lostcarnival | ⇨ THE PRINCE IS DEAD

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⇨ THE PRINCE IS DEAD

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.

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"And you didn't even ask?" Lambert watches Strange with slightly raised brows, though it's spoiled by coughing raspily the next minute. "Damn ... so much for being a gentleman."

And the fact that Strange just rushed right through a bunch of the explanation isn't lost on Lambert at all. In this case, the magician's instincts are correct: the witcher isn't in the right frame of mind to talk about how he died, even though with the bruising still purpling his neck, it's pretty much a glaring reminder that yes, he died, and it sucked. Hard. Still, since Strange obviously need some prompting to get going, Lambert's going to get the ball rolling.

"Smart plan." Though he will, however, have to also point out dryly: "Leaving us would've been smarter."

"I know," Strange responds, in a very matter-of-fact tone. Because he knows that Lambert's right. In the end, cutting and running would be smarter. And, considering that they didn't really have a plan for failing the Hunt, leaving them might have actually been on the table.

"But it wasn't going to happen," he idly continues, leaning back in the chair slightly. Strange smiles, a small gentle smile, obviously thinking of something nice and calming. "I had to save everyone, after all."

It's a bit of an egotistical statement. But that was one of the final things that Arabella told him to do. Strange held tight onto that thought, using it as a mantra to push himself forward through the week. And look, Bell. He did it.

"Uh-huh. All by yourself," Lambert snickers. "And I'm sure--" He coughs, roughly, but continues on regardless, "You didn't have a little bit of help?"

Because he knows damn well Strange is a competent magician but also a competent magician who gets a bit too excited by magic to notice, say, potential threats to his immediate health and well-being. Strange might be able to divert the course of a river or move a forest but he can also be knocked out by a blow to the head and also, he still can't run for shit.

"Glad you didn't get caught. Place they stuck us in sucked out magic. You would've hated it."

"Childermass might have helped a little." This is pure teasing. Strange knows he almost got killed by a deer, plenty of people helped out in coming up with a rescue mission and implementing that rescue mission in the first place.

Still, at the mention of something that sucked out magic, Strange can't help but wince. That sounds like living hell. Oh sure, he could survive it. But he'd hate it all the while. And considering some of the people he knew were stuck, he imagine they hated it as well.

"It helps to not get caught when you aren't an idiot who sets tables on fire." Because seriously dude, what was that. The blatant judgement only lasts for a bit before Strange continues with, "And it also helps when you spend the entire evening hallucinating your wife."

He really doesn't want to talk about that part. But Lambert should at least know it happened.

Lambert rolls his eyes at the blatant judgement, shrugging. As it so happens... "Childermass said he needed a distraction."

And that's enough of an answer without going into details, as far as he's concerned. It's not like he didn't expect people to notice that whole escapade. That was sort of the point, though in retrospect, he should probably be glad that Strange didn't decide to jump in after him, but things had been so hectic he didn't have the time to find him and explain ... but then Strange keeps on speaking, and Lambert snorts.

"So that's why I couldn't find you all night." Because if there's anything he knows about Strange, it's that once Arabella is involved, any sort of thing like 'sense' or 'practicality' sails right out of the window. It's probably for the best it worked out this way, because he's certain Strange has had more than enough of being kidnapped and stolen away to last a lifetime, and it's the last thing he would've wanted to see happen to him.

"I had my hands full," Strange admits, with a little shrug. "Not only did my wife show up but so did one of my closest friends and my greatest enemy—all hallucinations, of course. I've no idea why the Prince took such a fancy to pulling specters from my brain."

But wow, did it suck when Strange realized that none of them were real. Oh, it was a bit of a relief that the gentleman with hair the color of thistle-down was an illusion, but Norrell? Arabella? Those cut deep. And being with Arabella as he lost her again cut the deepest of them all.

A brief melancholy look flits across Strange's face as he pushes the thought back, trying to seem as bright and jovial as he normally is. "I've been working on magic to dispel enchantments. Something like that won't happen to me again."

"Damn. Yeah, that'd do it." Hallucinating people he cares about? Sounds like a shit deal, and even as objectively shitty as he feels right now, Lambert can manage a grimace of sympathy specifically for that. He can't exactlyr relate, since the only ghosts from his head the Prince could pull would mostly be comprised of the very objectively dead, but this is the sort of thing they warn people about when wraiths come into the equation.

Although he's tired, he isn't so tired that he's happy to take the bright tone at jovial value, and he narrows his eyes at the magician, frowning.

"Already? How long has it even been since the Prince got taken down?" His sense of time may be incredibly broken, here, but he's pretty sure not much more than two days have passed, at most. And Strange is already dreaming up new kinds of magic? He doesn't know what he should admire or despair at more: the dedication, or the expert channeling of emotion into a working frenzy.

Coping is for suckers. Still, Strange can't help but look a little guilty as he admits, "It's only been two days or so."

