⇨ GREYSOL

[ringleaders]

Who: Everyone!
When: Day 155 - Day 169
Where: Greysol
What: The carnival resumes its tour, this time heading to Greysol, a city tied deeply into the fabric of the multiverse. Here, everyone has an animal companion from birth that is the second half of their soul - and thanks to the Ringmaster, so do you. (Remember, joysweeper is our guest event runner for this location, and location specific questions should go to them.)
Warnings: Individually marked!

THE CITY OF GREYSOL↴ The carnival arrives in a manicured park in the center of a big city that sprawls out along where the river reaches the ocean. It’s spring, early enough that nights are chilly, warm enough in the days that people and their souls savor the weather, and sometimes shelter together from the rain. Greysol was designed from the bottom up to accommodate the human-dæmon bond. Go out and see! ► THE SHAPE OF YOUR SOUL: The dæmon-forming spell kicks in at about four in the morning. Most characters will wake up with their souls in some small form, curled against them. Even if they were awake, they became dazed and unfocused while their souls were being drawn out of their bodies and have little memory of how it happened. Until that evening every character's dæmon is able to change shapes, and children and some teens will continue to do so. Most will settle on their permanent forms by evening. Characters without dæmons will just look on, and the few who are thousand-pound bears have to handle being really big. ► IT’S GOOD TO SETTLE: Elaine Tavis Aracari, sixteen-year-old daughter of two actors and a moving pictures sensation herself, just ‘settled’ - her dæmon Tavis stopped changing shape - as a stunning blue peacock. Settling is a major coming of age milestone and celebrated as such in different ways all over the world. She and her family are throwing a massive party in the central park and inviting the public to join in! Enjoy easy access to free catering, live music and showings of moving pictures, and displays of mostly trivial magic. There are also form readers from across the country setting up booths, happy to accept a small fee to inspect your dæmon’s settled or most favored forms and tell you what they mean. Is there anything to these analyses? Eh, maybe, but they’re flattering and fun. ► WITCHING HOURS: Characters who are clearly witches for this event will often be assumed to be in town for a lover, and people, witches and not, may want to know who that is. Humans usually regard them with wary respect and interest. Real witches living with their human families or on business quickly suspect that something’s up, but without clear and present danger take a relaxed wait-and-see attitude. Wait for long enough and any possible decision will come around again, they believe. There isn’t time to learn much witch magic, but witches, real and carnival-made, have an inherent power: the ability to fly using branches of “cloudpine”, an attractive soft-needled tree common in the park. Witches usually ride large branches as if they’re steeds but can use even short sprays, and you’ll probably see the few witches in the city coming to the park to do so. Why not try? ► BEAR PUN: Human-panserbjørn relations have historically been troubled, but have warmed in the past century. It’s the 65th anniversary of the breaking of the Siege of Bertin, a much-mythologized time when Spectres flooded Greysol and a company of panserbjørn arrived and directed efforts to get the survivors out of the city. A statue is being erected and many florid accounts of the story are being told. If you’re in a panserbjørn shape for the duration of the visit you will probably get thanked and celebrated by people trying to hide their nervousness of you. Expect someone to ask if your dæmon would be a human - it’s a common supposition. ► KERNER ISLAND: From the harbor you can see a wooded island. Although there are no rocks to speak of it sports a tall lighthouse, and nearly all boat traffic avoids it carefully. On a clear day someone with binoculars or a particularly sharp-eyed soul can see loads of trash, birds and various other animals that don’t seem local, and… children? Adults and settled teenagers will see tall vague shapes moving about too. When asked about it the most important thing adults will tell other adults is don’t go there. They’ll hold their dæmons close and tell you that on that island are things that eat souls. They may also admit with mixed pride and shame that it’s been a source of wealth and innovation for the city. There’s a facility there that can open windows into other worlds, and the children who can reach it can cross through and bring things back. Many of the children are recruited by research and development teams on the lookout for items they can use, but there are also kids out to have adventures or who’ve run away. More on this later.

Comments

[dorkypantsuit]

"You aren't-" he starts, stepping forward. His eyes are wide in surprise at all that's been said, by what Sans hasn't said. He assumes Helvetica is being honest, he has to. He composes himself, falling quiet before he continues.

"You aren't less likeable." He knows that isn't what they were talking about. Maybe that will annoy Sans, but it needs to be said.

"It won't annoy him." His daemon murmurs, nudging him in the side. He looks to her, somehow actually comforted by those words.

"And it was real to me." Even without those experiences, even before Portland he'd liked Sans, wanted to know him better. Portland just sort of proved that a friendship between them was possible.

"Or I'd like it to be. At least." He hopes that makes sense. His daemon doesn't offer to translate his thoughts, though honestly he wouldn't mind right now if she did. Maybe then he could make some sense of them too.

"Or even if it wasn't it could be. Right?"

You know except maybe without the poison smoothie part.

[osteothropy]

Helvetica's emotions are even more impossible to read than Sans's given that she's a beetle. She doesn't say anything for the moment, at least, and flies off of Sans's fingers onto the top of his skull, angelic wings made of light spreading from beneath her shell, just like Sans's.

Sans can't help but get caught up in thinking about how much bullshit probably got bypassed from just getting that out in the open instead of passively implying it. He really wishes he understood what part of his soul enabled Helvetica to just say whatever came to her mind, but it must be part of this whole yin-yang daemon balance deal.

Sans swallows a lump, making a very pointed decision to try to say something honest about this, without being a jackass. He can at least try.

"Y'know... I remember why I was so angry, about that whole thing in Portland, and..." Don't fuck up. Don't fuck up. "It was because I'd felt really comfortable at the time, and what you did made me suddenly start to think that I didn't matter to you like I thought I had."

It's easier to talk about stuff in Portland like past theoretical, like a story they remember that's completely in the past, but he knows it's not that simple. As fake as it might be, it's still real. Just... different. And he has to figure out how it applies to his life now.

"And I hope you understand how much it kills me to say stuff like that," he adds with a shallow laugh, covering his face with his hand. "But the point is... I already know that not caring about stuff is basically the opposite of your problem. So, I'd be a real numbskull to let that mess things up."

[dorkypantsuit]

Psi listens to Sans talk about Portland, heart aching. He's ashamed. He hates that he made Sans feel that way, as though he didn't matter. Even before he'd remembered himself he'd been ashamed. He had endangered a friend, and was terrified he'd never get him back. He's getting upset, but still he laughs as Sans tells him he cares too much.

"A real numbskull..." He murmurs, with a small smile. Skull, skeleton. He got the joke.

He feels like it's his turn to be honest here, and there's plenty he hasn't said. Still all he can think about is how glad he is that Sans is okay, that Sans for some reason doesn't hate him, even though by all accounts he should. He start's getting teary eyed, and that's when his daemon fucking licks him. She just sticks out her giant whale tongue and drags it up his side. It is the strangest fucking sensation and the Psionic is absolutely not expecting it. And yet he knows she means it in a comforting fashion and the absurdity of that just makes him laugh.

He was just licked by a whale. He almost started crying and so his whale friend licked him. It's absurd. The laughing makes his half formed tears roll down his cheeks.

"Sorry. I... I was just so certain that you'd hate me." So essentially what he's trying to say is, he's happy.

"I seem to always find ways to mess things up." Sans doesn't need to know that, but since it seems like it's the time for being honest he might as well admit it. "Even the demon me felt like loosing you was proof I didn't deserve any friends."

"So... Thanks. I guess." he wipes his eyes, smiling weakly Sans' way. "For not hating me."