Already, the memory of the sprite's face is slipping from Lambert's mind, and between one breath and the next the acrid scent of bile seems to disappear from the air as the magic scrubs away all traces of it. The heady perfume she'd been wearing, though, opium and lavender thick enough to make Lambert's nose itch, still coils lazily in the air. It's hard to think clearly, but he'll latch on to it, stepping around the table to general protest and grabbing Childermass by the upper arm.

"Actually..." He trails off, unable to come up with a good, compelling excuse on short notice. "I'm afraid need to steal Mr. Childermass for a moment," is the best he can come up with, trying to tug Childermass to his feet, unsteady himself. The scent trail is already weakening, mixed with the overpowering aroma of everything else here, but he'll struggle to follow it nevertheless.

He won't meet resistance, only confusion. Childermass throws one last look back towards their table full of somewhat fair-weather friends. He'll at least offer an, "Excuse us." Though with how quickly they've forgotten about their other missing friend, he imagines they'll only be upset with their departure for the time it takes for the two to leave their sight.

But why Lambert's so keen on dragging him away is a mystery, even to him, thanks to the exact same effects erasing the worry and thought of the sprite laid nearly as strong across himself as it had been the others. That doesn't stop him from guessing, though. It's obvious he isn't taking this seriously when a grin creeps its way across his face. He laughs again, more of a low chuckle and this time in disbelief, but finding it funny all the same.

"If you were this serious about wanting to be tied up, all you had to do was ask."

Which is true! The outcome would likely be tied up and then left there as a joke (especially with this Childermass), but still true. Though honestly, what the hell else is he supposed to think? Lambert, you didn't even stop to get your pants before moving to pick up that trail.

What?

"What?" Lambert asks blankly, thrown off enough to metaphorically screech to a halt in the middle of the hallway, glancing back at Childermass with a knitted brow. In the process of walking off, his hand has slid from the other man's shoulder to his forearm, dragging him along in his wake. It's not such an unusual sight at the celebration, even with one man as phenomenally underdressed as Lambert is right now, so they don't merit even a second glance from the people slipping past them.

"No, there's -- we're looking for someone," he says finally. It's a struggle to hold more than a few thoughts in his head at a time, but he's trying. "Come on, we'll lose them."

"We are?" That's news to Childermass. Who would they be looking for? Someone from the carnival? Someone from the— oh. "The woman they took away?"

There, he's not completely useless in this state. Only mostly. Oh well, he'll at least make some small effort to look around them while Lambert drags him along on his wild goose chase.

"That's the one. We should ... we should make sure she's all right." Lambert, of course, doesn't need his eyes at all -- just his nose. Although the smell of opium mingles with other substances that litter the air, the lavender is distinct. From time to time, he'll stop and sniff the air, turning his head, but the trail eventually leads them to a suite door that doesn't really look at that distinguishable from the rest of the ones lining the hallway.

"This one," Lambert says, with certainty, reaching out to try the handle -- it opens readily. And there's the woman in question, fully clothed in the middle of a still-made bed, breathing so quietly she might as well be dead.

Yeah, because two random dudes sneaking a look into some equally random lady's room isn't shifty at all. Here, perhaps it isn't, but when it becomes apparent she's not dead, slow breathing aside, Childermass can't help but shake his arm free from Lambert's grasp and try to step in and take the handle.

He's planning on closing it again, of course.

"And so she is. How in the world did you find her, anyway? I never saw which way they went."

"Strong perfume. I could find you the same way if I had to," Lambert answers distractedly, which isn't any answer at all. His uncertainty doesn't keep him from reaching out to place his hand over Childermass's, shaking his head.

"Wait," he's not sure why he's asking him to, and he frowns, looking down at the door handle, then back up. The scent of lavender is overpowering, but it's not quite enough to cover the sour smell of sweat and sickness, at least not to his nose.

"Let's at least make sure she's not gonna choke on her own puke," he says finally, pushing past Childermass and into the room. Yep, if this was anywhere else, the sight of a naked man shoving himself into a lady's room would definitely merit a call to the authorities. He tugs at her shoulder to roll the woman onto her side (she goes easily, head lolling with almost sickening fluidity) and he startles visibly.

