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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Strange sounds like he could be talking about Childermass, Lambert almost jokes, but doesn't. Because as stupid as hell as Strange is acting now, as clearly moonstruck as he is, there's something in those words that hit uncomfortably close to home. Lambert's never given much thought to what kind of person he wants as a partner -- hell, he's never even entertained the possibility-- but the way Strange is talking about Arabella right now, it's almost something to envy. Though part of him wonders if it's worse: to never find someone who fit you that way, or find someone who matches that description entirely, only to have them torn from you.

He looks around them almost guiltily, at the room that's too warm and the open windows, like he half-expects to see a judgmental bird sitting on the windowsill listening in on this stupid conversation and reading Lambert's mind.

"You didn't say they needed to be a woman," is the joke he lands on instead, though the humor's a bit weak. "So that's not a dealbreaker."

Edited 2017-12-22 04:31 (UTC)

He didn't? Huh! He didn't! Strange frowns in concentration before shrugging slightly, deciding then and there that mulling over his sexuality is dumb because he is married and there's many more interesting things to focus on; one of which is Lambert's ceiling, which is flashing different colors, of all things. From pink to purple to this odd greenish shade and so on and so forth. "I suppose that's right," he muses, tilting his head to try and get a better view of the ceiling.

"It's a pity my England wasn't as open-minded as some of the worlds we visit are. I might have ended up wooing a man before I met Arabella!" Because of course he was going to end up with Arabella. Strange isn't certain he believes in soulmates or any of that bunk but if they were in the same world together and if they met at the right time, then of course he would end up with Arabella, that's simply a given.

"It's not?" Lambert asks, brows raised. Oh, Childermass had said there were laws against men being with men, but to hear Strange speak with such flippancy ... he can't tell if it's the drugs or if it's just Strange. Still, best not to give away too much of what he might or might not already know about England's tolerance or lack thereof, even if Strange already seems distracted enough.

"Not like most people cared for it back home," he says after a moment, frowning at a corner of the room. Strange may have his odd visions to amuse himself; Lambert only has cold reality. "Some places they'll turn a blind eye as long as you're not doing it in the street. Other places they'll chase you out and beat you for it. Is England better or worse than that?"

Edited 2017-12-22 05:18 (UTC)

Oblivious as always, Strange doesn't really see anything suspicious in Lambert's line of questioning. Instead, he tilts his head, leaning off the couch slightly to get a better view of the ceiling as he continues talking.

"There's certainly laws against that sort of thing," Strange explains, with a little shrug, "and I imagine it's easier if you're rich enough to leave the country for a month or two once the rumors start to spread." His tone is amazingly nonchalant: Strange doesn't really seem to care and is relating this in a matter of fact sort of tone. And truth be told, considering he doesn't really know anyone who was charged with sodomy, that makes it easier for Strange to talk about this all in hypotheticals.

"I suppose it's a mix of your two scenarios. After all, I haven't a clue how individual families would react. Although," and here Strange giggles a bit, "England's currently facing a greater number of problems than who's fucking who. I'd like to think things might change."

Not just for those who fancied the same gender, but for the women and poor men as well. Magic could be (and should be!) a unifier. But would it? He doesn't know.

The giggling should be a good sign, proof that Strange probably isn't going to remember this question in more than just disjointed pieces later, but it makes Lambert's lips tighten all the same. It's what puts a bit more steel in his voice when he answers.

"How would you react?" he challenges. "You said it yourself, nobody even wanted to risk being seen with you over some rumors. Would you turn your back on a friend for the same?"

This is about as real subtle as 'I have a friend...' but it's Lambert, after all, so he's past caring.

"Absolutely not," Strange replies, without hesitation. He can tell that for some reason, this is very important to Lambert, so Strange is trying his hardest to push back the lethargy he gets when he's high and focus on Lambert's question here and now. Don't stare at the ceiling, actually answer this.

"The only reason I was able to save Arabella was because people trusted me and helped me out despite the rumors and misgivings. I'd be a hypocrite if if I didn't do the same." There's a pause, before Strange continues, leaning in towards Lambert like he's going to tell the man a secret.

"And on just a personal level, I really don't care," he mock-whispers. "As long as someone's happy, that's what matters the most."

Unsurprisingly, Jonathan Strange is a huge romantic.

Slightly pacified by the answer, Lambert settles down, not even realizing he'd bristled or leaned forward in the first place. Unfortunately, that also leaves room for the embarrassment to creep in and he averts his gaze from Strange, annoyed at his own inability to keep his own responses in check.

"Good," is what he settles on instead, finally. It is a romantic sentiment, befitting Strange, but the less they dwell on this, the better. Still, at least it eases some of the weight he wasn't even aware he was carrying, making it a little easier to square his shoulders.

... but now it's probably best to change the topic. He shakes his head slightly, prodding Strange's shoulder.

"You should have some water," he prompts.

"Naaah," Strange responds, with a shake of his head. "I'm hungry, not thirsty." And wow is he hungry. Did Lambert have food here? Was there something he could eat? He wanted corn chips, he really wanted corn chips, they had those occasionally in the dining hall, something called Fritos and Strange feels he could devour an entire bag of those right now.

While Lambert thinks that they shouldn't dwell on it, Strange does dwell on it a moment. Why was Lambert asking these questions? It was obviously personal...ah. Strange has an idea. "You know that we're dear friends," Strange remarks, looking up at Lambert. "If you like men, then I'll tease you and try to set you up with a potential someone just as I would if you like women. You've stuck by me through all of this," said with a vague hand gesture, "I wouldn't abandon you that easily."

