lostcarnival | ⇨ HOME AGAIN

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⇨ HOME AGAIN

Who: Anyone!
When: Day 68 - Day 72
Where: Carnival grounds.
What: Everyone makes it back to the carnival after their adventure in hell. The Ringmaster makes a new lake to celebrate, apparently.
Warnings: A notable absence of torture.

TO HELL AND BACK↴

The rescuers and the liberated captives will emerge from the portal like bats out of hell. Much like their previous return, this arrival will be met with a flurry of medical activity as everyone gets their injuries seen to, particularly those that had been held prisoner within Morningstar's hell fortress. It will still be night when they arrive, and the rest of Day 68 will be clouded over completely, for the benefit of the new vampires as they get settled in. After the immediate panic is dealt with, the Ringmaster will disappear into the forest until the morning of Day 69. It will be raining off and on during her absence.

► RECOVERY: Unlike the last time, the Ringmaster will be supplying the carnival workers with some healing potions from her private hoard, given that most of the healers are already wounded or spent. Damage caused by iron poisoning will not be cured by healing magic or healing items though, unfortunately, and those who have spent a lot of time in contact with iron will take at least a week to fully recover. However, regular healing remedies like bandages and herbs may help speed things along if the patient is suited to them.

► A BRAND NEW LAKE: On the morning of Day 69, the Ringmaster will return the forest to announce that she's built a new lake into the carnival grounds, only a short trail's distance from the backyard. Unlike most of the forest, this area won't just lead you in circles when explored, meaning that it can actually be modified and developed as the workers see fit. The water is always clean and just the right temperature for swimming, though it gets a bit cooler the deeper you swim. At the far side of the lake, there is a warm, stone pathway leading up the side of the mountain, that will eventually take you to some bangin' hot springs. Brought to you mostly because the Ringmaster doesn't know how to say sorry with actual words. At least it gives you something to play with while you try to shake off the trauma.

► FRUITS OF VICTORY: On Day 70, all the workers who came to hell for the rescue mission will be given a gift from the Ringmaster. Each of them will receive a bright green, glowing seed, about the size of your thumbnail. She will tell you that, when planted, the seeds will swiftly grow into a small citrus tree, which will grow fruits with regenerative properties. More details about these plants will be written up in a separate post, but for now your characters can ogle them and decide if they are going to plant them or not.

► TAKE ME TO CHURCH: Staring on Day 71, the Ringmaster will be starting to work on removing the vampirism from those infected with it, which apparently involves a lot of... meditation? She will take the newbie vampires out into a shady area of the forest and encourage them to look inside themselves and attempt to separate themselves spiritually from their demonic beasts. How well you character masters her teachings over time will determine whether or not she is ultimately capable of stripping out your demon soul and returning you to life. Of course, not all demons are made equal, and some will be more difficult to separate than others...

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"Suit yourself," Lambert shrugs, dropping the fish (splat, splat) on the rock he's designated as his makeshift table at the lakeside. "Can I use your fire anyway? Was going to start my own, but seems like a waste if you've got one going."

Regardless of Childermass's answer, he's crouching down and fishing the Atlantean dagger from where he's tucked it into the back of his waist band. Apparently, the fact that it's been in vampires and god knows what else isn't stopping him from using it to expertly slice open and gut the fish he's caught.

Whatever mood Childermass had left him in last time, it doesn't seem like Lambert's overly concerned. Perhaps it's due to the way his relationship works with the other witchers. People get mad at him all the time, yell at him for a bit, and at the end of the day they carry on regardless. Because they're stuck together.

"You still have that?" Is going to be the first thing he says when he turns back to answer Lambert. Initially, it would have been 'no, sod off', but spotting the dagger works as a sudden reminder. That's right, that's where that went. That and the necklace, which he has yet to get back. "Not really the kind of blade you should use for that, you know."

It's not as if he's particularly attached to the weapon — he had, after all, let Lambert hang onto it for this long — but now that it's only being used to gut fish, well, it's a different case. It's mildly irksome, adding to the general irritation that the dripping wet witcher happens to be.

He doesn't answer the fire question just yet, though. Give it a moment, he's reconsidering and raising his pipe back up to puff on it idly as he does. He'll no doubt come to a conclusion by the time he's through gutting the fish.

