lostcarnival | ⇨ The Tourist Trap: WEEK 1

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⇨ 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!

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.

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At the emphasis on the word public, Lambert will glance around as though noticing for the first time that yes, they are indeed in what technically counts as a public place, He frowns, thumbing his phone screen off and slipping it back into a pocket.

"Maybe later. You look like you've still got a lot to work on." He gestures at the books spread out on the table, broadly indicating their span. Sure, he has no real intention on following up on that suggestion right now, but let Strange think whatever he wants.

"Know any good spots?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." Flipping to a blank piece of paper in his notebook, Strange scribbles down an address and telephone number in his surprisingly neat penmanship. Tearing out the piece of paper, Strange slides it over to Lambert. It's an address and office number for the Department of Justice, as well as a telephone number.

"That's where I work and my office number--I've my own office, we could have our conversation there. My work schedule's odd so try to stop by sometime before two pm." It's hard trying to balance a job and Circle business, Strange's hours are erratic by default.

Lambert accepts the paper, brows raised when he sees the address. Of all the places he expected Strange to suggest a meeting to possibly discuss weird arcane shit, the Department of Justice would have been the last places he would have guessed. Just another reminder that he really doesn't know this guy at all, or what he does when he's not harassing librarians about getting books to him faster, what do you mean he can't recall this or that book when it was checked out a day ago?

"Got it." Lambert isn't sure when he'll get a chance to follow this up, but with the Animal Fair coming up tomorrow, maybe this knowlege wouldn't be a bad thing to have ... some kind of preparation, maybe, even if he has no plans on attending the Wyld Fae's little 'party' himself. Though Peridot's interest in it makes him suspect he might have to, anyway...

"Guess I'll see you around, then." He tucks the paper into a pocket and stands from the table. "Put the books away properly when you're finished, will you?" That tone's a bit more familiar to Strange than usual. He's snapped at the man about it often enough. Lambert isn't holding out any hope he'll be better at listening this time, either.

Edited 2017-06-13 18:17 (UTC)

Whereas Strange sees nothing odd about them meeting at the office. A quick internet search of 'Jonathan Strange' brings up his position as an accountant with the Department of Justice. Better they meet there than one of his more private haunts. Besides, the office is warded to high heaven--he's a Circle mage, of course any place remotely important to him will have protective wards out the ass.

"I always put the books away properly," he grumbles, despite the fact that he knows damn well that he hasn't put the books away properly before and won't do it again this time. It's not like it mattered, though. Few people used that section to begin with, so what if something was a little out of place?

"I'll bring the book as well," Strange calls out to Lambert's retreating back. He's a bit too loud as he again gets shushed by the girl at the table next to him and again, Strange gives her a death glare. Smart job peacing out, Lambert.

Naturally, Googling is the first thing Lambert does when he gets a chance to get out of the library -- not something he does, normally, not even to patrons who annoy the shit out of him, but this is a different story. It checks out, at least as far as he can tell on a cursory search, but it's also eminently puzzling and raises more question than it answers. What the hell does an accountant want to do with all these books of magic, anyway?

In all honesty, Lambert didn't think he was going to go. Yet as almost two in the afternoon rolls around? He'll find himself right in front of the Department of Justice anyway. He doesn't bother calling ahead, because he strongly suspects Strange is a man he'll learn more about if he doesn't give him a chance to prepare for him, and also because he's petty enough that he doesn't care if he's making an inconvenience of himself. He's not here to make Strange's life easy.

Asking the receptionist for directions leads him to a dingy, clearly less-used part of the building, older and more poorly lit than some of the more updated facilities. Fortunately, Strange's office isn't difficult to find, and he'll make his way there, taking a moment to pause and touch at the iron letter opener under his shirt before he raps smartly at the door -- or just straight up pushes it open, if it isn't shut.

Edited 2017-06-16 21:09 (UTC)

Guess who's fucking off and not doing his job, hint, it's Strange. He doesn't like to mix work and magic but since he's apparently going to help summon a faerie later (something which is equally exciting and downright terrifying), numbers and sums get to compete with research and centering. Normally, Strange's wards all around the office would alert him to when someone was arriving so that he could cast a quick illusion glamor if he was doing anything overtly creepy or overtly magical. And they alert him this time! The problem is, Strange just straight up isn't paying attention.

