⇨ THE PRINCE IS DEAD

[ringleaders]

Who: Everyone!
When: Day 178 - B1: Day 6
Where: The Carnival and sometimes on top of the Heart of Stone.
What: Now that the Prince is dead and gone, there's a lot left to sort out. As the remaining servants are liberated and those captured by the Prince are tended to, it's time for recovery and goodbyes.
Warnings: Nothing in particular.

HOME GROUND↴ At long last, it is over. The Prince is dead, and all of his stolen Names have been restored - all that's left to do is treat the wounds and move on. For the first day or two, the Ringmaster will be arranging passage for the servants that are left, all of which have remembered their names for the first time in years. The earth elemental that had been trapped and forced to serve as the Prince's manor, the Heart of Stone, is happy to help for the moment. It appreciates the Ringmaster's mercy, and is free after untold eons of imprisonment. Yet, there are plenty of aspects that are far from simple. There are still servants left mad and transformed into beasts, with no easy way to change them back. The Prince's spells outlive him, and those bearing his poison and his curses will have a difficult road ahead of them. Though most of the bestial servants have been rounded up, and a large number that had been reduced to unmoving statues returned, even the Ringmaster can't return them to normal so simply. The next week is for rest and for settling remaining affairs. If you want to bid farewell to any particular NPCs, or assure care is given where it's needed, now is the time to do it. ► A CURE: The Ringmaster will tell everyone simply - there is no simple way to undo another fae's magic. The Prince's powers were essentially on par with hers, which means that those who have been transformed to stone and those that were cursed into beasts and driven insane are not something she can trivially fix. It will take the work of the carnival and a couple weeks of treatment to shed the curse of stone, and the maddened servants are an entirely separate matter. She will do what she can, but for the most part she is arranging for the Prince's servants to be cared for elsewhere. At least for now, the Ringmaster will be animating the stone portions of people's bodies with magic, though those portions will still be a bit clumsy and numb feeling. ► THE NEW HEARTSTONE: In the absence of the prince, the Heart of Stone will be taking over the remains of the Prince's realm and preventing it from collapsing into void. As it turns out, the manor had been an earth elemental all along - a form of Wyld Fae almost on par to the Prince and Ringmaster themselves. How the Heart of Stone was enslaved is a long story presumably, but the Ringmaster considers it to be a sign of the Prince's own depravity. The Heart will be allowing visitors for the first couple days of this period through the portal, but keep in mind you are essentially just walking around on its body. At least the realm has a floor, now, instead an endless abyss surrounding it.

Comments

RECOVERY

[whattaprick]

[ D1-D3: Medical Tent ]

For more or less the evening and the whole first day since Lambert was brought back to the medical tent, near-catatonic despite the strategic application of magical first aid, he ... looks pretty damn awful. Open gashes left by claws and teeth -- ones that have had a few days to attempt to scab over, only to be torn open again with the rigors of the hunt -- litter his body, and his neck is a ring of fading bruises. The lack of proper medical attention immediately after probably means he'll have a fair amount of scars to show for after this, not that he was short on them to begin with. If he's awake, it's only for brief periods of time to mumble deliriously at someone before exhaustion and the general trauma of dying send him right back under. Fortunately for all, his modesty's being preserved by a sheet thrown over him, though stone feet still stick out awkwardly from the cloth.

By the second day and third day, he's regained proper consciousness, though he's still looking drained and takes brief periods of time to nap. Celandine, the marbled polecat that serves as his daemon, is usually puddled across his chest. The dark-furred boar's ears that fan out from his head, a parting 'gift' from the Prince's involuntary transformation, are constantly flicking, listening for sound even if Lambert's sitting still. Someone's managed to dig up a hospital gown to stuff him in, and it's not a flattering look. Whenever an errant visitor comes by, they could be greeted with any of the following:

"Do you think they'd look better if I painted them?"

"Can you pass me that scalpel on the table?"

"How much do I have to bribe you to get me a drink?

[ D2, Afternoon: Nightrunners ]

Now that he can sit up and stay awake and alert for an actually reasonable amount of time -- meaning longer than half an hour at a stretch -- Lambert decides it's about time to catch on just what happened while he was out of it. He reaches for the radio again, and this time he flicks it to the nightrunner channel, still sounding tired and hoarse as hell as he speaks into it.

