lostcarnival | all jobs is bad

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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.

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Alois Trancy can be a pretty gracious person. Most people may not think to agree, but most people are only introduced to the choppy tides of his bad moods. Okay, it's true that Alois is often disagreeable, but in some unassuming ways, he's known to be magnanimous.

To a certain point, at least. But luckily for Lars, that point is here and now. Alois pats the spot on his head where the wrapping had caught him, making sure there aren't any terrible grease spots on his pretty blond hair. It's because he's left unmarred that he's even capable of being magnanimous... That is to say, he doesn't freak out. He doesn't openly lose his temper, either, just simmers gently, the roiling deep instead of a surface-level storm.

"Not a bad choice for dinner," he says, slightly saccharine. He is dressed in a pair of brown shorts, maybe a tad too short, and deep emerald green stockings. His shirt is a button-up in brown and white flannel. How he's dressed is only important because it makes him seem like he feels at home; if not for the exhaustion in his face and the sharp edge of his second-guessing smile, he'd look pleasant and glad. But he continues, prodding at Lars' wad of paper with the toe of his boot, "Not bad, but if you throw trash at me again, I'll hit you in the mouth."

He's still smiling and genial, at least.

Lars pauses. As Alois initially speaks, and Lars turns to face him, he squints at the guy dubiously—he figures by his attire, actually, that Alois must be a performer. It's clear that Lars is sizing him up, because he rudely doesn't quite make eye contact—until the gentle threat.

Lars scoffs. "No offense, buddy," he says around his final mouthful of food, thumbing some crumbs from the corner of his mouth. "but ya don't exactly strike me as the most threatening freak under this wacky circus tent. Besides, I didn't even hit you on purpose. Ain't like I have pretty boy ESP," he goes on to explain, waving his fingers to indicate the vibe of supernatural nonsense as he rolls his eyes. "Just waitin' around for some lil twink to strut behind me, ripe for gettin' hit with the gentlest hate crime of all time."

Edited 2016-11-08 01:20 (UTC)

During many catty conversations—and believe me, Alois has a lot of them—there's a marked progression of anger which plays out across Alois' face: a furrow of eyebrows, a wrinkling of the nose, and the sour, teeth-grinding twist of his foul mouth. At a time like that, he glares through his eyelashes and dimples his angry-pink cheeks with a sneer. Alois is really good at conveying when he's pissed, and how pissed he is.

In a twist, though, that's not what happens here. Rather than flaring up into eye-glinting fury, Alois is looking more incredulous by the second. The play of his face is more genuine than most times, the creasing confusion of a pure-hearted boy. He's stopped trying to be a haughty adult, and instead acts his age in his ignorance.

Basically, he doesn't know what the word "twink" means. "ESP" gets only a passing understanding; the term wasn't even coined until recently, where he's from. So most of what Lars says and alludes to doesn't make sense to Alois, and oh, man, Alois hates people who don't make sense to him.

"I'm not the most threatening," he says, for once without bravado; right now he's just genuinely irritated, nothing for show. He knows he isn't as scary as some of the other folks here—his own marked faerie changes amount to some pretty gemstones on his skin (stereotypical?), fae-like ears, and some glowy spots here and there—but most of the time, he doesn't want to be scary. He wants to be very pretty, except when someone's pissed him off.

He exhales. "But a fist is a fist. Other than that, I've no earthly idea what you're bloody on about."

"What I'm sayin' is," Lars implores, turning to face Alois, his elbows resting on the table behind him. Lars crosses his legs. "it was an accident, so don't get your fancy knickers in such a damn twist. Bet your punches feel like kitten kisses, anyway. How old are you, even? Six?"

It hardly surprises him that no one around her looks normal—and it does well to concern Lars. But as far as circus freaks go, it's true that Alois is a relief to his eyes. If becoming an increasingly irritating flounce. But a good first impression is rare with Lars, anyway—mutually speaking, worth noting, and most people were terrible besides.

"I'm fifteen," is Alois' frigid but flat-falling insistence, because he's pretty sure he might be, by now, and if he's not, he will be soon. (He hasn't been fervent about keeping track of the time while here with the Carnival, if only because he's too flighty to commit to it.) At any rate, he can't hide how defensive the question makes him feel. "And I beg you reconsider your assumptions."

But regardless of whatever violent intentions he claims he'll entertain, Alois has his arms folded, no springing stance in his posture. He just grinds the toe of his boot against the ground and watches the miniature flare of dust, sullen. Then he flicks his eyes back up to Lars, a little too tired to properly be a scowl. "Anyway, just keep it in mind. You mustn't be careless, especially since I'm not the most intimidating person around here. It's no good to get into a tussle, either." That, at least, is partially a reminder to himself. He shouldn't be getting into fights because the master of a lordship isn't supposed to do stuff like that, and also because the Ringmaster is scary as fuck. (Alois was suspicious of faerie nonsense from the start, even before coming to the Carnival, so the Ringmaster's nature cows him, frankly.)

