lostcarnival | wandering clown

Entry tags:

wandering clown

Who: Allen and YOU
When: Day 90
Where: Throughout the carnival
What: Allen getting acclimated and being a tool

The Cookhouse

[Allen was in a bad way when he stumbled into the Carnival--literally fell through a wall and found himself here. Barely conscious and desperate, he signed a contract with the Ringleader, buying himself some time. If he had passed out, he would have woken as another person. Now, with her suppressing the memory of Nea, he can sleep. He can recuperate while he learns how to beat the demon inside him.

But first, he must eat. And, following his nose, he beelines for the smell of food.

For those who wander into the Cookhouse early in the day, they will find a young boy devouring a mountain of food. No, seriously. The precariously stacked pile of meats, desserts, pastas, and sweets towers high above the tables, almost touching the ceiling. It sways as Allen tugs a leg of lamb from the bottom and promptly stuffs it in his mouth. The speed at which he eats causes cream and scraps to go flying. It's a messy, terrifying affair that honestly belongs in a cartoon.

Will you stare in horror? Play Food Jenga? The choice is yours.]

Wandering Through the Woods

[If you want to understand something, you might want to go to the beginning. Allen decides he needs to get to know this new, temporary place at which he's staying, so he heads toward the woods.

What do you get when you combine an enchanted forest that turns you back around and an incredible skill for getting lost? A pathetic mess, that's what.

Allen sprints through the trees, emerging again at the forest's edge. He's irritably scratching behind his right ear, where two white feathers have erupted the skin, just beginning to grow. A bulbous golden orb with wings limps through the air behind him.]

Seriously?! [He shouts to the sky:] Is this really all there is?!

Recuperating

[Thoroughly frustrated with the failure that was the forest, he finally finds the lake. Finally, a place he can explore and rest. Taking a moment to clean himself up, he takes off his shirt, kicks off his boots, and rolls up his baggy clown pants. Allen gingerly lowers himself to the water's edge, dipping his bare feet in the shallows.

Anyone walking by may notice the old scar running from his shoulder to his opposite hip, mirrored on both chest and back. A newer wound festers in his stomach, twitching tendrils of white feathers emerging from it. They are made of a divine substance, and it's healing him from within.

Still, it's completely disgusting, and he's in obvious pain.]

Exploring the Mountains

[Once he's gathered enough strength to continue, he pulls on his shirt and trudges up that strange, warm path leading up the mountain. It's practically calling to him, the unknown.

It takes him about thirty seconds to get lost. In the mountains. Alone.

This is it. This is the end for him. RIP Allen Walker.]

((I'll match prose if that's your preference!))

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[ Lambert pauses to consider that. On the one hand, it isn't really his responsibility if Allen ingests something he shouldn't, but that would probably get him yelled at. Also, scraping him off the lakeshore and onto Pig's back to find better medicine would be annoying. The way he phrases that has him all too curious, and now he does want to see what happens if he does drink it up.

Finally, he nods. Regardless of what else has gone on in Allen's body before he came here, that he's here at all (of his own will or not) already means he's been touched by fae magic beginning to work its changes on him, even if he doesn't realize it yet. ]

Edited 2017-05-06 07:38 (UTC)

[Allen nods decisively, as if he's already gearing to go back into battle, then throws the potion back. The moment it hits his tongue, he makes a disgusted face at the unexpected taste, and like the kid he is, struggles to swallow around it. He wheezes out a breath, tongue lolling out dramatically.]

Bleh.

[He looks to his stomach, as if he expects the feathers to get sucked back in and the wound to close in front of him.]

How fast is it supposed to work?

[ That he isn't retching or in pain is a promising enough sign, but at the question, Lambert will simply shrug. It works swiftly for witchers thanks to a more efficient metabolism, but how quickly and how well Allen's body takes to it, well. That will depend on how whatever's in him responds to Swallow.

The potion is more of the sort to restore vitality than to instantly knit flesh. Perhaps the first sign Allen will feel that it's working at all is a warmth that starts spreading from his belly, almost uncomfortable at first, then something that spreads into the rest of his body, gradually making exhaustion fade and replenishing depleted energy. The magic seeks the torn flesh in Allen's body and gives damaged cells a nudge, encouraging new ones to regenerate, mute the pain. It won't patch over his wounds on its own, but who knows how his own biology will interact with the magic. ]

Edited 2017-05-06 08:29 (UTC)

[Allen does feel that warmth, and as it spreads, his brow raises in surprise. He can feel some of his energy return, and the pain begins to fade.]

I-- I think it's working. [What does that say about how human he is? Allen doesn't get a chance to think further than that, however, because he's quickly doubled over, clutching his gut with a curse. The Innocence feathers are twitching erratically, the divine parasite readjusting to this new magic, finding a way to work with it.

It feels like his organs are shifting around.]