"This is the Nightrider. If you've got something to report, see me in the medical tent. Otherwise..." Damn, he can't even say 'the Warden's in charge,' the Warden is probably even more fucked up than he is. "... ask the Ringmaster and the other supervisors where you need to be.""

medical tent!

[kingsroads]

Of course Strange spent some time in the medical tent. So many of the people he knew had been captured by the Prince, he wanted to make certain that everyone was alright. And man alive it is disconcerting to watch people slip in and out of unconsciousness for that first day. He mostly spent the first day casting magic, trying to see if he could find any sort of information on that poisoned stone spread. But now? Now he could actually ask about it.

Strange has a few new changes of his own. His hair's a bit shimmery, more like his mirrored everything than actual hair and the mirrored covering has grown over a large gash on his back, which (if he wanted to) Lambert could feel through the thin shirt Strange is wearing. As he enters the medical tent, Strange looks over. If Lambert's well enough to shittalk on the radio, then he's well enough to deal with him.

And as he spots his friend, alive and well and mostly in one piece, Strange can't help it. A big relieved grin spreads across his face as he rushes over towards Lambert, sitting down in the chair next to his bed and paying absolutely no attention to what the other man was saying.

"I can't believe it," he teases. "I do wondrous acts of magic and actually manage to fight something with my knife, and you aren't around to see it!"

Though he's teasing, Strange's expression is just pure relief. Lambert's here. Lambert's okay.

[whattaprick]

Whatever he was saying, it probably wasn't important, anyway. As Strange comes to sit next to him, Lambert's hand twitches on the sheet, an aborted motion to reach out, but though he doesn't end up completing it he just ends up staring at Strange for a few moments to drink his presence in before mustering a smirk.

"Just means you're going to have to do it all again, then," he says. Though if his guess is correct, such wondrous acts of magic are something they're probably better off never needing again, ever. "Can't slack off just because I'm stuck."

For now, Celandine doesn't seem to be present, the spell that allows her temporary physical form dismissed as too taxing for the moment. She'd been good for the radio, but Lambert hadn't been anticipating talking more -- his voice is still hoarse and rough. Luckily, Strange is one of those people who could fill up the silence of a whole room all on his own if he was allowed to.

[kingsroads]

Strange stares at Lambert for a few moments as well. The other man...he certainly looked worse for wear. He's covered in scars and stone. And really, at this moment, Strange is all the more determined to find a way to get this stone covering off of Lambert. It's no good if their Nightrider's bedridden, after all.

Though, Strange can't help but smile an ironic little smile at Lambert's comment about him slacking off. Big talk coming from the person who's bedridden.

"I suspect you'll wish to be filled in on what happened in the carnival after the ball?" Because it's easy to talk about that. Just start after the ball so that he doesn't have to think about Arabella again. That wound's still a little too fresh. Though now that he has the ball on his mind... "By the way, I'm quite put out that you didn't think to mention that dragon nonsense to me!"

He says he's quite put out though the tone is still teasing and needling the other man.

[whattaprick]

Lambert makes a face. If Celandine was here, she'd do all the talking and tell Strange this is exactly why he didn't mention it to you, because now it's time for Jonathan Strange and the One Hundred questions.

"Go ahead," he says instead, gesturing at Strange. He's talked enough for a bit, and he knows the magician's always one to listen to the sound of his own voice. If it gets to be too boring or things he already knows, he can nod off and Strange (probably) won't notice if he's careful enough.

Medical Tent - D3

[chronosynthesis]

"More than what you have on you."

That's a no on the alcohol, Lambert, but Syrlya does come with something from the cookhouse. By this point he can probably stomach more than water and crackers, right? He sets the plate with beef and potatoes by his bedside. "How are you feeling?"

The sleeve on his left arm is rolled up to reveal the bandages going from his fingertips to the middle of his bicep. He might have more reasons than just visiting Lambert to be here.

[whattaprick]

"What if I pay for it with my body?" Lambert deadpans. His voice sounds better than yesterday, but he seems more tired, in some ways. His eyes more shadowed, a stiffness in how he moves. The covers drawn over his lap stir, and a nose pokes out, twitching inquisitively, before the rest of Celandine follows. She doesn't look great, either, though Syrlya has no point of reference. Her fur is rumpled, and she looks thin even for her small frame, but that doesn't stop her from scurrying to the tray and sniffing appreciatively while Lambert's stomach gurgles.

