⇨ 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

[atouts]

And the crow ends up giving a startled squawk at being tackled before she can make off with the trinket she's snatched up. There's a clatter of items as she flails her wings for a moment, back on the bench with a hawk-but-actually-polecat on her, some even getting scattered to the ground, but it'll all settle again once she realizes who it is tackling her.

"There you are!" She stops flapping about and turns to prod the polecat with her beak. "You didn't have to jump on me like that! Now you've made a mess!"

More like they both made a mess, but at least it sounds like the daemon had been looking for them around the part, which means Childermass isn't far behind. He isn't at all, really, now that someone's pounced on what's basically his soul, so. He steps into sight as he leaves the crowd, no one noticing that there's suddenly another person wandering around in a space previously left empty. People are, on a whole, bad at comprehending that kind of idea, much more willing to accept he'd been there the entire time and they simply hadn't noticed.

It's a few more steps from that point to the bench Lambert and the two daemons are, the latter of which the magician frowns at.

"Stop messing around," he tells them once there, stopping to stand before Lambert even if his attention is elsewhere.

[whattaprick]

The voice that comes out of the bird's mouth has both the witcher and the polecat's attention immediately. The polecat stays right where she is, still draped heavily over the bird (or as heavily as she can; she's a light thing made of mostly fluff), but the grip of her furry paws eases, at least, and she doesn't follow through on the bite she'd been about to give the back of the crow's neck (just in warning, but still).

"You started it!" The polecat finds her voice first of the two of them indignant, and Lambert rolls his eyes just in time for Childermass to arrive, more or less confirming his suspicions of whose daemon it belongs to. They make a funny pair on the bench, still sprawled on the cloth he'd been sorting jewelry on, but he won't let them stay there for long.

"Off the cloth," he orders, though whether the daemons listen or not, he's reaching to tug it out from under them both, and as much of the jewelry as he can wrap back in it with it. The rest that have scattered, he's leaning down to pick up and put back in with the rest. Sorting will have too happen later.

[atouts]

"I did not! You leapt at me, not the other way around!" The crow snaps back at the polecat, but that comes to an abrupt stop when Childermass arrives to frown at her and tell her off. She immediately falls silent and shrinks away from her other self, attempting to shuffle off the cloth as much as she can with a polecat hanging over her like that.

Which is the end of the attention Childermass will even offer either of the daemons, attention flitting to Lambert as he goes about recollecting the jewelry, then to the jewelry and other trinkets scattered around. The urge to pocket the nearest item n the bench while the witcher isn't looking itches in his fingertips, but he ignores it. Whether something will end up there regardless, though, has yet to be seen. More often than not it happens without him even noticing, but, for now, he'll resist.

"You can't even wear half of those, Lambert. What are you even going to do with earrings?"

[whattaprick]

"You're the one who--" But the chatter is interrupted when the crow suddenly goes silent, and the polecat glances between the magician and his daemon warily. She'll follow the crow off the cloth, keeping close, sitting on her haunches and tail twitching inquisitively.

"You never know," Lambert shrugs. "I could get my ears pierced. Think that'd suit me?"

[atouts]

"Hang something gaudy enough from them and it may distract from your personality," Childermass answers ever so helpfully. Ah, but he's not exactly here to speak with Lambert, now is he? Right. It's the daemon who offered an explanation and that means he turns to look the polecat's way again.

The crow remains quiet still, even with the question being posed to the other daemon next to her.

"But you mentioned being able to explain dust, did you not?"

[whattaprick]

"Why would I want to?" Lambert grins, mocking. "It makes me so many friends." But his attention is going to focus on keeping his hands busy checking his jewelry hasn't scattered entirely to the wind.

The polecat seems surprised to be addressed, having settled on turning to the crow beside her. Nonetheless, she flicks an ear at Childermass, then nudges the crow, playfully.

