lostcarnival | ⇨ THE LUNAR SOLSTICE

Entry tags:

⇨ 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I would be," Lambert agrees, "Because you'd get distracted by something else and forget about it if I left you alone." Strange is very good at remembering to do shit when it's relevant to his interests, but if it's not magic, the chances of it being left by the wayside are pretty fucking high.

It doesn't take long for the water to heat up and the tea to steep, and then Lambert ambles right back over with a glass of water for Strange. The fireball doesn't get even a blink,; the shining, multicolored smoke that starts to fill the air as he puffs on that joint? That's something else entirely.

"Nice light show," he comments, before nodding towards the living room -- or, well, the living room furniture that's been shoved over to one side to make room for the lab setup. "Come on, let's sit over there."

Because if he's babysitting Strange, he might as well do it lazing around o the comfort of a couch.

Edited 2017-12-12 21:18 (UTC)

Strange is also distracted by the multicolored smoke for a brief moment. That's unexpected. Pleasant, but unexpected. His distraction swaps back to Lambert as the witcher gestures to what passes for the living room. And really, sitting down on a couch while getting high sounds like an amazing idea. Better that than the floor.

"This stuff is more potent than I expected," he idly remarks as he walks over to the couch. Strange takes another puff from the joint as he sits down. "I don't think I'm going to fall apart right away, but everything feels a little odd already."

Or, at least, that's how it feels to Strange, the man who's still a bit of a lightweight but has done so much drugs. He knows how to recognize the symptoms and this certainly feels like a symptom. The couch is a great idea.

"Made to hit fast? Makes sense. Not much point in buying drugs from a world-traveling caravan if they're like something you could pick up anywhere else."

Lambert occupies the opposite end of the couch, putting the glass of water on the sidetable and cradling his tea in one hand. He'd pass it to Strange, but he has the distinct feeling the magician's about to get much less coordinated fast, and water splashing everywhere is just about the last thing he wants when the windows are open like this.

Still, for as much as he's anticipating having to peel Strange off the floor or deal with his prattling in a few minutes, he can admit walking around was a welcome break from being kept inside. He's been focused on the cure to the exception of all else, and the argument with Childermass -- if one can really call it that, as one-sided as it was -- only serving as encouragement to avoid people more. He's not sure whether he should be grateful that it happened after he'd already moved most of his setup to the moon, or annoyed that this means he'll have to inevitably ask him to move it back, and no telling if the magician still intends to avoid him then...

Strange takes another puff from the joint, mostly to look at the smoke he exhales. It is rather pretty. (Though, smart move keeping the water at a distance.)

"I do wonder which world they picked this stuff up from in the first place," he admits, as he leans back in the chair. "It's called faerie weed but does it..." And then Strange trails off, thought lost as he blinks sluggishly. Everything's starting to go a bit purple. And not a deep purple, like the purple his smoke turns. More like a lilac. Everything's starting to go a bit lilac, as if he's wearing sunglasses that are tinting everything that shade.

Entirely oblivious to Lambert's mental monologue about Childermass, Strange badly represses a little giggle. Would Lambert think this is funny? Strange hopes he would, as the magician thinks it's hilarious. So much so that Strange badly represses another giggle, visibly biting on the corner of his lip to keep himself from laughing.

Turns out the weed hits REAL fast.

Edited 2017-12-14 03:17 (UTC)

Strange trails off and starts tittering like a twat, which is enough to make Lambert look down with a sigh.

"They probably stuck it on just to make it sound more mystical. Would you have bought it if they only called it 'will fuck you up weed'?" He asks. It's Strange; for all the poor experiences with faerie he's had, one would think he'd run away from anything with "faerie" attached, Instead, he seems to constantly hurtle towards.

"What's so funny?"

Let's be real, this is Strange. He probably would have bought it anyway if they called it 'will fuck you up weed.'

Strange leans in slightly, as if going to tell Lambert a secret. All his movements are slightly slow and sluggish, as if moving too fast would cause him to fall over or something like that. He's also not getting up from his place on the couch, just trying to lean over without falling over. It's moderately successful.

"It's lilac," he whispers under his breath, before devolving into a fit of giggles. "Everything here's so purple! This is lovely, you know?" He's got a big ol'dopey stoner smile as he looks up at Lambert.

That's not too different from normal -- Strange is always slow and sluggish, as far as Lambert's perspective goes -- but he just shakes his head at Strange, snorting. As funny as it is to see him slightly loopy, it loses some of the luster when he thinks about how annoying it is he can't just cut loose and enjoy getting high, too.

