atouts: (020; le monde)
john childermass ([personal profile] atouts) wrote in [community profile] lostcarnival2017-05-13 08:17 pm

I would have picked a quote about shadows [OPEN]

Who: Childermass & open.
What: Having finally gotten his shadow teleport spell to work, Childermass is trying to iron out just how to control the damn thing...
When: During the Mainframe stop, before Performance week.
Where: Around the carnival.
Warnings: n/a

i. all around the carnival

It's a whole lot of trial and error, it seems, this shadow magic, but at least Childermass doesn't anticipate ending up anywhere deadly as he goes from shadow to shadow, place to place. He's found early and late in the day works best, when the sun is forcing shadows to cast at an angle. Night time only deepens and darkens the entire world, which, in theory, you might expect to make it the easiest time of all, but there is such a thing as too many doors...

So, during these days before the carnival opens, it won't be uncommon to suddenly find a tall, somewhat dour-looking (exciting as messing around with magic like this is, he just isn't the sort to let on to that easily) Englishman abruptly existing where there hadn't been an Englishman — or anyone at all, for that matter — before! Look fast enough and you'll catch him moving like he's just stepped out of somewhere, though there's usually nothing but shadows and whatever is casting them behind him.

This could be inside buildings, the cookhouse, the Big Top, all around the forest—

ii. or in your trailer, any trailer at all

Or accidentally shadow-stepping straight into the closet in your trailer or maybe even the bathroom, if the lights been left off in there by some chance. There'll be a THUMP of Childermass walking directly into something — a broom, the shower curtain, whatever it is — and then a muttered curse of, "Oh, damn it. Not again."

And here he thought he was going to be better about this than Strange was...
kingsroads: (just sort of huffy and taken aback)

thanks ya jerk. :|

[personal profile] kingsroads 2017-05-14 02:49 am (UTC)(link)
Strange has commandeered part of the table in his trailer as a desk. Papers are scattered over it and some papers have made their way to the floor. The papers cover a wide range of subjects: Strange writing things down as if a memoir, notes on the carnival's previous locations, information about the different sources of magic people here use, a list of books that he intends to request from the Ringmaster, and so on and so on. The notes Childermass is reading is the start of a Nightrunner report from the Mainframe which really just boils down to 'computers are awful and I hate them.' It's all a bit chaotic, except for one thing: his books, sitting neatly in a wooden crate turned bookshelf. There's a few books from Alola as well as his own book that Lambert had given him. Strange is just sprawled out on the bed. He hasn't even bothered changing into bedclothes and is wearing just a shirt and his trousers.

Unfortunately for Strange, when Childermass arrives, he's right in that awkward period where you're still asleep but just about to wake up. As such, when he hears Childermass's voice, the surprise jolts him up and Strange, without an ounce of dignity at all, tries to lean up to see just who it is, gets tangled up in his own messy bedsheets, and falls out of bed with a thunk. Whoops. At least that jolts him awake enough to realize oh, that's Childermass hating on his candles.

"I like candles," Strange can't help but grumble as he gets to his feet, clothes askew and hair even more all over the place than it normally is. "Besides, I share a trailer. It's only courteous to use candles in the evening if Lars wants to sleep."

The problem with that, of course, is Strange's absent-mindedness meant that he forgot to blow out the candles in the first place and one of them's burnt down to a near stub. Untangling himself from the sheets, Strange starts to walk towards some of the candles to blow them out, rubbing his head as he does so. Falling out of your bed hurts. "You could have at least knocked, you know."
kingsroads: (uh what)

[personal profile] kingsroads 2017-05-14 03:23 am (UTC)(link)
As he blows out the candles, Strange turns back around to grump at Childermass some more about that whole randomly appearing in his trailer thing...only to find that he's alone. "Childermass?"

Huh. Childermass was there and now he wasn't. The obvious answer is that Strange must have either hallucinated him due to the madness or, thanks to his still sleepy state, simply mistook something else in the trailer for the other Englishman. Hopefully it's the latter over the former, mostly because Strange doesn't want to think of the possibility that he's suddenly started hallucinating Childermass. God, how horrible would that be, to have the other man looming over his shoulder for the rest of eternity. No, it must have been a dream.

Still, he's mostly awake and it's close to dawn so there's no point going back to sleep. Might as well start the morning routine earlier than usual. With a loud yawn, Strange turns back towards his bed, as he picks the bedsheets up from off the floor and starts to (badly) make his bed, turning his back to most of the trailer as he does so.