"Easier if we show you first. We need one of those things over there. Come on!" And she flies off the bench into the air with utter disregard for the laws of physics. Lambert, having seen this before, knows exactly what that means. Swearing, the last of the jewelry is shoved clumsily into his pocket as gets to his feet to stumble after her before he can experience the humiliation of being yanked along again. Luckily, where she's headed isn't too far -- a loose collection of partygoers where one man is holding a small cup-like object up to his face and looking around, an expression of faint awe and excitement on his face.

Not that the polecat has any respect for that. "Oi, you!" she trumpets as she skids in, making a number of the onlookers and their daemons scatter back in alarm. Lambert, bringing up the rear, tries look like he meant for that to happen. "Let us borrow that scrylense for a second, will you?"

[atouts]

There's something endlessly amusing about watching Lambert get dragged around by what is, basically, a flying piece of fluff. Lively, he would definitely describe the polecat that way, although acknowledging the other man's daemon as an actual being worth speaking to leads to an uncomfortable feeling. He shoots a look back towards his own, the crow, where she huddles silently on the bench, and they both linger there a moment longer while the polecat raises a fuss over by the partygoers.

Then he shakes his head and turns to go, following after. The crow, of course, flies off to stay close as soon as his back is turned. She'll find another place to perch once Childermass catches up, but never on him, like nearly all other bird-like daemons in the crowd. There's no perching on a shoulder for her, but maybe on another bench or a nearby table edge.

He'll give the cup-like object a curious look while the polecat asks for it, idly thinking to add, "She won't leave you be until let her. I've met the type before. They're all like that."

[whattaprick]

The verbal prodding, as it turns out? Is unnecessary, since the immediate reaction to Lambert's arrival is a faint sense of awe and fear. It does earn Childermass a nervous look, like the man's wondering what does that mean?, before he holds the 'scrylense' out to Lambert, with something almost like respect, but also uneasiness. The comment, however, isn't lost on Lambert, who scowls at Childermass like he's trying to decide whether or not he meant that as an insult for him or not.

Regardless of the man's discomfort, Lambert takes the scrylense, glancing into it briefly before he nods and passes it over to Childermass. The polecat drifts back over to sit by the crow, looking smug and self-satisfied.

"Go on, then! Have a look through!"

And should Childermass do as he's directed, what he'll see through the amber lens is ... golden motes dancing in the air, falling gently to the ground and borne on currents of wind that can't be felt. It gathers around people and objects, but never more intensely than it does in daemons, which through the scrylense are little more than shapes of light, particles moving and coalescing together. Where the polecat and the raven touch each other, the particles composing them seem to react and mingle with each other, dancing strangely in response to some unseen force.

If he looks down at himself, he'll notice it clinging to him, too, and wherever people are gathered together -- and though Lambert's not as bright as the daemons are, should Childermass turn the lens that way he'll find the witcher stands out brighter than most as well, the Dust drawn to him. Lambert, seemingly oblivious the particles drifting in the air around him, will remain where he is, hand on hip and waiting for Childermass to finish.

While he's looking around, the polecat takes the opportunity to tug at the crow and whisper to her, quietly enough that Lambert doesn't notice the mischievous chatter.

[atouts]

Which is weird, since he can't quite see himself why anyone would feel awe or fear towards Lambert. The man certainly looked brutish, but that was about it. Still, it means easy access to the scrylense as the witcher hands it over and Childermass just shrugs at him for the scowl, unperturbed where everyone else, apparently, very much is. Looking through that amber lens, however, puts any thought of further mocking Lambert from his mind.

Golden light, everywhere, settling on everyone. He looks at the other people around them first, then himself. He'll point it towards Lambert next, easily discerning the unamused stance the man holds as he brightly glows with light unseen by a naked eye. Probably for the best, if they didn't want him to try and collect that as well as jewelry. It's the daemons last that he turns the lens towards and they're by far the most interesting.