"Yeah?" Lars inquires suspiciously. He's reckless, spoiled and has a bad attitude, and could probably use an ass kicking to learn him some manners. However, it makes for an oblivious type of shithead; Lars isn't as concerned as he should be by Alois's warning. He's more curious by his lattermost comment. "Why's that? Some kinda corporal punishment?"

Lars actually looks mildly concerned. MAYBE IT'S CURSES AND THEN HE'LL BE A FREAK

Reckless... spoiled... bad attitude........

Unfortunately, Alois fulfills all of these qualities as well, which makes this a two-for-one shithead bonanza. He turns his head a little, like he's distracted by someone off in the distance, but then his eyes—just his eyes—slip back to Lars. His eyelids are a bit low, and his eyebrows are drawn in slightly.

Maybe it's stupid to be more concerned about curses than having the snot beat out of you, but frankly Alois is in Lars' camp, at least in this. Alois purses his lips, exhaling through his nose. "I'm just saying, I wouldn't want to slight her. I mean, look at all of us already."

"That what you did? —And all those other people? Slight the carnival lady?"

The tension in the air is kind of like what you would expect from kids around a campfire, but it's not hard to get Lars's anxiety going hard. He already broke one of her machines, but he was working off that debt.

Maybe he really should think of a way to leave... Normally, he'd say Alois was full of shit, especially since they were just having a bitch off, but the fact that everyone was all fucked up and magically mutated was too evident to ignore.

Raising his chin, turning up his nose, in the most practiced of posh ways, Alois has the barest look of revulsion. "I've been on my best behavior," he says primly. That's probably not very reassuring, but now he tosses his head, careless or just worn out. "No, we're all like this just because she wanted it. Imagine how much worse if we pissed her off."

"Eugh, cuz she wanted it?! Ain't it bad enough we're all workin' for her?"

There was definitely welling panic in Lars, now; such that he could feel his heart racing, and his breath constricting. Thankfully, it was very mild, but his chest was starting to visibly heave. He tried to pass off his fear as irritation.

"Ugh, whatever, man! How do I know you didn't just piss her off?! Like, oh, I don't know, by punchin' her in the mouth or somethin'?? You're just—messin' with me, cuz I threw trash at your head."

"I bloody well would not punch her in the mouth," snaps Alois. Not because she's a woman (no holds barred there, in Alois' opinion), and not because he respects her, but because he's terrified of her. But he takes a breath, again, and proceeds quite calmly—even reasonably. It's like this, according to him: "I know you didn't mean to chuck that rubbish at me. I was cross about it for my own reasons, and that's why I gave you a warning: if you don't do it again, things will be fine. As it stands, it's not even an issue. So why have I got any reason to muck around with you?"

... Then he pauses to worry his lower lip between his teeth. Granted, he does lie a lot. Like, all the time. About a ton of stuff. Sometimes for no reason. However...

"It's scary enough here as it is," he mutters.

Lars slumps, seeming deflated. "Ugh." He casts a soured glance at the ground, almost wishing Alois were fucking around with him. And despite how scared he was beginning to feel, Lars isn't even sure if he wants to go back to Beach City. He was in danger there a lot, too—he'd spoiled his potential among this peers; his parents were inadvertently condemning him...

He does miss Sadie, though. Well, he misses everyone; shame was a powerful immobilizer. He glances back up at Alois.

"If that's all true... What're you still doin' here, then? In this place."

Edited 2016-11-08 05:21 (UTC)

If it's a question of lying or telling the truth, Alois will usually choose to lie; but for a passing moment, he chews on the inside of his cheek and considers his options. He could make some crazy shit up—maybe he really should scare Lars, maybe he should show Lars what it's like to be terrified of this place, maybe he should be overbearing and intimidating after all, everything Lars said he wasn't. Or... he could... blurt out the desperation that brought him here?

Yeah, right. Not a chance. Alois hasn't told a soul about the reason he accepted the Ringmaster's terms. So...

"It's a matter of business." His voice manages to be strong with pride, and low with sullenness, both at once.

NONA1 doesn't necessarily eat like a normal human would. She goes to the repairman every week to collect her supply of oil to consume every week. She still likes going to the food court. It's nice to have company around to ask things to and talk to. There's still so much to know and see and experience....

