⇨ THE MASQUERADE

[ringleaders]

Who: Everyone! Attendance is mandatory.
When: Late Day 65
Where: The Celebration
What: The Masquerade arrives, and so does the carnival's enemies. For more info, check out the Draculas 101.
Warnings: Further party hell. Also, vampire violence, mind control, etc.

THE HOST & THE HORDE↴ The time of the Masquerade arrives. You've been given free reign of the place up till now, but a few hours before the party commences the Host will inform you that your presence will be required, and will assist you (forcibly, if need be) to sort out any last minute costuming concerns you might have if you've left it until now. When masks and outfits are sorted, you'll be left to your own devices until you are summoned on the evening of Day 65. The Masquerade will start off normally - relative to everything else in this place, at least. Everyone in the Celebration will be called in for this event, centered in a grand hall with side rooms offered to those that need them for whatever reasons might come up. The food and drink is especially ambrosia-esque this evening, and the music will stir your soul, even if you're not usually a music person. Enjoy it if you can - the peace won't last. ► MASKS: Though the masks seemed only mundane before, once within the Masquerade atmosphere, they will magically begin obscuring people's identities beyond what a normal mask should be able to do. When a person is wearing one, it would be supernaturally difficult to figure out who they are - maybe you forget what their voice should sound like, or maybe the other details escape you. Of course, it's possible to figure out if you look for it, based on general shapes and personality traits, but unless you know someone well it could be a challenge. Of course, you can just take your mask off and remove the enchantment entirely - though the Host will hassle you if they notice you going without. Stop ruining the party! ► TEMPTATION: Though it's felt easy to be whisked away by the draw of pleasure and luxury during the rest of the week, that feeling will seem to come to a head at the actual party. If you are aware of what needs to be resisted then it's possible to fight back and ignore it, but more than ever it feels all too easy to just dance your life away. Nobody seems to be dying from it, at least, or 'burning out' any faster as a result - it's mostly just extremely distracting from other concerns. Like vampires, for instance. VAMPIRE: THE MASQUERADE↴ It's during the latter half of the party that things will start to go bad. Though it will go unseen by the carnival, the Masquerade has gained an additional set of guests - the vampire's of the demon lord that has been chasing them for the last several months. The Host doesn't discriminate, and anyone is welcome to attend the Celebration, provided they don't start a fight. Right. About that. ► THE KINDRED: The vampires don't like to play fair, which means that they are going to be attacking with stealth and trickery - taking advantage of the way that the party has dulled the alertness of many of the carnival's workers. They'll be using that lack of inhibition to lure individuals into places they can be attacked or turned in private - their primary goals are to capture the Supervisors and to turn as many of the Ringmaster's workers as possible before escaping back to their dimension. Some of their targets will be gone before anyone has a chance to notice. Remembering that they will be avoiding big public confrontations, so if anyone starts one of those it will probably by the carnival members striking back. This is going to wear on the Host's patience extremely quickly. ► COLD IRON: Oh, right, and they are definitely bringing iron weapons - as pure as they could get. They'll have things like iron collars or shackles to try to trap people with, as well as iron daggers and guns with iron bullets. They'll have to be on the down low with, but they are going to exploit that weakeness as much as possible. Those that have only been in the carnival a few months will mostly just feel discomfort at the touch of it - as if they are touching something that is slightly too hot or too cold. Veterans that have been around for years will find its touch to be burningly cold - the type of temperature that would threaten to destroy flesh after prolonged contact. Those that have been here for up to three years will take it the worst. See the Transformations page for more details! ► TURNING THE TABLES: Being turned is a mixture of pleasure and pain, and is often hard for mortals to mentally reconcile as it happens to them. Being drained by these vampires is simultaneously impossibly satisfying and extremely terrifying - once they've started in on your, the way it overwhelms your mind and body can make it nearly impossible to stop them without help. Once you are dead or dying, they will feed you their blood - at which point your body will go through a painful transformation as the demon spirit takes its place inside of you and your dead body is violently resurrected. As soon as you wake up, freshly changed, the bloodlust will set it - it will be extremely hard to control, and at first all you will think about is wanting to sate that hunger. Combined with your sire having direct control if your mind through your blood connection, new vampires will be mostly incapable of doing anything but following the whims of the rest of the vampire pack and seeking nourishment. This blood lust will begin to fade after they've fed. Killing isn't necessary to feed, but it can be hard to stop yourself, as a neonate vampire. ► CLOSING TIME: Before the party is officially over, the Host will have had enough. Before you can pursue all of the vampires or take back the people they've stolen, the lot of them will have escaped back to their dimension, and the Host will have kicked the entire carnival out for participating in so much violence. If you want to make any final moves before you go, this is the time.

