lostcarnival | ⇨ THE REALM OF DREAMS

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⇨ THE REALM OF DREAMS

Who: EVERYONE!
When: S1:D8 - S1:D18
Where: Visiting the Realm of Dreams.
What: The carnival arrives at a new location and has its first performance week with the new cast, as outlined here. This is a general mingling log for convenience purposes, but players are welcome to make as many other logs for this purpose as desired.
Warnings: Could be a lot of things, around these parts.

THE REALM OF DREAMS↴

As the carnival arrives at its first stop since its recruitment phase, and prepares to put its new band of workers to the test. In the meantime, there is a whole new world of dreams and nightmares to be explored, and threats to be faced on carnival turf. As of S1:D11, the carnival will be opening its doors to the creatures within, and the carnival will be open daily from noon to midnight, though the connection to the realm will be constant.

This is an all purpose mingle log for the full duration of the stay, so please mark top levels with some estimate of what days they'll be occurring on. Please bring any mod questions to the original plotting post.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The spotlight sweeps over him, momentarily blinding him in his hunt. Aw, shit. For a moment he wonder how much this guy is going to pay attention, but as he pauses and stares into the light as it centers back onto his massive form.

And he can hear the guy give a call to the security channel. This is getting really complicated fast, and he's starting to wonder how much longer he can keep up with this. Especially when this nonsense keeps distracting him from actually doing his job.

He pauses and tries to shake off the bewilderment of having a spotlight shone in his eyes, and then suddenly teleports straight to the side of the device. And the guy controlling it. He starts to speak, but it mostly comes out as a growl through his massive boney muzzle.

"Don't-"

Obviously Greg doesn't have prehensile hair or anything, because that would just be absurd, but if he DID it would be standing on end right now. He gives a panicked yelp, staggering back and away from the massive monster that is suddenly far, far too close for comfort.

"OHHHHHHJEEZ--"

Greg's shoulders hunch as his brain scrambles for focus in the midst of panic; magic, magic, this is what he learned the magic for, how is he supposed to do it?! The stoneskin magic the Ringmaster taught him flickers over him... sort of. Mostly he feels kind of gray and stiff.

"Ohhh man. Uhm, don't--don't come any closer, I just--I just work here, okay, I--"

Sans does come closer, mostly because he isn't listening to what Greg is saying, so much as he's focusing in on the environment around him. What are they doing, really, having one of the newbies out on night duty alone for something like this? God.

The problem with nightmares, it seems, is that they can look like just about anything, since fear is rather subjective and all. So it can be hard to pick them out quickly in a crowd. Something in Sans's instincts is tingling, however, and it makes him not like the feeling of where they are standing - like the shadows are being cast all wrong.

Oh, well. Nothing for it. Sans circles closer to Greg for a few more moments, his eyes set on something else, then scoops the human up in the curls of his tail and books it away from the front entrance.

Oh, oh. Oh this is happening. Oh man. Oh jeez.

It happens faster than Greg can properly react. One second he's trying to back away, the next he's clear off the ground and being rushed far further out than he's ever dared explore.

There are shadows moving strangely around them, unnatural and far too dark. For all Greg can tell, his kidnapper is commanding them. For all Greg knows, he's pretty much dead.

He curls in on himself as much as the bony tail will allow, layers more of his imperfect spells over himself and squeaks into his radio. "I'm--I, I'm getting kidnapped, now, I--uh, I. Help! Please. Soon. I don't wanna--please help."

Edited 2016-11-07 01:25 (UTC)

Okay, on one hand he feels guilty for how scared this guy evidently is, but on the other he can't really change back to normal right now and though he's not sure, it feels like leaving him there would be too dangerous for the moment.

He really wishes he'd stop panicking and drawing the attention of the security team though.

Once they are out in the clearing between the gates and the tree - better line of sight, he thinks - he slows down and lowers Greg onto his feet again, but keeps his tail looped in a circle about a 3 foot radius around him, for defense. He's not sure what's he's looking at, still.

"Hey, knock it off," he rumbles as well as he can manage in this form. It does actually sound like words this time. "I'm trying to do something."

He can see the shadows start to follow them. Confirmed, he guesses.