Outside, with the bright lights of the celebration and her laughter lighting up her expression, she'd seemed vibrant and alive. Now that she's unconscious, though? It feels almost like he's looking at a corpse, skin ashen and paper-thin under his touch.

He'll pause at the hand over his and look back, raising an eyebrow. He can't fault the logic, however, so he'll let Lambert by and then follow him in.

"I don't wear perfume," Childermass feels the need to point out. He clearly isn't thinking of what else might put off a unique scent — tobacco, for example — and instead assuming and finding some offense there. The cloying stench of lavender in the room is bad enough of a reminder how headache-inducing the stuff can be.

How the woman in question looks will put a quick end to further complaint. What they see here isn't anything at all like the rude sprite from before, but some ghost of her. It's a surprise that she even is still breathing at all, the shock enough to cut through the haze he's been drifting in for a moment. He'll steady himself against Lambert, a hand on his shoulder, and frown down at what they're seeing here.

"They said this is normal for them? I am amazed they are still alive at all if that's true..."

Edited (werds) 2017-02-22 23:16 (UTC)

"No shit," Lambert mutters, unnerved enough to let the woman go, goosebumps prickling down his arm. Is it colder in here? It feels colder, even though he knows that's mostly in his own head.

"We should tell... tell someone," he says, slowly, turning to look at Childermass. They're close enough that the effort makes him slightly cross-eyed, and he shakes his head again, gritting his teeth. Why is it so hard to keep his head on straight, right now? It hadn't mattered outside, when the most strenuous thing he'd had to worry about was if his opponents had a better hand of cards or not, but just thinking really is like trying to grapple a wraith without Yrden.

"I don't think this is normal." Whether he's referring to the woman, or both of them being the way they are right now, it's hard to tell, and the furrow between his brows deepens.

Edited 2017-02-23 04:17 (UTC)

Rationally, Childermass would be able to tell him exactly why not even without including the magic that lays heavily over the manufactured world around them. He's drunk too much, he's probably gotten into substances he shouldn't have, and even being a weird monster hunter isn't enough to handle it all. Unfortunately, Childermass is in about the exact same situation here and so rational is a pipe dream.

Instead, there's only the frustrated confusion of knowing something is wrong, but not being able to focus on it.

"Yes. We should," he agrees after a longer than necessary moment of staring down at the near lifeless sprite. "I need to... go. To..." There's at least one sure way of divining that something truly isn't normal, but not here, not now, he's not even sure he'll get anything from them in this state. Still, he must try and he turns away from the bed towards Lambert to say—

"Where the hell did your pants go?"

Okay, that isn't what he originally meant to turn to Lambert and say, but now that he's somewhat more focused, even if only for the moment? That's honestly a very glaring issue previously left overlooked.

"What?" Lambert blinks at Childermass, before he looks down. Yup, that sure is a lack of pants down there! It's not really a problem as far as he's concerned -- and sober, in-his-right-mind Lambert would probably tend to agree, too -- so he just looks back up at Childermass, who still has his hand on his shoulder.

He actually can't remember how he lost his pants, but... come on, Childermass!

"The state of my wardrobe isn't relevant to the matter at hand, Mr. Childermass," he says with as much dignity as he can muster, ruined slightly by the way he slurs on words longer than a syllable. "I know you're easily distracted, but try to focus."

So none, no dignity, zero at all.

Though it's not like Childermass can argue with being easily distracted right now. So, he won't disagree, but he will roll his eyes and then step away, making quite the point of removing his hand from Lambert's shoulder. He'll just have to manage his balance on his own from here on.

"It is not relevant, no. I only thought you might care to know they are missing." He does have some recollection of the man losing them in the card game, now that he's bothering to think about it at all. Right. That happened. "But if there is nothing left to investigate here, we may want to consider taking ourselves elsewhere."

Probably for the best, all told. They're more likely to end up falling and tangled together than sufficiently mobile if they tried walking while leaning on each other.

"I'll find something," Lambert waves a hand dismissively. Probably the same way he found pants in the first place. He looks down at the unconscious woman again, an uneasy feeling turning in his stomach that has little to do with nausea or the things he's put in it.

