lostcarnival | ⇨ THE LUNAR SOLSTICE

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⇨ THE LUNAR SOLSTICE

Who: Everyone!
When: Winter Breaks: Day 6 - Day 25
Where: THE MOON
What: The carnival journeys to one of its moons to celebrate the Lunar Solstice. More information here.
Warnings: Winter fun.

MOON WALKING↴

The journey to the moon only takes a blink of an eye, but it leaves the carnival far away beneath you. The second moon can be seen on the peripheral, massive compared to its usual view. At least when the holidays start out, there will be no notable wildlife on the moon, though this is something you can talk to the Ringmaster about if you think it needs a change. It sounds like this is the first time she's used it in quite a while - it probably needs some dusting off!

Claim your cabins, and proceed to... well, do whatever you want! There is no rush and little obligation, besides to enjoy yourself. For real, this time. She promises there will be no vampires. Or, at least, none that don't already work for the carnival.

► CABINS: Living arrangements are character choice for this event, and there are a variety of cabins of various sizes, mostly built to house 2-6 people, though you can fit more in if you squish. They are all made of wood and of a rustic design - no fancy modern furniture, here! Each building is housed with a fireplace and the needed amenities. You can pick up materials to cook with the private kitchens if you like. Theoretically, you could spend the whole holiday sequestered away, watching the snow fall. Some of them also have outdoor hot tubs available!

► ACTIVITIES: Activities are mostly going to be character driven, though there will be some large group games like bingo and maybe a poker tournament happening at some point in one of the festival halls. Otherwise, there is a lot to offer: skiing, snowboarding, hiking, ice sculpting, snowball fights - it goes on! If you'd like to run a winter activity, just let the mods know, and we will get the word out there for you.

► FEASTING: Every day isn't a full-out feast because that would get a bit unhealthy, but there will be a number of specific feast events over the holidays where everyone is encouraged to let out their inner hedonist and stuff themselves. There will be one big feast per week, with smaller but also delicious meals offered in between. The feast dates will be B12, B18, and B24. There's also plenty of alcohol available for anyone who wants it.

► SHOPPING: As mentioned in the planning post, there is a massive market being run by the World Walker Caravan! The Ringmaster has given everyone 1250 credits to spend on items, but there is a caveat - must spend at least 500 of those credits on gifts for other people. And it better be a good one, if you only buy one! (She will ask that you do not buy her presents, however. She appreciates the sentiment, but it seems sort of silly buying her things with her own money! If you'd like to gift her, please have it be something more personal or handmade, but you are not obligated to get her anything at all.)

► TREATMENTS: The beginning of the holidays will also be about the time that the emergency Medical Team will have finalized their treatments for the Prince's poisoning. Watch out for further information on that - and make sure to get treated if you are suffering from petrification or poison induced illness! The holidays will be a lot more fun that way.

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Unsurprisingly, Lambert's been reluctant to participate in the festivities since their arrival. An aversion to cold weather (even if it really isn't that cold) and the pressing matter of his partial petrification are excellent reasons not to stray far from the cabin he's set himself up in (with no apparent roommate other than his chemistry setup, which Childermass has so generously shadowed up for him).

When Strange walks into the cabin a few days into their stay on the moon, there's a sharp, chemical smell in the air and Lambert's in the middle of jimmying a window open, swearing quietly under his breath. He doesn't look over at Strange, but he knows who it is, and he's already jerking his chin over to indicate the other side of the cabin.

"Can you get the other one?"

As soon as the chemical smell hits his nostrils, Strange can't help but wince. At least in his mind, this means that Lambert's never allowed to complain at him about the state of his room again because at least it doesn't smell like it will go up if someone lights a match.

No matter what, that window needs to be opened. So Strange walks over to the other side of the room and attempts to jimmy that window open himself, probably accidentally tracking some snow on the floor in the first place.

"Put on a coat," he tells Lambert, without really taking into account what the other man thinks about the whole situation. Thankfully, the window easily slides open. "We're going shopping. Or at least, we're leaving this cabin and letting the damn thing actually air out. You'll poison yourself even further at this rate."

The difference is, Lambert doesn't usually live where he works, but the nature of arrangements on the moon have made it more practical to keep things this way than otherwise. Lambert manages to sufficiently get his window open enough to stick his head out into crisp, cold air and suck in a few lungfuls of breath before what Strange says actually registers.

"Shopping?" he asks, a bit blankly, glancing over his shoulder to look at Strange with a quizzical expression. Tragically, he's already wearing at least three layers of clothing, though the extent of his petrification means pants have been an afterthought and so his stone legs just awkwardly stick out from under the tunics and cardigans he's bundled himself in.

"Shopping for what?" It's not like he wasn't listening to the Ringmaster's mandate or anything, but he arguably has had other things on his mind than worrying about where he's going to spend a bunch of money that isn't technically his own.