You know, he's pretty sure he listened to an album about this once. Raised by the dead, caught in a haunted land of shadows and dreams, taught in the dark arts of necromancy and vengeance. This guy's probably right off the cover. Greg had thought it was so cool up until right this moment.

Oh he's talking now. That's--that's good? That means he can be reasoned with. Except, with dream logic, maybe? Maybe that's what all this is, a dream adventure, in a dream world where dreams kill you. That would explain a lot. Oh look, the shadows are moving.

"Oh. Okay." Should he move? There's still all these bones around him, so he probably shouldn't move. He'd really like to move. "Are--is the thing you're doing with those guys? I don't--I don't know what those are."

"Me neither," Sans rattles out - it could literally be anything. He doesn't really have it in his head to explain it right now. Talking is difficult, and so is thinking in those terms.

Talking to him like a human will have to do.

The closer one looks at the shadows, the more they seem like an actual thickness on the ground. Not quite like an absence of like, and more like a physical sheet of blackness.

Keeping Greg close, Sans charges a blast of cyan energy between his fangs, his lower jaw opening into two pieces as a beam of light razes through the black material, which seems to burn upon its touch.

"whOAHJEEZ"

Greg finds himself pressed up against the tailbones at his back, clutching at the vertebrae as the laser chews through living darkness.

Now that he looks, those pools of rippling black are all over. It's hard to see if there's an end to them, impossible for him to discern where they end and true shadows begin. For all he knows, there's no such distinction at all. Greg has no way to fight, isn't sure if his defensive spell will help against these things, and has to trust in a mysterious and intimidating creature who also kind of kidnapped him. But, he always tries to find a silver lining.

"If I live through this it's gonna make a really great album cover."

The giant skeleton beast lets out a sound that approximates a snicker at that - good news, it has a sense of humour?

The safest thing here would be to just laser up the whole area, but he doesn't really want to inflict unnecessary damage or draw undue attention. He doesn't even know what the shadowy things will do, if they get near them. And they do still seem to be out there.

Sans hunkers down low, dragging a paw through the dirt and pounding it to the ground. Several bones jut out from the ground beneath where the shadows are lurking - they pierce, and then the blackness seems to slip up their sides, enveloping them.

"You got a theme there. Nice." It seems Greg can't manage a whole lot more than unhelpful commentary. Why is he here? He just doesn't know. Usually he has a place where he can hide and semi-safely watch the experts like Boney do their job. Too bad physical attacks aren't much good against darkness, you'd need something like--

Greg fumbles through his tool belt. "Light! I'm supposed to--I'm the light guy!" He brandishes a flashlight. This might have been a better thing to think of next to the spotlights, really.

Sans looks at Greg, watching what he's doing. Flashlight. Huh, maybe not a bad idea after all. He follows the beam of it out onto the grass, where the shadows lay, and in some spots you can still see the green and the texture of grass, whereas other places are pure black and oddly slick, as if they were great wet blankets strewn across the ground.

Kind of gross?

"Nice," Sans rumbles, which is probably a really weird thing to hear a huge skeleton dog say about your flashlight. He unwinds his tail so that it's less of a barrier to Greg's movement, and instead leaves it to sit wider out - more like a fence that Greg could hop over than something forcing him to stay inside. "Thanks. Hold that."

Sans starts to slink forward, approaching the edge of one of the 'blankets' that he can see outlined against the grass. Moving forward makes it necessary to retract his tail from protection duty, but he's hoping that Greg will keep his head on straight during this.

Sans leaps forward all at once, snatching at the edge of the darkness with his fangs, and digging into it as if some kind of thick fabric. He rears back and pulls, and the front section of it peels off of the ground with the softest sound of a screech, like a single insect screaming. He digs his claws into the base and stars jerking it around in a very dog-like motion, until a section of it tears off, which he proceeds to... eat?

At the very least, he get it in his mouth, which proceeds to light up with cyan flames and burn it into nothing. The other half of the blanket wriggles beneath his claws.

"Gross."

Edited 2016-11-07 08:08 (UTC)

"Gnarly."