[ And there it goes. Lambert doesn't reach out to steady Allen unless it looks like he's in actual danger of falling over, but he does watch, with mostly clinical interest. Well, if he was completely human, the potion's effects would likely be a little more problematic. As it is, though, it's likely too late to induce gagging and it might cause more damage if he did ...

More to the point, he's watching for any sign Allen might be about to attack or go berserk, and if he'll need to be put down quickly -- or dunked into the lake, whichever's fastest. He doesn't know what the feathers growing out of his wound mean, but his medallion had hummed against his chest when he stepped closer, so there's some kind of magic at work here. A curse, maybe? That would be his first guess, based on the tattoo.

Ah, right. Better stop speculating make sure Allen isn't choking on his tongue or something. He squints at the boy, still unwilling to reach out and check if he's all right beyond a visual inspection. Witchers who poke at things in pain, with unknown defensive reflexes, don't tend to be witchers who live very long. ]

Edited (words are hard) 2017-05-06 23:04 (UTC)

[He doesn't seem to be dying any faster than before, and Allen himself isn't about to be attacking anybody. Rather, he's curling in on himself and away from Lambert, gripping his left arm tightly. It's rebelling against him a little, that Innocence, until his entire left arm explodes into feather tendrils, his hand becoming a poorly formed claw.]

Calm . . . down, Crown Clown . . .

[It hates the Noah inside him, and this strange medicine is meant to appeal to that part of him. They're not getting along well. Really, he should have seen it coming.]

[ Instinct is what compels Lambert to slam up shields by casting the spell with a quick, abortive motion of his hand. Any debris that flies his way pings off it harmlessly, Quen being made to withstand rather more impact than that.

The shimmering, translucent wall doesn't hide his expression, which needs no translation: What the fuck? ]

[Allen can sense rather than see Lambert's enraged confusion. He's a little too preoccupied wresting back his arm to see much else.]

I'm sorry--it's not listening to me. I think--ngh--it's angry.

[Betrayed, the word is betrayed. Most feathers are still in a loose form of a limb, rather like tendons holding larger bunches together, writhing, screaming in Allen's head. It's not actively attacking Lambert's shield, but that's only because he's not an Akuma.]

Sorry. It'll calm down, just--gimme a moment.

[ If Lambert had his voice, there's another trick he could try -- as far as non-lethal solutions go, at any rate -- but since he doesn't, he just ends up watching Allen warily, keeping an eye on the ... Lambert doesn't even know what that is. Allen had called himself human, but this doesn't look anything like it.

Despite the thrashing, his medallion remains inert, as does his horse who watches the proceedings with a general indifference. Pig tends to follow the beat of her own drum, and while Allen's arm is freaky, perhaps it doesn't seem so strange to a Pokémon.

No reaction from his medallion means whatever this is, it isn't tied to the bit of magic influence he's picking off of Allen. Some kind of creature, then? It looks like it's growing from him. There's not much he can do but keep watching, still scowling in confusion, but recognizing when there's not much else he can do. ]

[Eventually, the pain fades to a dull throb as his cells settle, and the feathers decide to knit back together, finally uniting into one black arm. His glove and sleeve are destroyed beyond repair, revealing carapace-like, scaled fingers.

He opens and clenches his fist experimentally. It still feels unstable, but at least, for now, it's satisfied. The Innocence feathers sticking out of the hole in his gut have wound into a tight knot, the wound angry, the edges torn from the struggle, but the potion has given him the energy required to deal with it.

So, in the end . . . he comes out even???]

Ah . . . [Well, this is awkward. He tries for a sheepish smile.] Thank you for not attacking me?

[ Now that the show is over, and Lambert can be certain of having Allen's attention, he reaches out past his shield -- something that dissipates, after this long -- and scratches out two words in the dirt. ]

Curse?

Familiar?

[ And sits back on his haunches, brows raised expectantly. After sitting through that, he thinks he deserves some kind of explanation. ]

[Allen's not sure what "familiar" refers to, so he focuses on the first question. His fingers touch the scar under his left eye.]

Ah, yes, I'm cursed. [He'll have to ask how Lambert knows that later.] But that wasn't part of it.

[He holds out his left hand, palm up.] This is my Innocence, Crown Clown. It's my weapon, but it's also a part of me. Being a divine power, it doesn't particularly like . . . the other part of me. [Allen lowers his hand to rest on his knee.] They're natural enemies, so it can make things difficult.

[Allen will leave Lambert to ask more questions or draw his own conclusions from that.]

As for this--[he points to his eye]--an Akuma cursed me; it allows me to see the departed souls bound to the Akuma, weapons made of Dark Matter. They look just like you or me, exempting the, ah, horns and such. With my left eye, I can tell them apart from humans.

[A hand ruffles the back of his head self-consciously.] I feel like I'm rambling here. Did I answer your question?

[ One thing Lambert is rapidly discovering is a nice perk of not being able to speak is that other people tend to give away way more information than they would, otherwise. Allen's explanation has him nodding along to show that he's listening, although it's obviously difficult to ask follow-up questions when he's limited to what he can scrawl into the mud.