Comments

[control_freak]

A. When The Party's So Good You Just Gotta Stab Yourself

[Foster's never been what you might call 'a party animal.' But right now, like this, it's a party like he's never experienced before, a party where the energy is... infectious. Energising. Exhilarating. Exciting?

Yes. It's exciting! It's fun... he's having fun! With people… having fun WITH people? Like he even belongs here...!?

He doesn't deserve it. He's having such a good time, but he doesn't deserve it... something like him, befouling a place meant as an oasis for others...

It’s... like wiping your hands on someone after using the toilet, but worse, so much worse, there is no metaphor strong enough for the violence and violation of his presence, his very existence--but instead of reacting with disgust, they eagerly invite you to hang out later.

He can voice his gratitude, his appreciation a thousand times over, but it isn't enough. It isn't enough just to say it, he has to show it. He knows! He knows he doesn't deserve to be having so much fun...! He knows he's filthy and revolting repulsive sickening vile, having fun, laughing--

This constant excitement is too much for Foster's poorly-managed brain to keep up with. The longer it goes on, the more the frayed and damaged wires begin to spark and smoke. So to speak, anyway. His swallow reflex has been basically lost in the whirl of enthusiastic events, and he has to keep wiping his chin--that is, when he remembers. But the mask prevents him from having easy access to his own face to wipe the saliva off anyway. It's a perfect storm of heightened emotions and decreased inhibition--on top of already disinhibited tendency--that was honestly unavoidable under these conditions.]

I know words aren't enough! I know, I can show you! I can show you how grateful I am!

[He slams his hand onto the buffet table palm-first, fingers spread. With his other hand, he snatches up the knife and plunging it straight through the back of his hand, driving the blade through tendon and flesh to finish buried deep into the wooden table.

That… uh. That probably made more sense to him than it did to onlookers.]

B. HIS Dead Vampire Now

[The revelation of the vampires’ sinister plot and all-out attack… is worrying Foster a lot less than it is everyone else. Part of it is the knowledge that he’s immune to their power of turning--he’s already dead. And he could only hope to truly die in such an interesting way… which means it’s unlikely happen.
Then there’s the fact that he really did not actually want to be part of this carnival to begin with. And part of it is that… well, he just doesn’t CARE about anyone here. Sophie, maybe, might have crossed his mind, but she can take care of herself.

With that in mind, rescuing Ginko was… a bit out of character for him, but it was definitely an interesting experience. To learn that he was not only capable of such a task--killing a sentient being and not just an animal--but that it was… really, easier than he expected. Now that the vampire is dead, though, he has a plan. A use for the body.

And in the empty cafe space, he’s drawn a vast, painfully elaborate ritual circle--in what, if anyone were paying close attention, appears to be a combination of wet coffee grounds, chalk, and mocha drizzle. In the centre lies the corpse of the neophyte, gold Atlantean coins over its eyes--and one in its mouth. Small tea candles--stolen from party--are arranged in careful, numerous geometric asymmetry.

He’s still working on it, crawling carefully amongst the markings with a sense of grim focus, stabbing forks and butter knives into the floor at specific intervals, the knife he’d appropriated from the buffet table earlier that night clenched tightly between his sharp, prehistoric teeth.

Nothing to see here, folks. Nope. Just your everyday garbage necromancer at work.]

Stabby Stabby

[detonarrator]

[So there's this guy she sees out of the corner of her eye, and she does a double take. He seems really familiar, like. Man she knows she knows him, but can't put her finger on it. The mask of course doesn't help, but she's not that great with faces anyway so it surprises her that it's throwing her for a loop like this. Maybe it was somebody she's met at the carnival last time? Hmmph.