So, this is why when Lambert pushes the door open, he'll be greeted with mild magical shit. There's all the boring traits of an accountant: physical ledgers open on the desk and something in Excel open up on the computer. About half of his desk is also covered in various stacks of paper which may or may not make sense. But there's also other, more odd signs. A stack of tarot cards are set next to a printer. The faint smell of licorice permeates the room. And a few of the books on Strange's bookshelf, in between tax codes, are codexes on all sorts of magical nonsense. Plants are growing despite the fact that the office has no windows. Some things are thumb-tacked to a bulletin board that look like phone numbers or lists but, once Lambert stares at them to see past the glamor, are actually complex magical signs, sigils going every which way. What look like golf balls lined up on one shelf are actually various crystals, again hidden by a glamor.

There's also one of those awful 'hang in there!' kitten posters, just to make the entire scene more surreal. It's not magical in the slightest, it's just Strange getting a kitten poster and thinking it's an amazing addition for the office.

Strange had been muttering something under his breath while holding a steaming cup of tea. Putting it to his lips, he drinks, opens his eyes, spots Lambert, and then promptly starts choking on said tea.

"Jesus Christ," he groans, through coughs. "This is why you call ahead of time!"

How much more emotional whiplash can Lambert have to deal with in one week? A lot, apparently. For a few moments he isn't even going move, to step into the office or close the door and walk away, though the latter option is certainly tempting. Unfortunately, the timer bar on that particular decision runs out the moment Strange speaks, locking Lambert into how this particular line of dialogue plays out whether he likes it or not.

"Sorry," Lambert says, without a trace of sincerity, stepping into the room and letting the door swing shut behind him. Nothing about the present situation is making his senses go crazy or immediately strikes him as dangerous, so it's probably safe ... isn't it?

Worse comes to worst, Strange looks like he'd be pretty easy to lay out if he has to. There's an eminently punchable face if he's ever seen one.

"This a bad time?" Focusing on the lists on the wall, fading in and out with the glamor is hurting his eyes a little. All the same he peers at them curiously, wondering if he'd recognize any symbols from some of the more esoteric books in the library...

Edited 2017-06-17 02:58 (UTC)

Now that Strange has finished choking on his tea, he continues to drink it, taking long sips while trying his hardest to look dignified and not like a man who just almost choked on a hot beverage. There's a chair in front of Strange's desk for Lambert to sit in, but Strange himself isn't getting up from his chair.

"No, not in the slightest," he answers Lambert's question, with a shake of his head. Truth be told, this isn't part of the building that most people would visit unless they had to. All times are usually good times. Strange pushes a candy dish sitting on his desk closer towards Lambert. It's partway full of individually wrapped candies that are unfortunately A: sugar free and B: coconut flavored.

"Help yourself--after all, who knows how long this will last. I've a feeling you've plenty of questions, about our conversation in the library or about other things." Because the way Lambert is looking at the lists-but-actually-wards on the wall is interesting. It's almost like he can see them for what they really are--which is ODD because he doesn't seem magical in the slightest. Some of the symbols are recognizable: one's an Enochian symbol of protection. But others are a confusing mixture of lines and circles, all looking very esoteric but nothing that one would find in the library.

"Ask away."

The offer will be enough to distract Lambert's attention from the walls, and he'll cautiously take the seat in front of Strange's desk. He will even take a candy, that's how thrown he is by all this, thought he's not going to put it in his mouth just yet. Strange doesn't seem inventive enough to be poisoning people in his own office-- a thought whose idle paranoia will make him snort, if only internally -- but all the same, he can't take appearances for granted.

His first question should be no surprise. It's the most obvious one to ask, now of all times.

"What are you?" He looks around at the office, eyes landing on the kitten poster with a furrow of his brow. "Besides an accountant." And an asshole who hogs the books in the library.

"I am a mage. A fourth rank mage of the Circle of Enlightenment, to be precise, though I'm certain none of those terms mean anything to you. The long and short of it is that I am a human who can cast magic." Strange takes a sip of his tea before he continues talking, watching Lambert to see just how he's reacting. After all, their conversation in the library certainly gave Strange the impression that Lambert knew something about the supernatural community in Portland. What precisely he knew though, he had no idea.

