lostcarnival | ⇨ JAILHOUSE ROCKS

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⇨ JAILHOUSE ROCKS

Who: Everyone who IS imprisoned, brainwashed, or infiltrating.
When: Day 175, 11:30PM onward.
Where: The Prince's shiny new fortress.
What: Those that have been imprisoned by the Prince languish in their underground cell, while those that are under his control continue to do his nasty bidding. Also, Foster might be here? We'll see how that goes.
Warnings: General fuckery, maybe torture.

THE LAIR OF THE BEAST↴

As the fortress comes into being, the Prince has been reaching far across his realm, beckoning his servants back to him and corralling as many helpless hostages as he can manage. In the case of the unfortunate carnival members who made the mistake of crossing him during their stay, they are being locked away in the most secure inner sanctums, held as collateral against their former master. Those freshly captured haven't yet been bent to his will, but they can certainly be neutralized. Carted away by security and pulled deep underground, there feels like there is little hope of them escaping on their own.

► GROUNDED: The Prince's dungeon is a simple one - in place of cages and manacles, there is only natural stone. A claustrophobic cave somewhere deep in the earth, those within it will soon be completely cut off from the outside world. All the prisoners will have been injected with manticore venom at some point or another, which will be slowly turning parts of their bodies to stone, and if that wasn't enough they have also been partially encased in the stone walls and pillars, as if phased halfway into the rock and left there in various positions. It is an enclosed area, and all the prisoners are within talking distance of each other - which is a good thing, because there isn't a lot else to do with their powers mostly bound and their bodies becoming less and less capable of movement.

► CONTROLLED: Those of the brainwashed that manage to return to the fortress will be set to work guarding and attending to these hostages, along with the help of some of the long term Manor servants. They still need to eat, right, and that can be difficult when you arms are stuck in a cave wall. Otherwise, there may come a time when the Prince calls upon them to do something more specific - and there's also the chance that the new prisoners will fall victim to his power and succumb to his control as well. With the poison in their bodies, it's only a matter of time before they lose themselves.

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"Because I failed," Foster can't snap his head up, or actually move it at all, but there's enough venom in his voice, enough loathing and coldness and hateful passion than he doesn't need to.

"I'm worthless. Pathetic. Disgusting. Useless even--useless even to the Prince." While sleeping, he'd drooled on himself. A lot, in fact--a long, bubble-studded rope of it, puddling dark and glistening on the stone floor. It breaks off as he speaks, but he's already slavering; waking up didn't really stop him from producing saliva, after all. And being upset means he isn't focused on making sure he consistently swallows it.

So. Gross.

Failed? Well. He squints, barely catching the drool-he wouldn't tell, at this point, if it was normal or not. Perhaps it was injury induced after all-and certainly, many injuries could cause someone to do nothing but drip drool from their mouth for some time. Gongenzaka chooses not to address it, for now at least. It isn't what's important. And even if he were the sort to focus on what wasn't in any way important, he needs to focus his energy of speech on what matters.

Such as this. "To the Prince?" he questions, fur bristling just slightly. Perhaps if he were at full strength, he would be louder-more visibly enraged, or questioning. But all that Gongenzaka seems to display, at this time, is perhaps irritation-as he asks his question. "...Do you mean to claim you were choosing to side with him?" He has, after all, at least seen him as a guest at their table-he cannot deny that much a connection to the carnival. "...All of us, in here, presumably 'failed' in one way or another-but we have also succeeded, in being brought here..."

He looks directly to Foster, seeking to meet the other's eyes. "....What is it that you feel you have failed....if you cannot be in the same position?"

Foster laughs at him.

Honestly. It's not an attractive laugh--it's callous and flat, void of most traits that laughs are really meant to have.

He's able to laugh because he doesn't feel anything right now. Well. Maybe something. It's a sick, crawling something, up inside his chest and back down the back of his brain. But he's mostly just numb.

Will he have failed so badly as to be known as a traitor? What now? That's pretty fitting... he'd deserve that. But it isn't true. He just can't say it. It doesn't matter. It stings, thinking about the fact that he tried.

He hates it, and he forgets it, and he smiles at Gon.

"If you survive, you can ask her."

Edited 2017-11-02 13:43 (UTC)

"...I, the man Gongenzaka, would rather an answer now," he replies curtly. His eyes are those of irritation still-and while it may just be pain, there is no denying what appearances are. Gongenzaka's voice is low, but not entirely quiet, and with how hoarse and rough his breathing is, he may as well be growling in a constant, endless pattern.

"What did you see, out there....you would have been at the ball, would you have not?" he adds, swallowing. "...So then...how did you come to be separated from those there....and what happened, in the time that we were captured, to the time that those of the ball became servants?" They, after all, would hardly know about the complete tale of the restructuring of the manor. Are they even aware of how much went on, for that matter?