"You've been all about purple these days," he observes out loud. "Don't turn into smoke and get mixed up with the weed. Last thing we need is to get anyone high breathing you."

Edited 2017-12-14 15:57 (UTC)

"You'd be poisoned if you breathed me in," Strange remarks, as if he's pointing out the obvious. Because he would. Even Lambert with his odd witcher...witcherness might have a hard time surviving a face full of poison smoke. Maybe. Strange isn't so sure (and doesn't really want to try).

He sways forward slightly before just falling to the side, head landing on Lambert's shoulder. This is somehow the funniest thing in the world and Strange gets another fit of the giggles. This is also unfortunately the time when the weed starts to make Strange's magic go a bit haywire. Without him realizing it, the temperature in the room starts to slowly creep up.

"What if," pause while he readjusts his head so he's not speaking directly into Lambert's shoulder, "What if I turned to smoke and then in turning back, I absorbed some of the smoke from the cannabis? Would that make me really high?"

Edited 2017-12-14 17:14 (UTC)

"With your luck? You'd be more likely to become weed. Then we'd have a whole set of other problems," Lambert answers matter of factly, not really thinking about it. Fortunately for Strange, he manages not to catch himself on a horn thunking down on Lambert like that, and the witcher's shoulder is well-padded.

Said padding is also the reason Lambert doesn't immediately catch onto the rising temperature... though his medallion catches on to the use of magic readily enough. He frowns, looking down at the top of Strange's head, and nudges him in the side.

"No magic while you're on drugs. You have a hard enough time keeping things subtle when you're sober as it is."

...holy shit, he could turn into weed in the first place?! Strange just gawps for a moment, remaining silent, as his mind thinks of all sorts of things he could do if he was turned into weed. That would be so friggen cool. But, it also would be so much trouble. How many fae would want to enthrall him if he was weed? A powerful magician was bait enough, but a powerful magician who also was drugs? No thank you.

Unfortunately for Lambert, Strange doesn't realize he's doing magic. The temperature stabilizes at something that's a little bit uncomfortably hot. He's still leaning on Lambert's shoulder, though Strange tilts his head slightly to get a better view of Lambert's chest.

"I'm perfectly subtle," Strange remarks, blinking sluggishly. "And why no magic? You know how powerful I am, a little thing like a high won't change anything. I could even remove those needles from your heart if you wished."

Because obviously Lambert has needles in his heart. They seem as clear as day to Strange! Though, the needles themselves are odd. Sometimes they seem like regular sewing needles but occasionally, if he tilts his head in a different direction, they look more like pine needles.

"You are powerful. Too powerful. That's the point," Lambert snorts. "Don't blow off the top of the cabin unless you're also volunteering to put it back or move all my shit to a new one."

Crap, that sounds like a challenge. Hopefully, Strange doesn't take it that way. The bit about the needles in his heart has him frowning and glancing down at ... nothing, obviously. The temperature is significantly harder to miss -- less sensitive to heat Lambert may be these days, he's sensitive to chill, and the sudden lack of it makes his ears prick up, swiveling warily.

"I think I'd notice if I had needles stuck in me, Strange," he says finally. "Why are you warming it up in here?"

"I'm not warming anything up," Strange responds, as if it's obvious. The temperature remains consistently hot as Strange slowly moves his head off of Lambert to get a better look at his chest. He thinks he'd notice the needles, how ridiculous. It's probably one of those things only visible when one is impaired, like faeries were back home.

"You say you'd notice but you wouldn't. The candle in your head, the needles in your heart...I think I will remove them. Not the candle, of course, but the needles. After all, I am too powerful."

Now (mostly) upright, Strange takes another drag from the joint. A moment later, he places his hands in front of him like he's about to do magic.

"Trust me, you're warming things up," Lambert grunts. The rest of it -- candles in heads, needles in hearts -- is easily ignored as more mad rambling, at least until Strange starts moving his hands around.

"Hey," Lambert says sharply, twisting around to grab Strange's wrists ... one of them, anyway. Their current positions make it a bit hard to grab both. "What did I just say? No magic!"

Normally he'd be all for it, but normally his decision making would be just a sign impaired as Strange's. Being the sober friend is distressing. Lambert wonders if this is what it feels like to be Childermass all the time.