That guilt vanishes shortly after as another round of justifications starts back up again. Because yes, Strange knows that it's only been two days since the Prince got taken down and yes, Strange knows he should probably be resting and kind of trying to cope with the fact that he murdered a kid, but why do that when you can throw yourself headfirst into magic to serve as a distraction?

"I was wondering if the magic used to break the enchantment in the Hunt could be used to break the enchantment of this stone. Of course, I need to fine-tune the spell a bit before I test it. After all, it worked in the Hunt but it didn't work at the ball."

"What, you mean you'll kiss my knees better?" Lambert smirks, not in fact realizing that's exactly the track Strange has begun to take with his magic. "If the Ringmaster's magic couldn't turn it back, Strange, I don't think that will. Your lips aren't that magical."

Two days, and how many more days before that was Strange running on fumes (and apparently, turning into it)? Lambert's expression suggests this information doesn't impress him in the least, and he shakes his head at the magician. Still, knowing Strange is as reckless as ever gives him something else to think about other than himself.

Since he's getting a little tired of lying down, though, he shifts on the bed, grimacing as he gets his hands beside him and starts to straighten his arms so he can sit up. It jostles the sheet tucked over his legs, pulling it up enough to show that the stone's crept all the way up his leg -- no shock to Strange, who probably got a great big eyeful of it when he was a corpse, but Lambert grimaces and twitches the sheet down back over it anyway. He's not a modest man, but right now, he can't stand looking at them.

Strange is about to 'well, actually' Lambert and go off into a long nerdy rant about magic when Lambert adjusts the sheet and Strange gets another reminder of just how much the other man's turned to stone. For Lambert, someone who takes so much pride in his actions and what he can do, to be invalid like this must be akin to torture.

"It'll go away eventually," Strange says, with a little nod towards Lambert's legs. "I'll make certain of it." Even if he's got to figure out magic that he's never thought of before and smooch his lips bloody by kissing all that rock, Strange is bound and determined to find a way to help cure Lambert and the rest.

Lambert wouldn't express it in so many words, of course, but Strange is right: for at least a good few moments after realizing there wasn't going to be an easy fix to this problem, Lambert entertained a number of melodramatic thoughts about what he would have preferred to being this way. That isn't like him, though, and the will to survive and thrive despite the circumstances asserted itself eventually. Lambert's far too stubborn to lay down and die, no matter what -- but that also just means right now, there's a burning will to live currently trapped in a very broken body that he simply can't think into functionality. It isn't even doing the best job at staying awake.

"It's only been a few days," Lambert says, with a laugh that sounds genuinely awful given the state of his throat, and he has to cough a couple of times before he can continue. "That's nothing on how long he's had some of his people."

Why get worked up when he's objectively got a better shot of getting this fixed than some of those, who've had to deal with it longer?

Edited 2017-11-17 09:08 (UTC)

He can't help but give Lambert a bit of a Look at that 'few days' comment. Yes, it's technically true, but is that really the point?

"But I'm not talking about some of his people, am I," Strange points out, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Yes, other people were held for much longer, but they're not here. Right now, the people who are here are Lambert and Strange and if this is something Strange can fix, he's going to try his hardest to do so.

"Besides, even just a few days spent as prisoner under another fae is more harrowing than most realize." As he says that, Strange idly rubs at his mirrored wrist scratches, another nervous tic that he hasn't realized he's picked up.

You can't fix everything, Strange, is what Lambert would normally point out, except in this case -- yes. It's something he very much wishes Strange could fix. As it is, though, it's unlikely to be the case anytime soon.

Seeing Strange reach for his wrist makes Lambert raise his hand towards his chest reflexively -- onto to frown when his fingers meet empty air. In the wake of everything else, it's a stupidly petty concern, but after all that damn thing's survived...

"Did any of you get my shit back?"

Strange believes he can fix everything. Lambert's curse is no exception. He just needs time and effort.

At Lambert's question, Strange frowns a little before oh! Right! His necklace. He did pick it up and casually put it in one of his coat pockets but which one was it...there's a brief moment where Strange checks the pockets of the coat he's wearing, before sighing in relief. Strange can't help but look a bit smug as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out Lambert's witcher medallion.

"I asked around. I've no idea where your sword is but I've a feeling you'd want this back."

Reaching over towards Lambert, he offers the man his medallion.

The medallion and the shadow gem strung on the chain with it. It's still a beat or two or looking at the damn thing before Lambert reaches out to actually take it from Strange, holding it in the palm of his hand and letting it rest on his lap. He doesn't actually put it on yet, looking down at its metal snarl with an unreadable expression, before he glances up at the magician.

"Yeah, I guess after everything it's been through, it'd be stupid to lose it now. Thanks," he says, gruffly, setting it aside for now, still loosely grasping it in his fingers. As for the matter of his weapon, though...

"Peridot dropped the sword off earlier. She's had it since Sans and I went off the balcony. Did you know she could--" He wiggles his fingers, vaguely. "--move metal?"

