lostcarnival | ⇨ GAME START INTRO LOG!

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⇨ GAME START INTRO LOG!

Who: EVERYONE!
When: NOW!
Where: Around the carnival grounds, and in the Cookhouse.
What: Carnival worker orientation, Ringmaster style.
Warnings: Alcohol consumption, maybe drugs. Other things?

BRAVE NEW WORLD↴

► THE NEW: It doesn't matter when you entered the tent to discuss your new contract with the Ringmaster, you exit it beneath a blanket of stars. Pointedly alien stars at that - currently the carnival grounds are being treated to a show of shooting stars, and what appear to be unnaturally large and living green moons hanging just a bit too close. The carnival was bustling when you entered, but now it's in the latter stages of being shut down for the night. If you manage to find a clock, it states that it's around 8PM.

Workers from during the day will be passing through the grounds, attending to various pieces of business. None of them will seem very surprised or concerned by the goings on, though some may be sympathetic enough to pause and answer your questions. If you put some effort into finding out how it became nighttime, you may discover that it's been anywhere from a few hours to 7 days since you originally signed your contract. Someone may explain to you that it was probably some kind of time bubble, meant to keep you out of the way until the Ringmaster had time to deal with you.

Every few minutes another new person will pop out of the tent, looking just as confused and under the impression that they had only just finished discussing things with the Ringmaster. Weird.

She passed you a note before you left. Opening it up, you'll see you've been assigned a trailer number, and been given the instructions to drop off any excess belongings and do what you can to get settled in. You have until exactly 9:36PM to do so, because that's when you'll be expected to attend what is listed only as "WORKER'S ORIENTATION".

This is, perhaps, more abrupt than you were expecting - but what can you do? You're here for the long haul.

► THE OLD: If you've ever seen a mass recruitment before, then this is no surprise. People enter the tent when they're recruited, and then sometimes how up again days later when the Ringmaster is ready for them. She isn't a big fan of wasting her time on individual orientations when she's expecting a crowd.

Maybe you're too jaded to all of this to care much, but you'll see the newbies wandering around, probably confused and maybe a bit lost. Maybe you're the kind whose is sympathetic enough to pause your role in clean up and give them some directions, and maybe a word of confidence. Maybe you'll just jeer at them, because you're some kind of asshole. Either way, you expect you'll have the chance to see them later tonight.

Whether by world of mouth, radio, or written note, supervisors will be passing out the following message: all workers are to report to the Cookhouse at 9:36PM sharp for "orientation." If you are at all familiar with how things go around here, you probably have a good idea of what this implies.

Mandatory Karaoke Night.

MANDATORY KARAOKE NIGHT!!!↴

At 9:36PM, the main dining hall of the Cookhouse will be found heavily decorator with various coloured lights and at least one disco ball made of what is ostensibly high karat gems. There are a bunch of cushions and additional seating set up along with the usual tables, and at the head of the call there is a state set up - a karaoke stage. For veteran workers, this is no surprise. Karaoke nights are fairly frequent as activities go, even if they are not usually mandatory. Some of you probably have signature songs already prepared.

The karaoke machine is set up with mostly karaoke tracks that would be popular in the 90's and 00's on the average modern earth, with a few that are more recent. It also has some other random stuff from other worlds that people rarely sing because they are confusing and in languages no one understands. Here is a big karaoke list for your inspiration! The more stereotypically karaoke the better.

Beyond that, there is plenty of food and snacks that were prepared by the cooks earlier, as well as a bar set up for alcohol and other vices. The selection is, as most things in the carnival, eclectic.

Music will be played in between if nobody is singing, and otherwise veterans are encouraged to bring along their own fun and show the newbies a good time. The Ringmaster does ask that vets attempt to be courteous to their new coworkers.

It's just being a good host.

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It's fucking adorable. [—Okay, Alois sounds way nastier than he usually does so early in a spat like this. He's red again, too, either from anger or from something he refuses to name or admit to.] Besides, you walk around with a giant piece of shit bat and other ridiculous fare. Who's creepy, exactly?

