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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That... was not the kind of reaction he was expecting. Sans continues floating vacantly, something nagging at the back of his mind. Feelings of disgust and defensiveness intertwine in a way that makes it hard to tell what he's even reacting too.

"...Convenient how that works, huh," Sans says, pulling back a little. The use of the word 'brother' makes him uncomfortable. "Everything starts seeming like a bad idea when you finally face consequences, right?"

He's still just the same careless jackass as before.

"Well!" Papyrus blusters, a finger raised as he feels around for a rebuttal.

Nothing comes to mind.

He remembers making all the decisions leading up to this point, feeling justified and vindicated with his cool super powers. The building dread of his family finding out, the sharper shock of an actual angel's disgust. Getting captured, imprisoned, threatened. Realizing that he hadn't prepared for any of this, not really, and that... all he could choose was how to respond to it all.

Dropping his finger and objection at the same time, Papyrus nods sheepishly. "You're not wrong. I've spent time on the inside, now. I'm a changed man."

Especially now that he remembers an idea as terrible as kidnapping and condemning a child to death... and deciding against it, with specific and theoretical children alike. A bone-deep certainty that everyone deserved a chance to change for the better. Like Sans -- like the angel is giving him now.

He steps forward, expecting to walk out around Sans' side. The wards are still active, and they respond.

As Papyrus is inevitably and violently repelled from the edge of the warding circle, Sans actually puts a hand to his face in exasperated dismay. He doesn't know why he's so invested in this bozo behaviour, but it's like he can't look away. He's just so... frustrated by it.

By how people only learn when it's convenient for them. Sans isn't an angel of second chances, he's an angel of death - and this seems like it would be a fitting end for a warlock of unchecked arrogance.

It wasn't in a psychopomp's nature to save lives or to take them away.

Sans shifts his wings as if he's about ready to fly off, leaving Papyrus there to face his destiny. There's no point in meddling with this, and as it is... he can sense that Papyrus remaining here would be a doomed path.

"Maybe you'll know better the next time around."

And he doesn't mean in this life.

"Ow," Papyrus groans from the far side of the room, pushing himself to a sitting position. "I thought... I thought the wards were in the door? Why did I think that, they're never in the doors..."

To the majority of his memories, it was a nonsensical thought. It takes him a second, but he figures it out. The barrier he remembers staring at for so long, it partly blocked the view of the far side with its pulsating gray light. Whereas here, the air between him and freedom looks like there's nothing there.

By the time he figures out his own cognitive error, Sans is shifting around and talking. If Papyrus understands Sans' implication, he doesn't acknowledge it, instead looking around for some sign of runes or differently-colored materials that are the source of the ward.

"There won't be a next time! No more deals with demons. I'll stick to fae, and my own hard work, from here on out."

Jesus, can't a guy just acknowledge when you're suggesting that you're going to leave him to die? The self assured and simplistic answer pinches a nerve somewhere in Sans's non-existent nervous system - like something familiar, something that could have been comforting in another situation, but something he just can't tolerate anymore.

"Fae?" Sans snaps, turning back to him, his seven eyes narrowing in some kind of disbelief, the light within them flashing. "Are you kidding me? You think they're better?"

"You made your mistakes," he says, his halo brightening, its patterns spinning. His voice just gets louder and more disturbed as he goes, breaking into territory that feels both old and fresh in its pain. "You can't keep countin' on a second chance anymore. You can't keep acting like it doesn't affect you."

His wings flair wide, and his volume reaches its peak.

"Stop tryin' to pretend like it never happened!"

The moment he finishes speaking, he recoils with a sudden realization. All it once, it strikes him - a feeling like he's just become the biggest hypocrite in the world.

"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."

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.

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."

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.

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..."

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?"

As Papyrus trails off, they stare at each other for a few seconds. It's a moment quiet enough for the distant sounds of cacophony to echo through the building, long enough for him to recognize that sad, weary expression. Even though the angel's expression is in a skull. Maybe especially since it is.

Looking at that face hurts, and he glances down and away.

"Yes, I can, but... I don't mean anything bad by it! It's a silly... thing. See, I've been having these weird dreams lately," Papyrus starts explaining, running a hand through his hair. It's still there. He's human.