Interesting enough that even he misses the two conspiring together, the nameless crow huddling in close against the other and listening, agreeing to whatever it is the polecat-but-also-hawk is suggesting.

At that point, he lowers the scrylense and offers it back to Lambert before walking over to where the two are, whispering away as they are.

"That doesn't explain what it all is," he points out to the polecat in particular, dropping into a crouch next to them and pitching his own voice low so those around them are less likely to hear his question. To them, it might be obvious and not knowing something obvious is too easy a way to mark him as an outsider. "Just dust? That's all?"

[whattaprick]

"You could ask me too, you know," Lambert grumbles, shaking his head when Childermass offers the lens back to him, making a vague gesture that he ought to keep it. The polecat snickers, tail flipping up playfully as she preens under the attention. She'll let the other daemon go, floating up a little closer to Childermass's eye level so he doesn't have to hurt his neck looking down at them, and ostensibly for him to hear her better.

(It's mostly to block his view of where his daemon might be up to,)

"You know better than that," she scolds, albeit quietly. "Do you really think it's just dust?" She floats through the air, directing his line of sight to a small group of musicians performing on a raised stage. "Look again."

And if he does, he'll find the lines of gold in the air coalescing and shimmering around the musicians and the handful of people who've take the opportunity to dance in front of them, ebbing and flowing in time with the music and the chatter. The daemons in the crowd stand out brightly still, but with as much as the dust is concentrated there, they're actually more difficult to see.

[atouts]

"You're not as charming," is the reply Childermass has to Lambert for that, though it really is more that he expects a creature technically of this world to know more by merit of existing. Still, if it'll irk Lambert, that's good enough. Even as he says that, his focus remains on the polecat, now floating oddly as she is.

He does frown some at her telling him to look again. Is it really just dust? No. She's right. Even he knows no one would be fascinated by nothing but dust, so he does as told, turning and bringing the lens back up.

"It's attracted to life," Childermass guesses first and foremost. "Or at least sentient life."

If there were a handy and very regular animal nearby, he would turn the lens on that, but alas. There isn't any, at least not within the range of the party that he can see. As for his own daemon, well, with him thoroughly distracted, she'll take her chance. Once the magician is turned away, she takes off. She'll circle around at first, so what she's about to do looks less obvious, but it still brings her back around to alight on Lambert's shoulder. A horn had been another suggestion, but then she would be sitting on something unseen by most here!

[whattaprick]

The polecat nods, enthusiastically. "It's some kind of particle! We don't know all its properties, but that's one of them. It's what all daemons are made of," she says, proudly, like she can take some sense of accomplishment from that -- and from the scowl on Lambert's face at the magician egging her on. "It reacts to magic too, see?"

She flies by an unlit candle on one of the tables set up to sustain the party well into the night, and flicks her tail -- a jangle of Dust stirs the air as the magic ignites the wick.

In the meantime, Lambert jerks as the crow lands on his shoulder, hand raised to swat it away -- but as soon as he realizes what exactly it is on him, he goes very, very still.

"What are you doing?" he mutters, eyes on the magician and his own daemon, but his voice is pitched for his unfamiliar companion.

[atouts]

"It's warmer over here," is how the crow answers, voice just as quiet, and there's an uncertain pause — the polecat might be certain about all sorts of things, but the crow, less so — but then she gets past it and huddles up close against Lambert's neck. It isn't something too bizarre, aside from the fact that she isn't his daemon.

It is enough for Childermass to pause at watching the polecat run amok with magic, though, and bring the lens down away from his eye. He frowns, looking around like he's sensing something unexpected. He doesn't look around behind him yet, though he does rise to stand properly again.

"Daemons made of particles," he eventually echoes, finding nothing immediately out of place. "I wonder if it's magic itself. What a strange way to look at it."

[whattaprick]

"That so?" Lambert murmurs back. "Would've thought the cold wouldn't bother his soul."