Clearly the answer is to surreptitiously follow him around the masquerade. She's taking full advantage of the fact that his mask cuts down his peripheral vision, and carefully watches him as he wanders around the party, seeming sort of punch drunk. He keeps wiping at his mouth...God damn it he is so familiar.

And then he starts talking, she sees him grab the knife, and it clicks. Well, it feels more like a the bang of a shotgun, complete with the recoil in her chest and the temporary deafness. How the FUCK is he here and what the FUCK is he doing jESUS god fuck, FUCK. People are staring, there's a few gasps and Sophie shoves her way through the gathering concerned throng. She grabs the wrist that was wielding the knife and twists, breaking his grip, then yanks the knife out of his hand. She tosses it to the side with a clatter of metal and splatter of blood droplets, and grabs a cloth napkin and presses it down on Foster's bleeding hand with possibly slightly excess pressure. Angry, frazzled, definitely tipsy, she leans in and tries to speak quietly. It's still pretty loud.]

How the hell are you here? What..HOW. Did you follow me here somehow? What the fuck. What the fuck!

[control_freak]

[Foster is so genuinely caught off guard that it's a little absurd. It simply did not occur to him that there could be someone so opposed to him mutilating his own hand that they might intervene. Sophie's grip is so strong that there's really no chance of him resisting it--he does try, though, pulling his wrist against her hold before she rips the knife out of his left hand, freeing it from the table with a clotted spatter of blood both stagnant and 'new.'

For a few precious seconds, physical pain takes a backseat to incomprehension and anger; his disgust at her touch evaporates slightly once he recognises her voice, however... halfway through her drunken interrogation. He is totally silent for several long, slow-loading seconds, during which his blue eyes dart back and forth behind the mask.

The fleeting pass of emotion is gone already, the experience beyond his recall. Instead, he.... honestly, what the fuck?]

..... Sophie?

[What the fuck.]

[detonarrator]

[awj;eitahsedoginaseth!!! This!!! WHAT???? UGH. She grinds the heel of her palm down on Foster's hurt hand. In theory to help stop the bleeding, in practice mostly out of nerves and aggravation...and somewhere sort of, weirdly....affection. But also to yknow, drive her point home and get her questions answered dammit.

But the more she stares at Foster, a few things stick out that start filling in the blanks on their own. Those ears, his teeth...Those were fae changes. She'd only been back for like two weeks, not nearly enough time to have both of those set in, even if teeth and ears tended to be some of the first things to go. He couldn't have just followed her in, he's been here longer than she has, (at least on her current trip).

She too spends a few long seconds trying to let her mind catch up, and calming down a little. The pressure on Foster's hand eases up just a tad. Now it's back to being a functional gesture. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter and much more level, almost an empty sort of deadpan as a few more heavy thoughts settle into place.]

Yeah. Hi. What are you doing here? With the carnival I mean?

[The question this time is much less demanding. She's got to fill in a few more blanks before she lets herself give in to this horrible sinking feeling entirely.]

[control_freak]

[He's... confused, honestly. He's still trying to process Sophie's presence at all; the possibility of meeting someone else from his world had seemed so mathematically remote--the odds were so objectively infinitesimal as to be impossible, the further chances of it being someone he knew personally.... he'd completely disregarded it. He's also still trying to recover his thoughts from the moment just seconds before, and adjust them to this moment now. Abrupt tone shifts are not unheard of from him, but now the cause is not internal but external..]

I.. ah--

[The force needed to stem the dead flow of blood isn't insubstantial, but the gratuitous application of pain is--

He winces visibly. Behind the mask, it's impossible to tell what kind of facial expression accompanies that.

But it's Sophie, so if anyone knows him well enough to guess, she has a pretty good shot.

And the pain gives him a distraction--a consistency from a point neither Here nor There, and he manages at least an answer, thought it's vague and cryptic as he often is. His tone is hollow, distracted in that desperate, breathless way he has; he's miles away.]

...repaying a debt.

[detonarrator]

[Sophie frowns and rolls her eyes, an annoyed hrmph accompanying the expression. Of course he would be like this right now. Eye contact was not really a normalcy between them, so the fact that she'd been staring him down for the past few moments is notable. Finally though her gazed drops down to focus on Foster's hand. She leans in again, pushing down on his hand, clearly intentional this time. It's a small weird gesture of affection, although no one besides the two of them would know.]

