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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Still early. Plenty of time for one of them to get in trouble." Like he isn't a prime source of trouble himself. With Childermass human again and deigning to talk to him, Lambert's going to turn his attention back to peering into water containers, the tip of his tail twitching slightly but otherwise still as it swings behind him ... and barks a laugh, suddenly, looking over his shoulder.

"Stop lying around there and come here."

Childermass isn't so inclined to move again now that he's human and seated, but after a brief moment of consideration, he'll let out a quiet sigh and get to his feet anyway. He'll cross the garden, coming to a stop to stand next to Lambert.

"For what? Did you see something funny in there?"

It's certainly funny to Lambert, at least. Reflected in the water, brighter and more saturated in color than it should be, is the image of a woman with scars and eyes that match the witcher's -- and, currently, a mischievous smirk that adds a spark of life to otherwise plain features. She's dressed like a peasant, blouse slipping off one shoulder and stays are half-unlaced as though someone's been picking at them, revealing the curve of a generous bosom.

Childermass, though--

The woman in his reflection wears the same severe black and white, cut to the fashion a lady's maid might wear in the magician's time. Though the the mild disdain in her expression (and the slight pallor) is unmistakably Childermass's, all the unruly hair has been pulled back and put under a cloth cap, accentuating the curve of her neck and the neckline that is far more modest than Lambert's.

"Damn," Lambert whistles, and the woman mouths along, the corners of her eyes wrinkled with mirth. "Is that what they wear where you're from?" He'd seen the image of Arabella (thanks, creepy wife gem) but though the cut of cloth is the same, the colors she'd worn had been softer, paler. The witcher shifts, reaching out a hand across to Childermass, and the woman shifts with him, expression turning speculative.

Because yeah, if he can get away with it? Lambert's totally about to put a hand on Childermass's chest to see if his reflection can touch some boob.

Edited 2017-08-17 00:52 (UTC)

Good lord, is that what he would look like as a woman? He supposes he shouldn't be so shocked about it, considering he'd already gotten a preview of what their part of the garden seemed to be about with the bird bath that reflected cats. This, however, is a little more startling than a cat.

Childermass would have actually spent longer looking between the two with real — if puzzled — curiosity, too, if Lambert hadn't leaned over to smack a hand against his chest. The look of complete and total offense that crosses not only his face but the face of his reflection, at the exact same time, is no doubt priceless for the witcher to witness.

"You—" He snarls, immediately reaching up to grab Lambert's wrist and yank it away from him. "They're not even real, they're only a reflection!"

It is priceless, which is why Lambert's already laughing even before Childermass grabs his hand -- and he did try to get a decent grope in, palm casually rubbing over the magician's very clothed chest, which looked about as awful as one can imagine. Curiously, his normally sharp claws have been clipped short and painted gold, and at this proximity there's the faint but unmistakable scent of dark chocolate lingering in the air.

"But they look so natural," he manages to gasp, shoulders shaking with the effort of composing himself enough to get even that much out. His reflection's already ruddy cheeks are turning even redder with silent laughter in the face of her highly unamused companion, though he eventually manages to confine it to snickers. All the laughing means he has stitches down his side now, though, and he puts a hand to them to try to ease his own breath, still grinning like an idiot.

Edited (i forgot even more stuff oops) 2017-08-17 01:59 (UTC)

"Then maybe I should send you into the water to see if you can't find them there instead," Childermass says rather sharply, grip tightening on the witcher's wrist, but the threat has no real teeth. If anything, Lambert would end up taking them both into the pond if he tried.

But it's all moot, anyhow, seeing how the glint of gold on Lambert's fingers catch his attention in the midst of being angry at this unbelievable idiot. The smell in the air doesn't really mean much to the magician himself, as chocolate of any kind is hardly something he's had a lot of, but what in the world happened to his nails?

"Have you been trimming these?"

It takes Lambert a beat to realize Childermass is talking about his claws, but when he realizes what he's looking at, he snorts.

"Wasn't my idea. Strange got us signed up for a faerie spa and they went a little overboard."