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promnibusanctis: (seriously_emacomet-appears3)

Darkness + Loft + Edge of Bed = First Impressions

[personal profile] promnibusanctis 2017-05-14 04:25 am (UTC)(link)
Sleeping really isn't Helen's forte, it never really has been. By the light of a small lantern, she has papers out, spread in neat piles, with her writing all over them. Research, observations, things of note and interest. Patient histories, even. Her bed is mostly in shadow as she moves to clean up her bed. Perhaps she can rest, even if sleep is hard to come by.

Helen is not expecting company and certainly not in her bed.
promnibusanctis: (hallonpagacomet-appearssanctuary5)

[personal profile] promnibusanctis 2017-05-15 06:33 am (UTC)(link)
"Dear lord," Helen says, already on her feet and finding a stool for the unfortunate man to stand on. "You're a bit off on your calculations if that was your intent. Here. A small drop to the stool."

In any other place, she would have had a gun in his face the second he materialised, here? Well. There are different rules to apply.

"I have you," she says, her voice level as she guides him to safety and then laughs softly. Shadows, mirrors, honestly, it seems a great deal like her favourite mirror-eyed magician. "I should think you'll be needing a strong cup of tea."

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whattaprick: (fight me bro)

one of the worst starters i've ever written, enjoy the monster you've created

[personal profile] whattaprick 2017-05-14 07:07 pm (UTC)(link)
This -- being able to rinse off the dust and sweat after a couple of hours of serious exercise -- is as far as Lambert's concerned the most incredible luxury the Carnival has to offer. If there's one thing about this place he's going to regret not being able to take back home? It's the modern plumbing. Maybe one day he should sit down with one of the engineers, figure out how this shit works, and how he can build something similar back in Kaer Morhen. Especially the heated water.

The Carnival's quiet in the morning hours, making it an ideal time to work through his drills -- he longs for a real target, shadow-sparring with his sword only goes so far -- and practice the little magic he has at his disposal. If the mushi incident has reinforced anything, it's that he can't afford to let himself get rusty. Though Mainframe's been harmless enough at first glance, who knows how quickly that can change?

Such are the idle musings running through his head as he ducks under the shower, scrubbing vigorously around his scalp and the base of his horns to rinse the shampoo clear. With the lights off, the darkness and the running water lend itself well to contemplation, eyes sharp enough to see what he's reaching for even in the greyed-out shadows. Lambert having no idea what shower thoughts are, he's oblivious to the realization that he's joined a grand tradition of navelgazing while going through his morning ablutions.

The witcher's moved on to speculating about what they'll be serving for breakfast when his medallion (which, naturally, he hasn't taken off) hums sharply against his chest. That's all the warning he gets before, abruptly, there's a body walking into him.

The sudden impact catches him off guard enough that when he tries to whirl and face whatever the hell has just showed up in his bathroom, his feet slip on the floor (okay, maybe showers aren't so damn great) and the attempt to grab his attacker just mostly turns into an attempt to grab whatever he can of them to keep upright, back slamming into the fixtures painfully enough to draw a hiss of pain.
Edited 2017-05-14 19:09 (UTC)
whattaprick: (crap did i break a nail)

[personal profile] whattaprick 2017-05-15 06:02 am (UTC)(link)
To an outside observer, of which there are thankfully none, the whole thing must seem a bit of a slapstick ballet -- Lambert reels back one way, only for the intruder to yank him another in his haste to step back, his hands tangled into the front of his shirt pulling him forward with the magician's momentum falling back into shadow.

The world tilts in a shadowy, watery blur as he makes the transition from steamy shower to comparatively freezing lake. The change in temperature has Lambert shouting -- or trying to -- but all it gets him is an explosive stream of bubbles up his mouth and water up his nose. Forcing his eyes open, he keeps one hand fisted into the fabric under his hand and kicks to the surface, pulling sodden magician along with him. Because of course it's got to be a magician.

He breaks the lake's surface, coughing and spluttering, hair in his eyes and water dripping off shoulders and horns as he fights to tread water with a hand still gripping hard into cloth; his tail swishes frantically, doing its best to help. Like fuck he's letting him go: he knows how this shit works, and if he tries to make another swift exit, well he's fucking wrong.

