⇨ The Tourist Trap: WEEK 1

[ringleaders]

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.

Comments

[atouts]

"You forgot live in creepy basements and play old video games," John adds helpfully, full of blatant false cheer when he says it. Admittedly, it is something he enjoys doing. At least, he's pretty sure... what's his favorite game again? Did he ever have one? "The Count's realm didn't even have electricity."

Which is assuredly one of the minor complaints he'll ever have about that place. There's worse. Much, much worse than that. He isn't here to garner pity from Lambert, though, just answer questions. So rather than go on about everything else the Count lacked outside of the odd joke like that, he looks down at the same feathers along his arm that Lambert's brushing a finger over.

"Ah, those..." He really wishes his glamour actually worked against this guy, because he would have kept those out of sight given the chance. He shakes his head and leans forward, setting his wine down on the table before leaning back heavily against the couch again. He'll move his arm out of Lambert's reach, holding his forearm up and in front of himself to give it a fairly displeased appraisal. "Decoration, I suppose."

With his free hand, he reaches up to snag one of the offending black feathers and yank it out with only a slight wince. They aren't important feathers by any means, so any bleeding from that will be minimal and it gives him one feather, in particular, to hold up.

"Or just a reminder, something to show who owns us. That's what gave me away to the one at the cafe. They could tell."

[whattaprick]

The idea of having something part of your body to constantly remind you of a connection to something you hate but can't escape is unpleasant, something that makes Lambert's gut twinge in empathy. Yeah, he knows how that feels, even if he doesn't know what to say in response.

"But it still couldn't tell who you actually work for." 'Work' is probably too generous a word, but it's ... important, maybe, to remind himself of that. However powerful these things are, no matter how wound up the changeling seems about them, they aren't actually omnipotent or infallible. Which Lambert knew well enough from stories, of course -- although it's always felt like trite bullshit to make one feel better, humans taking advantage of faerie nature, managing to pull one over them.

Arguably, tonight's encounter falls into that category, but from John's reaction, he suspects it might have a way of turning around to bite his ass in the end. That tends to be part of the stories, too.

He looks at the feather in the other man's fingers, frowning. "So, are you going to tell the Rose Queen about all this?"

[atouts]

John nods to that. Could tell who his father is, yes, but who he worked for? Of course not.

"If you know who the ruling fae around are, you know what to generally look for in their changelings," he explains, although in retrospect he wonders if he should even be giving away this much. Lambert seemed like he wanted nothing to do with this shit — which is smart, really smart — but he also seemed like a real big weirdness attractor. Case in point, John himself.

Oh well, he decides with a sigh and tosses the feather away, bored with looking at it now.

"And yes, I am. I'll leave the cafe and you and the cat out since she doesn't care about stupid mortal things. She'll be distracted enough just knowing what the Wyld Fae is up to."

[whattaprick]

"Could be worse. At least you aren't literally on fire." Because yeah, he's seen some of those around. Feathers are normal, comparatively. While John tosses the feather away without much thought, the flutter of movement out of the corner of his eye is enough to make Lambert reach out to snatch it out of the air before it can hit the ground. He doesn't think too much about what that probably looks like, or why it feels so satisfying to do that, and mulls over the changeling's words.

"Another one of those showing up is the last thing I need," Lambert mutters, with a fervent conviction. In that light, being considered a stupid mortal thing doesn't seem that unattractive. One True Fae is one fae too many, in his opinion, and he'd be more than happy to never see one again. Somehow, though, he doesn't think he's getting that wish -- not with how things are turning out.

He drains his mug and sets it back down on the table, running the tip of his tongue along his lip before he leans back against the couch.

"So, you really think it'll come down to a fight?" What is that even going to look like? Crows coming down to scratch out peoples' eyes?

[atouts]

John arches an eyebrow at the caught feather, though it elicits an amused snort rather than an annoyed one in the end. Lambert's not likely to know how to use it against him and it's doubtful he'd ever hand it over to his mage of a sister.

"If you wanted one, you could have just asked," he points out lightly, "Because I have much better feathers than that one."

Longer ones, at least, when compared to a little one off of his arm. To the rest, however, he shrugs and takes his time in answering, because he does pause a moment to swing his feet up to rest his feet, one ankle over the other, on the coffee table. His place, he can be rude to his own furniture.

"And yeah, probably. Most fae are territorial. This one showing up and doing whatever they want, that may as well be declaring war right there."