My piece of shit bat actually serves a purpose, you loser. It actually helps me with work around here, for one thing. There is zero reason for a scarf to have eyes.

[Even as he's saying it, he's thinking how absolutely ridiculous is sounds.]

Its function is being cute. [Alois says this slowly, like he's speaking to someone stupid.] The scarf, I mean. Obviously not your bat. People like cute things. People don't like shitty things. [He raises his chin, now bringing his blushing face out of the confines of the scarf, to let out one great and singular laugh:] Ha! Suppose that explains a lot about you!

[Is it a trick of the light or some sort of fae thing that makes Silver look like he's literally bristling at Alois's words? His shoulders hunch up at the very least, and his voice is a touch less deadpan than it's been.]

Cute? Cute is useless. Cute doesn't win battles. Cute doesn't get work done. Cute is what people who are too lazy or dumb to get by on real skills fall back on. Some of us want to be worth more than that.

[Instead of bristling back, instead of flying off the handle like he sometimes does, Alois lets a smile spread slow and easy across his face. Limp-wristed in a calculated way, he raises the back of his hand to just underneath his mouth. His fingers look quite delicate, and the slightness and mystery of them is enhanced by the faerie jewel work dotting (marring) his skin.

Cute got me richer than you'll ever be, he thinks, but he's not going to say that. In its place:] What are your skills, Silver?

[As delicately as Alois is posing, Silver's body language becomes more stoic, his arms crossing over his chest and his posture straightening. On the one hand, he feels as if he's taking some fairly obvious bait, on the other his pride is too great not to extol on his strengths when directly challenged.]

Here? If I'm given a job, I get it done right the first time. I don't cut corners, either. If I do something, nobody has to come after me to fix anything. I don't waste time with pointless chatting or playing around. I'm reliable and efficient.

Back home... pah. You wouldn't understand it. It'd go right in one ear and out the other, so I won't waste my time.

So maybe if I don't understand your skills, you don't understand mine. Cuteness and all.

[He looks and sounds too smug for such a simple statement.]

But that's fine. A young man like yourself has time to learn, I'm sure.

I'm older than you.

[He is not rocking on his heels to make himself taller. That must be another illusion.]

And I know what your skills are. I've lived with you long enough.

You don't know shit! [Alois crows, sounding closer to laughter than to anger, despite his profanity.] That's not how the world works, Silver. You don't know shit. This place is like a dream. Some mad illusory dream—like a fever—things are different.

[He settles both hands at the cockatiel scarf and raises his shoulders, curling into the fabric as much as he can, but still leaving his grin wide.]

This isn't the real world.

Not real, huh?

[With a smirk of his own, he brings his hands forward to make a big show of cracking his knuckles.]

If I punched you in the gut right now, I bet it'd hurt like the real thing.

Certainly. [It's anyone's guess whether the cheer in his voice is real or false.] I wouldn't bet against you. In fact I'd put money on it hurting pretty bad if I hit you in the fucking mouth, Silver.

[But Alois plays dirty in most everything he does, so his stance isn't fistfight-ready—instead, it looks like he intends to kick the crap out of Silver.]

[Oh, it's been building for months. The tension is so thick in the air you could use it to insulate a house. Silver is thinking how good it would feel, like finally scratching a bug bite that had been driving you to madness.]

As if you'd be able to get that far.

[It's the same for Alois—he just wants to get it out of his system, a good scrap. He hasn't done it in years. Years and years. A lifetime ago, it feels like. Alois Trancy's whole life.