Despite the ill feeling of congealed panic in his gut, a degree of awe has settled over him. In practice, the flashlight had done little more than irritate the shadow creature, but now without the fog of fear overwhelming everything Greg can see its edges proper. Like some sort of freakishly large, flat slug.

He takes some deep breaths to steel himself, and glances around. The pools of darkness have gone still now that they've started catching on. "Uhhh, big guy, I'm gonna move the light. You keep doing your...your thing."

Sans tears into the rest of it, becoming fixated on his kill rather than paying Greg much attention. It continues to make soft sounds of pain as Sans rips it to pieces and burns it with his breath, searing it away from the ground beneath them.

He manages to clear away what's left of that individual piece, but according to Greg's flashlight there is definitely more than one. He's not sure what they're going to do, but he knows for a fact here doesnt want them to get into the carnival.

And so as soon as he's done there he's quick to leap onto the next one Greg highlights - though by then, it seems like the creatures are not content to merely wait around for their destruction. As Sans moves for another kill, two of the dark blankets suddenly move across the grass, arcing up to catch the back legs of his massive beast form.

Sans lets out a sharp snarl of surprise, curling to snap at his own legs but struggling to manage with the way the creatures can seemingly fold in between his bones.

Not many people can make the fine distinction between a yelp and a panicked yell. It's one thing when Greg thinks he's the one in danger, another entirely when someone else is.

It's also hard to make the distinction between a thoughtlessly stupid move and a planned stupid move. Rushing over to grab at the killer cloaks wrapping around Sans' bones could qualify for either. Greg has no weaponry, nor a strong enough grip to pull them off. But, he is a much meatier meal for them to latch onto.

Holy shit. There are no words. This is one of the stupidest things Sans has ever seen, in a way that is legitimately kind of endearing - there is no practical reason this human should find it logical to try to take a bullet fora giant monster, but here it is.

Despite the fact that Sans is pretty sure that Greg is a more fragile target than himself, he can quickly feel the weight of these creatures against his form. It's something he'd noticed about the nightmares earlier. Monster physiology is highly reactive to intent- which means something made primarily of malicious and sadistic darkness? That powerful desire to hurt is enough to rapidly wear against the monster parts of him, as he soul buckles under the pressure.

This new magic is enough to hold him together and fend it off, but the contact hurts as if the bottom of these things is covered with some kind of acid. Still, he jerks away from Greg, kicking one of his legs in attempt to shake the human off.

"Back off, human," he rumbles, gathering energy in his jaw. He wants to blast them, but the possibility of collateral damage is all too high.

And Greg was right, that at least one of the creatures seems to think that a human would be an easier target.

"Oh man. Oh man oh man oh jeez."

Even knowing it was a stupid move, he wasn't prepared for quite how stupid it was. The speed of the creature latching and wrapping up around him catches Greg off guard, and he only has a few seconds to remember how to words.

He takes a look at the energy gathering in Sans' throat, and prays just for once he got the magic right. "I've got defense spells," he manages, and takes a deep breath as the creature curls around his head.

... Seriously? That's what he's leaving him to work with?

It takes Sans a few moments to decode what he's even supposed to do with that information. Defensive spells might help fend off the acid and crushing parts but humans probably need air. He's prepared to try blasting these things off of his own legs, so maybe... well, that's quite the leap of faith to ask a total stranger to make.

Thankfully, he knows he can mediate his damage flow, at least a bit. Here's hoping this human's spell is up to snuff.

With a fiery snort, Sans breathes cyan flames over the black creatures, focusing on Greg's in particular. The moment he sees a break, he'll dig in a claw instead to try to pry the thing off.

Good news: he doesn't die.

Bad news: it hurts like a bitch.

Greg still can't move much with the thing on him, but the pure energy blasted over them feels like a bath in hot coals and ash. Sans' claws digging in can't penetrate his stone-bolstered skin but the scraping bone really helps grind in that sizzling, burning sensation through the body.

Greg gasps, from pain but mostly for air, as soon as Sans manages to pry the creature from his mouth. "That was a bad plan," he wheezes.

The look the monster gives him is wild and unthinking as he bites what remains of the black creature, whipping it out from beneath the human and consuming it the same way he did the other one. After that, there's no more messing around. He's going to do as much damage as necessary to fix this problem, and he'll happily send the Ringmaster the bill.

