lostcarnival | ⇨ THE SUMMERLANDS

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⇨ THE SUMMERLANDS

Who: Everyone!
When: Day 138 - Day 152
Where: The Summerlands
What: The Ringmaster brings the carnival to the Summerlands immediately after being freed from Portland so that everyone can take a fucking nap. Her included.
Warnings: Individually marked! Most likely discussion of torture and trauma in here.

DAYS OF SUMMER↴

You made it! And things are back to normal... more or less. Upon waking, you will be greeted with a clear blue sky and gentle breeze – the carnival has found itself situated between a pair of mountain peaks, with great fields of flowers extending in the distance. In the other direction, you’ll see mountain-top cities and tall waterfalls accenting vast swaths of forest.

Some of you will already know this place. It’s the Summerlands. You game here once to rest in safety nearly a year ago, and now you’ve come to rest once again.

► WAKING UP: Shortly after the carnival arrives, the Ringmaster will send out a somewhat cryptic radio message - but her immediate location won't be clear. Whatever items you had on your person at the time the Severing was broken will still be on your person, including whatever clothing. All of the animals and pets of the carnival will have returned to the grounds as well, though they are currently free from their designated living spaces. Things in the carnival will appeared to have naturally aged a month, as if the carnival was been sitting here empty and waiting while everyone was in Portland. The lawn needs mowing.

► SUMMER CITY: After the Summer Fae become aware of everyone's presence, they will welcome you into their city. There are stairs that lead up the sides of the mountains, but thankfully there are also magical means of getting up there as well. The Summer Fae will be willing to help workers with the injured as needed, offering herbal remedies and healing magic to those that want it. You'll also be invited to join them for dinner, but they will not be particularly offended if they are turned down, for now.

► SUMMER PEOPLE: The fae here will mostly enjoy the company of any carnival members that offer it - it doesn't seem that much happens here besides day after day of peaceful meditation and relaxation. It is not uncommon to see Summer Fae spent days doing exactly the same thing, whether that be enjoying the weather, listening to music, or dancing - the day and night periods may be similar to earth, but when you don't need rest it can all blur together just the same. Some of the fae work on feats of agriculture or craftsmanship, and while there is no particularly need to work in this place, they take pride in the fact that they do.

► NEW ARRIVALS: Though the Ringmaster will not be offering much guidance for the first week or so, eventually the carnival will begin running for a few small performance sessions, off and on, as a thank you to their fae hosts. The carnival will also be open to receiving new arrivals during that period, and so there will likely be some newbies to train and get orientated as well.

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Whatever magic Steven can conjure with a kiss seems to have healed the worst of Lambert's injuries, and some of the more delicate things like ruptured membranes and bones shifted out of alignment. His body's trying to heal, but it's out of energy to fuel what needs to happen. 'Burned out' is a good description in general: something about being possessed by the Earth Spirit, and actually using its power for increasingly absurd, desperate displays of power, has indelibly altered something about Lambert's soul.

He has a few cracked ribs that have at begun knitting together, a weeks-old injury instead of a new one, and one of his ankles almost certainly won't be able to carry his weight. A few internal organs may be distinctly bruised, but otherwise, nothing seems to be that out of order, at least not physiologically speaking. Subjectively, however, it's all cheerfully sending out signals of pain, which were the reason he fainted in the first place.

Under the hand on his throat, Lambert stirs, eyes cracking half-open to stare fuzzily at whoever it is poking at him. They're that alien cat-slitted amber, not the warm brown they'd been as his human self, and his pupils contract farther in the light as he regards her lazily. His head tips slightly to the side so he can see her better, then he opens his mouth to speak:

"Nice legs."

Very deliberately Scout smiles and shifts her hand. Thumb and forefinger here, the rest here, ignoring the stubble to take a very precise hold on his carotid triangle, that stretch of the essential arteries and nerves of the deep throat. She's justifiably proud of her choke holds, so much more elegant and certain than grabbing for the windpipe and without the agony and risk of death. If something keeps its breathing organs and its brain separated by a neck, and it's not some ridiculous setup with a dozen redundancies, she can restrict blood flow and induce unconsciousness in under ten seconds. Even against opponents who can call on the Force to help oxygenate their blood. Sadly this is a skill she's had fewer chances to use than she'd hoped when she was learning it.

She doesn't crank up her grip this time, just makes it clear that she knows her way around a throat. Scout keeps an eye on him in case he tries to fight. When he's in this state, doesn't matter that she's spent a month not keeping to her exercise regimen, she's utterly confident in her hand-to-hand.

Sunnily Scout says, "It's very smart, antagonizing me at close range. Try it some other time!" She lets go and pats his neck in a brisk manner. "Then I can beat you when you actually have some strength. Now, do you want me blocking all that pain, or is it here to build character?"