[whattaprick]

It's a bit surprising the feather remains intact -- part of Lambert had been half expecting to find it dissolve in his hand. As it turns out, however, it is stubbornly real, and though he raises a brow at the offer, smirk turning speculative for a moment, he'll focus on the more sober topic at hand.

"If it's a war, does that mean you'll be expected to fight in it?" It's an image that doesn't really fit.

[atouts]

John doesn't answer right away, turning the question over in his mind slowly. There's no telling what will happen in the long run, especially before he makes his reports. He can already guess the Queen's anger over it, but it's not something he particularly cares to dwell on. That thoughtful silence drags on, gaze drifting off and away from Lambert so he can frown somewhat at the dark TV screen instead.

Will he be expected to fight?

"I don't know," is the answer he settles on in the long run, said with a sigh and him basically giving up on keeping his head upright. He leans it back against the couch, the top of the backing, and just closes his eyes. "Maybe I'll just fly away if it comes to that. Who would even notice one less crow around?"

[whattaprick]

As the quiet drags on, Lambert lets his shoulders dig in deeper to the couch, sliding down just a bit further into a position that's terrible for his back as he stares up at the lights twinkling above.

"Definitely not me," he answers lazily when John speaks, smirking and letting the feather slip free of his fingers and flutter to his lap. So much for it not mattering where he went. It's easier, falling back into mindless banter, than it is to really focus on keep asking questions. Does it really make that much of a difference, in the end?

"I'll just have to find some other half-faerie crow man to eat all the leftovers." It's definitely well past the time he should be getting home, but the idea of getting out of here and driving home in the cold is nearly unthinkable. That, and driving drunk is probably not the best idea.

[atouts]

It matters more than he thinks — trade a faerie war in for some unknown territory with new and horrifying faeries, assuming the survivors in Portland don't come looking for stray birds eventually — but it's not like he has any way to correct that thought. He is, thankfully, still not a mind reader.

"Your cooking is terrible, anyway," John shoots back easily, falling into the same comfort of blessedly stupid conversation over the more serious matters at hand. "I've been eating them without complaint because I didn't want to break your poor little mortal heart."

Despite technically being mortal himself, but shh, that's a fact he hasn't bothered with admitting.

[whattaprick]

"Oh, fuck you," Lambert answers, turning his head to grin at John whether or not he's looking back. "Last time you had this poor little mortal's food, your fat ass ate so much you couldn't fly straight."

Never mind that 'fat' is just about the last descriptor anyone would apply to John in any way. Speaking of being full, though, certain other concerns are pressing enough to make Lambert groan and peel himself off the couch.

"I need to take a piss," he announces, elegant as always. "And a smoke." He holds out a hand, expectantly, fingers beckoning. Pony up the cigarettes, dude.

[atouts]

"If that's what you think, you haven't been paying close enough attention to my ass," John says, cracking an eye open to first squint at Lambert, then at Lambert's offensive cigarette bumming hand. Both eyes come open when he puts the effort into rolling them, but he does swing his feet back down off the table and lean over some, just enough to give himself easy access to the pocket with the pack in it. Both that and the lighter get handed to Lambert because he doesn't feel like digging one in particular out.

"Don't smoke the whole pack and try not to piss on any exposed wiring, all right? I have enough sister problems without yours tearing me apart because I let you die in the stupidest way possible."

The last part sounds like a joke. Yeah, it's probably a joke.

[whattaprick]

"How can I, when it's covered in feathers half the time?" Lambert isn't as easy to embarrass anymore, so the 'ass' comment is just going to get a snicker and a shit-eating grin. "And if you're that invested in keeping my dick from getting electrocuted, you're welcome to come with."

Lambert takes the cigarettes and the lighter, fingers clumsily brushing against John's hand because fine motor control isn't something he's great at right now, and staggers his way over to the door again. Pushing it open lets a blast of cold air in that instantly has Lambert in goosebumps, swearing because he didn't pull his jacket back on, but he wobbles his way out to the balcony anyway.

He takes care of the cigarette first, getting it lit after a few false starts and setting the pack and lighter both on the balcony railing. It's shortly followed by the shuffle of cloth, the sound of a zipper being undone, and the steady patter of liquid on leaves below as Lambert answers the call of nature. Taking a leak straight off some rich fuck's abandoned mansion really shouldn't feel so satisfying, but it does, and he'll take his sweet time about it before he zips back up, leaning his elbows on the railing and letting the breeze cool the flush on his face as he just takes a moment to breathe.

Seriously, what the fuck is his life?

