lostcarnival | ⇨ THE SUMMERLANDS

Entry tags:

⇨ 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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"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)

And Childermass, who is less familiar with these particular gardens, carries on until about halfway through before he stops to look back at the witcher. There's no disguising his sarcasm when he replies, "Because turning into a bird will undoubtedly help us."

Well, it might. He could scout, spy, but those are similar enough things he's been trying to work out with his shadow magic. For now, the most use he gets out of it is flight, when a shadow isn't always handy or he needs to venture into an area he doesn't know well.

"A bird can travel farther, see more, and be less likely to get caught," Lambert volleys back instantly, proving that, yes, he's been thinking of the advantage of that form as exactly that. But more importantly--

"You're better at your shadows now too, right?" Hand on cocked hip, he lets his voice pitch it as a challenge. If Childermass hasn't actually improved, he's at the very least gained a confidence he didn't have before they were in Portland. Blending seamlessly from bird to man to shadow might have been beyond what his magic is capable of now, but the knowledge of using his magic that way, using it to survive even under duress? That is something they could use. His lips thin, and his gaze rakes the magician up and down, like he's trying to work out a problem he doesn't know how to solve.

"What else can you remember?"

Edited 2017-08-25 05:19 (UTC)

"What he could do with shadows isn't immediately accessible to me," Childermass counters. He's always been good with shadows, so he can't really tell if he's better or not now. If anything, the Severing may have shoved him into such a role because he fit it so well already, not needing to expand upon who he was all that much. Assuming, of course, that the spell could even work that way.

Did anyone even know? How had the carnival even gotten pulled in like that? So many questions and no one to really turn to for answers... It's frustrating and he will, unfortunately, turn that on Lambert, even if only in a mild, sarcastic way. He just rolls his eyes and turns away again when the witcher looks him up and down as if such a question is somehow stupid.

"About what? The Winter Court's bag of magic tricks? There's a lot that I may or may not remember, Lambert. Be specific."

"No, I'm obviously asking if you remember how you play grab-ass when you're drunk." The trouble with taking out frustration on Lambert is that he's equally likely to repay it in kind. Childermass isn't the only one who can roll his eyes, and Lambert will do so at this point, even if Childermass isn't in a position to appreciate it. As scathingly as that's delivered, he's swift to move on --

"Look, you were in both courts, right? Whatever you can remember, it's going to be more than what I've got. I can't help if I don't know what there is to work with."

For all that he can look offended by Lambert saying that, he can't exactly bring himself to deny it. Besides, the topic moves on and Childermass isn't about to take it back a step.

"The years spent in the Winter Court are barely anything more than fog at this point," he admits instead, crossing his arms as he makes at least some effort to think back, figure out what he can recall. For the most part, it's all the recent nonsense, but not the past. After all, the past never truly happened for him.

"And the Summer Court isn't much better than what everyone else saw when they went in there."

Of course. That would just be too convenient, wouldn't it. Lambert scowls, setting his hands on his hips, though the irritation isn't directed at Childermass or his lack of memory.

"Then there's nothing to do but ask the Ringmaster what she plans on doing," he says, finally. "Though I don't think we're going to get any straight answers out of her. That much hasn't changed."

If he sounds a little sour, well, he is. The majority of his own injuries might be his own fault for being a human who allowed himself to get in over his head, but the fact remains that the Beast had been a pain in the ass for most of Portland and remained that way.

"We won't know until we try," is all Childermass can say to that, though he knows all too well the chances of direct answers are slim. A little better now that the Ringmaster isn't in the midst of dying perhaps, but, really, they'll have to go and see. Leaving it at that would be all too easy, too. End it there and fly away or take to the shadows before some summer fae wanders in to bother them, but—

"There was something else," he goes on, after a moment of thought (although it probably looked more like a moment of giving Lamber the most intent of side-eyes). "That I wanted to ask you about."