"Let's go," he agrees, and then frowns, rubbing a hand at his temple. "Go where?"

He's not sure, to be quite honest. Go to find the Warden, go to find Strange, go to find the Ringmaster? Go to—

"There is something I need to look at," he says, coming to a decision. His first plan had been to ditch Lambert (sorry, Lambert) and go verify the danger, but he needs a card, one he doesn't have on him. "And unless you have a Fool hidden somewhere on yourself," which he knows isn't plausible in the least, "I must go to my own room here."

"Pretty sure I'd remember hiding a fool in my ass, so I probably don't." Most people wouldn't think to ask Lambert for a fool, but go straight to calling him one, so perhaps understandably confused when Childermass speaks. Of course, he has no idea what the hell he's talking about, but he's not going to say as much out loud, less it invite the other man's disdain (again).

"Then what are we waiting for?" He starts back off towards the door, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he's being followed. "You'll have to lead the way."

Yes, this would be him inviting himself to wherever Childermass' room is. And after a glance down -- "You can get your fool, and I can get some clothes on."

"No? And here I thought you might dispense them."

Look, he may not have called him a fool outright, but there it is, there it is.

And the witcher inviting himself along would have been an issue if Childermass could muster the will to care. He cannot, so he only shrugs and picks his way carefully back over to the open door. What they've stumbled onto may have sobered him somewhat, but unease can only belay everything he'd been up to prior to Lambert's wild chase for so long. At the door, he'll grip the frame and look up and down the hallway just outside.

"I am not sure it matters which way we even go. I have noticed something about this place..."

Edited (I MISSED LIKE HALF A SENTENCE wtf me) 2017-02-24 02:02 (UTC)

For that, Childermass is just gonna get Lambert making a face, like he's not sure if he should be insulted or not. He probably should, from the tone of his voice, but it's hard to focus on more than one thing at once, and being offended rates pretty low on that list ... a sign of how serious times are, really, when he can't maintain the snippy banter.

"You mean the constant redecoration?" Well, he has some snippy banter left in him, at least. "Can't complain. It makes getting around easier. It's your room, so you should think ... room thoughts." He twirls a finger around, vaguely.

"Exactly that. I've been wondering if it's not just some more expansive version of the labyrinth spell," Childermass begins once he steps out into the hallway, picking left at random and keeping a hand braced against the wall as he walks down the hall that way. It would be too easy to fall back into rambling about magic, he thankfully realizes, and so he leaves it at that.

He can only hope Lambert will know to follow along closely or be left behind because three doors down the scent of lavender perfume that the man had followed is rapidly vanishing, along with anything else he may have attributed to that area of the Celebration.

On the fourth door, Childermass reaches out to grip the handle and turn, shouldering it open without hesitation. He fully expects it to be his and, unsurprisingly, it is. One room with a king bed, mostly due to the fact that his usual trailermate is literally a talking bird. He hasn't brought all that much with him, either. Only what could be packed into what appears to be... a bag shaped like a killer whale?

Yes. That is a thing, a thing he owns. It's nothing he would have picked out on his own, but useful nonetheless, all right?

"Labyrinth spell?" The witcher apparently hasn't learned his lesson, for better or worse, about inviting rambling on magic, but hopefully their swift arrival at Childermass' room will end that train of thought before it can get started in earnest.

Lambert keeps pace easily, not quite at the magicians heels but close enough he nearly stumbles into his back when he pushes open the door. When he glances inside, the decor isn't much different from his own, though he quirks a brow at the magician's possessions, but marvelously doesn't comment.

Instead, he'll step into the room after him, rubbing his arms as he beelines for the closet.

"So what do you need a fool for?" When he throws it open, it displays the usual assortment of clothing he's come to expect, and he doesn't waste time in rummaging through, though he seems to discard pants arbitrarily before he picks one acceptable enough. It's too long on him, given the closet's still set to welcome Childermass, so he has to roll up the cuffs.

Their arrival does, actually, forestall any explanation. Lambert lucks out this time.