Despite the position of vulnerability he's in, not to mention his absolute exhaustion, Lambert manages to crack a shit-eating smirk from his position on the ground.

"That's more like it." As to what he means by that, well, he's not going to clarify! Scout's question merits a few moments of serious consideration, where he's mentally going through a checklist of what exactly he feels up to right now. He really shouldn't have pushed himself with that last bit especially, shielding Strange and Childermass in a gesture that proved ultimately meaningless.

He remembers what Scout did for Zecora and honestly? That doesn't sound like such a bad idea right now. Experimentally, he moves an arm to attempt to push himself upright, and though he doesn't make a sound, his expression crumples as white-hot agony lances through him.

Yeah, no, moving is bad.

"It is good to see that you are still a douchebag," she proclaims solemnly, using the Portland/Earth word properly; she'd heard it before going there, of course, and knew what it meant, but hadn't spoken it before.

Scout pats his throat again, largely because as far as she can tell it's one of the few spots that's not especially painful and she's pretty sure touching his cheek in that patronizing way would come back to bite her later. She keeps her hand splayed there, close to the top of the spinal chord. "There there, you're still tough. I'm sure all your friends are very impressed already. Now hold still for a minute, or you'll be smelling burnt toast. This is harder than it looks."

He's a strange one and she can't interpret everything she picks up on, but a nervous system is a nervous system, a tracery of delicate electrochemical wiring sending constant impulses back and forth, in unbroken contact with the spine and from there the brain. People who don't have some recognizable form of that are very rare. The Force allows her to insert a little of herself and form some temporary blocks. Here, as with Zecora, it's just more economical to make a big one for the whole body. It feels like fine, fine fingers being slid between the bones of the neck, and like pain being pinched off and replaced by pressure and cold or heat, maybe pins and needles. Kind of unpleasant, and it does nothing for his body being spent and injured, of course.

Lambert would have a snarky comment about expanding vocabulary, he really would, but as it is Scout will simply have to imagine it for herself. As it is, however, the moment fingers touch his neck and the pain cuts out, Lambert relaxes immediately, sagging bonelessly into the ground.

"Fuck," he mutters into the grass. Yeah, it works well enough. Faerie magic additions and witcher physiology aside, he really is base human enough that this isn't much of a challenge. An experimental repetition of the motion to get up, this time more smoothly this time, if a little shakily.

"Helps. Thanks." Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to have realized one foot might be at an angle it shouldn't be. Might wanna point that out.

Edited 2017-08-03 02:55 (UTC)

"Careful, you're still hurt. Look at your leg. You should not be walking on that," she says, but she'll get a hand on his back to help him sit up. Scout can tell that if he tries to stand on his own, he's going on the ground again, whether that's right away or after a short pause. The good leg is not that good right now. "I've got to take you to the infirmary so the doctor can decide what to do with that."

She's great for field treatments, but definitely not qualified for treating this combination of general exhaustion, overstrain, bones and so on. A bit laboriously - long, digigrade/unguligrade feet are just harder to work with than compact human feet sometimes - she gets to a crouch, supporting herself with some help from her tail. It's different now, somewhat shorter and much thicker, with great dull bronze scale segments in the same color as those feet, and terminating in a sort of small fin or paddle rather than a flaglike plume of white fur. "Want to flounder around and hurt yourself and have me pick you up, or do you wanna just skip to the part where I help you?"

Could she really pick him up without the Force helping? She's stocky and just a bit shorter than him but several inches of that is due to those legs and feet.

Lambert's hair sticking up in all directions out of how he usually has it slicked down, he looks a bit like some animal might have enthusiastically licked at his head. He makes an inarticulate grumbling noise at the idea of heading to the infirmary -- he just needs to get some of his own potions in him and sleep for a week, that's all it is.

"I can do it." The lack of pain makes him more clear-headed, but it doesn't make him particularly more sensible or responsive to logic, which is why he's going to try to shake off her hand with a grunt and get to his feet himself--

Which ends exactly as well as anyone can expect it to, as he topples over with a yell when his leg buckles under him. At least it happened before he could get too far off the ground, so there isn't much far to go before he hits. He'd really like to blame this on how having a tail is throwing all his hard-earned balance off again, but it's all on his own stubbornness, this time. Not being able to feel the pain means all he can feel is the frustration of being helpless -- still being helpless -- and clawed fingers curl into the dirt with an ugly snarl.

He hates this.

She purses her lips and raises her eyebrows and watches him make the attempt. Falling probably won't hurt him too much more, or she'd do something, either to stop him or halt the fall... yep, there we go. Full on foolish sprawl. It's nice being right.