"Hmm?" Having fully expected Childermass to make like a crow and fly after saying that, to say that Lambert's a bit surprised he's stuck around is an understatement -- and that he isn't offering something cynical or disparaging about him.

So he raises a brow at the magician, wondering what there is to ask at this point. Well, there is a lot of things it could be, which is precisely why it doesn't help narrow the possibilities any.

"What is it?"

There's another pause that follows Lambert asking that, but it doesn't last for long. Childermass isn't one to drag out a conversation like this, now that he's started it. He isn't one to be shy, either, so he simply carries on as neutrally as ever, not unlike how he usually does. For how bored he sounds, what he asks next may as well have been as dull as asking how someone finds the weather.

"Do you think about it?" He prompts, though he won't make the witcher try and figure out what 'it' is. "About how it was between us, back in Portland?"

The witcher visibly startles at that, not having the benefit of seeing that question coming, for all he'd been joking about it not that long ago. He'll squint at Childermass quizzically for a few long seconds after that, like he's waiting for the punchline, for the magician to burst out laughing (however uncharacteristic), or for Strange to pop out from behind a bush sing-songing about secret boyfriends.

Given none of those things materialize, and given that Childermass is so damn blase about it all...

"Which part?" Lambert leers, cocking a hip. "You're going to have to be specific." Something in his expression remains stubbornly defiant -- it's too late to pretend to be unaffected, but as being crass has served to annoy Childermass sufficiently in the past, maybe it will do the same now, as well.

Why is talking to Lambert always such a bad idea? And yet here he is, still bothering with it at all. The leer is met with yet another unimpressed look, along with him unfolding his arms and placing them on his hips idly instead.

"The part where you were a massive idiot and got possessed by the spirit of an entire planet," he starts, but oh no. Let's not stop there. He just needed a second to take a breath after saying all of that at once. "You know, just so you could rush off foolishly and rescue your secret boyfriend."

Yeah, he heard all of that.

Lambert colors at that, though whether it's in anger or embarrassment (or most likely, a mixture of both) is hard to say, given it's going to take him a moment of gaping to recover his words and bravado.

"What, that? Yeah, I definitely think about how he fucked that up," he grates out, arms crossing in front of his chest. That he's on unfamiliar territory for him right now is obvious enough, and its only stubbornness keeping him from taking a step back, though he'd like to. "I'm not stupid enough to get possessed to rescue you from anything, if that's what you're asking."

The downside to annoying Childermass is it only sharpens his tongue, just the same as being annoyed only works to make Lambert even more irritating. He lets out a faint snort when the witcher reddens and gets mad, though that hadn't truly been what he meant to ask. It was one thing of many things, sure enough, but...

"Well, well, it looks as though you really are as easy to embarrass as he was," he follows up, not at all taking offense at the whole not getting possessed to rescue him again bit. That's just common sense, really. "So does that apply to the rest of it? Everything else they did?"

Since Lambert seems so intent on keeping the two versions separate, he may as well follow suit.

Edited 2017-08-29 03:55 (UTC)

There's a touch of relief in his expression, when Childermass changes the way he talks about it -- fleeting, but not hard to miss. Though it's almost immediately replaced by confusion, and then suspicion.

A month in Portland -- a month of living someone else's life, living someone else's desires and feelings -- isn't as easy to shake off as Lambert would like it to be. For some, like Strange, where the real man he knows is so different from who he'd been, the delineation is easy. For someone like Peridot, who he hadn't had much of an opinion on before everything happened, it's like having muscle memory where nothing existed before.

For someone like Childermass, though? It's a tangled mess. How much of John was even real?

"Does it matter?" he asks, finally, hopelessly. Lambert averts his gaze, jaw tightening, like he can't look at Childermass and be this uncharacteristically earnest at the same time. "Just because a spell messed with our heads, whether I think about it or not, doesn't mean anything's changed." And fine, he'll be presumptuous enough to assume what Childermass is talking about. "You made it pretty clear you weren't interested, before."