On closer inspection, his palms and arms seem like they've been scrubbed recently, too. One afternoon of being pampered like hell isn't going to undo years of wearing calluses into his skin, but considering it's Lambert's first encounter with moisturizer, it was a good try.

"A spa?"

Well, that sure brings to mind something he'd heard earlier in the day. Funny how easy it is to eavesdrop around here when you're a bird. Childermass lets Lambert's wrist go, though not without a faint smirk and snort of his own.

"So that's what they were talking about, catching two of the carnival's people going at it in a sauna. Funny, I hadn't thought Strange to be your type, but perhaps he really is missing his wife that much by now."

This is absolutely not the serious business he came here to talk with the Nightrider about, but here we are.

Who needs serious business when you can give each other shit?

"Eavesdropping is a terrible habit," Lambert says loftily, from as much moral high ground as he can muster at the moment (it really isn't much, but there you go) before placing a hand over his heart. "Tragically, despite what you may have heard, Master Strange is immune to my dashing good looks and my charming personality."

Really, it lasts about three seconds before he cracks a grin and stretches lazily. "... but we got a free upgrade, so I can't complain."

Edited 2017-08-18 15:48 (UTC)

"Try wearing a skirt next time," Childermass replies, absolutely deadpan, but that's no shocker. "Although I can't say I'm surprised you ended up in a spa yet again..."

Memories of the one during the Celebration are hazy at best, along with pretty much everything else save for the absolute worst parts, but he does recall a spa. Somewhere. It isn't a topic he'll linger on, however. After one last glance at the disapproving woman in the pond, he'll step back and get straight back to business, hands folding behind his back so he can look exceedingly dull and official and all that.

"But that isn't what I needed to speak with you about."

"Maybe a corset," Lambert muses, casual derision making his voice lighter. "But if being naked in front of him wasn't enough to get him going, maybe it really is a lost cause." The 'yet again' makes him raise is brows, but it's back to serious, stuffy Childermass once again.

"What is it, then?" If he sounds wary, he thinks it's for good reason.

Yeah, no, he won't be commenting on corsets. It's straight onward into the bad news, instead. Clearly, Lambert needed his night ruined and that wariness justified.

"I believe we may not be completely free of Portland's faerie courts just yet," Childermass answers. "More specifically, the Rose Queen and her ilk."

Like that isn't ominous or anything. Lambert frowns. Well, he always knew this vacation was too good to last, though he'd at least hoped they wouldn't have to deal with this shit so soon.

"Are you actually going to tell me what makes you believe that, or are you going to keep being vague?" Give him something to work with here, buddy.

He's getting to that, though the way Lambert comments about his vagueness does earn a slight glare. Really...

"According to the fae here, I am still a Winter Court changeling," Childermass does get on with the explanation, though, so hey. "But that isn't what makes me believe our troubles aren't over, it's only what led me to see what my cards had to say. The Count's was inconclusive to me, but the Queen's... They seemed to be saying she really does feel she's lost something, that she regrets losing it."

Or someone. Lambert shouldn't need more than two guesses to figure out who.

Lambert's not the type to let someone have their suitably dramatic revelation if he can help it, though the magician's words are still going to make him frown as it raises more questions than it answers.

"That's not much to go on."

It's less about dramatics and more about not trying to rush through everything in one breath, to be entirely honest, but it does tend to come off like that, doesn't it?

"No," Childermass admits, "It isn't. It is enough for me to take precautions, though. I've been looking for something that might hide Steven and Strange from the Summer Court." Only, thus far, no success. "I thought you may want to know, too."

"Protecting the Carnival is more the Warden's job than mine," Lambert answers, fingers tapping his arm. It isn't a dismissal, so much as it is a statement of fact: if Childermass is looking for ideas on hiding those two, he's going to need someone more creative than Lambert to come up with it, because Lambert's idea of a good defense is an overwhelming offense.

"But still good to know." Because despite everything, he considers Strange a friend. "Have you told either of them about this?

Edited 2017-08-19 14:24 (UTC)

"So I am aware of, but you were the first one I found," Childermass agrees with that easily enough. He wanted both the Nightrider and the Warden to know, though, and so here he is. If he's told either of them, however...