"For the other people at the carnival, of course." Really Lambert, what else would you be shopping for? "I've a feeling you'll need my help, especially with regards to Childermass."

That statement is just said so innocently. After all, at the moment Strange doesn't have any idea about Lambert and Childermass canoodling. It's just that wow, when he spies on the two, Childermass is off at Lambert's more often than he realized.

Strange keeps talking as he walks over to the chemical set in the middle of the room. Leaning over, he sniffs something that's currently brewing before he straight up sticks a finger in whatever alcoholic nonsense Lambert's trying to make.

"Besides, this place will go up if you light a match."

Hope Strange enjoys the vague sensation of his nose hairs curling back, because whatever was in that beaker is certainly potent enough for it.

"Hey!" Lambert snaps, the indignation of seeing Strange straight up stick his finger into a work-in-progress overriding the temporary speechlessness when Childermass comes up. "Keep your hands out of that!" What is it about being around Strange that makes him suddenly have to be the responsible one? Needless to say, he's coming around to push the magician away from the table, surer on his feet now that he's actually had time to get used to walking around but still slower and clumsier than he otherwise would be.

"I'll go, but stop touching shit," he snaps, swatting at his hand before he can do anything like, say, put it in his mouth, which is absolutely the next logical step in Strange's mind, probably.

At least with this point, there's a method to Strange's madness. If he keeps touching things and being a nuisance, then Lambert's either going to kick him out or drag him shopping himself. Either option will at least get him out of the trailer somewhat and keep him from huffing those alcohol fumes. So, as Lambert pushes him away from the table, Strange just smiles an ironic little smirk at the man.

"How long will it take you to get ready?" Strange asks, as he eyeballs one of the other beakers across the room. He's not doing anything yet, as Lambert's in the way, but he is looking at it in a suspicious manner.

And yeah, he was straight up going to put it in his mouth. And straight up does put the finger that he dipped in the beaker in his mouth, wincing slightly at the faint taste of alcohol still on his finger.

"If I don't have to keep telling you to leave things alone, thirty seconds," Lambert snaps waspishly. He's also not above playing the guilt card, given people here apparently actually care about that kind of thing, so he doesn't hesitate before adding, witheringly, "I know it must be fun being faster than me for once, but would it kill you to just wait?"

He's moving as he speaks, even then, tromping over to where the coat and boots he's been using up here have been set aside. From experience, it's easier to pull the boots on first, so that's what he does -- still resolutely pantsless, as that's an article of clothing incredibly pointless with his legs both turned to stone, though his clothes are long enough to avoid flashing his petrified ass at Strange while he walks around.

When he's finished, he straightens and nods at the magician, casting a critical eye over the rest of the place to make sure it's in order. "All right. Let's head out."

This is Jonathan Strange, it would totally kill him to wait. Still, somehow he manages, looking at Lambert's chemistry set-up (though not touching anything) as Lambert puts the coat and boots on. Once Lambert's even more bundled up, Strange walks over to the door and pushes it open. He's the more mobile one, he's the one who'll get doors and pick up dropped things and all that nonsense.

"So, have you even been able to look around at the shopping market in the first place?" Strange has: it's an ample distraction when he's getting nowhere with any sort of stone magic. And he's already spotted a few books he's going to buy for himself. But, he knows he's a lot more mobile than Lambert as is, so he suspects the answer is 'probably not.'

Strange is absolutely correct about that, as Lambert confirms after half a beat of staring at him opening the door before he decides huffing at Strange about it is an exercise in futility.

"No. Scout was talking about it over the radio, but that's all I know about it." He glances at Strange. Now there's a man who looks like he likes spending money, and a lot of it, so he suspects he's already had a chance to pick things over. Asking Strange if he's found anything good is a waste of time, Lambert suspects, because what Strange's idea of 'good' is pretty different from his own, so instead of that he's going to grin and say, slyly:

"Don't tell me you've spent all your money already."

"Of course not," Strange responds, with a roll of his eyes. "I'm good at sums. Ergo, I've made myself a budget."

Reaching into his pocket, Strange pulls out his notebook. Lambert's seen this notebook before, it's full of scribbles and bad drawings, but the page that Strange flips towards looks like it came out of a different notebook entirely. It's neat: a few tables of sums, each number identified with a letter and number besides it, (T1, L3, and so on). The handwriting is legible, the notation makes sense, the percentages are added up properly...this is a damn impressive budget.

Which Strange is just going to yammer about.

"We've a certain amount that must be used for purchasing presents for others. Likewise, items are discounted if you purchase gifts. Thankfully, it's just a round ten percent discount, and there's no taxes or change involved, my budget would take up the entire notebook if I something like a luxury tax or levy on paper products was involved."