Edited 2017-08-29 04:15 (UTC)

It is and Childermass can't help but be glad he doesn't have to spell it out entirely for the other man.

Although, that hopelessness earns a more puzzled look than any of the disapproving or sharp looks from before. He supposes he can empathize, considering how much of what was Portland and what lingers even now refuse to stop plaguing his thoughts. The Winter Court, the Summer Fae mistaking him for something he shouldn't be. Lingering resentment, lingering attraction. Piece by piece he could pick it apart, examine it, and possibly discard, but all together?

"Because you're a distraction," he says after a pause, trying to settle on how exactly to put this. There's a lot of other things Lambert happens to be, as well, but that's what this boils down to, what he's trying to get out. "You were before Portland and you're far worse of one now."

That, at least, is going to get a short, cynical laugh out of the witcher.

"Should I take that as a compliment, or an insult?" Lambert quips, because he really, truly doesn't know what Childermass means. He's so difficult for Lambert to read like this, and it's part of what he likes so much and what drives him crazy.

"So if you're not here to make fun of me, you want me to ... what? Stay away?" He already thought he'd been doing that -- not actively avoiding Childermass, but giving him as much space as two people living in the same Carnival could have. Maybe the magician doesn't think it's enough.

"Please, we both know that would end up being impossible," Childermass discards the whole idea outright, eye roll and all.

With the size of the carnival, even excluding all the other reasons they have to run into one another or talk, 'stay away' would be nonsense. So, he waves the idea off, although that undercurrent of irritation returns as he turns his gaze to wander the rest of the garden, surely trying to find something else to look at just to avoid whatever range of expressions he's sure Lambert is about to go through.

"I was going to suggest the opposite, actually." Only there's nothing of any real interest in this part of the garden, masses of flowers aside. It leaves him turning back, just enough to keep an eye on the witcher, even if only from the corner of one. "It seems to me that it would be easier to get it over with and out of our heads."

Or at least out of his.

Childermass is right about that much, at least. Lambert's expression shifts between incomprehension, to surprise and incredulity, even a flicker of anger -- if this is a joke, it's one in incredibly poor taste as far as Lambert is concerned. Finally, after a pause that could be seconds or minutes, it settles into something harder to define.

"You serious about this?" he asks, head tipping to the side. "Because if you are..."

Lambert is not generally known for his good ideas, but even he has his doubts about this one. Yet despite his misgivings, it's not going to stop him from nodding, slowly, uncrossing his arms.

"... then sure. I'll take you up on that."

"It's not something I would joke about," Childermass points out.

He can't really say he's always serious, seeing as it's been clear enough times he has some kind of sense of humor, somewhere, hidden away, but in this case? No. It isn't a joke, even if his own expression doesn't change much apart from him raising an eyebrow at Lambert. Then, he does the opposite of the other man and instead refolds his own arms across his chest, then leans back to idly balance on one heel in particular.

The look that follows that is an appraising one, as if looking Lambert over to make certain he himself is sure about this. He can't claim this is a good idea any more than the witcher can, but—

"Right." Enough of that. He'll move again, arms dropping away from in front of him so he can offer Lamber a hand. "Unless you had something more important to gawk at in the gardens still...?"

"In Portland you would have," Lambert points out, before he can bite it back. They've already established Childermass isn't that man any more than Lambert is who he was back then, but even so, he can't help snorting when the hand is extended to him.

"What, you meant now?" With how indirectly Childermass was talking about it, he couldn't be blamed for a little temporal confusion. If the way he's grinning wickedly is anything to go by, he's rapidly regaining his cocksure attitude (and his bad sense of humor).

"Very spontaneous. I like it." He reaches out to place his hand firmly in Childermass's, any lingering traces of doubt wiped from his expression as he makes his decision.

Good idea, bad idea, hell with it. What's the worst that could happen?

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⇨ THE SUMMERLANDS

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