"I've been worse." That's factually correct, and he nods at Syrlya's arm. "Heard you went on an adventure. That a souvenir?" It's a reasonable assumption, all told.

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlya gives him a once over, raising a brow. Like a dying man is at all supposed to be appealing. "Sorry, but I don't believe we are compatible."

At the motion to his arm, however, he lifts it to inspect himself. The bandages are a couple days old and he should remove them to allow the foliage more room to grow back, now that he doesn't need to really use the arm.

"Ah, yes. But it should heal with no permanent damage at least. I suppose you will want a report on that later?"

Later, meaning, when he can actually mobilize to his trailer and is actually fit for work. Reports are work, Lambert.

[whattaprick]

"Was worth a shot," Lambert shrugs, smirking. He's a bit better than dying now, thank you very much! He's gotten up to the 'slightly warmed over death' stage.

"Report now, then write it up and hand it to me later," is what he says instead, brightly. In the meantime, Celandine is just going right ahead to pick a piece of potato off that plate and sits quietly on her haunches, holding the chunk of potato between her paws as she tentatively gnaws through it. Daemons don't need any sort of conventional food or sustenance, so what she's doing is more just for fun than anything else. Lambert's stomach can keep food down fine now -- it's getting the food down to the stomach that's proving a bit of a problem.

"You were one of those who found the Blue Rose, weren't you?" Celandine chirps, around nibbles of her potato, mock-swallowing.

D2 Tent

[stillwinningthehardway]

Scout comes by, her dæmon trotting at her side, while the long, bickering, many-partied radio conversation about ages is trailing off. She's been in here a lot, as someone with medical experience and a handful of helpful abilities. Without a doctor and with so many people in Repairs now, she's considering switching jobs.

Ignoring whatever nonsense Lambert is saying she looks him over for any change in condition. He's drinking his fluids and letting his soul speak for him half the time, and seems more animated and interested while talking. It's still not the best idea to take someone's pain and then they keep doing the thing that would be painful. Maybe this is for the best.

Maybe not. As she considers Tràkata leaps up onto the table at the bedside. His claws scratch, but the surface is unmarred, the items on the table unshaken. "Did we do something wrong with the block?"

Scout flinches and gives her dæmon-panthac a dirty look. She wasn't planning to say that, but yes, there is something wrong with her blocks. She's all too aware that she's just not consistently capable of cleanly blocking pain like any good Jedi with a healing specialization can.

[whattaprick]

When Scout comes in, Celandine hasn't been dismissed yet, but the daemon and the man both look tired and worn: the poison takes its toll on soul as well as the body, so the daemon is thinner and more bedraggled than she should look, even curled into a ball on Lambert's lap where he can pet her absently. Talking for so long was probably more exertion than they needed to engage in, but it's something they needed. The cave was still too quiet, too few voices and too much awareness of being trapped and isolated. It's strange, how quickly you can learn to miss company when you've gotten by without it for so long.

Ignoring the nonsense probably is the best course of action. Lambert is a smelly, rambling patient with a new pair of ears that keep flicking at distant sounds, so only half his attention is on Scout, anyway. Trakata is harder to ignore, and both Lambert and Celandine look to him when he jumps, the ramble slowing to a halt.

There's a pause for consideration. This still isn't a private place, and Lambert is keenly aware of it now, more so when his hearing's sharpened the way it has.

"We want to feel it," Celandine says, eventually. She curls in on herself, tighter, and Lambert's fingers run through her ragged fur again. Automatically self-soothing "So we can tell if it's getting better or not."

[stillwinningthehardway]

Tràkata stares back patiently, unreadable in all the ways Scout isn't.

She chews her lip. "You're better off than you were, but that's still going to hurt a lot. I could give you medication for pain. It'll probably fog your head, though, I don't know anything about finding the right dose."

Zecora left a great stock of medicines, but not all of them are well labeled or come with detailed instructions. She'd been so experienced with using them that it must have been second nature, it must have seemed unnecessary to write things down. Finding the dose that takes care of pain while still keeping the head clear is almost an art, and highly individual, and completely not something Scout has any experience in. For once, she's the one relying on powers and neglecting the studiousness of the powerless.

"I could... take it off and then just block what hurts most, if you end up regretting it." It takes longer than the big spinal block, but she can do it. "I'm not going to stop coming in here, you can always change your mind."

[whattaprick]

"I'll live. Just do it, Scout."