It's also tempting to gloat. Scout elects to save that for some later time, to go oh remember when you decided you weren't half dead and decided to flop in the dirt? when it counts and won't just escalate this idiot's anger.

"All right," she says after a pause, as if he'd said something. "Is it princess carry time, or do we pretend we like each other and I let you put an arm around my shoulders? One way or another you're getting more professional help. I'd look like a bad scout if I didn't go after that."

Lambert appreciates the lack of gloating at this point in time, or he will later, when she's actively making fun of him for it. For now, however, it's time to swallow his bruised pride and accept the help being offered.

"If you carry me, how will anyone believe I still have my virtue?" is what he answers, with a horrible smirk around gasps of exertion -- but also, he's moving to a position more conducive for letting him sling an arm around Scout's shoulder and be lifted into a more-or-less standing position, muscles trembling but holding his weight as he uses her as a living crutch. They're lucky they're more or less of a height right now, although it'll be interesting to see if their different gaits make this workable at all.

"Don't fool yourself. No one believes you've ever had virtue." Scout circles around to his good side and comes to help. It's counterintuitive, but supporting someone on the unaffected side is less painful, even if that doesn't apply right now, and less of a strain, which does. It'll mean that when he raises the good foot she and the bad foot can share his weight, instead of it all ending up on her. It's probably still going to mostly end up on her, she knows. He's in terrible shape.

Heavy though. As she draws them upright she grimaces and hooks her arm around his waist, turning her head so his horn isn't so close to her eye. "You've gained weight," she says, though she has no idea if he actually did. "Too many cream coffees. All right, let's see how this works."

She can take short steps and manage okay. Her brass hoof-toes are splayed out to their farthest extent and she's angled her ankles differently so the thick grayish pads on what were the balls of her feet have some contact with the ground, like they would if she was navigating slippery ground. This is still going to get difficult, she knows.

It's difficult, but it's a sight better than sprawling on his face again. With his body numb, Lambert doesn't even feel the pain when Scout rests her hand on his waist and things are pulled in all sorts of directions, but he reflexively grits his teeth anyway. At least it shuts up the banter, if only because he's concentrating on not making a misstep. More than a few times, he has trouble getting his feet under him the right way, and they have to pause to adjust Scout's grip on him.

Though it's not enough to entirely shut him up, regardless.

"Where's the Ringmaster?" he murmurs. That's the last thing he was doing right before he blacked out, after all.

She plans out the shortest route in her head. It's going to mean going up an incline, but it's okay, she's got this. Scout can't dependably levitate something that weighs more than about half what she weighs, but while they're in this proximity she can run through a technique she knows, and calls on the Force to buoy him up a bit. That takes some of the weight off, like he's neck deep in water, or in lower gravity.

Like that he could probably manage a couple steps without leaning on her, but she's trying not to allow it. More distance will mean her 'grip' slipping and it's one thing to let someone flail on the ground out of his own stubbornness, another if it happens thanks to her weakness.

"Apparently she's an egg now and will be back on her own time. I didn't go see." Scout never has much to do with the Ringmaster, even if her turning into a dragon that time had been pretty wizard. "I'm not taking you there. You go yell at her on your own time."

"An egg?" Lambert snorts. "Typical. Wonder if that's just an excuse for her not to get yelled at." Every time he thinks he's hit his capacity to be surprised by this place, it always finds something else to hit him with ... which is part of what makes it worth staying, he's coming to find. Beats being neck-deep in drowners and nekkers, at any rate, though that's not saying much.

But he doesn't have much breath for yelling, since he does have to concentrate on getting one foot in front of the other now. Though with the way she's eased some of the weight off his legs, he can feel the difference, and it's unsettling but it makes him curious, but he'll save the questions until they're finally in front of the medical tent.

Scout shrugs as best she can with her shoulders being a support. "She's not the type to be afraid of her own workers, but maybe she'd find it boring. I asked if sending the scouts in first would've meant it was just us there, but she didn't answer." It's better than attracting her attention, Scout supposes.

She feels a little of that urge to talk to Lambert again, but not as great as when he was made mute. The difference is probably that assistance of the Force or not, this is work. By the time they actually reach the medical tent she's breathing hard and has aches building in her ankles, her shoulders, at the small of her back.

Scout is very glad to hand him onto a random bench close by the tent opening and stretch out, crackling her joints and pulling a face.

"She doesn't answer a lot of things," the witcher grumbles under his breath. Still, that's about as much insight as he really needs right now. He does want to know more about what's going on, but he's going to have to accept that he'll need to get his answers from someone else.

At the moment, the good doctor doesn't seem to be around, perhaps because she's tending to others. In any case, it gives them a moment to breathe and talk.