No shit Sherlock, I mean like...What's your contract? How'd you get here?

[That nagging, sneaking suspicion won't leave her gut, and she doesn't like feelings that linger inside like that, so she bites the bullet and adds one more question.]

When'd you get here?

[That might be too vague. He might give her an answer that doesn't tell her what she's looking for and well. Maybe she's okay with that. At least for a few more moments.]

[control_freak]

[The intense, sustained staring thing she's doing is disorienting him. He looks people in the eye only for specific purpose, and the rest of the time he makes it a point not to. She only stares him in the eye so fixedly when she's--

...ah.]

I just told you.

[He sounds crabby, but it's the questions she's asking he dislikes, not who's asking them. He doesn't want to talk about this at all; his shock at the sight of Sophie is already over. His mind has moved on to other things. He squirms in her grasp, pulling her hand towards him--it's not to escape the pain, though; it's the exact opposite.

If he could melt into that pain, merge with it, drink it like liquor--]

I don't want to talk about that.

[detonarrator]

[A second, more troubled hrmph of air. Did that mean he wasn't here by choice? He'd been conned in or something? It either meant that, or he'd asked for something he didn't want her to know about. IF that was the case, it bothered her. It's just a hypothetical, and she can't even really nail down why it should even matter. They weren't each other's confidants or anything like that. But this was the whole problem she'd been trying to avoid this...THIS. This being UPSET and INVESTED in them and the inevitable clear truth that it's just her that's like this.

He doesn't want to talk about it? Yeah well she honestly really doesn't want to be talking to him. And yet it doesn't occur to her to walk away. This is happening, and he is here, and she is going to have to deal with it. If she could abandon the carnival entirely, she'd be out in a second but that is...not even remotely an option. Ring Master wasn't likely to take 'jk nvm I'm having boy problems' as a valid reason to void a contract.

She grinds her teeth, pulls her hand off his, and turns fully towards the table. She starts ripping a long strip from the hem of the table cloth.]

Fine. At least tell me what was going on back in our world when you found this place though.

[Quit beating around the bush get the answer get it over with.]

[control_freak]

[Oh. Is that all she wanted? Foster is more than happy to give her that information.]

You'd just come back from that thing in Poland, with the bishop.

[It's only because it's so recent that he can recall this particular event so quickly. Bookended as it is by his own death and an involuntary transdimensional fae contract, you'd think it wouldn't be so hard, but your brain isn't riddled with rot and literal holes, like a sieve for disease. Memory is not Foster's friend; he loses large chunks of time, major events, and the order of things on a regular basis. So it's a rare courtesy, taking the effort to consider what would have been more pertinent to Sophie's memory than--from his perspective--the grander scheme of events as he remembers them.

With his hand released, he gestures freely, his gaze roaming off somewhere to the side.]

I don't know much of what happened after I achieved my revival--if there was anything important, I've probably missed it! I was still trying to figure out if I could leave the house.

[detonarrator]

[Punch in the gut, sinking feeling, cold knot in her stomach. All that kind of stuff was bullshit. What she's feeling right now is...dull acceptance. She's not even sad, (really, definitely, of course not). There's not anger, which almost surprises her. There's not really much of anything. This is just how it is.

She ran away because she's not sure she could deal with Foster not being invested in her as much as she was in him, and well. Now it's going to be impossible to avoid finding out. It's not that they weren't close by then. They were remarkably compatible and it didn't take long to figure that out at all, but. There'd been a shift, a slow and terrible change between them in those months that she has but he's missing. They'd only basically JUST started living together from his point of view. They might not have agreed on it at all even...

So, decision time. What's she say about it? Tell him she's from ~the future~? Pretend she's not? Not bother bringing it up? A good thing about Foster is that he almost certainly wasn't going to ask about it himself, but she might just want it to be out there. Not dump everything on him duh, that was, it's why, like. UGH It wasn't fair to bring all this up to her current Foster, and even less to this one. But yeah. Be upfront. When has she ever done anything else?

She turns her head to the side while she thinks this over, scanning over the party scene. When she's at the end of her thoughts she grabs a martini from a passing waiter, flicks the olive out somewhere behind her, (it hits somebody in the back of the head but they obviously didn't see where it came from), and grabs Foster's wrist again, turning his mauled hand palm side up. She pours a generous portion onto the hole, then dabs at it with her makeshift bandage before turning it over and repeating the process on the other side.]