"Huh?" Lambert looks up from what he's doing, but his fingers will keep moving, mechanically going through the motions of slicing open the fish's belly, hooking out the entrails, and cutting out the gills. The task is mindless and repetitive enough he can do it in his sleep, even if the magician's right -- it's really not the right kind of blade for the task.

"Sure I still have it. A knife's useful. It's a little late to change your mind about giving it to me now." Lambert had tried to return it once, and Childermass had turned him down, so as far as he's concerned that means he gets to keep it. He moves his attention to another fish -- it's not going to take long to get through all of them, and when he does he hooks his fingers into their cut gills and steps back to the water, swishing the fish through to clean it of blood and guts.

With his back turned to Childermass, it's easy to spot the bioluminescent spots lighting up his back, clustered mostly around his spine. Another souvenir from Atlantis.

On one hand, Childermass doesn't actually care that much, since a knife is a knife, but it used to be his knife (since, apparently, he's decided handing it off during the attack means keepsies). It's going to be irritating for a little while longer.

"I suppose so," he'll admit to it, though. He certainly never placed a limit on his generosity with that. In retrospect, he should have, and he makes a mental note never to let the man borrow things from him. Even if there is ever anything else he'd care to borrow, but one never knows. "But I do expect the necklace back, considering I never meant to hand it over to you in the first place."

The spots draw his eye briefly, if only because he's never seen them this clearly in the dark. Oh, he'd known they existed, but in the bright lights of the Celebration, they seemed much dimmer. He's not the only one to have gained those strange spots, however, and he won't comment. If anything, it's the horns that are amusing...

Being more circumspect about his personal belongings probably isn't a terrible idea, in all honestly. Witchers like Lambert don't tend to to stand on propriety. Though when Childermass brings up the necklace, Lambert's actually going to look over his shoulder in mild perplexment.

"What necklace?" That's right, Childermass, he's straight up forgotten that he lifted it off him, and he pauses to walk his memory back to figure out what he's talking about. He remembers most of that time, even halfway to being blind drunk, but specific memories are hard to pull up... though when he recalls the right one, he barks a laugh, tugging the cleaned fish out of the water.

"I don't have it," he shrugs. "Not right now, anyway. When we got kicked out of the party, it tossed a bunch of my stuff with us. It's probably still there."

In the pocket of Lambert's pants, a pile of clothing that's been sitting ignored in a corner of his trailer for ... how long now?

"You can have it back when I do the laundry." What use has he got for something like that, anyway? "Need it to cheat at drinking again?"

Edited (i liked this wording better ) 2017-03-28 22:18 (UTC)

Somehow, the lack of memory does not surprise Childermass. If it weren't for the fact that he's finding himself short one magical necklace when he once had two and a unique one at that, he may have let the memory of where it went to fade away without a worry. It is, however, not as easy to give up on as, say, that dagger Lambert has there.

"More like need it to avoid getting piss drunk and spending an inordinate amount of time with people like you again," he replies, leaning towards being a little more openly harsh than he might usually. It's not like the witcher will even care, though, so why pull punches?

"Now the real question is, do you ever do laundry?"

"Sure I do. You think witchers make enough money to buy new clothes every time we get covered in monster guts?" Lambert laughs like that's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. As Childermass correctly figures, though, he doesn't seem all that insulted, giving a light shrug.

"Seemed like you were enjoying getting piss drunk and spending time with people like me. Don't think it could've worked without something that wasn't already there. Would have been shitty if we'd stayed there longer, though." Casually, like they hadn't just had their lives and wills compromised ... he's still confident he could have gotten out of it on his own eventually, but they'll never know now, will they?

Edited (lmao he insulted himself even when childermass didn't oops) 2017-03-30 01:20 (UTC)

"Of course I was," Childermass will admit to that much. Just like he can figure Lambert isn't easily insulted, he also figures he isn't easily fooled, at least not in that case. "But that doesn't mean I should have. I do not care to find myself so caught off-guard and I can't imagine you liked that part any better than I did."

He won't harp on about the consequences, because who cares? He got drunk, he went on about something to Strange that Strange wasn't meant to know, now he's almost certain the England he'll be returning to once his contract is up will be changed somehow. The worst the witcher probably has is complaints about being hungover.

In any case, he finally does glance back towards the campfire off down the shore, then over towards Lambert again.

"But since you're planning on being kind enough to return the necklace," and he says kind in the most sarcastic way humanly possible. "Fine. You are welcome to use my fire, just try not to burn those."