He sears the remaining shadows, making no distinction between grass and nightmares, ripping his claws into the ground as he goes to ensure that they're all torn to shreds as the single creatures stays tightly wound around his leg. He scorches that one last, leaving nothing but faintly glowing cinders.

Patches of grass are still gently on fire as he finishes, limping over to where he left Greg and flopping down to the ground in exhaustion, closing his eyes and resting his head on his front paws. It's like the calm after a chaotic storm of destruction.

Is the human okay? He seems fine. It's fine, it's fine...

Edited 2016-11-07 18:50 (UTC)

Greg gets a brief look at that wild gaze, before yanking off the shadow sets him reeling on the ground. Pain and disorientation distract from the first part of Sans' rampage, but eventually he looks up to see the scene of fleshless carnage around him.

He still flinches back a little as Sans comes over. Though, the flinching just causes more lances of pain. By now he's fairly sure the huge skeleton monster isn't a bad guy, but it was a pretty brutal display he just watched.

Conflicted, confused, and concerned, Greg calls out to him. "Are you okay?"

Edited 2016-11-07 19:04 (UTC)

Well, now he's just tired as hell. He guesses spewing up that much laser and having an enormous leech suck on his legs has taken a lot out of him. Once he's thunked down next to the human, it's all too tempting to rest and fall asleep right then and there - until the thought that he can't occurs to him, very disappointingly.

He cracks open an eye, and speaks without moving his jaw - uncomfortably, as if this form isn't well suited to it.

"Tell me if you see more," he says, otherwise ignoring the question. He's about done for the night, he can tell. That angry blanket had done something to his bones, and along with the work he'd done earlier, he's spent. Stamina was always his problem, wasn't it?

He doesn't ask Greg if he's okay, yet. The fact that he's still up and talking seems to imply that he is.

He chews his lip for a moment; maybe Sans could have better handled these things if he hadn't been worrying about protecting him. Maybe--before he can slide further into that, he shakes it off. There'll be plenty of time for a pity party later.

Slowly, gingerly, Greg sits up. It's like being covered in bad sunburns. Luck has his flashlight lying nearby, still flickering through scorched grass.

It's now that the scene around him really starts to sink in. Greg stares at the ravaged plain, and shakily pulls out his radio again.

"Hi. I think we got it. Sorry to bug you. Over."

He looks at Sans. "I can call medical, if you want." He saw that limp, man.

Sans has to put a pointed effort into hauling himself back into consciousness, having dipped dangerously close to falling asleep just then. Okay, so Greg called off the alarm. Good. Now he just... medical. Right, okay. He's got this.

It takes a few moments of concentration, but all at once the ravaged grass outside of the main gates will vanish in favour of the two of them arriving next to a line of tents - specifically, nearby where the medical tent is centered. It's not for him, though. His problems have another, easier solution.

"Go get patched up," he rumbles softly, unsteadily pushing himself up onto his feet. His tail sways back and forth, trying to help keep his balance. He assumes the human is not usually supposed to look that red. Eh, nothing for it. "I got it."

And that's it. He starts wandering off towards the treeline, already starts to let bits of dust shed as he goes.

Oh, they--that's... That's another thing that happened today. All right then. Greg hisses out a long, distressed sigh. His shift just started.

When Sans gets up, though, it spurs Greg to try and get to his feet as well. "Hey!--ow." Emphasis on the word "try." Greg's in a fair amount of pain right now, but he's alive, and he can go back to his trailer and his son tonight.

"Thank you."

Sans doesn't even muster up a reply at that point, awkwardly bumping into a tree trunk as he passes beyond the treeline. He only waits a few more paces before he fully lets go of that form, excess bone and claw melting into a mound of dust with a soft woosh.

At this point, it feels like dumping a ton of weight off of his back, even if it ends up with him being small and naked and feeling more fragile than ever. It's extremely tempting to go to sleep right in his own pile of dirt, even as he tries to remind himself that he has to get his dreamcatcher out of his pocket dimension first.

Too much magic in one night.

TIME TO SNAPCHAT IT TO MY PALS

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