The answer is sorta. You don't get out much, but it's not like you're under house arrest. You pass for 'living but probably kind of ill' well enough that it's not a big issue.

[control_freak]

[His flesh might be dead, but the nerves--well, they're also dead. The only reason he feels pain at all is his own magical command. Either way, choosing to speak after dumping the alcohol on his hand was probably a mistake. The instant it hits his open wound, he shivers visibly with suppressed ^agony_delight at the spasm of exposed flesh and searing, eating pain. It's a sensation that starts at the top of his scalp with a prickling like a thousand needles and shudders down through his body as his hand burns.

Even after the initial searing moments of pain, the effects linger: a faint tingling sensitivity, especially over his lower ribs; a hot sting inside his hand as the alcohol content of the intended beverage does its work; a state of basic arousal that Sophie of all people really should have expected.

He does hear her, but only belatedly; at that point, her answer is a lot less interesting to him, and he doesn't really bother to acknowledge it.]

[detonarrator]

[The reaction is expected, she just hadn't thought all the way through the action. As is fairly common for her. She has a reason she's doing this, and thinks very little about how Foster is going to react, except that she knows the rougher she is with treatment the less he will complain about it. It's something of a routine for her, taking charge of his selfcare, and shutting down his protests of such. Her next move is to tie the cloth strip tightly around his hand. She'll double it up with a second layer in a second, and at some point they should probably get some gauze for it? He really ought to have stitches probably but whatever.

The silence is also not out of place, and even if it was abnormal she probably wouldn't notice it. 'Motormouth' is insufficient to describe what happens when Sophie really gets talking. And right now talking is honestly much better than having to think about all this so here come The Words.]

I'm from a few months later. Well like, closer to a year I guess. You didn't seem suddenly any different, after that trip, so I guess for my world you? Never went to the carnival? I don't know anybody whose really dealt with something like that so I don't know what to tell you. Grant and Chip are doing good, and no undead enforcement squad officers have busted down my door yet so there's that.

[The fact that she just effective admitted that he's living at her place doesn't really occur to her. It was just a...summary of events on her end without getting into any real Situational Details.]

[control_freak]

[Sophie's penchant for filling silences without concern for reciprocation is part of what makes it easy for Foster to exist in the space next to her. He doesn't mind talking--in fact, a lot of what she says can be interesting--but he dearly minds the requirement to respond.

He struggles to follow what she's saying now, though.

For several reasons. His eyes are still a little glazed, and his mind is definitely elsewhere. On the pain, and how much more he wants it. On the tight pressure of his crude bandaging. On cravings of physical nature. On a question she's inadvertently raised. And she's presenting him with a lot of information that isn't immediately relevant nor entirely asked for.

But it's mostly the concept of 'the future'--the actual existence of a future for him, one in which he is alive and even somehow both known and relevant--that he's a bit delayed to digest.

Being alive (or undead, anyway) still hasn't really sunk in yet. He'd only just begun to appreciate its reality--a reality in which he was neither dead nor in imminent decay--when he was involuntarily contracted to the carnival.]

--okay?

[His answer comes out somewhat blank.

But she's shot herself in the foot in more ways than one. It's only a few more seconds before he appends something else.]

I'd have been more concerned about vampires coming to break down my door, to be honest.

...but good to know.

b is for blood magic

[kingsroads]

[ See, the problem with the cafe space is that the bathroom attached to said cafe space has a mirror. And, in his attempt to get away from one of the vampires who was a little bit put out that he got set on fire, Strange cast his travel through mirrors spell to go basically anywhere but the main ballroom. And anywhere but the ballroom turned out to be the bathroom to the cafe that Foster's being a big ol'creep in.

There's a commotion coming from the bathroom as Strange just kind of falls out of the mirror, gets tripped up in the sink, knocks his shoulder against the wall, and swears loudly. Subtlety's lost this round and bruises have won. Pushing open the door, he spots Foster's handiwork and almost instantly frowns. Well. There's a body. A body sitting in the middle of a circle with candles scattered around. It doesn't take an idiot to know that this whole scenario bleeds magic. So, Strange walks over towards the circle, being careful not to smudge it in any way. ]

What on Earth are you— [ and then he gets a better look at the circle ] Is that ritual magic?