"I didn't," Lambert agrees, though he'll flash Childermass a quick smirk all the same. "Though out of all the times I've been fucked over, that was probably one of the better ones."

Not that he imagines Childermass cares in the least about those other times, and frankly? Lambert doesn't care to dwell on it it either. When the magician grants his permission (though even if he hadn't, no doubt Lambert would be bothering him regardless) he nods and slings the cleaned fish up to a better grip as he saunters towards the campfire.

"Works for me." A quick scan of the surroundings shows some likely-looking sticks to spear the fish on, and he goes about doing exactly that, setting them up to begin the slow process of cooking on the side that Childermass isn't using.

"Why am I not surprised..."

Regarding it being one of the better ones, though he is right. Childermass doesn't care to ask about those other time.

And yeah, he had already figured if he told him to get bent about using the campfire, he would have just wandered over to use it anyway. It's not like there's a whole lot he could do to stop him, apart from being petty and dousing the whole thing. Since Childermass isn't about to do that, he'll just deal.

Back over at the campfire — he had trailed along after once Lambert strode off, not in any particular hurry to get back — he goes right back to where he was before, retaking his seat on the ground and lounging back against one of the logs he'd dragged over, one elbow propped up on it. The fish getting staked by the campfire get an idle look, just to check where they are, and then he's attention drifts back out to the lake.

If he had doused it, Lambert would only light it up again until he gave up in annoyance. So, luckily for both of them, they're not experiencing that particular exercise right now.

Perhaps unusually, things lapse into silence after that. Lambert seems preoccupied with the fish and his own thoughts (shocking as it may seem, he has a lot on his mind right now) while Childermass is occupied staring at the lake. Though after a few minutes (it turns out fish don't cook any faster no matter how hard you stare at them) Lambert looks up and tracks where the magician's gaze falls.

"Beautiful view, huh?" Even he can appreciate that, despite being someone who was just, you know, throwing bombs in the water. "Guess she really can do anything she wants here." Who or what else would put a big-ass lake in the Carnival overnight?

That the man who had been trying to hard to blow up nature is capable of stopping to look at it is, actually, a little surprising. A little surprising and also a little funny, enough that Childermass lets out a faintly amused huff along with the smoke from his pipe. He takes the pipe away from his lips again along with the sound, turning his head only just enough to watch Lambert out of the corner of an eye.

"Suppose so," he'll kind of agree. It's not England, but he's also extremely biased there, so take it with a grain of salt. "I'm more impressed by the mountain than the lake, though that she could make all of this makes enough sense. It is her realm. Everything around us is likely just an extension of her magic, not unlike how the Celebration was an extension of the Host."

"So in a manner of speaking, we're all inside the Ringmaster," Lambert quips, the lilt of his voice enough to turn the sentence into something bawdy, even if only by implication. There it is, any fleeting impression he might have a sensitive soul under all that bluster ruined.

His attention turns back to the fish, which ... hm. How do you tell it's done, anyway? And there's something about turning them to get the cooking even, he knows that, too. But now, or later?

Maybe he can speed things up with a little magic. A flick of his fingers, and, well, there are definitely two of those fish that are just straight up on fire right now.

Wow, Lambert, that's...

"Well, someone's a poet," Childermass deadpans with all the deadpan in the whole freaking universe right there, buddy, though only after a moment of silence in which he turns away from gazing out across the lake to stare at the witcher. Like, really? Really, yes, apparently yes.

Of course, having turned back, he also gets to catch Lambert literally setting the fish on fire. That itself earns a crease of his brow, though not quite a frown.

"You do realize that's just going to burn them, right?"

"I've done it before," Lambert reassures, though it's not really all that reassuring. "Always turns out edible."

Then again, considering who's talking, 'edible' might not be the best gauge of anything. Sure enough, as the fire keeps going, the unmistakably unpleasant smell of scorched fish starts to fill the air, and Lambert extinguishes the fire with another quick gesture.

"See?" And he'll hold up a fish on a stick, only to have to quickly catch it with his fingers (ouch, but he doesn't do more than grimace) to keep it from falling right off. It's mostly charred, and he picks at it desultorily with a finger, trying to find any trace of white meat.

"... Might have overdone it. Next ones should turn out better--" And he's reaching for the others, abject failure apparently no reason not to try again.

