MUSHI DISASTER

[dontpokethat]

Who: Anyone and everyone; it’s a mingle-style log!
What: A sudden spike in the mushi population brings some trouble to the carnival.
When: Around day 87-90
Where: All around the carnival
Warnings: Illness, potentially some minor body horror, and so on



[Following the recent disappearance of Ginko and Tanyuu’s mushi repellent, there will be a sudden increase in the number of mushi in the carnival this week.

This is a mingle-style log, so just post a toplevel, tag out, and have fun with mushi disasters! Event information and questions are here.]

Comments

[atouts]

"What does that...?" It's getting harder and harder to focus without squinting, the headache the sunlight has been giving him only worsening with a bizarre swiftness. "...will it work?" Yes, he's pretty sure that's right. "Unless the mushi are acting like a parasite from inside, yes, it should. They're very specific about what goes into one of those contraptions. I have a book on it, actually, but—"

But good God, his eyes. He tucks the pot and lid under one arm, freeing a hand to cover his eyes for a moment, shielding them from the nice, sunny day. That immediately lessens the growing pain.

"...what in the bloody hell... I was fine before I came out here," he mutters, trying to take his hand back off from over his eyes and only finding himself cringing away from the light (and the witcher and horse both) and slapping it back down again. He turns away, not quite doubling over, but close, as if putting his back to the sun overhead might help any.

[whattaprick]

With Childermass acting up, Lambert's left with a look of comical alarm the magician sadly won't be in any state to appreciate or find humor in. After a moments hesitation, glancing between the doubled-over man and the snowy Pokemon both, Lambert decides he'll have to take the chance. He reaches out to rub a hand on Pig's neck, gently, before he picks the Pokeball from his belt and taps it to let Pig slip back inside. He'll just have to hope that worked.

In the meantime, he has a magician in pain to contend with. Right now, writing doesn't seem to be an option, so he won't bother with the notes, jamming it back into his shirt pocket. Instead, he reaches out to touch Childermass's shoulder, turning him towards him and reaching up with his other hand to tap two fingers over the ones Childermass has over his eyes, a touch impatiently. Let him see the problem, buddy.

[atouts]

There isn't much else he can do, no point in fighting being turned back to face Lambert, though he does wave the tapping fingers away with his other hand. Childermass can easily guess what he's asking, but he isn't so inclined to try and show what the problem is. It would mean removing the arm from over his eyes and that is the problem.

"It's the light," he tries to explain instead, hoping to avoid at least a little suffering in case the witcher insists. "It feels like it's burning my eyes. Even with my arm over them, even with them closed..." It still stings, but that much is tolerable. For now. "I think it's getting worse."

On the bright side, he hardly sounds panicked over it. With what else is happening around the carnival, surely it's something to do with the mushi infestations. That means there's a cure, right? Assuming that hasn't vanished along with Ginko's repellant.

[whattaprick]

The light, huh? Sounds shitty, much like every other damn thing about this mushi situation ... and if Childermass is unlucky, Ginko's response is going to be much the same as before: wait it out. Lambert glances around them, frowning slightly. If light is the problem, at least, sticking around the lakeshore much longer isn't going to do the magician much good. He can't really communicate that effectively with touch alone, but if Childermass won't move his arm from his face, Lambert will reach for his other hand instead.

If the magician will permit, he'll pull his fingers to clasp his shoulder, insistent, body already turning away from the lakeshore. If that's not enough of a hint, maybe the hand the witcher puts to his back, pushing him to take a step forward, will do the trick.

[atouts]

Lacking any other way to navigate at this point, Childermass isn't as inclined to argue with Lambert (as one-sided as it would be) when he drops his other hand on his shoulder. If the witcher is willing to lead, he's just going to have to trust him. He turns away from the lake when Lambert does, no need for the extra push.

"Just try not to walk me right into a lamppost," he says in a fairly resigned manner.

[whattaprick]

Under his fingers, Lambert's shoulder rises and falls in a shrug. No promises, Childermass -- or at the very least, he'll do his part if the magician does his. Once he's certain he's situated, Lambert will lead them on, adjusting his stride to keep his pace something Childermass might be able to keep up with without losing his footing. As he takes them through the backyard, the wind carries distant voices and the faint smell of cooking food. The scents and sounds of the carnival are all sharper without sight, the only noticeable absence of the latter from the man beside him. Still, it isn't completely quiet: damp cloth and leather creak as he walks, still wet from stumbling back into the water, and his tail waves lazily through the air with the occasional whipping sound. Occasionally, they pass through shadows, offering the magician a brief reprieve from the sun.

Depending on how good a sense of direction Childermass has, he'll likely realize they're heading for the medical tent. If he doesn't catch on sooner, the astringent scent when Lambert pushes the flap open ought to give it away.

[atouts]

He has a fair enough sense, even without sight, not to mention there were only so many places one could take someone so afflicted. The sharp and sometimes strange smells of the medical tent are already all too familiar to Childermass and, in here, he can at least find solace in how gloomy Zecora keeps the tent, being a shadowy creature in her own right. He moves his arm once he hears the flap flop back shut, just a little, enough to try peeking out and squinting around for a moment.

Everything's blurry to him, but the lamplight in here turns out to be far more forgiving than the sun outside. For now, anyway. The pain remains, only lessens, and for how long he doesn't know.

"It still hurts," he lets Lambert know, "But I think I can see in here."

[whattaprick]

Uncertain how much Childermass can actually see, Lambert nods -- but also lightly taps his fingers on the hand on his shoulder to acknowledge the magician's words. However, he isn't content to leave it at that, and Childermass will find himself being nudged into walking again, chivvied towards one of the cots set up for patients.

As soon as he gets the magician close enough, he'll shrug the hand off his shoulder and push at Childermass to sit, both hands coming to his shoulders and squeezing as the witcher scowls. It's hard, not having his words, and the frustration isn't hard to read in the jerky way he moves -- even as he tries his best to rein it in. It's not Childermass's fault he's going blind and Lambert is mute; taking it out on him isn't going to help.

[atouts]

Wel enough to make out what shape must be what in here, thank you very much. Childermass doesn't take too well to being directed towards a cot, in total spite of the fact that, yes, he probably would have taken several minutes of squinting and trying to decide just what blurry shape must be one.

"I can sit on my own," he snaps, irritation at the whole ordeal bleeding through his usual tone of voice. Lambert's not the only one frustrated, though he supposes he can at least still voice it, unlike the witcher. Regardless of being snappish, he does sit as directed. There isn't a whole lot else he can do, anyway. "It's not like I was planning on wandering off instead or anything..."

[whattaprick]

Lambert's estimation of Childermass's current facilities is much lower than the magician's, but he'll at least stop shoving at him (after a final firm press of his hands to drive the point home -- stay fucking put). He doesn't move far after he's let him go, and there's the rustle of paper and the scratch of a pen again, louder here now that they aren't outdoors.

When he's finished, Lambert presses the folded paper into Childermass's palm, using his other hand to close the magician's fingers over it. Depending on how much his eyesight will allow him to make out, if he unfolds the paper he'll find a simple message intended for whoever happens across him.

Something's wrong with his eyes, went to find out if it can be fixed. Don't let him do anything stupid. - Lambert

Lambert releases Childermass and steps towards the entrance again, the flap of cloth and his blurring figure -- framed for a moment by daylight -- announcing his exit.