[control_freak]

[Well, that was the opposite of subtle. Foster is so focused on what he's doing that Strange's little personal calamity in the loo jars him, and it's a good thing he was smart enough to hold the knife in his mouth with the sharp part facing out or he'd probably have bled on the circle prematurely.

And in the wrong place.

And--

Excuse you?

Foster looks at Strange like he's lost his mind. Which is ironic for at least one reason.

Taking the knife from his mouth:]

..... yes??

[He's having a hard time believing he was just asked that.]

Get out of the circle.

[If you know enough to recognise ritual magic, you should know enough not to stand in it.]

[kingsroads]

[ Get out of the circle ahaha nope. Strange continues to stand in the circle as he walks around, taking notice of all the different pieces and parts and ooh, he hasn't seen that technique used before, they'd have to talk about it later.

He then looks from the corpse, to the knife, to the ritual circle...aw hell, he's got a good idea of what Foster's trying to do. And Strange can't help but look at Foster with a look that plainly screams 'you're an idiot' as he carefully steps outside of the ritual circle. ]

It won't be worth it, by the way. Tell me, what do you plan to do with this poor soul after you raise him from the dead?

[control_freak]

[Yes. Yes! Tell the undead necromancer more about how raising the dead isn't worth it.

He loves to hear that. No, really.

The implication that his very existence is a mistake, the absolute condemnation of everything he is... it's so absolutely insulting. But the timing is... not great? He's simultaneously thrilled and extremely frustrated.]

... thank you! Thank you! I am a vile, disgusting mistake! Everything I do is a waste. I'm an abomination, an obscenity... I should not exist, but--!

[But. He... does. In violation of every law of magic or nature or society, now... inflicting his presence on others.

He looks... apologetic? Or maybe just tired.]

...unless you plan to do something about it...?

[There are a few clues about his meaning if Strange is attentive. There's somewhat erratic stitching at the front of his neck. And there's a longish open wound on his left hand already--one that passes all the way through, like he impaled it somehow. It's not bleeding, despite having been left visibly untreated. ]

...as for this... it was a vampire.

[He says it as though this explains everything. It does explain why the head is gone, at least. But probably not much else.]

But it doesn't matter much; it's going to get destroyed pretty fast.

[It's not a vampire any more, it's a corpse. Gross undead aren't much stronger than a human, they're just more tenacious and unyielding. The vampires are going to tear it to pieces, eventually literally.]

[kingsroads]

[ Strange is of two minds about this. On the one hand, what the hell, don't use blood magic, that's bad news and he's liable to go off on a long rant about how much bad news it is in the first place. On the other hand, he's doing some pretty heavy justification with regards to vampires and their lack of humanity. How different is it to bring back something that's already damned? When he raised the dead, he wrenched those poor souls from hell, but vampires...well, if they were demonic, then shouldn't they be in hell to begin with? Where did dead vampires go?

Let's not think about that and criticize Foster's technique instead! Whoo hoo not dealing! ]

If you do plan to raise the dead, you're making this far too complicated than it actually is. All it takes is the right incantation and some blood magic, that's—

[ And then he looks over at Foster and spots that longish wound on his left hand...that isn't bleeding...and certainly hasn't been treated. Strange's words trail off into nothing as he just stares at that wound.

Ah. This is more complicated than he thought. He frowns still, peering over at the ritual, then back to Foster. ]

This might be a rude question, but why isn't your hand bleeding in the first place?

[control_freak]

[Foster looks down at his hand slowly, like he can't figure out what Strange's point is. It occurs to him after a moment.]

Mmmm.

[He lifts his hand to inspect it, pensive--he can actually see through it, so when he holds it up, he can see Strange on the other side.

He's also still holding the knife--the same knife that made that wound, in fact--in his right hand.]

I don't bleed much, or make much blood... it's kind of a problem, honestly.

[He doesn't heal, either, so that wound is going to be there until he stitches it closed.

But when he lowers his hand again, he looks back up at Strange, a bright smile replacing the dispassionate look he'd had on his face just moments prior.]

To be safe, I'll probably need to make a very large cut for this.