Lambert tries to put as much weight and confidence as he can into those words, though it's a bit undercut by the tiredness in his expression as he looks at her. Vulnerability of any sort is difficult with Lambert, and being fussed at is worse, something that makes him feel snappish and defensive. Sure, he just died, he feels like shit, and he's probably going to regret asking for this as soon as he can actually tell how much he's hurting again, but this matters to him for reasons he can't or won't find the words to explain.

Lambert's a witcher. It's all he's ever been, or at least all he's been for long enough it's the only thing that matters. Whatever the Ringmaster did to bring back mobility into legs, when they're not in motion or he isn't actively flexing them, they don't feel like they're there are all, and the dissonance between the injuries he can see and the lack of pain the block causes is too disorienting. He needs to stay grounded somehow.

medical tent d2!

[puddingemote]

Tamaki's making the rounds around the medical tent, and he knows Lambert is conscious now thanks to radio chatter, so he comes looking. It doesn't take long - Lambert is hard to spot even when he isn't stuffed in a garish hospital gown and burdened by rock feet.

He looks pretty awful, but everyone does right now.

When he comes over, he raises an eyebrow, looking over at the table in question. Asking him for a scalpel is a pretty weird way to start this conversation.

"What do you need it for?"

[whattaprick]

"To test something," Lambert answers, simply and hoarsely. Which isn't much of an answer and he knows it, but it's the best Tamaki will get for the moment.

The witcher is very obviously sizing Tamaki up for any sign of damage -- he certainly lost the plot for a while, and even without the whole turning into an animal and getting hunted down bit, his last memories of Tamaki are from before the ball and before everything went completely to shit.

[puddingemote]

At this point, Tamaki has healed most of the damage on his own body; there's a good bruise on his hip he couldn't completely get rid of, but it's not an issue as far as he's concerned. It will heal on its own, eventually.

He got lucky, probably, even if he doesn't really feel that way.

"Okay." His answer is enough of an explanation for Tamaki, who carefully grabs the scalpel and offers it to Lambert. Though he can't for the life of him imagine what he needs it to test.

Medical tent d2, like... probably not too long after he first wakes up?

[periphrasing]

Typically, sitting in one place is the exact opposite of how Peridot copes with anxiety, but damn if waiting through Lambert's recovery hasn't been challenging that instinct. It almost feels like her other duties around the carnival are in the way, and throughout their first day back, she's in and out of the medical tent more than a few times, impatiently checking up on him regardless of how much reassurance is given that really, she doesn't need to keep coming back here, someone will tell her as soon as he's awake again.

It's not until speaking to him actually becomes an option that she realizes... she's afraid to have this conversation. She has no idea how to handle this kind of situation. What should she even say? So much has happened, and who knows how much of it Lambert actually remembers... This sort of high-stakes conversation is not her forte, and so many emotions are grappling for dominance in her head at once over the thought of confronting him. She's still pretty mad at him over what happened in the courtyard, and she feels guilty about using Jasper to kill him (even if that was 100% necessary)... Yes, above all else, she's just overwhelmed with relief that he's safe and on the mend, but it'd be impossible for her to just set all this other baggage aside to do so.

In the end, right up to the moment when she reluctantly drags herself into the medical tent, she's still not sure how to approach this. She even looks fearful when she enters.

...And then the first thing Lambert does is ask a stupid question and, ah, yes, that's the emotion she's going to go with here. The king of all emotions, the easiest one to default to: Anger.

"Really? THAT'S your opening line here?" she says loudly, and marches over to snatch the scalpel up. "What do you even want this thing for?"

yeah let's go with this being before radio clusterfuck

[whattaprick]

When Peridot shows up, Lambert's still pretty disoriented from spending so much of his time asleep. Or maybe he's just hit that point of exhaustion and grogginess where anything going on outside his head is an afterthought, meaning Peridot's ire is going to get her a bit of a quizzical look at first. What'd he do to deserve that?

"An experiment," Lambert grunts. His voice sounds shot to hell, raspy and rough as it is. His lip curls in a crooked smirk, because of course, it's Lambert, and being a little shit is a constant. She missed seeing him laid out this badly the last time, because he had a chance to retreat into his trailer -- not so much of an option, here. It is good to see her, even fuming as she is, and his new ears prick forward inquisitively towards her, though he's not aware of it.

"Nice seeing you too." In any case, he's holding out a hand towards her, expectantly. Give it here, buddy.

lmfao works for me.

