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]

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.