As dinner is being finished, as she walks back to her trailer a balled up piece of paper is thrown at her head. Knowing nothing, she picks it up and walks to Lars.

Excuse me, but I believe you dropped this.

"Sounds sketchy," Lars decides flatly, but doesn't press Alois any further.

He leans forward in his seated posture, rather than back, his elbows now on his knees, hands loosely draped between them. He glances away for a moment, looking concerned, and then looks back at Alois.

"Hey, uh... How long were you here before stuff started to change on you?"

Lars jumps when NONA1 approaches him, or more specifically, when she speaks. He turns, expecting some kind of random wacky shit like a cleaning droid (because seriously, nothing could be surprising or make any less sense at this point), and his expression falters when he finds instead the visage of a disturbingly beautiful girl.

"Uh," he says stupidly, then sort of meekly—and quickly—plucks the trash from her hand, as if she might bite. "Yeah, that was—on purpose." He just drops it onto the bench with a soft, papery thud, where it rolls onto the ground. His fingers are spread and splayed in place. "I-it's, you know, it's just trash."

just like u lars

Edited 2016-11-09 00:55 (UTC)

In truth, Alois is deeply grateful that Lars doesn't press the issue; but rather than acting gratified, Alois instead gives a shrug that seems thoughtless. It doesn't suit his station, but that goes for most of the things he does, and he hasn't crowed to Lars yet about being nobility anyway. In short: whatever.

Anyway, he's not completely lacking in sympathy. His heart honestly does go out to people who are scared of the Carnival's whims. And it is scary to watch yourself grow hideous. (Alois isn't exactly hideous, but the state of his body is very important to him, and...) Look, Alois isn't heartless. He sighs, mellow for the moment.

"Not all that long. And I admit I've been quite lucky." (For once in his fucking life.) "For some people, it happens really fast." He's not trying to be mean; he's speaking as gently as his pride will allow. "It does happen to everyone, but that means folks don't usually look at you too funny."

"Everyone?" Lars can't even conceal his panic, now. He sits up with a nervous, rigid posture, flattening a palm against his chest. "What if I leave now?! I only came to this dumb
place cuz I was feelin' stuck! I'd rather be a nobody back home in my normal body than stay here lookin' like a freak!'"

Lars groans, raking a hand down his face as he mumbles angrily. "Like I ain't got enough problems with my body."

Listening, close to patient, Alois folds his hands behind his back, and rocks back on his heels a bit. Then he goes up on his toes, and raises his shoulders as well. The gesture is birdlike and oddly meek. Lars' panicking hits a little too close to home.

"You have one, right? A contract?"

Lars's shoulders sag, his expression falling again.

"Ugh, yeah..."

Petulantly, he plops his chin onto his palm. "Was hopin' I could bail regardless, but I guess with magical bullshit involved, of course it wouldn't be that easy. Stupid rigged ski ball got me into all this..."

"Hey, new guy, don't slouch on the job!"

Where did that voice come from? The sky apparently, since that's where the Psionic is flying right now. He's glowing the usual purple, but that all stops once he lands on the ground.

Quite prim, and suddenly gone from a wary deer to the picture of nobility, Alois lifts his own chin, and looks down his nose at Lars. Again, it's not that he lacks sympathy... but sometimes he can seem it.

"You shouldn't break a contract in the first place." He's firm in this. That said, he hates the Ringmaster's methods...

...That said... well, Alois has some secretive but very personal bias here.

Lars looks taken aback, then scoffs loudly, brattishly crossing his arms. "Yeah, well, maybe contracts shouldn't omit mutating into a hideous carny goblin—or have rigged games in the first place—then I might consider that advice." Lars puts the word advice around some air quotes, rolling his eyes. "I gotta say, ain't nothin' been done to inspire any loyalty in me for this crazy bag."

Edited 2016-11-09 04:40 (UTC)

Lars jolts with a loud yelp, almost losing his footing—he scrambles, using the console to right himself as he gets fully onto his feet. He scowls and scoffs in the direction of his superior indignantly, and wraps a hand around one of the levers of the console's handle.

"The hell am I supposed to do? Polish knobs?" Lars, unfortunately, doesn't realize that passing innuendo. Lost opportunity. "It's slow!"

Meanwhile NONA1 is clueless to the nervousness of the young man, and she tilts her head at this.

So it was mistake. It's understandable. It's a bit unsightly to look at though. My people believe in treating nature with reverence.

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all jobs is bad

after work

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thanks, mobile, for eating half my post

mobile's desperate attempts to stop this dumpster fire before it starts

it's too late, mobile. it's too late......

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after work

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Wild Boss Appears! Mid Day

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damn. lars isnt used to havin actual bosses around

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