"Maybe! There are people who study this sort of thing, they'd probably know," Because she's facing the other direction, Lambert's daemon can see exactly what they're up to, though she doesn't pause a beat in her chatter, coming closer to the magician instead. "It's weird, isn't it? Your hand passes right through them, but we feel real. Touch me and see!"

And to demonstrate the point, she flies forward to thrust her head under Childermass's hand, though she stops just short of actually pushing herself into it.

Lambert doesn't notice, occupied as he is by the bird snuggling -- in an incredibly un-Childermass-like way -- against him. While the other two natter on, he strokes the top of the bird's head and down her back with a finger. Last thing he needs is to damage the magician's soul accidentally, after all.

[atouts]

Odd request, since he already knows they feel real. While he has been giving his own daemon the cold shoulder, he is aware enough that she's a solid creature. Still, with the polecat all but shoving her head into his hand, Childermass will humor her. So, Lambert's daemon gets to see her trick play off, but it's very short-lived.

He only gets as far as brushing a finger or two gently over the polecat's head, which at least confirms she feels like she has fur and not feathers, as her glamour would have one think. Unfortunately, that coincides with Lambert petting the crow. The bright side to this that the feeling it gives the magician isn't one of total disgust, but it's surprising nonetheless. He gives a jolt, pulling his hand back and managing to not go reeling from the surge of delight that runs through him.

He can't imagine that came from simply touching a daemon unconnected to himself, which means—

"Ah," he says softly, finally noticing his own daemon missing from the bench. Now he actually turns to look behind himself, finding the crow seated all too happily on the witcher's shoulder. There, that must be the culprit.

[whattaprick]

Lambert isn't so lucky to remain unstaggered, and his tail straight up knocks over a flower arrangement on a nearby table when the sensation of ecstatic joy slams through him. It is not, on the whole, a feeling he's used to, and he goes sheet-white before he turns crimson, spluttering as his claws dig into his own hand. Unfortunately, it most definitively puts a stop to the petting.

"What--" he starts, twisting around accusingly -- but of course, it's hard to actually look at something on your shoulder, and he scowls. His tail is lashing behind him, still, and it's lucky the glamor is there to cover it.

Unfortunately, the noise has drawn back the attention of the man who lent them a spyglass, who ... comes upon this scene and looks between them both with a gaze of mild alarm and a rising sense of dismay. "That's--" he's clearly fighting for words to express his offense here, warring against the idea that it's a witch, and the fact that they're just touching each other's daemons! With other people around! That's absolutely unacceptable! "I understand witches do things differently, but this is a public--"

Lambert isn't in the mood to deal with this, so guess what, he sure is raising his hand to cast Axii.

[atouts]

And for once, Childermass won't tell him off for manipulating minds with that damn spell. He instead scowls down at the polecat — he's already assuming she's the source of all this trouble and rightly so — before turning on a heel to walk back over to Lambert, his own daemon, and the man about to be Axiied.

"You. Off," he orders the crow, pointing at her and jerking his finger away, off to one side to indicate she needs to be anywhere but that shoulder immediately. That she's bold enough (or maybe scared of being left behind somehow, more like) to flit from the witcher's shoulder to the magician's almost has him reaching up to brush her away, but he stops at the last second.

No. Probably better to let her be this time. If they're leaving, they'll be leaving right away.

[whattaprick]

Without the interruption, there's nothing to stop Lambert from snapping "Go away." It's not the strongest language he could have used, and the order is so direct that it's almost comical how instantly the man -- and the small, yappy-looking terrier dog close to heel -- look confused at the same time, then walk away.

Of course, there's only so long they can get away with that without someone noticing, and Lambert's immediately grabbing for his daemon with a hissed "You little shit!"

"You liked it!" The grin is audible in her voice, too smug and happy to allow something trifling like Lambert's bitching get her down. But she knows better than to stick around arm's reach, and she barrel-rolls out of his grasp and darts behind Childermass, forcing him to draw up short before he ends up smacking into the magician.