Strange gives Lambert a big, dopey grin, not really caring that he's got a grip on his wrist. Wavering slightly he points a very dramatic finger at Lambert's chest. There's a small pause before Strange continues with, "Abracadabra!"

Nothing happens, this is just Strange being an ass and making Lambert worry a bit. This is apparently absolutely hilarious to Strange because he breaks down into a fit of giggles that lasts a good thirty seconds. Once that giggle fit is finished, however, Strange doesn't really do anything. Instead, he leans against the back of the couch, staring seemingly off into nothing but in reality, staring at the shade of purple that he thinks everything is. It's going a bit pinkish and Strange desperately wants to watch.

At least Lambert's getting a bit of quiet to change the conversation as he wishes before another round of bullshit starts up again.

As soon as Lambert realizes he's just being fucked with, he narrows his eyes and lets Strange go, shoving him back to titter to himself on the couch. This is his just reward for offering to babysit, he mentally grumbles. See if he ever volunteers to chaperone Strange through his drug trips again (he probably will, because against all odds, he's actually attached to this idiot).

"Is this just something you do all the time, back home?" he asks on a sigh. Strange has certainly referenced imbibing questionable substances enough that it seems likely. "I thought England was supposed to be pretty uptight. No laws against drugging yourself up seems like an oversight."

Even in Temeria, there were rules. No peddling fisstech on the streets. Never stopped people from buying it, of course, but it wasn't just something you could buy from a caravan, and everything he's heard about England suggests Strange's current state of mind wouldn't exactly be looked on with approval.

The idea of him getting high, taking drugs, being this version of himself in England is enough to make Strange grin like a madman. What an attack on the respectability of English magic! What an affront on everything Norrell was trying to make magic become! It's a grand idea until Strange realizes that no, it really isn't.

"I did this in Venice," Strange answers, the most coherently he's been in this entire conversation. "After I thought Arabella dead, I wanted to make myself mad in order to see a faerie and entreat one to bring her back. I tried powders and potions and plants until I found the secret to real madness."

And that right there explains so much. No, this isn't something he did all the time back home. This was just the actions of a desperate man, willing to try anything and break himself in new and exciting ways to bring his wife back from the dead. Strange slumps to the side again, staring off at nothing. He attempts to rest his head on Lambert's shoulder but just misses entirely and plop, there goes his head, right in Lambert's lap. This is hilarious and Strange badly represses a giggle. Though, he thinks he knows what Lambert's next question will be so, through the giggles, Strange continues.

"I didn't have anyone to stop me in Venice. And if I did, I'm not sure if they even would."

Edited 2017-12-21 03:44 (UTC)

It's a sad, quiet sort of admission, one that even keeps Lambert from rolling his eyes as they once again get to Strange's favorite topic -- his wife. However, Lambert can't help wincing as Strange's head lands in his lap, because even under layers of kimono and cloth, guess what? He's literally rock-hard, and he hopes the stupid giggle isn't a symptom of a concussion and shakes his head.

"People do the stupidest things for love," he tells Strange. Brave and admirable in their own way, yes, but mostly? Mostly stupid. He sounds more fond than excoriating for a change, so that ought to be a pleasant surprise. There are few constants in the world, but Strange being an absolute idiot for Arabella is one of them.

"Besides, what do you mean there was nobody to stop you? You had to have some friends to save you from yourself." Strange can't have been as much of a friendless loser as Lambert was. Magicians seemed, if not particularly rooted in reality, at least more popular than witchers and even Lambert had someone who'd mark his absence.

Strange rolls over to look at Lambert. He's not moving his head from the other man's lap, not because it's particularly comfy (spoilers: it isn't!) but because he feels like his head is full of rocks and if he tries to move it, all the rocks will fall out. Which obviously isn't good, though Strange isn't entirely sure why it's not good.

"I had some friends eventually." There was Flora. Wonderful Flora, who didn't abandon him even after he was cursed, who he trusted to play her part perfectly and she did. But she only showed up later, after he was already on the road to ruin. "But not in the beginning. I was a fugitive surrounded by vile rumors who fled to the continenet. What few friends I had wouldn't dare associate with me."

Surprise, turns out he was just as much a friendless loser as Lambert was. It's all said in a bit of a matter of fact tone as Strange blinks rapidly, trying to see if that'll turn the shade of pink he sees everything as back to that lovely purple it was earlier.

The witcher takes this in far poorer humor than Strange.

"If rumors were enough to keep them away then they were pretty shitty friends," Lambert says sharply, which poor Strange and his head full of rocks probably aren't going to appreciate it.