"I have mentioned it in passing to Steven," he goes on, admitting to that much, "But with Strange, I worry he may panic so soon after Portland if I do."

"Assuming he takes you seriously in the first place? Yeah, who knows what he'll think of shoving in his mouth next," Lambert snorts, arms still crossed in consideration. Sadly, it is all too easy to imagine Strange flipping his shit, so he can't even fault Childermass for the precaution.

"No luck finding anything so far?"

"Mr. Strange is more likely to believe me about my cards than anyone else in England might," Childermass can say that much with some confidence. For another magician so enamored with all the bits of magic the Raven King got up to, tarot would no doubt fall into that.

Likewise, he'd also probably take it too far regardless of how many 'I may be wrong' disclaimers he attached. That question, though, has Childermass pursing his lips into a thin line. He doesn't bother to disguise how annoyed he is, only not at Lambert for once.

"And no, not yet. I plan to keep looking until the carnival departs, so I hope I can turn something up."

Edited 2017-08-20 20:24 (UTC)

"Might be something to ask the Summer Maiden about," Lambert shrugs, casually. If there's anyone who would know how to repel the efforts of another fae to scope out her people, it would be another True Fae ... or at least, that's what makes the most sense to him.

"Assuming you're not sick of faeries yet, she apparently might be paying the carnival a visit." Which is going to lead him right back to his next question, gaze becoming just a bit more calculating. "What did you mean, about the fae thinking you're a changeling?"

Of course. More highly titled faerie, just what he wanted. Childermass barely restrains the urge to roll his eyes but, God, is the expression for it there.

"If I am or not doesn't matter," he does say instead of muttering on about being done with the fair folk. So, so very done. It's unavoidable, though, that they'll be dealing with them. "She may have an idea that the rest do not. Ah..."

But then Lambert has to come back around to what he said before and he pauses, trailing off, then frowns. What does he mean? He's not even sure. He didn't stick around to ask further questions, as uncomfortable as the thought alone had made him.

"Does it matter?" Yes, probably, since having to talk about it is immediately making him irritable. "I assume it's simply something that's lingered from Portland. It should fade."

Lambert, naturally, latches on to that thread of irritation like a bloodhound catching a scent, tail lifting just a fraction higher in the air behind him. If he thought he could mention it and expect that to just pass without comment, he clearly didn't consider who he was dealing with here.

"Would you bet on that?" He raises a brow, a familiar smirk coming to his lips in the face of the magician's obvious vexation. It comes as easy as breathing, second nature: to pick at something even if he knows the smarter thing would be not to, to see how far he can push.

"Lingering is what a smell of of a fart in a closed room does, not magic that turned you into something else for a month," he says disparagingly, stepping in closer and -- cautiously -- sniffing the air. He hadn't paid attention to it before, but even to human senses, a Winter Court changeling's magic was distinct.

"You can turn into a bird now. That something that's 'lingered' too?"

Edited 2017-08-23 22:09 (UTC)

"I try not to gamble," says the man who spent at least one entire location playing card games for random, useless knick-knacks and other people's pants. Although maybe that all is why he doesn't gamble because he certainly must have been cheating. However, that's another argument for another time.

Though when Lambert steps in closer, no amount of stepping back and away from the witcher will stop him from picking up trace amounts of two undoubtedly familiar scents: snow and, of course, pine trees.

In any case, Childermass gives the other man a nasty look and say, "And I don't see why that should matter, either," before turning on a heel to leave for one of the adjoining gardens. He's said what he's had to, what more is there? So he can still turn into a crow. He's not the only one who kept a skill or two, here or there, across the carnival. It's hardly unique.

Edited 2017-08-24 03:11 (UTC)

Lambert watches him step away, faint amusement in his expression still, before he follows him into the next garden over. Because of course he would -- because if Childermass wanted this conversation over, he should have stepped away into a shadow, not into more flowers. This garden seems a little familiar to him, but focused on the magician, it's easy to dismiss it.

"It matters because if you have abilities like that," he points out, "You should learn how to use them. You're the one who's so worried about the faeries coming after us. We could use every edge we can get. You don't have to like it."

Edited ( ) 2017-08-24 03:36 (UTC)

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