Lars (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mossbuds) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lostcarnival2016-11-07 04:13 pm
mossbuds) wrote in lostcarnival2016-11-07 04:13 pm
Entry tags:
all jobs is bad
Who: Lars and whoever! OPENNN
What: Rampant mundanity.
Where: Around the carnival; rides and food court specifically; then his own trailer!
When: Mid day, dusk, and early evening
Warnings: Lars's potty mouth.
on shift; mid day
Lars leans back against the box that operates the ride he's stationed at—carefully, so as to not accidentally bump any knobs or whatever, but enough to take some pressure off his feet. He stares dully into the distance, feeling like his brain is going numb. And despite that, he still manages to look surly, his brows knit together.
This is only his second day on this job, as he'd racked up a handsome debt—one be was tempted to just bail on, because this carnival was clearly weird, sketchy supernatural bullshit. But it was clearly more fucked than he'd originally anticipated, so Lars was not eager to find out what would happen to him if he he didn't repay the debt (plus, the thought of home was too humiliating right now). He'd probably be cursed, he decided. People were freaky around this place—especially the other carnival workers, which he hadn't put a lot of thought into. Until today, really, during this long lull.
Groaning, Lars rolls his head wayyy back, his chin facing the sky as his posture melts backwards against the console, one of his feet slipping forward as he sinks—oblivious to any recent approachers, absorbed as he is in his own angst. Why did all this lame spooky crap always happen to him?
after work; dusk
Somehow, this job was even more boring than what he did at home. Even if he and his coworker in Beach City weren't always super talkative, even just having some company made it a little more bearable... Of course, sometimes they would flirt and goof off, which was also super helpful. Here, he couldn't even get any reception on his phone to pass the time—he would probably have to resort to reading a book like some kinda friggin' uncivilized caveman. Anyway, the drole of it all had Lars totally beat. He sits, hunched over one of the tables in the food court or the carnival, barely able to tuck his knees under it. He apathetically eats whatever garbage he'd purchased.
Once finished, he balls up the foil and greasy paper and tossed it blindly over his shoulder. This, of course, unfortunately bops your character on the head. Wrong place, wrong time.
at "home"; evening - closed to Kadin
With needlessly dramatic flourish, Lars throws open the door to their trailer. "Ugh!!"
Somewhat clumsily, Lars attempts to heel off his right hi-top sneaker. He stumbles, growls, and gains balance by flattening his palm against the wall near the door. "This place sucks!! Watchin' paint dry would be funner than takin' tickets, watchin' all those weirdos waddlin' around..."
Lars honestly doesn't even know if Kadin is home, when he enters; the yelling just kind of happens immediately. A natural reflex.
What: Rampant mundanity.
Where: Around the carnival; rides and food court specifically; then his own trailer!
When: Mid day, dusk, and early evening
Warnings: Lars's potty mouth.
on shift; mid day
Lars leans back against the box that operates the ride he's stationed at—carefully, so as to not accidentally bump any knobs or whatever, but enough to take some pressure off his feet. He stares dully into the distance, feeling like his brain is going numb. And despite that, he still manages to look surly, his brows knit together.
This is only his second day on this job, as he'd racked up a handsome debt—one be was tempted to just bail on, because this carnival was clearly weird, sketchy supernatural bullshit. But it was clearly more fucked than he'd originally anticipated, so Lars was not eager to find out what would happen to him if he he didn't repay the debt (plus, the thought of home was too humiliating right now). He'd probably be cursed, he decided. People were freaky around this place—especially the other carnival workers, which he hadn't put a lot of thought into. Until today, really, during this long lull.
Groaning, Lars rolls his head wayyy back, his chin facing the sky as his posture melts backwards against the console, one of his feet slipping forward as he sinks—oblivious to any recent approachers, absorbed as he is in his own angst. Why did all this lame spooky crap always happen to him?
after work; dusk
Somehow, this job was even more boring than what he did at home. Even if he and his coworker in Beach City weren't always super talkative, even just having some company made it a little more bearable... Of course, sometimes they would flirt and goof off, which was also super helpful. Here, he couldn't even get any reception on his phone to pass the time—he would probably have to resort to reading a book like some kinda friggin' uncivilized caveman. Anyway, the drole of it all had Lars totally beat. He sits, hunched over one of the tables in the food court or the carnival, barely able to tuck his knees under it. He apathetically eats whatever garbage he'd purchased.
Once finished, he balls up the foil and greasy paper and tossed it blindly over his shoulder. This, of course, unfortunately bops your character on the head. Wrong place, wrong time.
at "home"; evening - closed to Kadin
With needlessly dramatic flourish, Lars throws open the door to their trailer. "Ugh!!"
Somewhat clumsily, Lars attempts to heel off his right hi-top sneaker. He stumbles, growls, and gains balance by flattening his palm against the wall near the door. "This place sucks!! Watchin' paint dry would be funner than takin' tickets, watchin' all those weirdos waddlin' around..."
Lars honestly doesn't even know if Kadin is home, when he enters; the yelling just kind of happens immediately. A natural reflex.
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"Oh, yeah! He pretty much just got here, like you, so, uh... it'd be cool for him to see someone from home, I guess?" She shrugs, affecting nonchalance. You know NOT LIKE SHE CARES ABOUT HER LIL BRO'S EMOTIONAL WELLBEING OR ANYTHING
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Lars accidentally kind of mirrors Amethyst's posture, observing his shoddy cuticles.
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Fuckin' aliens, man. It begins to dawn on him how little he actually knows about gems; he's deliberately kind of stayed away from them, because for one thing, they were kind of terrifying in their own right—and for another thing, they brought danger and chaos to everything they fuckin' touched, so their presence was generally something that inspired a lot of mortal anxiety in Lars.
And friggin' yet. Even here, there's no escaping them. So whatever.
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