"Come on, get us out of here before someone catches us!" It's not Childermass or Lambert she's speaking to, then, but the crow.

[atouts]

And to that, the crow, unfortunately, has to admit, "I... I can't. That isn't how the spell works."

Meaning she can't get them out of here, not the way the polecat assumes she can. It also earns the polecat a scathing look of disapproval from Childermass, who sets the lens down on the nearest table and reaches over to put a hand on Lambert's shoulder. He mutters something under his breath, words to a spell that isn't necessarily needed when he does his shadow magic since rather than being faerie magic, it's English magic. It creates the faintest trace of snow and pine regardless of origin, yet another odd reminder of Portland that he can't personally pick up on, lacking the sharper senses of the daemons and the witcher.

What settles over all four of them — including Lambert's daemon, as an extension of himself, it would seem — feels like an invisible blanket, dulling the colors and sounds of the world around them. That done, no one looks at them, nor does anyone who walks nearby run into them, something telling them to step around at the last second without them even realizing it.

"As she said," he mutters at the polecat, "That isn't how the spell works. I cannot drag people off into the shadows where no shadows exist."

[whattaprick]

Distracted as she is by the disappointment of failing to see the crow perform a bit of magic herself, and being spoken to by Childermass, the only reason the polecat isn't getting grabbed out of air is the hand on Lambert's shoulder. He remembers this spell -- vaguely -- though he's not had a reason to have it used on him since they were at the Celebration.

The chastisement doesn't work on her, though. She remains hovering in the air, cocking her head at them both, then looks down at their feet. "What d'you call those, then?" She asks pointedly. "You pulled Lambert through the shadows under a buck before, what's the difference?"

Dull as the world is for human senses, for a witcher it's like being stuck in a cloud. Frowning, Lambert glances around. "There's probably a better place to talk about this, you know."

[atouts]

"I cannot go through my own shadow," Childermass tells her exactly what the difference is. He could probably use Lambert's. A buck's, too, as well as all those shadows being cast about the forest by the trees. He knows the other Childermass could do it, but that only reminds him how irked he is by his daemon and nearly everything there is that has to do with that. If there's a trick to it, he hasn't worked it out himself yet...

But Lambert's right. There are better places to talk about this.

Like a completely different shadow, which is why when he moves to walk past Lambert, he'll be grabbing the witcher by the sleeve to drag him along to the nearest one thrown by the nearest building. It doesn't take terribly long to reach.

"Hang on to him if you don't want to be left behind, you ridiculous weasel."

Yes, he knows that isn't a weasel, but close enough. They know what's coming next, as soon as they hit the border of a proper shadow. Where they'll end up is away from the park and the party, coming out by the docks of Greysol instead, with Kerner Island lurking out on the horizon.

[whattaprick]

"If I'm a weasel, you might as well start calling her a raven!" the daemon calls indignantly.

It's possible, as a part of Lambert's soul, that the polecat would be pulled through anyway, but she doesn't seem inclined to take the chance. She swoops back onto Lambert's shoulder, clinging on as instructed, before they're pulled through shadows again, Lambert recognizing where they are by the smell of salt-spray. Today isn't like that awful day at the docks, when they first arrived and a man severed from his soul was being brought in -- just the sound of the water lapping against the dock and the boats rocking in the harbor.

"This is your idea of better?" Lambert asks, looking at Childermass with a raised brow.

[atouts]

"It's better than where we were before," Childermass points out stiffly. If Lambert had somewhere else in mind, chances are he wouldn't have taken that preference into account anyway, and so here they are, the first spot to come to the magician's mind. "If you're picky, specify next time."

He's clearly still annoyed, but the one silver lining is he lets the crow be, still perched on his shoulder and now huddling against the side of his neck while she can. It won't last, so she'll enjoy the closeness while she can.