[atouts]

It's the life of an urban fantasy protagonist in a young adult novel, that's what it is. Congratulations.

"If that's the problem, it's easy enough to fix," John adds, raising his eyebrows but keeping his eyes sleepily lidded to give the reply a mockingly suggestive cant, but then he, too, laughs and lets Lambert go with the cigarettes and the lighter. He won't tag along to watch him take a piss, thanks, but he will make an appearance once he picks up the telltale scent of smoke.

So, no, he won't join him for a piss, but he will for a cigarette. The door creaks open again and John steps out onto the balcony, feathers gently ruffled by the same breeze. He comes up to lean against the railing, picking the pack up to grab a cigarette for himself. Within the next few seconds, it'll be two idiots smoking on a dirty stone balcony instead of one.

"Hit anything funny?" That's what he asks after the first drag and puff of smoke, out into the wind rather than into anyone's face. "You'd be amazed at what weird shit people come up here and chuck down the cliff."

[whattaprick]

"Didn't hear anyone screaming, so nothing too funny," Lambert answers, resting heavily against the railing as he lets it take most of his weight. It's hard to stay upright, but the alcohol and the smoking helps him pretend he isn't that cold, at least.

"But it's not like I can see in the dark, so I couldn't tell even if I did." Cigarette still between his lips, he pushes himself up on his toes and lean right over the balcony, teetering dangerously, as if doing so will give him a better vantage point to peer down into the gloom below. Dammit, it's not even that dark.

[atouts]

Well, that just prompts John to reach over, trying to grasp Lambert by the nearest shoulder and pull him back from leaning that far over the railing. It's a long drop down and he has no idea if he's fast enough to stop the man from hitting the rocks at the bottom. Frankly? He'd rather not have to find out, either.

"Careful," he mumbles around his own cigarette, wanting to keep both hands free just in case it does come to that. "I only owed you one debt, don't make it weird by dying anyway."

[whattaprick]

At the tug, Lambert huffs in annoyance but he'll let himself be pulled back, turning into the grip on his shoulder to face John and letting his weight rest on his elbow on the railing. He readily outweighs the changeling, so if it came to it, they'd probably both end up over the edge, so it's probably for the best they don't test their luck.

"So you were waiting for me to get into some near-death experience all this time? Most people would just say 'thank you.'" Oh, stories have plenty to say about faeries and that particular faux pas, but if John thought he could tell Lambert what he was and expect not to be teased about it ...

Past tense, though. He owed him, but now he doesn't. He smirks around his cigarette, reaching up to push John's hand off his shoulder, but doesn't quite get past wrapping his fingers around his wrist.

"You could just save my life again. Then I'd owe you."

[atouts]

"Most normal people, sure," he can't argue with that, not really, but he also knows it'll never be him being the one to say 'thank you'. It feels so foreign to him these days, though, as a changeling, it shouldn't really bother him that much. He does give a small, amused huff in regards to Lambert's other suggestion, however, and he reaches up to pull his cigarette out and hold it away between two fingers.

He breathes out the smoke and shakes his head, leaving his hand right where it is for now.

"And then what would you do? Hope to be around at the right time to bat away my sisters again? Because you aren't really the type to protect me from anything bigger than an angry crow."

[whattaprick]

Oh, and doesn't that sound like a challenge?

"Aren't I?" Lambert's other hand reaches up, takes his own cigarette out of his mouth, and casually flicks it off the balcony. And that's all the warning John's going to get before -- with a coordination that's shockingly good for as soused as he is -- Lambert's grip on his wrist tightens. Shifting his weight, he yanks the changeling sharply towards him, taking advantage of that split-second of being thrown off balance to make his best effort to bring him down to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Assuming it's a success and no sudden burst of magical self-defense on John's part, the brief tussle is going to end with Lambert laughing like the shithead that he is. He's got his hands clasped together, one arm hooked around John's neck in a headlock that pushes his face right up against the side of his pec while Lambert uses his bodyweight to pin the rest of him down.

Eat dirt, bird man.

[atouts]

Sure, it's surprising that drunk Lambert can do anything that complicated in the first place. That alone earns him the chance to take John down and get his arms around him, pinning him to the cold floor of the balcony. It also gets him a rather undignified shout, no word in particular, just a startled noise, and then he's down and Lambert's laughing.

Another time, he may have used this instance to say something vaguely suggestive, but there's a point to be made here. Yeah, Lambert took him down, but what he doesn't realize is after maybe five seconds of pinning him and chortling like an asshole, he's going to find himself with absolutely nothing under him. Lambert, meet balcony.