Are they aware that the manor is no longer a 'manor'?

Foster crosses his arms in front of him--as though he had any choice, but it's basically the only position that is remotely easy or comfortable. 'Comfortable.' He doesn't need to be 'comfortable.' He uncrosses them, and they hand stretched out in front of him, like a cartoonish zombie.

He holds eye contact with Gongenzaka, his expression unchanging and opaque.

"I left the ball," he says slowly, as though recounting. As though remembering, as though reliving. "I left the ball, I left, for... my purpose. To capture the Rose." His voice is much more animated, more... alive on those last four words, but the look on his face doesn't quite keep up.

Edited 2017-11-02 16:10 (UTC)

With the way Lambert's positioned, he usually can't take note of anyone who isn't going out of their way to be heard. Foster is irritating at the best of times, and now is most certainly not the best of times, so when he realizes who exactly it is that Gongenzaka is speaking to, he doesn't see fit to say much. The roughest bit of a plan in mind, he still needs to take rest where he can, and he's happy to have Gongenzaka deal with getting worked up at Foster -- even the implication he might have attempted to defect barely gets a twitch. It's not like he had terribly high expectations of Foster's loyalty.

And then, of course. Foster mentions something he doesn't have any business knowing about, except he apparently does. Lambert's eyes open, a small puff of flame snapping out from between his teeth as he yawns and lets his jaw click shut.

"What about the Rose?" It's only four words, but all the weight of his attention is on Foster now.

Left the ball...Gongenzaka squints, listening as he tries to pull from what Foster is saying. It's just a little vague, after all-but with Lambert himself jumping in, evidently very important. 'The Rose', both of them say, and Gongenzaka finds himself looking first to Lambert, and then back to Foster, not even blinking when a breath of light and flame comes from the side where Lambert is.

No, instead he gives a nod to the bear-armed man, wrinkling his nose. "Aaauh. If anything, it is sounding more and more as though you were a part of something quite important....something that others were involved in, as well. What became of them?" he asks, adding to Lambert's query. It's important, after all-if no one escaped from a successful mission, then it wouldn't be a success.

"The... the Ringmaster. She needed the Rose. I saw, after that the morning. You wouldn't remember." There's something dismissive, something disgusted in that last sentence, but he still sounds very tired--and very excited. The only subject he has energy to address is the subject he doesn't have enough energy to address.

"This... was how I was meant to be used. For the Rose." Lambert, at least, has had to endure this kind of disjointed, broken storytelling before. Riddled as it is with Foster's diseased thoughts and rambling obsessiveness. It's probably not any easier to understand, though, and Gongenzaka's question goes totally unanswered in favour of what is, to Foster, a much more salient revelation:

"And now it's hers--the Rose is hers now."

It's the closest Foster can come to pride: a kind of powerful, almost vicious satisfaction or contentment.

"I know. We were drugged," Lambert says, irritation lacing his voice -- not directed at Foster, but at the Prince and his past self, for the naivete. He'd been counting a bit too much on the rule of hospitality to protect them, he sees that now.

"Quit rambling and tell us what happened since you left the ball." His voice is sharp and crisp now, despite the raspy, rough quality to it, self-assured that he's not mistaken. If Foster had known about the Rose before, would he have bothered to talk to Lambert about that dead bird that was somewhere it couldn't be called back to him? ... Then again, it is Foster. But there's only one person who knew about that this whole time, one person Lambert knows would have put himself in danger ... though he apparently wasn't alone.

"Who was with you? Where was the Rose being kept?" And why the hell aren't we out of here, he wants to add, but won't. Foster's rambling answers nothing, really, but the most important question -- and it also sheds some light on how fucked their situation really is. The way Childermass had described this thing, it sounded like it was supposed to be some damn impressive shit. If the Ringmaster's people found it, and the Ringmaster has it, and they're still down here ... whatever it is, it's not enough.

That makes their prognosis just a little shittier than it already was, not that htere was much to be optimistic about to begin with.

Edited 2017-11-03 06:02 (UTC)

After a while, being drugged had been hard to ignore. Foster confirming it, Lambert confirming it...Between the two of them, he certainly can't insist that it could be otherwise, and so he opts not to even try. Instead he focuses on the story between them as best as he can. Evidently this is what their distraction was for-all that fighting, all the getting caught, it was for...a rose. A 'rose' that the Ringmaster wanted.

A rose that absolutely wasn't enough. Gongenzaka's thoughts race, and he thinks about what this could mean. Certainly the situation has soured-soured far more than they could have predicted. But finally with a scoff, and a wheezing choke, the man in the earth sighs.