[Oh, and--]

--I do know what I'm doing.

[kingsroads]

[ Oh my God this man does not know what he's doing. The Look that Strange is giving Foster just DEEPENS as he looks from the man back to the circle then back to the man. ]

Are you— [ don't say are you an idiot, don't say are you an idiot ] This is ridiculous! Not only are you attempting this sort of magic in the first place, but you're attempting it despite the fact that you don't bleed? What on Earth possessed you to do something like that?!

[ He doesn't mean to come off condescending, smarmy, and paternalistic but hoo boy that is what he's doing. Because the more he learns about this situation the less goddamn sense it actually makes. ]

I didn't get a notif for this? Dreamwidth, what the hell.

[control_freak]

[.......

Foster stares at Strange for a long, long moment. On the one hand, he's deeply gratified by the man's contempt and condescension. On the other... accepting that censure when it's rooted mostly in false assumptions is kind of... gross.]

Yes. Yes! I know. I'm an idiot, incapable of doing anything correctly. I'm absolutely worthless. I'm disgraceful. Pathetic. I can't even learn. My brain has rotted too far--it's just a waste of meat!

[--well. Actually. Brains are mostly fat. That's... not the point.

He glances at Strange, then raises the knife demonstratively, as though perhaps it's self-explanatory.]

.... still, being meat, the undead body does still bleed. Just not very much--it's really more like a disgusting sludge. I really just haven't tried this since my suicide, is the thing.

Which is... why I asked you to step out of my circle.

[He'd like to be able to say something like 'so that when it inevitably goes wrong, you won't suffer the consequences?'

But it's really more like 'so that you don't fuck it all up by standing right in the middle of it, which is the one specific place where living people should not be standing?'

There's no effectively self-deprecating means of telling someone they're in your way, though.]

what the heck dreamwidth, stop harshing our rp buzz

[kingsroads]

[ Self-deprecation meets needless stubbornness as Strange just...continues to berate Foster, sorry buddy, it's not your fault that Strange a: has a thing about blood magic and b: still kind of thinks Foster's a moron. ]

I wouldn't go so far as to call you absolutely worthless. Just someone who's hasty and making ill-thought out mistakes. Really, the coins and the candles are good for atmosphere but absolutely useless for the—

[ wait stop hold the phone, rewind a bit ]

Did you say your suicide?

Now the WEATHER is against us, maybe the universe is trying to protect Strange from this bullshit

[control_freak]

That's what I said.

[Foster meets that nigh-audible record scratch with a truly guileless smile, a look just shy of wide-eyed.

'Hasty and ill-thought out'... Strange has no idea just how accurate that is. And also isn't.]

I didn't expect it to work, but I didn't have any better choice. Even if it's supposed to be impossible to resurrect your own body... ! It is the greatest insult to the universe possible, that against the most astronomical of odds, someone like me would be able to achieve success...!

[He's trying so, so hard not to sound proud, not to sound confident in any way, and he averts his eyes here in his excitement, free hand pressed back through his hair.

Then he glances at Strange.]

...I did say I knew what I was doing.

it's a sign from something at least

[kingsroads]

[ ...

Yeah there's just a pause here as Strange thinks. Resurrecting yourself? Bringing yourself back from the dead? It's...well, it's practically impossible to start off with. Bringing someone else back from the dead was difficult yet doable, but bringing yourself back? You'd have to time the blood with your death perfectly (unless, of course, necromancy works different on this man's world).

So, with a hint of awe under all that confusion, Strange asks, ]

How did you manage to do that?

[ and yeah, Strange and his lack of an attention span have just straight up forgotten about the fact that there are vampires at the party. Let's talk about weird magic instead. ]

:V

[control_freak]

[It probably looks pretty bad for Strange that he's forgotten their current crisis when the man with literal brain damage has not.

Which is honestly why he's so testy about Strange being in his circle.

Well, that and constant, paranoid certainty that Strange is going to step on or smudge something. It doesn't really matter what, because anything of the sort will probably end equally badly.

You'd think he'd be gratified by Strange's interest, but under the circumstances...

Well, actually, it still doesn't stop him from being a piece of shit.]

You wouldn't like it.

[His eyes lid partially, and he smiles serenely back at Strange.]

There were quite a lot of candles.