lostcarnival | ⇨ The Tourist Trap: WEEK 4

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⇨ The Tourist Trap: WEEK 4

Who: Anyone, anywhere in Portland.
When: October 22nd - 31st, 2017
Where: In Portland, for the last time.
What: The seasons change as the Winter Court seizes a surprise victory, claiming both the Tree of Life's pendant and the blood catalyst needed to take control of the Severing Ritual. Meanwhile, interdimensional problems are about to get more weird. Check out the conflict results for the attack on the Circle as well as the Beast's attack on the Summer Court here.
Warnings: Individually marked!

DAYS OF WINTER↴

As the end of October nears, so does the grasp of winter. On the night of the 22nd, it will freeze overnight, and the temperature will drop for the following days. As the night grow long, world-wide magic slowly reaches it apex, set to reach it on the night of Halloween. With so many factors at play, knowing what to do with that moment of power may be a challenge.

► FULL CIRCLE: The Angels succeed in their planned attack on the Circle, managing to get to the living quarters of the Council members with the help of Ashleigh Mischief. The plan goes without much resistance from the mages or from the demons attempting to claim the ritual object for their own. Of course, when the fae make a surprise attack on the Angels after they flee the scene, it has the surprise result of the Winter Court ended up with the pendant in their talons. Threads for this attack can be done in this log. If you need mod direction at all, let us know, but otherwise feel free to NPC demons, angels, or random Circle members as you require.

► THE QUEEN'S GARDEN: Realizing that the Rose Queen is distracted with attempting to claim the pendant, the Beast will summon her co-conspirators to raid the Queen's gardens. The ultimate plan seems to be to get the Beast far enough into the gardens to kill the Queen, while also rescuing as many changelings as possible along the way. As it turns out, this doesn't go well. While they do manage to penetrate the gardens with Childermass's help, the Rose Queen, Ignatius, and Nightshade happen to all be there. Seriously outnumbered, even by the Beast's terms, it will take everything the group has to just make it out alive, sustaining heavy injuries as they go. In the end they will manage to rescue Greg universe and four additional changelings that were imprisoned there, but any damage done to the Summer Court itself will be negligible. Threads for this can also be played out here!

► REFLECTIONS: As the ritual draws closer, the line between this reality and the one you came from will also be becoming less clear. Regaining memories is not required, but it will naturally become easier to occur, especially if you're already started receiving them. It's a good time to start making connections, while you still have the chance.

► THE SEVERING: One way or another, the Severing is going to make an impact on both this world and the lives of those trapped inside of it. The Angels are going to be making an attempt to interrupt the Winter Court's ritual, as will the Summer Court and Anath's forces. Whoever comes up on top will be the ones to decide what to be done with it. Yet, with news that the Severing continuing could cause irreversible damage to the planet's spirit, it could feel like there are no perfect options. There will be an event header put up for this by the mods closer to the end of July.

(NOTE: canon powers will returning while the ritual is in progress, so keep that in mind for planning - both sets of powers will be active.)

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Well... both. You... I remember you looking out for me in that other place. For some reason.

[Aw, it would almost be sweet if Yugo could recall the details more clearly ~~and was less oblivious then~~ and if Carly remembered enough to understand what he was talking about.]

... Like a bird I guess.

"Really? That's how you ask someone for help?" Rita just stares at him with an incredulous look, then sighs. "You're one to talk about health standards. I'll be back in fighting shape by the thirty-first. That's the deadline, right?" If someone's going to perform a major ritual at this time of year... that date should come to mind for any mage.

"You're not that likable yourself. Or trustworthy, for that matter." She's seen him bounce from the Circle, to the Summer Court, and now he wants an alliance with her? It sounds ridiculous, but Rita finds herself considering it. They do have a common goal here. They'd only be working together until the end of the month, and the number of ways he could betray her in that much time are limited. In that case... "But I can help you if you'll agree to one condition."

Like a bird...

[She grimaces.] ...I don't think birds are as nice as I thought they were... ...I don't think a bird would be good, right now....