Edited ( ) 2017-11-18 06:46 (UTC)

Strange can't help but look smug for a moment as Lambert takes the necklace. Hah, look at him! He saved the sentimental magic necklace, be proud of him! However, that smug expression soon fades into a gentle smile as Lambert looks up at him and thanks him.

"You're welcome," Strange says, with a little nod as an explanation. Though, as Lambert continues talking, that small smile fades into a confused frown. "Lambert, everyone can move metal. You just pick it up."

Strange straight up didn't understand that vague finger wiggle.

Lambert looks at Strange like he's an idiot.

"The sword's bigger than she is, Strange. Not with her hands. Her mind ... or something."

And Strange just gives Lambert a blank look. Of course, when encountering something he's not sure about, Strange's tendency is to ramble and bullshit like he knows what he's doing. And so, ramble and bullshit he does.

"Well there are some spells that use a nonverbal component. I've gotten good enough at the mirrors that I simply have to walk towards one in order to use it. Though nonverbal and no gestures is certainly interesting. I saw something like that in Portland, but I believe the term there was 'espers' instead—"

Just shut him up now.

This is, Lambert realizes, a very stupid conversation. His throat's beginning to hurt from having spoken so much, so although he's tired, he concentrates and clenches a fist. To Strange's magic eye, the spell flares briefly, magic that isn't of witcher origin briefly coalescing around Lambert's lap and resolving into a familiar, lithe shape.

"Hello again, Strange," Celandine says comfortably, sitting herself up to peer at him. Unlike the last time he saw her? In person, she looks sick, fur matted in clumps, and a stiffness to her motions, but her eyes are still bright and alert despite that when she regards him. The Prince's poison might wear away at soul, but Lambert's is as stubborn as he is about being kept down.

"You look like you need sleep more than we do." This isn't true, of course, but Lambert has actually been getting sleep, while Strange hasn't. There's a distinction to be made, there.

Thankfully, the summoning of Lambert's daemon causes Strange to shut up, mostly because he's distracted by the magic. It's the magic of Greysol, but there's a trace inside it that's unmistakably Lambert's. How interesting. Would all their magic look so hodge-podge by the end of their stay here?

"Hello Celandine," Strange answers. "And that's preposterous. I'm getting along just fine, there's no need for any more sleep."

There certainly is need for more sleep as Strange looks hilariously ragged. But he's scoffing like the idea of more sleep is out of the question. Besides, at least in Strange's mind, Lambert looks so much worse than he does. He can't talk for that long, he's petrified, his soul looks a bit ratty...although, come to think of it, there's another idea.

"I hate to be rude, Celandine, but you are symbolic. Would it change anything if I brushed out the mats in your fur?"

Oh good, the distraction worked. Lambert can lean back against the pillows and breathe easier for a bit, now that he doesn't have to talk -- though the trouble, of course, is that Celandine has a much more unfettered tendency to express his affections. Which, for Strange, he has plenty of.

The magician's question makes them both blink, however, and glance at one another.

Celandine looks back at Strange, her tail waving slowly. "We know you can harm someone through their daemon, but whether it works the other way ... John never touched me long enough to figure that out."

Strange's eyes light up with the spirit of intellectual curiosity. "Well, we shall have to try! This is the medical tent, there might be a comb somewhere..."

Why Strange thinks that there's a comb in the medical tent is anybody's guess. Though scientific inquiries into how the soul responds to brushies will be put on hold for a moment as Strange gets up to rummage through a nearby drawer in the hope that there'll be a comb in there.

"And Celandine, I know of at least three other people named John, you'll have to be specific."

"Doesn't matter," Lambert says before Celandine can chime in with anything more specific or incriminating than that, shooting her a warning look. She sniggers, but she'll settle, watching Strange rummage around with a cocked head.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" She asks, a bit skeptically. "Your hair's like a rat's nest, you know..."

"Just because I forget to brush my hair doesn't mean I don't know what a comb is." The rummaging and searching continues and unsurprisingly, Strange doesn't find a comb. But he does find a popsicle stick tongue depressor and okay, that'll work. There's a brief surge of magic in the room as Strange coaxes the thing to grow teeth like a comb has before he turns back to Celandine and Lambert.

"This should work." With a grin, he sits down at one of the chairs near Lambert's bed. "Come along Celandine, let's see if we can't work one of those mats out."

Soul brushies for the greater good.

Lambert looks more uncertain about this than Celandine does. The polecat seems more curious and open about it than apprehensive, tail waving slightly in anticipation while she watches him creepily grow teeth from that tongue depressor (cheating with magic, as usual, as Lambert can tell from the hum of his medallion).

"All right. I'll bite you if it hurts, though." It's a warning for both their sakes, really. She may be the best of Lambert's impulse control, but that doesn't mean she isn't prone to impulses of her own. Speaking of which--

"Don't move." She gathers herself up and leaps into his lap. The effect is immediate; Lambert sucks in a breath.

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