Meanwhile, any future commentary about the orca bag will have to be brought up to the stage manager. Childermass is only working with what he has here, ridiculous as some of it might be. That being said, he does have to rummage through the damnable thing to find what he's looking for, even to the point of turning the entire bag out.

"The Fool is a card in the tarot," he answers, although he suspects Lambert won't have any idea what that is. He's obviously not from Earth and not every world has such a deck. "One that I am, unfortunately, lacking, but that does not mean I cannot improvise."

From the contents of the bag, he'll find what he's looking for. Joker leaves a playing card with everything he sends and it's no surprise there's an actual joker card still in there with his own personal effects. That in hand, he'll move over to something a little more solid to work on than the bedspread.

The room has a little table surrounded by chairs, naturally, so that will be where he sits and takes out the rest of the cards at. The deck has been hidden in one pocket or another throughout the past few days, being the one thing for certain he would never let out of his sight. It would be the first time Lambert has seen it, though.

The cards are as shabby as Childermass normally is, handmade from more than one kind of paper, yellowing with age, and dog-eared around every edge. A few of them have what looks suspiciously like dry blood smeared across them, but that's only apparent on closer inspection. The art is more stylized than what Childermass had in his notes before, but still very much his own hand.

The playing card joker is starkly out of place with these other cards, but he shuffles it in nonetheless.

Childermass is correct in that Lambert doesn't recognize what he's talking about, but when he brings them out he'll understand better at least. Divining's a tradition as old as humanity; the only thing that changes is what they use it with. Once he has the pants buttoned up to his satisfaction, he'll join Childermass at the table, curiosity evident in his expression, though he doesn't reach out to touch the cards. If they've any magical properties at all, he knows that would be rude at best, potentially painful at worst. They look well-used, in any case -- almost as shabby as Childermass is on a non-carnival day, but somehow in more cared-for condition.

"A magician and an oracle too? You're a man of many talents, Master Childermass." He'll find himself a seat and plunk himself right down across him, folded arms resting on the table edge.

"Whose fortune are we reading today?"

"My own is the simplest way to check for anything having gone amiss," Childermass admits. "Although oracle is not a word I would care to use."

It's too fancy by far. At least a street magician, which he would still some irritation at being called such, was something that existed. Oracles, though? No, no oracles. He doesn't bother looking up when he answers, either, intently focused on getting the deck shuffled and then laying out the spread, face down. They're nine cards in all.

The rest of the deck is set aside for now and he carefully turns over card that's been laid out across the table. La Lune, La Maison Dieu reversed, the nine of Swords, Valet de Baton, the ten of Batons reversed, II La Papess, La Roue de Fortune, the two of Coins, and, finally...

It's on the ninth card that Childermass draws back suddenly, perturbed.

"The Devil? No. That can't be right." Oh, he knows it is. Even with the haze of drugs and alcohol still clinging to his thoughts, his cards should have read true. "Maybe the joker has thrown them off..."

He sweeps the cards back together, up and into the deck again, where he'll reshuffle them thoroughly. The cards more with practiced ease through his hands and he has nine out again in no time. Turned, however, they will reveal the exact same cards as before and Childermass can only frown.

The cards are interesting things, but it's the confidence Childermass handles the with that is arresting, a focus intense enough that Lambert really can believe he's a magician after all. For all that he says he doesn't care to be called an oracle, Lambert doesn't know what else would fit the obvious ritual these cards seem to possess, and the magic that gathers around it. It's thin, but it's enough for his medallion to vibrate as he begins laying them down.

None of the illustrations are familiar, but he can guess at some of the symbolism, and he'll watch silently when Childermass frowns and reshuffles. When he lays them out again, exactly the same spread as before, Lambert reaches out, taps the table just above the Devil without actually touching the card itself.

"This, here. What does this mean?" It's obviously the one that's bothering him, so he'll not bother to ask about any of the others.

Edited 2017-03-01 23:10 (UTC)

⇨ THE CELEBRATION

cw for puke n' drugs if anyone's even reading this, god

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this thread: when you're watching a really serious cutscene but also u modded ur character naked

at least it isn't a sombrero mod

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