"Oh," Papyrus' tone drops in enthusiasm and volume for a moment. "I have to admit, I was hoping for bites about the skeleton thing. The carnival stuff is... vaguer. But! That's fine! I'll do what I can to help!"

He balances the phone on his shoulder, heading to the kitchen to grab something to drink. Liquid fortification, his throat gets itchy when he talks too long. And that sensation is even stranger than it used to be. All the while, he keeps chattering into the phone.

"I remember a carnival. Like, a fair, or a circus. Positively bustling with a lot of rides, very inhuman people working there... getting more inhuman as they went? And I'm sure I was there by choice. And... we traveled from world to world? We were fish, and crabs, and various marine miscellany one time."

Yeah probably.

[Beat.]

I told you that thing was still a prick.

[Look it felt like it was worth saying. That Aslla would never be a being worth listening to. And who knows how many people were proven right.

Interesting language coming out of a supposed angel.]

Don't talk to me about that..! [she snaps back, but it's more fearful than anything.] I don't...

I can't focus on that..! And how would you know about what he's done anyway..!?

Honestly?

Truly, honestly?

If it weren't for Amethyst, there's a decent chance he wouldn't be. Amethyst--his sister--

Self-immolating in his bedroom, hanging himself, cutting his own throat, all of it--

No, what he really wants to do is get a gun. He wants to get a gun and put it in his mouth or press it to his temple and blow his brains out, his disgusting, rotting, (not rotting, not rotting, not yet, not here, he's not actually in decay, but he might as well be, and oh God he needs proof now, he needs to see it to know, but he already knows--already has all the proof he needs that this time, this where, he's not rotting in there at all)

But he could be. He could be, he should be, he doesn't know what it is that separates him from that reality except... what? Chance? Design? It doesn't feel real. Something feels false about it all and even though it's all he has, suddenly he's sick and he's scared and he's angry.

I don't believe you

Amethyst finding his body?

Unacceptable. Period.

But there is no body to find. That isn't real. It's not real. Not yet. Not here. Not right now.

How much do you guys think you're still missing?

[Because interestingly enough it feels at least for Yugo like they're coming along easier, effort spent toward understanding them aside.]

I don't think it was directly from wherever we called home that we came from. Because wasn't that place split into a bunch of dimensions?

[Awkward cough.]

But yeah it's obvious we don't belong here.

"What... Sans? What are you talking about, you..."

His voice shakes, and so does the rest of him, a mix of fear and the discomfort with himself over conflicting feelings and memories.

If their talk at the fair was alarming, this is terrifying. The display of the angel's power, sure, but mostly... there's no one else here. No witnesses. And Papyrus is stuck inside this warded circle. If the angel chooses to smite him, he can't even defend himself.

But it's Sans, all those new dream memories sing. Brother, brother, older brother. Someone to trust never to hurt him, someone to count on... (to a degree, with almost playful echoes of resignation and frustration, too. Fear for, but never fear of.)

Dream memories. A wave of cold prickles over him, and that sensation, so unfamiliar in those memories, makes him recognize: dream. He was never cold in those dreams, and isn't that one of the signs that something is made-up? No physical feelings?

"Oh god, oh my god, that was all just dreams. Okay, um... You, what do you want me to say? What do you want from me? You came here, you must have... must have had a reason."

[This time, Yugo's pause isn't because of a lack of understanding. It's a very real and very painful question that-]

I don't know.

[-he would of course not know the exact answer to. However it does explain the mutual fuzziness about that night and more doesn't it?]

But I'd rather think most of it was.

....That's a few months, [She says quietly.] ...somehow...

...I doubt you've really been here this long.

His hand, half extended like he might be ready to summon a weapon, shakes, and then withdrawals to cover Sans's mouth, with a sharp intake of breath. If angels don't need to breathe, then why does he feel like he must be running short on oxygen? Like his head is spinning with vertigo.

The light of his wings and halo flicker and dim, the wings pulling in closer to him as the revelation sinks in slowly. A singular question is nearly enough to dismantle him in this moment: 'pretend what never happened?'