Lambert squints at it, but it's all nonsense to him -- and huh. Would you look at that? Looks like someone kept something else from Portland after all, though it certainly isn't what Lambert expected him to.

"Is that how it works?" he asks, still grinning shittily, though he doesn't expect Strange to pick up on what exactly he's laughing about. The magician never does, when he starts going on about something or another... "Seems like a strange way to do business. How do they even know you aren't just buying the gifts for yourself?"

Strange absolutely doesn't pick up on what Lambert's laughing about. He fixes the other man with a confused frown before he continues talking.

"I don't know. I've talked with a few of the caravan employees but that topic of conversation never arose." And the only one he's extensively talked to ended with a conversation where Strange ended up getting hammered drunk and holding back Shimmer's hair as she puked. Not exactly a quality scene.

"I imagine there's some ambient magic of some sorts floating around to make certain people give what they say they'll give."

"Now that's a handy to spell to have," Lambert smirks. "Knowing when someone's trying to cheat you."

Still, given the Ringmaster's explicit instructions not to fuck with the Caravan, he's not going to get the chance to test the limits of any such spell -- if it exists. It could very well be a spell the Ringmaster placed on her workers herself, like the one she'd cast to give all of them a daemon. Even at Lambert's pace, it doesn't really take that long to get to where the caravan's set up shop, and he looks everything over with a critical eye, brows raised.

Even at a glance, he can already tell he doesn't recognize what at least half of this stuff is for, though some of it has the vague familiarity of objects from Portland. Some of it is just plain fantastical, making his medallion hum against his chest with magic. That seems to promise usefulness.

Strange also doesn't know what half of this stuff is. That's a computer, he used one in Portland, but it's a skinny computer? Cameras and printers also get overlooked as Strange finds himself focusing mostly on books, food and drink, and anything that he might actually buy for someone (which means that he's overlooking the weapons entirely. Very specific range of focus here.)

"Oh thank God," Strange says, with a little sigh to himself. "I've spotted clothing." This is something he knows! That's good! One of the stands set up a few stands down is full of clothing, all hanging on various racks and easily assembled shelves. Turning to Lambert, he gives the man a grin. "Shall we?"

Of course, that whole 'Lambert's legs don't work' problem might make it a bit difficult for Lambert to try on anything. But there seems to be some jaunty hats and nice coats that they can look at instead.

Perhaps predictably, Lambert's gaze lingers on the more obviously combat-oriented items -- the weapons and armor, some of which he recognizes, and some which he doesn't. When Strange calls for his attention, though, he rouses himself out of his distraction and joins him by the stall of clothes and accessories, most of it absurd.

"Don't you have enough clothes already?" See, in England, people actually seem to believe in having more than one outfit, unless you're Childermass. Lambert can't say the same -- the clothes he has in the Carnival are more than he's owned in years.

"Yes, but I need clothes that aren't blood-stained. A shirt was ruined during the Hunt, one pair of shoes was ruined after the Hunt, and an entire outfit was ruined thanks to Foster's undead rat monstrosities."

Now that's a story that Lambert will find amusing and Strange might tell later just to help lift his spirits somewhat. But at the moment, clothes. Strange tries on a jaunty steampunk hat, looks at himself in a mirror, frowns, then puts it back on the shelf.

"I'm going to look at prices before I buy anything, of course. But the way the budget's shaking out, I might be able to buy myself a nice set of clothing along what I've already decided to purchase."

"You just need to get better at laundry," Lambert fires back companionably. He gets his clothes covered in worse than blood and they get by fine; admittedly, it's also usually made of tougher stuff than just plain cloth, so maybe he shouldn't expect much there.

Still, since he's here anyway, he's also looking at things curiously. Some of it's familiar to his eye, some of it he knows he would have been likely to wear back in Portland, some of it is just ... plain bizarre. He completely tunes out Strange's prattle about budgeting to eye one of the bubble-encrusted bustiers with a shit-eating smirk, hooking a finger into it and holding it up to his chest while Strange's eyes are directed elsewhere.

"How about this?" He asks, innocently, cupping a hand over one very synthetic breast ... cup ... whatever this is. "I think it really flatters my figure, don't you?"

Edited 2017-12-03 06:15 (UTC)

Unsurprisingly, flimsy cloth can only do so much against blood and guts. Strange is about to retort something along those lines but oooh, a different hat! This one is very sci-fi and even dumber than the steampunk hat and it is going right on Strange's head as well.

He models for a moment in the mirror before turning around to look at Lambert and that...bubble covered thing. Strange bites down on his tongue to keep from laughing, but a small little snort of laughter manages to escape. That thing looks real silly and Lambert looks real silly holding it up to him.

"I know the carnival is devoid of women our age, but I didn't think you were that desperate!"