[periphrasing]

She stares at him. She stares at the scalpel. She scowls long and hard at him. Her palm opens, and the scalpel begins to hover above it.

Fwip.

The scalpel makes an abrupt exit through a new hole in the tent, as Peridot sends it flyyyying away with the tiniest flick of one claw.

D2, Tent

[sarcaskick]

Mercury's still getting his bearings about this whole situation - there's a lot that defies explanation, and his roommate's kind of a psychopath, but all in all he's just trying to roll with the punches. This place affords him a unique opportunity, after all, and he's not going to blow it just because things are weird.

Which they are. Things are weird as hell.

The radio call telling nightrunners to report to the Ringmaster wouldn't mean much to him if he hadn't spoken to someone else earlier. Someone who had said that the Ringmaster might, potentially, assign him latrine duty. Mercury was willing to get his hands dirty in a lot of ways but that crossed a line, which meant he was heading straight to the medical tent to get himself assigned to any task other than that. Getting into the tent itself? Easy! He's got working legs, and it's not like there's no one to point him in the right direction. The thing is, he has no idea what this supervisor of his is supposed to look like among the myriad of ill and injured.

So, after a moment or two of looking around, hands on his hips, he shrugs, opens his mouth, and...

"IS THERE A NIGHTRIDER IN THE HOUSE?"

Fortunately(?), being obnoxious was one of his greatest skills.

[whattaprick]

In hindsight, Lambert was probably still far too tired for this amount of interaction with other people, but at least making the call means he's prepared for visitors, meaning he's sitting up in the cot with the sheets still draped over his legs and with Celandine curled up on his lap. When Mercury comes in -- someone they don't recognize, obviously looking for someone, Lambert's about to address him, but ... he sure beats them to it.

And boy, is he loud. Lambert's new ears ring with that yell, and they flatten to the side of his head while he makes a face.

"Yell louder next time, I don't think they heard you on the other side of the Carnival," the marbled polecat offers the sentiment for both of them, craning her head to get a better look at the new arrival. Lambert's own question is more direct, brow raised as he cocks his head.

"Who the fuck are you?"

[sarcaskick]

Did that overgrown rat just talk?

It sure seems like it talked.

...

You know what, this seems to be a day for not asking about things that don't make sense. Rrrrrrrrrroll with it.

"Well, according to my contract, I'm your latest 'recruit'," he offers, complete with air quotes, "so I guess I'm reporting for duty, or something."

It might seem like he's not taking this super seriously. This is something of a trend, Lambert will likely learn, that applies to the way he reacts to just about everything and everyone.

"Mercury Black, ready to serve, for king and country etc."

medical tent, reporting in

[humanhope]

Morgana may not have anything specific to report, per se, but actually reporting in to his new boss (the one he hasn't met, that is) seems like an important enough reason to head to the medical tent. Besides, even though he's checked out most of the Carnival by now, revisiting places that are probably important couldn't hurt.

Of course he doesn't actually know what the Nightrider looks like, but that's alright. He can see if he can figure it out once he gets there. With his small size it's easy to slip in to the tent almost unnoticed, and he peeks around at everyone and everything there...

But wait, he recognizes this guy! He jumps up onto Lambert's bed, sitting at the foot of it and looking him over. He looks like a mess, honestly, but that's not important.

"Hey, I remember you! Looks like you still won't be able to help me with finding any treasure, yet."

[whattaprick]

Lambert's memories of the ball itself can generously be described as 'patchy,' considering he spent most of that in an enchanted haze, but some things definitely stick out in the memory over others.

A talking cat? Definitely one of those. He glances down at Morgana in brief puzzlement when he first steps in -- who let one of those in here? -- before the cat speaks, and he grimaces.

"Damn. So you weren't a hallucination after all." Maybe Morgana's senses can pick it up, perhaps not, but he isn't entirely human, even accounting for the fae changes. "What are you doing here?"

[humanhope]

"Me, a hallucination? Don't make me laugh." Even the idea is ridiculous to him, even though, well. Talking cats aren't really that common. But still, how could anyone assume he's a hallucination??

But anyways there was a question there, too, so he should probably answer it. If cats could shrug, he'd probably do that right about now, but instead he just casually looks around the place before answering. "Well, I came over here to meet the Nightrider! I don't know who he is, but I thought I should introduce myself."