It feels like it must be so many things - and then, a flash of self loathing stronger than anything he's felt before in this life. No way. He didn't just do this. He can't believe it. This is the one thing he was supposed to do right.

He sinks downward, until his toes touch the floor. His filled with the familiar desire to run away from this - from the question, and from the person in front of him. Part of him would be happy to do so, too. That is, if there wasn't the most terrible feeling of remembering himself just watching, just doing nothing, so many times before.

It always came to an end eventually. What's the difference?

He stares at the floor, and resummons his scythe.

"...You don't have to say anything," he says, his voice much quieter and calmer now. He barely understands what's happening to him, but he can't bear to look at this human's face.

[It does sound like a stretch.]

..... Reina... are you okay?

[Maybe not the brightest question, but what an ironic laugh perhaps- Yugo being the one to ask in worry when he's the outsider here.

Probably because someone looks to be feeling like absolute human garbage right now.]

Not only does the angel stop yelling, but he stops talking at all. Papyrus' question hangs in the air between them, along with Sans' angry words and the earlier taunting about doing the bidding of demons.

In the silence, his mind races. Maybe that's what the angel wants to hear, maybe this Sans is the sort to want people to offer all the answers they can.

And then the angel answers, and resummons the weapon, standing solemnly without looking him in the eye.

"No, I would really rather say something!" Papyrus says, higher-pitched than usual, staring at the scythe of the grim-fucking-reaper.

"Final words, and, don't I get to call my lawyer? Or something? Because, you don't understand, I'm not... I'm really not doing it anymore. No more demon errands, no more... blood. I mean it! You can follow me around and verify it if you like! Just, don't leave me here, and don't... don't use that. I can be better. I will be. I promise."

There's only so much I remember being told.... but I'm just calling him as I see it.

[Because for as much as he's remembering, the bird-like woman in his mind's eye didn't so keen on laying out whatever the demon's crimes were.]

You're right though, doesn't matter now does it?

A few of his eyes flinch as Papyrus pleads, and it isn't really clear whether it's because of his pitch or because of something else. It's painful to hear, either way. Even more bizarre, is that he was convinced that exactly this was what he wanted to hear, a few minutes. Acknowledgement. Atonement.

Something.

He still doesn't seem ready to say much, even as Papyrus is pleading him not to use the weapon. His jaw feels stiff and tired, like trying to explain himself with be an impossible effort at the moment. Maybe it's just easier to act instead of negotiating.

He grips his scythe in two hands, and with an underhand swipe, tears it straight through the floor and up and under the warding circle, built into the prison's floor. With a streak of light, he rips a hole in the spellwork keeping the wards running, sending a small shower of pebbles into the cell.

Then he just lowers the scythe again, the barrier dispelled, without saying a word.

"Well, uh, I did once overhear mention of the carnival having a skeleton who could do magic," he recounts, bracing the phone against his shoulder as he digs for his keys; he has to be careful with his horns, he's learned, when he does this, lest he either damage his phone or his hood. "I never met the guy, but that's a thing that happened, I guess."

He decides not to tack on that the skeleton was also apparently on drugs. That doesn't seem terribly relevant, unless this dude asks specifically about the narcotics intake of the skeleton in question.

"But yeah, that carnival, I definitely remember that. It was run by a fae, right? I worked there too, but, uh, I wasn't there by choice, myself."

"I think I'm plenty trustworthy," Strange remarks, with a roll of his eyes. No, he's not. If anything, Rita can trust Strange to act solely in his own self-interest, not thinking that much about things like 'other people' or 'planning for the future.' "But yes, the thirty-first is the deadline. That's most likely when the court's going to do the ritual and also when our magic should be at it's peak."

Which also means that the Winter Court's magic would be at it's peak, but details details. There's something else more important to focus on anyway.