Why does a hat have to have lights on it? Probably the same reason someone decided it was a great idea to have crystal tits on clothes. Lambert feigns mock-offense, shaking his head.

"I'm not desperate, just adventurous. We can't all be married and happy with a rock that plays memories back." He puts the bustier back down, giving Strange a critical once-over.

"Not very magician-like." He grins, spotting a big ol' witch hat with a flopping brim, reaching over to flick it at Strange. "Here, how about this?" Because yeah, he's absolutely not taking this seriously. None of this is really stuff he'd seriously consider wearing, for the aforementioned 'probably just going to get fucked up by blood and guts' reasons, but his eyes look over the selection anyway, frowning slightly.

Taking the witch hat, Strange can't help but smile. Taking off the sci-fi hat, he puts on that floppy hat, curls peeking out from underneath it. He looks silly as hell but hey, that's the purpose of this sort of thing.

"Rocks can only do so much," Strange responds, with a little shrug. Yes, it's nice to be able to look at Arabella, but the rock isn't the real thing

When Lambert goes to look over the other clothes, Strange joins him. "Some of these aren't too bad. A few of them remind me of things I'd wear at home."

"Maybe they've got something for that here, too," Lambert smirks slightly. He's pretty sure he saw a sign for some kind of aphrodisiac and other substances before Strange pulled him over to the clothes -- and a sign primly telling customers they can inquire about more "adult" outfits by request.

"Some of it looks more like stuff from Portland." Which, if he sounds wistful about? It's because he traded away his decent (if thoroughly damaged from a run-in with Strange's ice-spikes) winter jacket in Greysol, and he wishes he had it right about now. There's a rack of coats in one corner, and he begins to browse through them, occasionally pulling one out to get a better look before shaking his head.

"You should get clothes for nightrunner work," he comments, distractedly. "Maybe then you'll stop wearing out your regular ones. Armor would be better, if you can find some light enough for you." Because no offense, he can tell Strange won't wear anything that's too much work to put on in the first place or too heavy to wear for long.

Edited 2017-12-03 22:15 (UTC)

"It wouldn't surprise me if they did," Strange responds, with an equally shithead grin. "They've got all sorts of products that are of a more adult nature." He knows there's a sign for some other substances. After all, he's been exploring the market more than Lambert and has already made a trip or two, he's already found the person selling that faerie weed—which he is straight up going to buy sometime during this shopping trip.

Strange just stays a bit silent thanks to that Portland comment. He still has his coat, still in one piece if a little charred from the Psionic's psionics. But why Lambert sounds oddly nostalgic about Portland is beyond him. Maybe he's just oddly nostalgic about heavy jackets (he hopes he's just oddly nostalgic about heavy jackets.)

The final comment though, causes Strange to let out a little bark of laughter. "I managed to survive the peninsula without any armor. I should be able to do the same here." At least, he hopes so.

"The peninsula didn't have fae, demons, or giant monsters," Lambert points out, missing Strange's silence entirely. It's easier to miss awkward pauses when you're not looking at a person and are doing something else, after all; he just assumes Strange is as distracted as he is.

"They might have clothes that ward against poison or magic, or something you could enchant," he goes on. Not that he knows the ins and outs of such things, but he has a vague idea that the concept's possible, at any rate. He finally looks up from what he's perusing, a heavy black coat whose material he's feeling through his fingers, to grin at Strange.

"Come on -- you're a fae carnival's magician now. Ordinary clothes just don't fit the part."

That's a valid point. Strange could point out that the peninsula had guns but then they'd be back and forth the rest of the evening about armor versus guns and guns verses demons and so on and so forth. But something that could be warded against magic...truth be told, most of Strange's problems had been magical ones instead of physical ones, getting shot aside. A piece of clothing to ward against illusions or mental compunctions could certainly be useful—though Strange has no idea how he'd even enchant that in the first place.

But, Lambert's suggesting something silly so best to focus on that. Strange looks up at him as well, matching that grin with one of his own. He's still wearing the dumb witch hat and idly flipping through a rack of sweaters in various levels of tacky.

"I have a performance outfit, you know." It's dark purple and slightly spangley. "But if you want me to wear clothes like that all the time, I'm afraid I'll pass—that is, unless you want me to leave a trail of glitter everywhere I walk."

"Well, you're a mercenary, not a scout. It's not like I expect you to be subtle. Maybe glitter's the best way to strike fear into the hearts of our enemies," he points out, mockingly. But he's sliding the jacket off the hanger now, beckoning Strange back to him.

"Here, try this on for size." It's a navy and gold and tragically fancy waistcoat that doesn't fit Strange's style at all, but that's not really the reason Lambert's asking him to model it. Still, he figures he can get a good laugh out of it.

wildcard: shopping and getting hiiigh

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WeYsTmIzjkw

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