"Strange!" Lambert thunders once he gets his breath back, although he's still sounding a little choked. "What the fuck?!"

Who else would be as reckless as the man who's literally mad?
Edited 2017-05-15 06:05 (UTC)

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showmystar: (SURPRISE INTIMACY?!?!!)


[personal profile] showmystar 2017-05-16 01:42 am (UTC)(link)
Swordsmanship perhaps isn't one of Allen's strengths. He intends to keep up with his training while working here in the carnival, regardless of his job as an entertainer. With hand-to-hand, he's great. It's swinging his hulking Sword of Exorcism that needs some fine-tuning. Sure, it's just as light as his own arm to Allen, but it's still difficult to be agile and quick with a broadsword.

This day, this hour, Allen puts to his sword. He spins, slices, and stabs through the forest one-handed, downing imagined enemies one after another; his left arm is entirely missing from his shoulder, a glowing silver cross with a dark circle around it stamped on the stump, which is prominently shown due to his muscle shirt.

He pivots on his heel, spinning with the sword for extra momentum, slicing through the air just as a man appears before him and directly in the path of the blade.

Allen only has time to yelp the beginning of a warning before his sword passes clean through the man. Allen's heart stops.

It leaves no marks, nor any sign it had passed through his body at all.

A handful of the most excruciatingly long seconds crawl by before Allen finds his voice. "A-are you okay??"
showmystar: (this story's missing a wishing well)

nope too late his terrible friends already have a funeral going

[personal profile] showmystar 2017-05-17 07:31 am (UTC)(link)
"I-- Ah. Actually . . ." Should he tell him? Maybe he shouldn't tell him. Allen grins sheepishly, and though he clearly doesn't believe it, and he does a very poor job of hiding it, he says, "Yes, I-- I must have missed."

Allen sheathes his sword -- which, in this case, means he lowers the blade, the end of which begins to dissolve into the air as his left arm reforms itself, shoulder-down. By the end of it, the sword is gone, and Allen's arm is firmly connected to the rest of him.

In case Childermass thought he wasn't going insane.

"You just came out of nowhere," Allen continues, like his arm-turned-sword-turned-arm is completely normal, "and I thought-- Well, I'm glad you're okay. How did you sneak up on me like that, though . . . ?"

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sunflowerfields: (To say)

[personal profile] sunflowerfields 2017-05-16 01:58 pm (UTC)(link)
It's not every day you open the pantry door and find a man standing in there, even in a place like this. Hinawa gawks at him for a moment before regaining her composure.

"If you wanted a snack, you could have just asked one of us."
sunflowerfields: (You'll never know)

[personal profile] sunflowerfields 2017-05-17 07:16 pm (UTC)(link)
It's true- despite her best efforts, people were always popping in and grabbing food without so much as a 'please', and it seems this time she isn't even catching him in the act.

"Is it too much to hope that you're here to help with the dishes?" Hinawa sighs.

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walkonedge: (believe in the racing beat of your heart)


[personal profile] walkonedge 2017-05-17 02:35 pm (UTC)(link)
If it helps, Strange, the trailer that you just teleported into is completely dark and empty for now, considering that its only occupant has yet to return from the Cookhouse.

That's going to change in like a minute or so, though, when Yamato finally returns to the trailer and flicks on all the lights, suddenly illuminating the entire trailer's living space and the fact that Childermass is standing in the middle of the trailer.

Well. This is new. Yamato gives him a strange look. "How'd you end up in here?"

He's actually quite sure that he locked all the doors before heading out earlier.
walkonedge: (believe in the racing beat of your heart)

[personal profile] walkonedge 2017-05-31 07:38 pm (UTC)(link)
"Ah... sorry about that." There's a small dial next to the light switch that Yamato reaches for, dimming the light just slightly - enough that it's still bright enough to see but too bright as to be completely jarring. Okay, so he doesn't quite recognise Childermass, actually. "Where exactly were you aiming to end up?"

It's not that difficult for Yamato to guess that Childermass is a magician of some sort - he looks the part, actually, and the fact that he's standing right smack in the middle of a formerly locked trailer is a dead giveaway that it's either a magic spell gone wrong or just teleportation in general. Surprisingly (or not), the idea of magic is kind of easy to stomach now that he's been living in the Carnival for a while.

"Uh, are you going to try again, or should I leave the door open for you?"