That thought is what stops him, even more than the loom of the Ringmaster. He's better than this, or at least he should be. Jim Macken would have leapt upon Silver and busted in his teeth. Alois Trancy is a bright and pretty young man in charge of lands and titles and whatever other horseshit Alois never paid attention to about the earldom. Claude took care of all that, of course. Alois wonders now what Claude would think if he could see Alois teetering between punching a boy and sparing him. Alois wonders what Claude would think if he could see the glistening gemstones on Alois' skin. Alois wonders what Claude would think if he saw the cockatiel scarf, a gift from a nice man who has never tried to hurt Alois' heart.

...

He lets out a long breath, like hot air, like blood from an artery.]

It's a cute scarf. There's merit in that. People like to get nice things. That's all.

[The sudden change in mood manages to strike Silver totally off guard. That isn't how this usually goes. His typically icy expression looks earnestly confused, and he feels his tenseness in his body start to loosen. For a moment, it looks as if he's at a loss for words. For a moment.]

Whatever. I didn't really care, anyway. I need to get back to work.

Yes, you do. [It doesn't sound as snide as he tries to make it; his heart's not in it. His heart instead is with Claude Faustus. Alois thinks about Claude often, could even be all the time, but he's gotten better, at least, about pushing the squeeze of his heart to the background, and deadening it with petty squabbles or grandiose lies or opportune naps. Right now, though, right now, thinking about Claude hurts like a tangible madness. Alois wants to start crying. Alois wants to be picked up and carried to bed.]

Don't be late to orientation, [he mutters on another exhale.] You'll make me look bad by proxy.

It's just going to be a dumb karaoke party. I don't even sing.

[But he shakes his head as a sign he's already accepted his fate and puts his hood back over his face.]

Fine, fine, be as much of a grump as you want, [says one who's just been grumpy,] just so long as you don't come stumbling back in late at night. I want a good night's rest.

[He jams his hands into the pockets of his coat, uncouth that way.]

I'm going ahead to see if there's anything to eat yet.

[Alois has a way of jerking him right back into a conversation he thought he'd put a pin in.]

You're the one who usually does that! Nobody better let you have any booze, either.

Nothing wrong with a glass of wine, [Alois sniffs.] It's customary. At least in my circles.

[Blah blah blah he's a rich motherfucker. Anyway, as if he knows the first thing about moderation.]

It kills brain cells.

[Needless to say, Silver's not a big alcohol fan. He's seen his share of adults acting like idiots on the stuff, even before the carnival.]

Don't know what you're bloody on about, [grouses the young man from Victorian England,] but I'll drink if I decide I want to drink. [And if anyone... lets him. That's the hard part.] It's not a fucking opium den, Silver.

[There was a time he would've had no clue what an 'opium den' was, but being around Alois fairly frequently has helped him learn many unsavory things he hadn't previously.]

Just because there are other extremes doesn't mean it's not a dumb thing to do. Especially at your age. Besides, do you really not want to be in full control of yourself with a bunch of new people we don't know anything about?

[He thinks the younger boy as all the self-preservation skills of a toddler.]

[Things are a lot nicer when he and Silver are being catty toward each other. Which... they still are, right now, but there's also concern or something too close to it for comfort. Alois makes a bratty face, smothering his discomfort with Silver's jab at his... self-preservation skills. Don't be nice, he thinks, every time Silver gets even a hair's breadth close to it.]

Well, if someone new eats me up and buries my boots in the woods, maybe you'll get a better trailer mate.

[It's not an unexpected reply. Not with Alois. Silver rolls his eyes and slaps a palm to his forehead.]

Don't be so dramatic... and don't say it like I'd want you to die. You're annoying, but you're not that bad.

[That makes it even worse. Alois bristles, prickles, blood rushing to his face. He's thankful he can hide it with his new scarf. He snaps,] I just mean it doesn't matter either way! I wasn't asking for your opinion on what I do or do not imbibe.

['Imbibe' is a word he learned from Claude. He pulls out vocabulary like that every once in a while, often if he's feeling vulnerable.]

Just never mind it. I'm too tired to drink anyway. It's not like I'll have fun tonight.

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meanlook - 2016-10-21 01:55 (UTC) - Expand

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