"What separates a mage from the rest of the supernatural is that we hone our skills through study and practice. One must have a bit of natural talent to be a mage, but it's not like the fae or demons who draw upon their power from themselves. As a result, mages tend to have a varied, more in-depth skillset--and our magic tends to be the most useful as well."

Not that he's biased or anything.

"Okay." Lambert pauses to consider that information, and that's the best he's got. He's been mostly quiet throughout the explanation, frowning from time to time, but there's no surprise in his expression. Nothing quite like being turned into a cat or seeing some household object to convince you that magic is real. Privately, he hopes that if all mages in this 'circle' are like Strange, Peridot stays well away. Hanging out with people like that would only feed into her worst tendencies.

It takes a few more moments before he comes up with his first question. "How many mages and ranks does the Circle have?"

Strange's assumption that Lambert doesn't really understand what he's talking about is correct, but, you know. Fourth sounds pretty low.

Fourth is pretty low, solidly middle of the pack. But like Strange is going to admit that to Lambert. Instead, he's going to try his hardest to bullshit and twist words and try to confuse the man so much that he won't press further. Although, considering how Lambert piled question upon question onto him at the library...Strange has a feeling that will only keep up here.

"Depends on one's specialty, of course. Some of the more esoteric brands of magic you can't find a specialist in so you could be the most powerful mage in your division, but still technically a low rank. I'm one of the few summoners and binders in the Portland Circle. That's more of an East Coast brand of magic, though there is a small contingent of them in Shropshire. No, Portland's all flormancy and etheric studies and urgh, so many idiots reading the runes. As for the number of mages...well, that depends on the Portland chapter specifically or worldwide. The Circle's worldwide, you know."

This is a hundred percent bullshit, Strange rattling off terms like he knows what he's doing, lying through his teeth, giving Lambert as many terms and places and names as he can think of, pulling from all corners of his mind even if he has no idea where some of these places are--where the hell is Shropshire anyway?

If confusing Lambert was the intention, then Strange has readily succeeded, if solely because it seems like an unnecessarily long answer. After all, a number implied something finite, so it had seemed like the most straightforward question at the time. His brow furrows as he digests that particular dump of information -- which apparently includes the sort of magic Strange looks down on, and what Portland is known for -- before he figures out a proper response.

"...Okay," Lambert says again, slowly this time. He's going to be saying that a lot, it feels like. "I was actually just wondering about Portland. But you're saying you don't really know."

Surprisingly, he doesn't sound totally pejorative when he says that -- just stating a fact, or making sure he and Strange are on the same page about what he meant. Ultimately, it's not the most important detail here, so he shakes his head, moving on briskly enough.

"You said you're a summoner and binder. What does that mean, exactly?" You'd think the words implied the obvious, but you know what? It really doesn't, not when it comes to this kind of thing. Better to ask and know exactly what he's dealing with. And yeah, Strange is about to get asked a million questions now.

Strange nods. He really has no idea how many mages there are worldwide. He knows of certain chapters, at least, though how many people technically are in those chapters, he wouldn't even know where to start guessing.

"This world is full of spirits and lost souls as well as us mortals. My brand of magic lets me summon a spirit to wherever I am and bind it to my will, forcing the spirit to carry out a task or gather information for me."

And changelings. And hopefully faeries. But Strange has enough sense to keep that aspect of his magic quiet for now. Lambert was only human, after all, he probably would think of changelings as equal to people. Hell, he probably would think of spirits as equal to people to begin with. Better clear up that misconception.

"I know what you're thinking and it's not like that. Spirits aren't people. They're more primal. It's more akin to asking the rain or the sun to do something instead of asking you or me. Besides, I generally only bind the spirit for a few minutes, half an hour at the most. Spirits...can get a little funny if they're bound too long."

There's a ghost in the university who would almost certainly argue against being a person, but Lambert is almost certain that's not the kind of spirit Strange means. In any case, the thought of binding faeries and changelings doesn't even cross his mind, but a more practical concern:

"Sounds risky," he says, brows raised. Sounds stupid, is what he's really thinking here. "Wouldn't it get pissed off about being called up and being ordered around like that?" Sure, he'd said it was like ordering around the sun and rain, which theoretically couldn't care either way, but there are volumes of stories about magic's fickleness. Besides, he doesn't know what "a little funny" entails, but it doesn't sound good.

"All of the best magic carries a little risk to it." At least in Strange's mind, he's a top-notch mage. He leans back in his chair slightly as he continues yammering on about magic and spirits.