As far as magic goes, John's shown very little of it around Lambert, apart from the obvious 'turns into a damn bird' trick. Back at the cafe, he'd used his other movement spell a few times, but it also works just fine when grappled. The reason Lambert finds no John in his headlock anymore is that he turns to shadow and flickers away, reforming again standing over him. He could be nice about this, but, again, a point, and he'll punctuate it with a heel in the man's back. Not to kick him or shove him down, just to have it there, lean a little weight on it.

"You were saying?"

[whattaprick]

Something about the situation -- pinned down, however gently, against the cold ground -- makes something in Lambert's booze-addled instincts flare up, twisting out from under John's foot and rolling up to his feet in a crouch. He doesn't even think about leaving one hand outstretched, fingers shaping themselves into a series of motions, and...

And nothing. Lambert blinks at his own hand from behind skewed glasses, frowning. What was that even supposed to accomplish? But the tussle's been enough to slip his necklace out of his shirt, and he wraps a hand around the body-warmed metal absently, looking up at John with a smirk to cover the moment of uncertainty.

"Well, one thing's for sure. You're no Tam Lin." Then again, how much credibility do those stories really have?

[atouts]

That reaction has John hopping back so he isn't knocked over when Lambert twists away like that, hands coming up like he's expecting to block something when the other man goes through those motions with his fingers. When nothing happens, he does frown briefly. Why had he expected something to in the first place?

He gives Lambert an uncertain look for all of two or three seconds, but that's it. They move on and rather than ask about it, he asks, "Yeah? And what makes you say that?"

Because being a changeling doesn't mean he remembers shit about faerie tales. Something about being stolen, then rescued? Off a horse? Maybe? Though the name is familiar, if only vaguely. He won't spend too much time wondering about it, though, and instead steps forward again to offer Lambert a hand up.

[whattaprick]

Lambert looks at his outstretched hand like he doesn't quite trust him not to be planning some other trick, but staying on the ground is frankly uncomfortable -- so he'll put his fingers into John's, letting himself be pulled up. He is, naturally, chatting as he goes, alcohol leading to a fairly loose tongue.

"It's a ballad about a man who's freed from his service to the faerie queen by his lover. The way the story goes, she had to hold on to him no matter what form he turned into: a lizard, a snake, a lion, a bear, and a piece of molten metal." He snorts, wobbling upright. "Would've had her work cut out for her if he'd turned into a shadow."

[atouts]

"Good thing I'm capable of freeing myself, then," is what John has to say to that. He isn't above using how unsteady Lambert is on his feet after getting back up to tug him closer, as well, still grasping his hand for just that purpose. "That ought to make it a lot easier for you."

Either that or a lot more awkward, but between his inevitable audience with the Rose Queen tomorrow and how he's pretty sure the city is about to all go straight to hell on the supernatural side of things, he'll take his chances and lean down to catch Lambert's lips in a kiss. If it has the added bonus of stopping him from going on yet another lecture about extremely nerdy shit, well, also worth it.

[whattaprick]

Instinctively, as he tips forward, Lambert releases his necklace so he can catch his weight, fingers spreading over the changeling's chest. Not so drunk that he doesn't realize John deliberately pulled him off balance, he's in the middle of opening his mouth to bitch about that when he rather suddenly finds himself being kissed.

It turns out to be a rather effective way to shut him up.

Perhaps surprisingly, it doesn't meet as violent a reaction, either. It doesn't really meet much of a reaction at all, really, except one abortive, violent twitch of his fingers into the cloth of John's shirt as his body freezes up. And then he's pulling his head back and away, glasses askew and face hot.

"What the hell are you doing?" He gives him a slightly lopsided smirk, which is a better option than letting a hysterical laugh bubble out of his throat. There's something about this that feels weird, and not just for the obvious reason that the guy who turns into a bird and keeps hanging out outside his window has just decided to plant on him out of the blue.

[atouts]

"Don't tell me you've never been kissed before," John answers, matching the smirk and, unknowingly, that feeling of deja vu. He knows he's never kissed him before now, but something seems off about that thought. Why that could be, he doesn't know, and normally that would make him frown and wonder, but that's something he can do later. "Because it's pretty obvious."

He will let go of Lambert's hand, however, in case he's horribly misjudged this. The lack of getting himself thrown off the balcony points to maybe not, but he could just be working up to that. Who knows.

"I get the feeling all my effort to flirt with you has been going miles over your head, so I went with the direct route this time."