"....Then we are...Hostages," he realizes, closing his eyes. "....All of us here-prisoners to attempt one last....sway for what this rose is..." They were, after all, no doubt captured before things were retrieved. It puts the Prince at a distinct advantage. "....Nothing had changed, when we were taken.... ....this Rose.... ...you succeeded in taking it after, didn't you...?" he questions, moving on. "...As we broke the host rules...he may still have that much say...in taking hostage then... ....Tch." He growls-but he cannot find the strength to do much more.

Foster gives his own paws a withering look, as though aware that he and his response are both inadequate. But he hasn't eaten substantially in a week; the fact that he's identifiably answering questions at all is an achievement. One he can't really catch himself accomplishing. It does help that Lambert asked shorter, more specific questions this time.

"There were four. Four others. Taako... the Acquisitioner. A blue woman. A plant man." Foster's brief wave of paw dismisses what he does not know--or at least who he does not know--as unimportant. "It was in a tower, above his bedchamber. Magically guarded. She has it now--the Rose--but it was... mmm. It was still held by one of the others when they fought again." Which is, in his speculation, why things are as they are.

"I don't... know where she is, but she is alive. I spoke with her, via the radio. The others escaped, when the manor was changing. I..." He stops, shuts his mouth, his averting his eyes as his expression turns darker; then he casts his eyes down to the floor, expression darker still. Then he just closes his eyes, like he's going to go back to sleep again.

And then opens them again, looking at the massive shape in the cave floor.

"Yes. You are hostages." Foster, however, is just a failure--and worse, as far as they know, a traitor.

"Ha ha. And how lucky for you!" He sounds less pleased and more bitter.

The fact that they are hostages at all is proof of their value to their Ringmaster, and therefore, the Ringmaster's motivation to have them returned to her. He sees nothing about this to be pessimistic of... unless one mistrusts the Ringmaster's power or motive.

Less damningly, it might be worth a lament that they would cost the Ringmaster any trouble at all, especially if their merit to her was in question. But he's not feeling especially charitable.

Betrayal, or lack thereof, only matters if they get out of here or not -- and whether Foster helps or hinders any effort to do so. At the very least, him being trapped in the wall with the rest of them indicates the Prince doesn't trust him running loose, any more than he trusted Sans.

'Blue woman' matches the description of more than one individual in the Carnival, but the others, Lambert recognizes. They escaped triggers a wash of relief he hadn't even known he could have, tension uncoiling in him that he wasn't aware of carrying. He exhales, near-silently, as his shoulders drop slightly. Oh, they're in dire straits, that much is for certain, but Lambert's never had much of a care for his own self-preservation.

Predictably, though, he eventually scowls.

"Great. Just what I always wanted to be when I grew up." His tail, mostly petrified as it is, bashes restlessly against the wall. However, there's an important detail Foster hasn't expounded on to his satisfaction.

"Who was fighting? The Ringmaster and the Prince?" So much for the Ringmaster bragging that she could take him on if she had the right resources!

"Hmm! I, the man Gongenzaka... should think you quite included within our number," the beast growls, but he is quickly silenced by Lambert's own remarks. Once again, Gongenzaka is left to listen, and observe-to consider what is being revealed between the two of them, between the matter of those involved, of the fight... Plants would be Syrlya, no doubt. He had mentioned looking for...someone. And he knows who Taako is. Blue could mean...Blue Diamond? But that doesn't sound like her sort of thing. If anything, Blue Diamond seemed quite at home at the dance, last he had glimpsed her.

And of course, he doesn't know the Acquisitioner. ...Still. Clearly, they escaped. That's what matters. Not to mention, he thinks, the rest of what there is. "There is no helping the matter... ...We knew the risks...when we chose to fight... ....At the very least, a greater goal was achieved..." The trouble is being 'rescued', now. Or if they can be, for that matter.

Hmm!

The look Gongenzaka receives from Foster, and the sound of contempt, of disgust--

The Man Gongenzaka has an even shorter memory than he does.

He cannot lift his head (or move it at all), but does not need to--he is perfectly positioned to look down on the dark shape in the floor.

"Shut up," he says, and immediately regrets it--because he hastens to provide answers.

"Yes." Whether it's meant to answer Lambert's guess or Gongenzaka's assessment of greater goals is unclear, but functionally, it answers both.

"I think...." he trails off; his eyes lose focus. He's miserable and ill and has still not eaten enough for one day in the past seven. Organising himself is hard. He knows there's an answer he wants to give. He knows there's an answer he needs to give--!

"No. I. I know, I know, I know, I know. They fffff... felt when the Rose, when the Rose... changed hands." His claws dig into his scalp, his face twisted with... something. Frustration, maybe.