"As for the risk specifically, all of that depends on the factors. The strength of spirits ebb and flow with the year. Add in other factors such as planetary alignments, the specific spirit you're trying to summon, the strength of the mage himself, and the proximity to major magical places of power...you can't just get drunk and summon something. There's so many minutiae involved to help account for the risk."

He's talking around Lambert's actual question, mostly because in some cases, the answer's a big fat yes.

"No risk, no reward," Lambert mutters, but mostly to himself rather than expecting Strange to comment. It makes sense, in a way -- stories are full of stories about bargains and deals. Said stories also make it very clear those bargains and deals tend to be unequal, though, and Strange has already touched on that a little bit with his obvious disdain for demon bargains.

Lambert isn't convinced faerie bargains are much better, but hey, he's not the expert here. Still, he's not in the market to summon or bind anything soon ... or ever, so knowing while Strange's specialty makes interesting listening? It also doesn't really seem relevant to his initial line of inquiry.

"That all sounds pretty complicated," is what he'll say, eventually, with a frown. Maybe in some mouths, that would be a compliment to Strange's skills, but Lambert's thinking practically: it does sound complicated, unnecessarily so. At some point, wouldn't it be just easier to do things yourself? Then again, he's not a magician, so what does he know, really?

His eyes flick to the calendar on the wall, and it reminds him of the cafe, and the box of Halloween-related paraphernalia he's going to have to put up sometime this week, assuming the city doesn't explode into all-out supernatural war tomorrow.

"Must be going crazy this month, then."

Oddly, Strange shakes his head, giving Lambert a frown. "That's the thing. It should be, but it isn't--part of my research is trying to figure out why this is happening."

And, based on his frown and the annoyed tone in his voice, Strange has absolutely no damn clue why it's happening and the spirits are weaker to begin with. He should know this, he should at least have some idea of why things are acting up. But honestly? He only has the slightest clue.

"October's historically a time of great power for spirits. Everything turning up so weird right now shouldn't be happening."

"What do you mean, 'everything turning up weird'?" Lambert doesn't know much about the supernatural, but that ... that doesn't sound good.

Strange obviously think's its a concern, and while Lambert normally wouldn't give a shit about Strange's opinion (on the proper handling of books or otherwise) he can recognize that he isn't exactly in his area of expertise, here.

"I mean everything's turning up weird!" It's a terrible explanation, but the most succinct one he can think of. There's a pause as Strange mulls over how to explain this, before he continues. "Planar activity is off-kilter, the etheric energies are out of whack, omens are turning up inconsistent, spirits are weaker than expected, it's weird."

All things that Strange is explaining as fact and with the assumption that Lambert knows what's what but Lambert probably has no idea what they are to begin with.

"I've cast a few omens myself and they've turned up just as odd," said as Strange gestures towards the deck of tarot cards sitting near his computer. "Which they've never done before."

They turn up vague or unhelpful, not downright confusing.

Lambert recognizes words, but he's quickly learning that listening and comprehension are not always the same thing when things are coming out of Strange's mouth.

"You know I have no idea what you're talking about, right? I'm not exactly a practitioner." His research on the magical, such as it is, have a particular concentration: shapeshifters, werewolves, anything to do with transformation and beasts. Whatever little he knows about other sorts of magic? That's only what he's picked up incidentally.

He will, however, nod at the tarot deck with a frown. "It'd be easier if you showed me." Not that Strange is ever interested in making things easy for other people, in his experience.

"I'll have to explain the damn things to you as I do so," Strange grumbles, as if it's somehow Lambert's fault that the man knows nothing about tarot. Still, picking up the cards, Strange shuffles them as he talks, trying to calm himself down and get himself properly centered. "The easiest thing to do is a three card spread: one for your past, one for your present, one for your future. I'll do yours first and then I'll do mine."

There are other more complex spreads that he could use but honestly...Strange isn't any good at them. When casting the omens for the three card spread, he can feel himself tap into actual power, into something real. When he's laying down a different spread, no matter how much he centers himself, no matter what he taps into, it just doesn't feel the same. He might as well be laying down cards randomly. (This is a long way of saying that Strange is kind of shit at tarot and like hell he's telling Lambert that.)