Eventually, however, what he decides to settle on is -- ]

Other part a demon?

[ He can't think of much else, based on experience, that a 'divine power' would find objectionable. Though if you ask him, there's not much about that thing in Allen's arm that remotely fits the definition of divine -- it seems more fitting to call it a curse than what Allen describes. ]

How long? [ He points first at his eye, then taps a finger on his arm, mirroring Allen's own marks. ]

Edited 2017-05-07 20:13 (UTC)

[It doesn't help that Allen acts as the exposition fairy for the main characters of every new side storyline. Lambert must be this one's.

His eyes harden as Lambert writes the first question.] No. It's-- [Noah, a race of humans looking to destroy all of humanity, the leader of which happens to be his father and their traitor is the man living in his head?

His firm gaze wavers. It's--]--complicated. [Another hesitant pause.] I'm human. The other part is just . . . a different sort of human.

[But that second question, that is much more simple. He takes on an emotionally removed, explanatory tone and expression. He's just reciting the same old abridged backstory to yet another stranger.]

I've had this arm since I was born. I was cursed when I was ten or so. [He doesn't actually know how old he is, so all he's got are estimations.]

[ It's too bad he can't share this with the rest of the Carnival in the state he's in, but Allen will likely catch himself explaining himself oer and over again ...

Complicated, though, Lambert can understand. 'A different sort of human' huh? He nods, expression thoughtful. You could probably call witchers something similar too, though of course he can't express that thought right now.

Allen's second answer -- and the practiced way he delivers it -- is going to get him a much sharper look, Lambert sizing him up. Assuming, white hair aside, that he is as old as he looks... ten years old couldn't have been that long ago. Not long at all, as far as curses go. Still, his expression turns a little wry as he scratches out: ]

Natural born killer. [ The humore probably doesn't translate that well in text, but his expression seems amused more than condemning, as he swiftly follows up with: ] Sounds shitty.

I'm a weapon. [His own wry expression houses some of that dark humor.] It's my only purpose.

[His life really has no meaning without destroying the Akuma and protecting people. The Innocence hungers for it with a mad addiction, even going so far as controlling his unconscious body to continue fighting. Without that, he has nothing.

It feels like a lifetime ago that he realized that.]

It's okay, though. I chose this path, and I'm going to keep walking it. [He promised Mana, even if that never meant anything to the man to begin with.]

[ Lambert can relate to that, somewhat, if his smirk is any indication. Of course, one wonders how much of a choice it really can be if he was made for it, but Lambert has similar motivations for not walking away from being a witcher, though he's never particularly expressed it to anyone. ]

And now you're here. [ For a year and a day, at least, Allen will have to take a detour from the path he's decided on -- if not longer. ]

Where I am may have changed, but it doesn't change who I am. They can't take that away from me.

[The Black Order imprisoning him, then upon him breaking out, suspending his rights as an Exorcist, labeling him a Noah--if none of that stopped him from acting as an Exorcist, this little detour certainly won't.

What he doesn't know yet is this detour will slowly drive him insane.]

I can still protect people.

[ A regular hero, huh? Seems like the Carnival's got no shortage of those. It's not really Lambert's thing, so he kind of just nods along at Allen's spiel, not really paying all that much attention ... ]

You on patrol, then? [ It is, to his mind, the logical assumption to make. ]

[What a dick, Lambert. But whatever, he's used to that, too.

Allen shakes his head.] No, I'm a clown. [Because that makes sense.]

[ It makes absolutely no sense to Lambert, who blinks slowly and makes a show of looking Allen up and down, and again, like anything might have changed on second glance. Nope. Nothing particularly clown-like about the kid, or anything that hints at it. He's not even going to waste the paper to respond, just smirks broadly and shakes his head.

But fun's over -- he has work to do. ]

Good luck with that.

[ He pushes to his feet, brushing the front of his pants off, and catches Pig's reins. ]

[Allen levels a hooded, irritated Look Lambert's way. He always gets that very reaction and, for some reason, it pisses him off. What about him doesn't make him look capable? He can juggle, he can punch a guy through a wall, fite me.

Or maybe pissing people off is just a special Lambert skill. He'll find out soon enough.]

I'll see you around, then.

[ That look he gets is just going to make Lambert smirk even wider. Somehow, this whole not-talking thing actually isn't as bad as he thought it was, if it was initially incredibly frustrating. He nods, giving Allen a lazy wave, then swings himself up effortlessly onto his horse -- no small feat, considering it's more than eight feet high -- and sets her trotting off.

Yeah, it's absolutely a special Lambert skill. Have fun buddy. ]

[GDI. Allen sticks his tongue out at Lambert's back.

Just you wait, buddy. He's gonna kick the HELL out of that obstacle course later, that'll show ya!!]

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wandering clown

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feel free to make up how well it does/doesn't work because GESTURES AT D.GRAYMAN CANON

weeps BASICALLY let's make it fun then

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