Lost Carnival Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ringleaders) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lostcarnival2017-05-31 11:56 am
ringleaders) wrote in lostcarnival2017-05-31 11:56 am
Entry tags:
- !event,
- @portland,
- allen walker,
- amethyst,
- ashleigh mischief,
- axel,
- carly nagisa,
- doll,
- dr. helen magnus,
- elsa,
- ginko,
- greg universe,
- hinawa,
- jack atlas,
- jimmy novak,
- john childermass,
- joker,
- jonathan strange,
- julien delacroix,
- lambert,
- miko nakadai,
- noboru gongenzaka,
- papyrus,
- pearl,
- peridot,
- renzo shima,
- rita mordio,
- sans,
- snake,
- steven universe,
- yotsuba tamaki,
- yūya sakaki,
- zecora,
- zim
⇨ The Tourist Trap: WEEK 1
Who: Anyone, anywhere in Portland.
When: October 1st - 7th, 2017
Where: Portland area, in the new reality.
What: Memories begin returning to the displaced as the fall gets chillier. How the hell did we end up here, again? Also, apparently, the fair is in town.
Warnings: Individually marked!
When: October 1st - 7th, 2017
Where: Portland area, in the new reality.
What: Memories begin returning to the displaced as the fall gets chillier. How the hell did we end up here, again? Also, apparently, the fair is in town.
Warnings: Individually marked!
PORTLAND BY NIGHT↴ Memory regains will come into effect at the beginning of October, to whatever degree you've decided upon, and may be regained at whatever pace you desire from then on. For those with their full carnival memories, it will be like waking up in the body of someone else - for those with half and half, it will be like rapidly recalling sets of memories from a totally different life. Those with full amnesia will simply feel as if this is how it's always been. Unfortunately for you, memories aren't the only thing you have to deal with. The supernatural community of Portland is bustling all of a sudden - could your presence and these events somehow be related? ► THE OUTER CIRCLE: As of the start of the month, the Portland Circle of Enlightenment will find itself starting to get swarmed with members from other chapters. Most notably, it would seem that a small cabal of top mages from the North American Enlightenment Council will be making their home in Portland's HQ. For anyone but the highest of ranks, the purpose behind their visit will be unclear, but it seems like something is definitely up on a metaphysical level. The Circle will be buzzing with rumours of unique planar activity and threatening omens. It seems that it all started with an unusual flare of activity in the planetary ley-lines, starting approximately a week ago. However, even if you would usually be the type to keep tabs on such things, you will find that you oddly have no memory of observing this phenomenon yourself. ► THE ANIMAL FAIR: Good news, the fair is in town! Or, at least, it would be good news... if this was a regular fair. Instead, what's being observed is a bunch of nearly identical flyers, spread all around Portland - each of which bears only the words "THE ANIMAL FAIR", a seemingly bloody paw-print of unknown origin, and the directions to a vague forested location outside of the city. It's dated for October 7th, and all instances of its posting having been discovered with a scattering of rose petals, crow feathers, and pre-burnt matches laying on the ground around them. Most are taking this to be some kind of bizarre viral marketing campaign, but others may know better. ► THE EARTH SPIRIT: If you have connections to The Pack or any of its many variations, you'll probably hear whispers of something very odd that occurred last week - according to the elders, it sounds as if the Earth Spirit, the magical and spiritual center of the planet, has suddenly taken a wound. It's not clear why or how, but there is a fair bit of concern among spiritual types, as it is werebeast belief and nebulous magical fact that the magical forces within the earth are the source of all magic here, as well as the source of life. While many werebeasts claim to have felt the Spirit succumb, you strangely have no memory of such an event occurring. Though things do feel strange, if you know how to tap into the Spirit yourself. ► THE WAR CRY: Though Anath's rain of terror across North America lasted for the first fifteen years or so of the Severing, most independent demons have had enough time to start taking the arch-demon's relative inactivity for granted. For that first while, the warrior queen had seemed determine to rebuild an army on earth by forcing her scattered brethren into service - only for her to gradually settle down in a fortress somewhere in Texas and dig in her heels. Of course, this was too good to last - it sounds as if she and her demonic legion have begun tearing their way up the west coast, their goals remaining a mystery. Their destination, however, is almost certainly Portland. |
Sanctuary!