"Vivid ones. A lot of details stay with me when I wake up... so much that, they seem real. As real as my own memories! And I was a skeleton in them. With a brother... who looked a lot like you. When you showed up at the door... I thought you remembered the same stuff. And came looking for me?"

It's ridiculous. He's ridiculous. His attempt at a smile flickers and dies almost immediately.

"I... didn't have much else to do, this last week, besides think about those dreams. Now they're sticking with me."

Sans stares at him for a few more moments, before softly muttering: "Shit."

It's not like he doesn't know what this guy is talking about. He's been feeling the same things for weeks now, and the idea of there being other creatures with skeletal forms like his seems plausible. In both realities he's been like this, more or less. His image feels consistent.

But what if someone looked completely different before? What if he couldn't recognize them even if he knew them, from their differences in shape and circumstance.

"...H-Heh," he manages after another hesitation. "You're not the only one with dreams like that. There's been... a whole thing..."

But yet, he can't remember. He can't remember, and something about that makes him extremely anxious, this feeling that he's missing something important. He hates it. It feels so expected, so familiar.

It doesn't matter what's going on in the rest of the building right now. He's transfixed. He lifts a hand, briefly, and then lowers it.

"What else do you remember about this guy?" he asks.

Papyrus, feeling very sorry for himself, freezes at the muttered expletive. Somehow that's a surprise equal to anything else that's happened in this room; do angels swear? It seems like something they wouldn't do. Maybe that's just with certain kinds of cursing.

He listens in rapt silence as the angel doesn't swear anymore, but does awkwardly admit that others have been dreaming similar things... and then asks for more details. As if there's something important to it all. A whole thing, one that he confirmed just now, one the angel feared. Which, fair. The skeleton war is great as a joke, but as a possible actual past life, with frozen caves and literal hellscapes and whatever other awful places they went through... kind of awful to consider.

"I'm not the only one who... really!?"

And past the drama of skeleton war mysteries, getting into the idea of actually being... related. Papyrus likes to think of himself as having the potential of being a great brother. It's an encouraging thought. One he's not really living up to with his decisions lately, dropping everybody to go play with demons. Maybe that's why the angel took the notion of second chances so... intensely, if this already is one. Before they even met, Papyrus put himself on the opposite side of an ancient war. Shit, indeed.

Still, for all it's yet another sharp bend in the whiplash of these last few minutes, it's a relatively positive one for him. He swallows the lump in his throat and does his best to clear it before outlining things.

"He's... He was sad, I don't remember why."

Or maybe the skeleton Papyrus never knew why, but that seems the worst possible explanation.

"Quick to joke about it, and himself, and anything. As if joking meant problems weren't real," he slips into a bitter, familial tone at that. Concerned and frustrated. "Making progress, having setbacks, going back and forth between... between doing nothing, and doing everything on his own."

In his angelic life, Sans has little concept of being related to anyone. He's never really thought about whether or not he'd be a good brother to someone, because it was something humans did. Whether he'd made a good guardian, or a good caretaker, yes. He'd always wished he could have been made into that role, instead. Just having a single ward to stay with seems like it would have been a blessing, compared to having to guard all wandering souls.

It seems like keeping himself separate from this theoretical other him is important right now - not fully committing to the idea that this brother Papyrus is describing is him or even could be him. Maybe it's just easier to discuss that way, if he denies all connection. Even though, based on what he says, it all sounds terribly right.

It's possible to see - perhaps especially for Papyrus, with some innate ability to read skeletal faces - the way his expression falls at that description. Sad. That's the first word used. The first words to describe his person with. Sad, but tries to distract from it with mirth and with lethargy.

"Right."

Maybe that's just a part of himself, no matter where or who he is. He doesn't know.

"...So," he starts, uncomfortable and breaking up, but trying to persevere. "Whaddya think? Do you... want to be this guy you're remembering? The skeleton one? Or... is it all just..."

His hands tug at his hoodie, his eyes all still facing the floor.

"...Not what you were hoping for..."

Edited 2017-07-27 02:59 (UTC)

Papyrus doesn't know the angel, doesn't know his circumstances or his story or even much of his personality. Hasn't actually even asked for a name, figuring it might be the sort of thing they don't give out. But damned if he's not struggling to see the difference from the person in those weird memories. The eyes and wings and all, that's a little different. But that... expression, tone, posture. He knows that.

"Uh. It's, I sure wasn't looking for it. That was some... past life, or something? We can't just go back to it, you were right about do-overs."

He rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable. As much as he'd rather just say whatever make this guy happier... he has no idea what the angel wants to hear. So the gift of honesty will have to do.

"But, I want to be more like that. He... was a good person. Better than me," Papyrus glances back at the gash in the floor, and the memory of the lectures. "Even when he was grieving, he tried to be happy. All the worst things that skeleton guy did... he was trying to do something right. Whatever he thought that was."

Sans isn't so sure about that - that there isn't actually any returning to it. In fact, if what he's heard is true, that reality might be barreling back towards them whether they like it or not. So, it is relief to hear that it's what Papyrus would want, anyway.

Because that theoretical person inside of this warlock is more important to him than the warlock himself. The choices and circumstances of this reality had made something different, and that's hard to figure out. He doesn't even know how to compare his own two selves at the moment.

Whether he wants it or not, his heart swells with the description of this remembered person, and suddenly something clicks into place in his mind. The instinctual, angelic feelings of wanting to watch over someone - a guardian to a ward... maybe that was the connection he was looking for?

Sans swallows, and then reaches out to take Papyrus's by the hand, feeling strange about its fleshiness and odd familiarity despite that quality. He raises his wings, and glancing off down the hallways, where he can hear another group stomping around in their direction.

"C'mon," he says, hanging on for the moment. "We should get out of here."

Sans begins to fly down the hallway at a supernatural pace, bringing Papyrus along with him, in an oddly painless manner.

He is pretty far out of the loop on all this stuff, so his own interpretations are the only ones he's heard. The notion, I have memories from another life in another universe, there's a few ways of looking at it.

One's that that other universe was a past life or something, something over and done with that could, due to whatever magic's letting those memories persist into this reincarnation, give people the insight not to repeat their old mistakes. Or the baggage to drag them into the same ones.

Memories from a future, impending collision timeline, that's bizarre and unintuitive.

The remaining big option is, what if this whole life is just a simulation, but that's terrible and uncomfortable; not only does it fit way too many crazy person cliches from TV, it leaves all the other people in this life in the lurch as short-lived background NPCs. It might be true, but you don't just say it like that.

Papyrus blinks at the sudden handholding, struck by a sudden familiarity -- and the sense that he's too tall for this recognition to fit right. The angel helpfully lifts into the air as he thinks it, and yeah, there's something about this sight that hits close to the heart. He smiles a little, crooked smile, opens his mouth to ask what brought this on...

Then suddenly they're flying, and somehow his arm isn't being wrenched off.

"Wowie you can move fast, oh my god, we're booking it. How doesn't this hurt?? Where are you taking me?"

Who says 'wowie??'

This guy, obviously!

Sans still have the path outside memories - because of the warding on the building, he had to come in the normal way instead of just phasing through walls. He doesn't want to abandon the angel's plan entirely, but he also doesn't want to risk leaving Papyrus in the crossfire right now. He stops at a corner, sending demonic energies nearby.

"I'm trying to get you out of here," he says, his voice hushed, and his glance fairly earnest as the angel's expressions go. "I'm on angel business, but Anath's demon army is trying to get the same thing we are... is that patron of yours gonna be on the hunt for you?"

He has no idea what circumstances Papyrus was captured under. He hopes that whatever it was, the imprisonment was unjust. Otherwise, he'll feel kind of bad about this.

Sans tries to dim his radiance enough that he won't attract any immediate attention. He doesn't want to risk getting into a fight with this guy around.

This guy is still getting surprised by the things he's saying and thinking. Being part-spiritual-alien, and only waking up to that fact as an adult, really puts one's life in a strange place.

"There are angels and demons here!?" He squawks, then covers his mouth.

Here, approaching, or approaching faster because he made a loud noise that drew their attention... None of these are great options. It's clear from that answer that angels and demons are about to be fighting nearby, and that Papyrus is awkwardly straddling the line in allegiance. Having the Circle as a possible danger was bad enough for getting out, now there's at least three different groups.

He considers the question and his circumstances for a moment, then shakes his head.

"I don't see how! I didn't have a chance to get off a message before coming here. And, uh... I don't think my boss gets along with Anath. I was supposed to spy on other demons, if I got a chance."

Edited 2017-07-28 20:56 (UTC)

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⇨ The Tourist Trap: WEEK 4

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