Of course, for Lambert who barely has social stature to lose in the first place, friendship is more precious than reputation. For the rare, precious few that Lambert counts his friends, there are few things he wouldn't do, and he certainly wasn't going to let a stupid thing like rumors keep him away from one who needed him. Even if they didn't ask for it -- especially if they didn't ask for it.

"England's full of some fucking stupid rules."

Strange frowns, trying to piece out a reply through the rocks banging together in his head. Some of his friends at least tried. Grant, bless him, was the one who actually gave a bit of a shit about Strange and tried to understand his actions. But it was different in England. And Strange has a feeling Lambert doesn't know just how terrible those rumors were.

He's not arguing the fact that England's full of dumb rules, though. Lambert's right in that part.

"You weren't there for the rumors. There were rumors of the black magic I cast in the peninsula. Rumors that I was the one who killed Arabella." There's something tremendously funny about that to Strange. He starts to giggle again, biting down on the inside of his lip to keep from outright laughing. Because him, killing Arabella? How ridiculous. "I don't think they wanted me to know but what I didn't hear, the darkness whispered to me."

"Nobody who knew you for longer than five minutes could ever believe you'd kill your wife," Lambert answers flatly. "You'd kill yourself first."

From the sound of it, at the very least, he tried to kill himself trying to get her back, and even if he accidentally killed Arabella it would be much the same. It's not as though Lambert is a stranger to the idea of rumors being enough provocation to murder, after all -- that's one of the reasons the School of the Wolf is dying out -- but all the same...

"Does it really matter that much in England? Being respectable, no matter who you are?"

Strange attempts to shrug, a movement which looks odd considering he's still lying down on Lambert's lap. "It depends on your status."

For all of a crazy drugged out wizard he is, Strange is also upper class. Ergo he has a lot of upper class friends. Ergo said upper class friends would think twice before doing something that might upset the social order or challenge their place. Strange doesn't really judge them. It's just how it is.

"And it matters if you're the king's magician. I was important ergo I had a higher status ergo people wanted me and my associates to be seen as respectable." Which obviously didn't happen. Strange's eyes grow wide as a manic grin plants itself on his face.

"I doubt they knew what to do with me. I think some of them were scared of what I've become!" And he can't help but giggle again before he takes another puff from the joint, taking care not to blow smoke near Lambert's face.

Lambert can't really picture being scared of Strange, but he supposes it's just the same idea behind what makes people so scared of magic users to begin with. Respect and deference when you were above them and in favor, quick to turn around and bite once you fell out of it. Politics, he thinks with no small amount of disgust, and shakes his head.

"Should have given them something to really be scandalized about," he tells him instead. "If you can't stop rumors, you might as well spread your own. Consorted with devils, took a man for a lover, started wearing the unfashionable colors..." There are so many things the aristocracy could get worked up about that trying to even begin to put a comprehensive list together is sort of impossible.

Lambert's suggestions cause Strange to giggle some more. It's the harmless giggle of someone who is blazed out of their mind but finds this dumbness enjoyable as hell.

"And nobody who knew me for longer than five minutes could ever believer I would take a male lover," Strange responds, in a matter of fact tone of voice. He's super straight! Strange is aware of that. Hell, even in Portland he was still kind of hilariously straight, unlike Mr. Secret Boyfriend over there. Though, the thought of Portland causes Strange to frown a bit as he looks at the ceiling before he continues to charge the conversation forwards and talk about kissing dudes.

"Besides, who would they say I'd take up to begin with?" Strange asks, despite the fact that Lambert can count on one hand the number of people he's met from Strange's world. "It'd have to be a believable choice and I honestly can't think of anyone in England who would fit it."

There's an uncomfortable prickle of warmth up the back of Lambert's neck, recognizing the thin ice the conversation is heading towards, but it's almost immediately met by stubborn defiance. Childermass had only ever asked him to avoid telling Strange their awkwardly unconsummated dalliance in Portland wasn't so unconsummated anymore, even if Lambert didn't know what to call it now. And Childermass is a bastard who ran out on Lambert for some perceived offense before he could yell at him to his satisfaction, so Lambert isn't feeling particularly generous towards him right now.

So yeah, they're going down this topic, since Strange has latched onto it. Lambert is just going to have to count on that unbelievable straightness to keep him oblivious.

"So there are standards even for rumors in England, too?" Lambert asks, with a laziness he doesn't feel. "Go on then. What would make it believable?"

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