It's ritualistic the way he shuffles the cards, eyes closed as he concentrates on something, Strange trying his hardest to center himself with whatever spirits and whatever forces he can. There's a brief feeling of power in the room as he shuffles: Strange may be overbearing, obnoxious, and a legitimately awful human being, but he is still a mage. Muttering something under his breath as he does so, he lays down three cards face down on his desk.

After a pause, Strange turns the cards over one at a time: the Knight of Swords followed by the Moon followed by the Tower. And...then he looks at Lambert as if somehow hoping that he could telepathically shove the meanings of the cards into Lambert's mind and he wouldn't have to explain everything again. He doesn't mind talking but the amount this man doesn't know is downright criminal.

"I've read a bit about the Major Arcana," is Lambert's response to that, frowning as Strange lays the cards out on the table, one by tattered-edged one. It's certainly the most ragged deck he's ever seen, the illustrations recognizable yet with a quality that suggests they were drawn by hand, rather than mass produced. Some kind of artifact, maybe? Somehow, he just can't imagine Strange having the patience to sit down and draw these himself. The sense of power in the air makes his hair want to stand on end, but he wills it down.

And when Strange lays the cards out? His eye's immediately drawn to the card in the center. The present. He's seen this before, he's sure of it -- in a book?

No. A hazy memory surfaces of another wild-haired man hunched over a table, also telling someone's fortune -- was it his own? -- but there were more cards around it then, a bigger spread than the modest one Strange has drawn here. Yet his finger will reach over, feeling like he's re-enacting something that's already happened before, tapping the table just next to the space beside the card that reads La Lune (and what is Strange doing with a tarot deck in French, anyway?)

"The Moon symbolizes illusion, secrecy, intuition," he recites, still looking perturbed. "It can also be a sign of deception -- of things not being what they seem." His gaze lingers on it a moment longer, before he moves onto the second Major Arcana in the spread. "And the Tower means ... changes. Disruptive, hard to avoid ones."

He leans back, folding his hands in his lap. "No idea about the guy with the sword, though." He looks kind of pissed off, like he wants to stab something with that sword. Lambert feels a little sympathy. If only all his problems could be solved with strategic application of violence...

Edited 2017-06-21 05:44 (UTC)

Well. That's unexpected. Strange leans back in his seat slightly, resting his chin on his hand as Lambert explains two of the three cards. It's unexpected and yet he's thankful to hear that because honestly, explaining one thing is easier than explaining three. One of these days he'll have to actually sit and pick Lambert's brain: he has such a scattershot approach to what he actually knows with regards to the supernatural.

"The Knight of Swords," he explains as he reaches out to touch the well-worn card. The deck is one of those things that Strange knows is important somehow, but he honestly can't remember how. There's just a faint compulsion that he needs to keep this safe. Besides, the rattiness might not fit his aesthetic, but it at least looks suitably impressive. "It's a card of action. The knight of swords means bursts of energy, rushing forward to accomplish your task without necessarily thinking of dangers, challenges, others involved, or risks--I mean this in a positive and negative way, of course."

Taking his finger off the Knight of Swords, Strange reaches over to touch the Moon, then the Tower. "Past, present, future. I've no idea about your past or your current situation, so I can't pinpoint the irregularities in this reading. However, when we set it up against mine, I'm certain my point will be made clear." And yet, as Strange puts the cards back in the deck, he knows that isn't true. He does know about Lambert's past...does he? Why on Earth would he think that?

You don't go poking around new age bullshit without learning a few things -- at least if only to know what you're looking for doesn't look like and save yourself some effort chasing dead ends. But most of Lambert's knowledge isn't verifiable, there being a lack of supernatural creatures he can call on to make sure he's got all the details right. Before coming here and dealing with his sisters, the supernatural's never played much of a role in his life.

Something about that thought doesn't feel right, but he'll listen to Strange go on instead of dwelling on that. He's still frowning over the meaning of the card, wondering what the hell it means, while Strange shuffles the deck again. There are a lot of impulsive decisions he's made in the past, that much is for certain -- he can't even deny that. Hell, it could just mean the entire stupid incident with the Beast...

"Is that going to be useful?" Lambert's brow creases. He doesn't know much about tarot readings, that much is true, but why putting two fortunes together would shed any clarity on anything is puzzling to him. "We don't have much to do with each other."

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tiiimeskip maybe?

works for me!

a million years later, prior to whatever's going down with nightshade

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