"'Always turns out edible', hm?" Childermass was apparently correct to be skeptical with that. When Lambert reaches for the next round of fish, however, he finds the need to intervene. His little campsite on the beach already smells like burnt fish and he would prefer it doesn't get worse. "No, I doubt they will. Stake those and give them here."

He's since put his pipe out, having overturned the ashes and tapped them out, so he can put it aside on the log he was lounging against and get up. If he's going to be handling fish, well, that's the end of smoking for now.

Lambert glances across the fire at Childermass, squinting skeptically, as though he's trying to find fault in that. Finally, he shrugs and brushes soot off his fingers, before passing the uncooked fish over.

"Thought you didn't want dinner," he says, apparently not a believer in not looking gift magicians in the mouth. Though the fish he'd tried to cook is mostly a sad little pile of charred scales and bone, a little industrious poking is enough to reveal parts that did turn out marginally edible. While Childermass does whatever he's up to, Lambert picks the pieces of salvageable fish meat out with his fingers and eats them, appetite (and a small, annoying desire to prove the magician wrong) apparently winning out.

"I don't," Childermass confirms. He really doesn't want your fish, Lambert, but if you're going to insist on being terrible at cooking, there's no real choice here. He takes the fish, staking them out on his side of the fire, then settling back down to watch and wait. Unlike the witcher, he's going to be patient, but just in case Lambert continues to wave his hands and set things on fire—

"You have to turn them to the other side when the first starts looking dark enough, not throw magic at them."

Even if Lambert is still so intent on picking out what little there is from the fish he basically ruined, it hardly impresses the magician. He's already sure that it tastes terrible.

It does taste terrible, or it would, if Lambert wasn't already used to his own shitty culinary skills. In any case, he grunts at the explanation and focuses on picking the fish clean of whatever's salvageable, then discarding the bones nearly to the side, to be cleaned up later. What's really impressive is how quickly he does it, but that does mean he's out of things to occupy himself with, and the fish still isn't done. He doesn't have any alcohol on him, either, so...

Conversation it is.

"Looks like your face healed up all right." He can see it pretty well from here, especially with the fire casting its light on Childermass. "What happened with that, anyway?"

Well, he's already given up hope for a quiet evening without having to talk to anyone, so...

"Well enough," Childermass agrees, "And it was the stage manager. Miss Ashleigh and I went to find him while we were all in the vampire's realm." He doesn't want to call it hell. It's really weird, thinking he's been to a hell, so he just won't say it. "He attacked, but a knee to the face was as bad as it got."

Lambert thinks about that mental picture for a moment, and can't help barking a laugh in response, because ... what else do you do about traumatic experiences but laugh at them once they're over?

"Nice hit. Didn't see it coming, did you?" Imagining bony, flashy Joker throwing down like a street thug is hysterical, honestly. Not that it's all that impressive to hit Childermass in the first place, but from a certain perspective you had to admire how cleanly Joker would have had to land one to do that to his face. "The doctor and the head cook didn't give us as much trouble. Warden was a different story, though."

Said with super casualness. No big deal, happens all the time.

Edited (I CHANGED MY MIND ABOUT WORDING YET AGAIN SORRY... SORRY) 2017-04-07 18:29 (UTC)

"I didn't think he would attack me," Childermass will admit that much. Or at least he assumed any attack that came would be directed at his neck once he realized Joker was a vampire, but having a knee to the nose was probably the better outcome there. "A mistake I won't make again."

Although he honestly hopes it won't ever come down to Joker trying to attack him, like, ever again.

But moving on, as Childermass hardly wants to dwell on his own minor screw ups, mention of the warden earns a quirked eyebrow from him.

"Is that so?"

"Might not be able to fix it next time," Lambert agrees -- though whether he's thinking about another knee to already-injured nose, or something more permanent and potentially fatal is anyone's guess. Could be about even odds.

With nothing else to do with his hands while the fish cooks, Lambert pulls the dagger out again, running his hands along the blue-sheened surface and checking the edge for nicks as he speaks.

"Vampire we were up against had an affinity for controlling beasts. Just so happens the Warden ended up under her influence." What with being a werewolf and all, or maybe just because he's so animalistic already? Lambert's been wondering about that, wondering if the fledgeling vampires they have running around will display the same talents or not -- and if so, what implications that could have for the rest of the Carnival's members. If it's the damn Warden's job to defend them, and he couldn't resist the lure ... hell, he can put down workers if he has to, but he'd rather not.

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⇨ HOME AGAIN

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