To be granted, he was a very well-dressed zombie. His luxurious blue woolen coat, blue scarf (that hid the stitches on his neck), suit coat, shirt and slacks probably did wonders for his appearance. Or not. His skin was a ghastly shade of gray, his eyes frosted-over and white, the hollows of his cheeks sunken and the angular lines of his face incredibly sharp. Plus he smelled like various air fresheners masking the stench of decay. He had stitches all over, actually, and despite the black gloves, his left arm was made of metal and plastic under that coat, a slight glimpse could be made between his sleeve and glove. It moved with muddled dexterity. His right arm was longer than his left, and clearly belonged to someone else. When he walked, there was a slightly hollow jostling noise from his torso, as if he had stored something inside.
"Did you need help with something?"
It was a tone of voice that indicated no, he actually wasn't going to help, please move.
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"It seems Helen takes in anyone," Strange derisively remarks, looking at Sherlock with a scowl. Really, Helen, he thought you had standards! Having a zombie of all things hang around the Sanctuary was ridiculous. At least weres and changelings, as awful as they may be, were supposed to be alive. Why would one willingly hang out with a glorified corpse?
"No, I don't need your help. I'm simply waiting for someone."
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"It would seem so," the smirk didn't fade. "Though she took me in at the turn of the century...not this century, I mean." He liked getting the horrified reactions when people realized how old he really was. And he didn't like this fellow, and would be pleased if he managed to disgust him so badly that he would leave. 'Taking in' was a slight exaggeration, at least. She saved him, and they had been constant companions since.
He was used to being treated poorly because he was dead, at least, he wasn't exactly welcome anywhere except the Morgue and the Sanctuary, and with other ghosts or vampires. And he wasn't going to let this guy get away with being rude.
"Well, if you don't need my help, I'm waiting for someone too."
He wasn't. He just stood there, crossing his arms--one arm creaking clumsily.
no subject
As Sherlock continues talking, Strange's scowl deepens. He's got a sneaking suspicion that Sherlock isn't actually waiting for anyone, he's just loitering around here because he's got nothing better to do. Just his luck.
"Well go wait somewhere else," said as Strange makes a 'go away' gesture in Sherlock's direction. Because why on Earth would he willingly wait next to this undead thing?
TW: Body horror
To be fair, a zombie could only look so innocent.
And his wide-eyed look was probably more disturbing than not, what with white, frosted-over dead eyes.
To be extra weird and annoying, he undid his scarf, stuffing it in his pocket, and undid the first few buttons of his shirt, inside his coat. There was a zipper, inside a strip of plastic, that was installed in his chest. He opened it up and took out a pen and a paper.
Yes, he used himself as storage.
The only organ he needed to constantly replace were his lungs so he could speak, and even then he'd been working on an artificial apparatus to eventually replace the organic ones for good.
no subject
There's a pause while Strange just represses the urge to gag as Sherlock unzips a bag that's inside his chest (oh god this is really gross) and takes pen and paper out from that. A little morbid part of him wants to know precisely how that works, who actually installed the pouch to begin with, or if it was something the zombie did to himself. However, Strange's common sense wins out by pointing out that the whole thing's real fucking nasty.
"Can't you have had the courtesy to just die? This," said as he gestures to Sherlock's everything, "is just ridiculous."
no subject
"Excuse me?" he held the pen and paper in one hand. "I've already died, so, I'm not quite sure what you're asking."
Of course he did, he was just spoiling for a fight or good argument. He's heard it all, really. No one (except Helen and other undeads) really tolerated zombies. It did get old, after awhile, but after a hundred years it became more funny than not.
A small part of him was tired of it all, though. It wasn't like he was any less of a person.
Well. So to speak.
no subject
"You're past your time. Some undead thing, desperately trying to hang onto relevance instead of accepting the inevitable."
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"Besides stating the obvious, it's not like I had a choice in the matter. I didn't exactly sign up to be a zombie, you know," he snapped. "And I'm not going to just lie down and rot because some idiot decided to play with things he didn't understand."
The Professor wasn't an idiot, though. Far from it. He acknowledged that, he was a genius and despite the horror he'd done to him, a worthy opponent.
no subject
Because again, that chest thing was super gross and Strange is still a little grossed out to begin with. As he continues to talk, Strange dismissively gestures at Sherlock's mismatched arms.
"How much of you is even left? You'd think that once your arms go that laying down and rotting would be a blessing."
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"Well, original parts? Most of my head, spine, and ribs. That's about it, I believe. Everything else has been replaced." Sherlock found it both fascinating and somewhat existentially horrifying.
How much of him was left? Only a small part. He was rotting away, bit by bit, until his body was no longer his own. And he had to keep his precious head as safely intact as possible or else...but he was more than a hundred years old.
no subject
It's an existential quandary posed as Strange being a dismissive ass. Because honestly? He doesn't really care how much of Sherlock is left to begin with! Sorry buddy, you're gross no matter what.