Telling Foster to focus is going to do jack shit, based on previous experience, but he's audibly fraying, and that's just no good if Lambert wants to get as much information as he can out of him as he can.

"Fae seem like they keep pretty good track of their belongings. Like a kid who gets their toys taken away from them," Lambert says dryly. That could apply to the Ringmaster and the Prince both in equal measure right now, though the "toys" in question are markedly different. His most important questions have been answered, he supposes; there's nothing he can imagine Foster has to contribute that would change his plans (or lack thereof) significantly.

"Take your time, Foster. It's not like we're in a rush." Since the man's so obviously struggling with ... whatever. Sleep deprivation, Lambert guesses, among everything else that's just ... him.

It may not be a short memory, but there is at least a sort of 'innocent ignorance' at play, not at all unlike when he was dealing with Sherlock. Why would someone be imprisoned as a traitor, why would a 'traitor' have helped obtain such an item for the Carnival-in his own mind the answer is that they aren't a traitor so much as one who failed enough that being a traitor is a fitting punishment, but Gongenzaka wisely keeps from going down that path as the other snaps.

Instead, for now, the best option is to agree with Lambert, to continue getting answers...eventually. "Aauh. It is as they have said... ....If you need, perhaps sleep, or even food when it comes...is better than explanations..." Do they have the time, the luxury for such things? Probably not. But a scattered answer is just as bad as none, really.

"Food?" Foster echoes. "Food?"

He tries to swallow and fails.

"That went so well for you, didn't it? Eating." He starts to laugh. Then he suddenly reverses his position with a viciousness. "Fuck food. I don't--I don't deserve to eat, to... to live." He's so vehement that speaking produces a large bubble of spit, thankfully much less visible inside of a dark cave than it would have been otherwise.

He goes quiet for a minute or two after this. It's a measure of time that restores a bit of organisation to him, internally--time during which he starts to recall all the things he didn't say, the details he wanted but couldn't recover because he was trying to think and speak and cohere.

Every thought is heavier now, though. He's starting to lose his rush, his wakefulness. On the one hand, that means the has pressure ebbed, and those impenetrable doors inside of him unlock again. On the other...

"....toys. Haha. Yes.... too bad." Too bad for the Prince, and too bad for the Ringmaster. His audience, however, was lucky to be such toys. To be so privileged, and yet so ungrateful.

It only now occurs to him to describe it, what he saw. This is just about the first chance he's had to really go back over what happened--in a way, his imprisonment forcing him to stop, to slow down, is giving things that he already grasped intangibly a chance to solidify.

"But still the Rose wasn't in the Ringmaster's hands... not in the Prince's, but also not hers... it was quick. He used something... other against her, a crystal." It's... pensive, but with censorious tone--like he's scolding them for not listening, maybe.

But he will not be rewarded for his worthless role, and he will not be allowed to rest, either--not until he finishes purging these thoughts, and fills every possible hole. Then he can finally sleep, and ultimately die.

Edited 2017-11-04 22:51 (UTC)

The quiet's a good thing, much as Lambert's inclined to say something like 'we don't have time for your angst, Foster' -- because he did, after all, just say they weren't in a hurry. Down here, without any real sense of the outside world and Lambert napping intermittently as he tries to keep his strength up, it's hard to guess how long it's been. Not as long as the kidnapped were gone, he's sure of that, but...

In his ruminations, he almost misses Foster beginning to speak again. And while Lambert's followed along with the story well enough to this point, thanks to having the other bits and pieces so he saves time on asking Foster clarifying questions like 'what the fuck is the Rose,' and 'what was the Acquisitioner doing there anyway,' this bit of information is new to him.

"A crystal?" Lambert frowns. Not something Childermass must have known about, unless he was keeping that information from him, too. "Describe it to me. How did he use it against her? Was it the focus of a spell, or something else?" Foster may not necessarily be able to answer these questions, but he's just thinking out loud at this point, anyway.

Yes. Food. Food is important, and honestly at this point Gongenzaka is fairly certain that they can't make the situation much worse. His nose crinkles as Foster insists such things of himself however-and certainly, if he didn't think the man wasn't a traitor before, he doesn't think him as one now. Why would traitors care so much to insist what they fail to deserve? At least, those who are imprisoned with the ones they supposedly betrayed. Still, Gongenzaka can recognize someone who is entering 'deeper' thought, or at least some attempt to think at all. He remains silent, and waits. Waits for Foster to struggle through his explanations, wait for Lambert to continue...

"...If it was in neither's, then who was it who took the 'rose'?" he questions alongside Lambert, his ears twitching again.

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⇨ JAILHOUSE ROCKS

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