"What condition?"

fair enough

Taako picks himself up from the bed and crosses into his kitchenette, swinging the fridge open in search of a bottle of wine the person he supposedly was had stored away. The fridge is mostly alcohol, honestly, and ingredients for overly-fancy meals for one; he's never stopped cooking in this universe, not for himself or others, and it's honestly been kind of a dream to be able to enjoy that luxury again, free from his guilt over the past or his own fear of himself. No one died because of him, or his former partner, here. He's done nothing wrong in this place.

Well, not by way of his cooking, at least.

He uncorks the bottle of wine, and he searches for a glass for only a moment before he shrugs it off and takes a sip directly from the bottle; and then he goes to his living room and drapes himself over the arm of the couch, curling his long body around the chilled bottle of wine and holding his phone close to his face, and then he begins to type.

listen can i just call typing is for the birds

"My apartment's on the other side of town," Strange remarks, with a sigh. Because really, it's been that sort of a day, might as well have it continue to be that sort of day. "And the fae teleported us here so my car's also on the other side of town. I've got my wallet though, so I've enough for the bus."

He experimentally prods at his black eye and winces slightly as he does so. "I don't think I need emergency care, though. I can walk it off. Besides, Lord knows worse looking people have probably shown up on the bus before."

He flinches and closes his eyes, holding in place like he's green (that was just dreams!!), as the floor tears and the pieces fly. One strikes his face, bouncing off to clatter against the floor as Sans' attack (is that even his name?) never strikes.

"...Huh?"

Papyrus opens his eyes, looking around and up at the angel's silent, still, floating form. The gash through the floor extends through where the ward so abruptly stopped him before, and he dares to hope. And he's not dead or wounded.

He scrabbles to his feet, reaching forward and forward and past it... And holds still again. The dream memories want to embrace his good fortune and run with it, unquestioning. The person who's actually lived here, though... he doesn't want to get his hopes up again so quickly in so many minutes. It hurts, and he's so tired of worrying about people.

"I... don't understand. Far be it from me to question good fortune, but. You said, no second chances. And..." He gestures at the door, the floor, the scythe. "That's a gold-plated invitation to a second chance! To, uh, do things better. You're not my brother, why would you..."

"More than one skeleton! That's why I put a picture. The other one... he's an angel, not a skeleton, but he looks the same. Mostly."

Except for the wings, and the eyes, and the way he's been angry and sad every time Papyrus has seen him. But Sans is at least recognizable.

"Was she a fae? I just called her Ringmaster," Papyrus admits, thinking back. With the context of his life and knowledge here, the water in his glass overflows as he realizes. "Oh my god, she was a fae. We ate her food! And a lot of people got tricked into it!"

Initially, Sans is just prepared to tell him to go, and to end the whole thing right there. He's clearly having some kind of mental breakdown, here, and there's no need for the warlock to be there and watch the whole thing. Yet, that last comment, is what causes him to tune into things again, at least enough to ask a question.

How is it that everyone he meets seem to be having the same disconnect from reality at the same time? It's exhausting.

He actually forces him to meet Papyrus's look, and all traces of his previous fury are gone, for the moment. Instead he just looks really tired and really done with existing.

"I don't... get what you mean by that," he says. "The brother part. Could you do me a favour and explain it?"

Foster almost--almost--tells Taako no.

Almost.

But... he actually does ^need_want to talk to Taako. Badly. The more seconds pass, the more it begins to solidify from an impulse to an urge to a compulsion to--

To what?

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It's like an idea, but bigger, bigger than his body, than his mind, than him and it's like he's inside of it and this is exactly what he was afraid of and somehow something he craved, this clarity of decision, of purposeful momentum--

Taako doesn't have a chance to call him, because he calls Taako first.

That actually catches Taako by surprise-- he was honestly expecting to be turned down, and he's halfway through another swig of wine when his phone actually rings in his hand, leading him to nearly spit his wine out all over himself. He catches himself before that can happen, fortunately for himself and his couch, and taps the answer button, sputtering a little bit as he swallows his mouthful of wine quickly.

"Hey, uh... hello? Foster?"

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⇨ The Tourist Trap: WEEK 4

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TW: graphic suicidal ideation

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