"Nice trick. With the--" He wiggles his fingers slightly. "--taking the weight off. How do you do that?" He hadn't really realized how much it was supporting until she put him down again, and now it feels heavy to be inside his own skin. He's making a conscious effort to take deeper breaths, expanding his ribs. He's really glad he can't feel anything there right now.

Edited 2017-08-08 00:01 (UTC)

Well, this is done. Zecora will probably want him on a bed, but she's not in sight just now. Presumably there are more dramatically injured people here, whatever happened back there.

Scout pauses to catch the end of her tail in her hand and get a better look at it than the glance a while ago. Well. No more combing or shedding, she guesses, working around her negative first reaction. Change is annoying sometimes, just in and of itself. This already affects her balance differently. But she has to be able to adapt, or she won't last, here or anywhere.

"That? Hah. If I was any good I'd just pick you up." Scout waves her arm, half mimicking the gesture more powerful Force-users usually use with telekinesis, half dismissively. "We need to go get hoverstretchers for this kind of thing. Take all the manual labor out of it."

"Hm. That part of what they teach you as a knight-in-training, too?" In case she thinks he's forgotten about that conversation...

Lambert has no idea what hoverstretchers are, but just based on the sound of it, he can take a guess. He shifts his weight to avoid compressing his injured side, stretching his sprained foot in front of him, giving it an experimental wiggle. Yup, definitely something broken there. All the exertion's made him warm, now, so he'll set his hands to the heavy winter jacket he's still wearing, unzipping it to begin the painstaking process of peeling himself out of it.

"Your tail changed," he adds, as an afterthought.

"Sure. Right after they start meditation and dance games," she says, trying to restrain a suspicious flicker of her gaze at him. And not pulling it off. Scout can hide what she's feeling but only by virtue of a face that very clearly says 'I'm hiding what I'm feeling'.

Once she's made a block for someone she doesn't need to put any effort into maintaining it. It does fade or erode more quickly the more intense the blocked pain is, though, with the temperature and the pins sensation getting stronger. Scout circles behind Lambert to put a hand over his neck and check the progression of this one, and ends up trying to help him with the coat.

"It matches my feet now, huh? But now it's not a thing like my horns."

If Lambert had more energy right now, he'd surely be exploiting that utter lack of a poker face mercilessly-- but now that they aren't moving, and the adrenaline from the fight has long worn off, exhaustion is rapidly catching up again. She can probably feel that, too, if she's looking for it. As soon as the coat's off, he leans forward to let his elbows rest on his knees, breathing hard.

"Was the tail supposed to match the horns in the first place?" he murmurs. If it was, they belonged to no beast he's ever known.

Yeah, he's completely done in. No hiding it it at this point. There is nothing Scout can do about exhaustion, though she's known Jedi who can transfer strength and energy into others. ...Not that she would if she could in this case. The worst that could happen here is he decides to start moving again and passes out, she judges. If Lambert had his strength refreshed and his pain blocked he'd end up in a much, much worse condition. And then she'd be responsible.

"That's what they looked like. Smaller horns than the real thing, though. Apparently I'm upgrading from a courtier's companion to a guard's." 'Mount' is the better word for what guarlamas and tusk-cats are to courtiers and guardsmen, of course. Scout purses her lips. "You should lie down, by the way. Your blood pressure's in a gutter somewhere. I should probably make you drink something with salts and sugar in it."

Edited 2017-08-09 14:16 (UTC)

It's a description that would be more fascinating, if he could focus on it. Pain blocking isn't giving him his energy back, but it's definitely fooling Lambert into thinking he has more of it than he actually does, even if his vision's already starting to darken at the edges.

"Fine," Lambert says, and shakes his head, moving to get up. If he's going to lie down, it might as well be on a damn bed, after all.

He doesn't get more than two staggering steps in before he folds to the ground in a dead faint.

Scout frowns as he pushes himself up but doesn't quite get in there in time to keep him from folding over - she catches one of Lambert's horns and manages to prevent him hitting his fool head on the floor, and that will have to do.

Muttering about thugs who don't understand they have limits she gets him, through muscle power and the gentle help of the Force, into a cot and pulls off his footwear. She reinforces the pain block and makes the traditional note to herself that unconscious but without pain he looks uncharacteristically peaceful.

Then she mixes a packet of powder into a big canister of water and sets it on the bedside table so he'll have a sugar-electrolyte solution to drink when he wakes up and leaves, telling herself off for feeling vaguely guilty. He'll be fine. This isn't someone to hover over and worry about. She doesn't have anyone like that anymore, and isn't looking to replace them with him.

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⇨ THE SUMMERLANDS

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