That moment of insight is ruined seconds later as Strange, in an attempt to sit up, straight up falls off the couch onto the floor with a thud. He can't help but bust into another fit of giggles.

"I like both, actually." Lambert's lip twitches slightly, but his response is bland, the slight flush to his cheeks the only betrayal of his own discomfiture. It wasn't really him he was asking for -- he'd told Childermass he had a poor measure of Jonathan Strange if he thought he was likely to cut someone off over what they stuck their dick in -- but there's no way to say that without betraying the confidence he'd promised to keep.

And there goes Strange, rolling off his lap and landing fairly hard. Lambert winces, reaching down to hook his hands under Strange's armpits and haul him up until he's at least got his back propped against the couch.

"And I don't need you setting me up with anyone, man or woman." Jonathan Strange is many things, but a capable matchmaker? Lambert doubts it. "If you're hungry, there's food in the kitchen, but I'm not carrying you there." There are limits to friendship, okay.

It's like moving a rag doll or a sack of potatoes as Lambert yanks Strange back over towards the couch. Once propped up, Strange looks up at Lambert, with a grin still giggling slightly. He doesn't need to set him up with anyone yeah right. Lambert's totally gonna get set up with someone. Strange just doesn't know who yet or how he's going to do it.

But, Lambert's his friend and Lambert deserves to be happy so let's find him a boyfriend! Or a one night stand. Strange isn't picky.

And ooh, food, that's doing a good job distracting him from Operation Get Lambert a Fuck. "What kind of food is in there?" And can he eat it? He's going to eat it, even if it's slightly nasty or out of date.

The idea of Strange being remotely involved in any attempt to get Lambert laid is a wince inducing one. Much like Strange can't imagine them being partners, Lambert can't imagine him being any sort of matchmaker, and he certainly can't give Lambert any of the charisma that might have played any part in him getting married. Worse, Lambert dreads what sort of personality Strange may decide Lambert needs or wants in a potential hookup. His actual hookup is already complicated enough, and if he's honest with himself, is probably out of his league, too.

Thankfully, though, Strange takes the bait towards lighter conversation, something less uncomfortable than needles that may or may not be in his heart.

"Nuts," he says after a moment to think it over. He's been eating without really looking at what he's putting in his mouth, these days. "Jerky. Bread. Half a chicken pie. One of those nut pies." Pecans. He's talking about pecans.

Oh thank god, none of it sounds like fruit. Bread and nuts, good solid food. Very slowly, Strange gets to his feet, pushing himself off of the floor. He turns to look over at Lambert for a moment, narrowing his eyes because hmm those needles are still there, jutting out of his chest for Strange to see. He's swaying slightly, completely unable to stand totally still, but he stares at Lambert's chest for an uncomfortable few moments before deciding that this'll be fixed later, time for food now.

"The rocks in my head seem to have lightened," he casually remarks, as if Lambert will somehow have a goddamn clue what he's talking about. "So I think I'll have some bread." He looks down at the joint in his hand: it's stopped burning, but the end smolders slightly. Strange takes one more puff of it for good luck before deciding yeah, this thing's probably done, Lambert would just fuss at him if he lights it up again. But he can't hold it while he makes himself food...

Obviously the solution is to offer Lambert the joint—which he does. There's a proud smile on his face, like the sort cats get when they bring in dead animal parts and obviously expect their owners to be proud of them. Look! You've got the joint now! Isn't that amazing?

And if he wasn't wary of the effect being poisoned like this has on his magic, or how else faerie weed could interact with faerie poison, Lambert would honestly probably have snuck a puff off the joint instead ... but instead, he snorts.

"Is this supposed to be in exchange for feeding you? No thanks." He shakes his head before leaning forward and plopping the mostly-used-up joint into the ashtray someone's thoughtfully left on the coffee table.

Now that he's free, he pushes himself to his feet as well, heading past Strange and to the kitchen to retrieving a half-eaten raisin-and-nut-studded loaf of bread wrapped in wax paper. It smells strongly of cinnamon as he unwraps it, but only faintly of sugar. He offers it to Strange, wherever he is -- if he's followed him to the kitchen or stayed where he is, staring at ... whatever the fuck. Lambert's chest, for some reason.

Edited 2017-12-28 15:42 (UTC)

For all of Lambert's 'I'm not carrying you to the kitchen, go feed yourself', Strange can't help but notice that Lambert's going to the kitchen as well. It could be because the man's hungry. It could be because he doesn't trust Strange rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. Or, and this is what Strange believes, it could be because for all of his grumpiness and gruffness, Lambert's secretly a huge pushover. A wry little smile plays on Strange's face as he slowly walks over to the kitchen as well.

One of the solutions in Lambert's chemistry lab starts bubbling: another sign of the weed acting up with Strange's magic and another thing that Strange completely ignores because ooh, bread, that smells amazing.

"You're too kind to me," Strange simply states in a matter of fact tone of voice, as he reaches over to take a slice of that bread. He takes a bite...and okay, this is really good, the rest of the slice of his bread almost instantly gets shoved in Strange's mouth. He's already reaching for another slice as he chews the first one.

Lambert is absolutely a pushover.

"I know," Lambert grumbles, though he adds a bit sharply, "Don't eat here. You'll ruin all the work I've done." And with that he's pushing Strange right on back through to the living room again, both of them winding up on the couch in a similar configuration to their earlier positions.

Once they're settled in, Lambert presses more water on Strange lest he get dehydrated and regret it later. Then he frowns, realizing something for perhaps the first time, if only because they've been in close enough proximity for him to realize...

"So since your eyes are made of mirror now, do you even get dry eyes anymore?"

Strange lets himself get pushed back to the living room and drinks the water without complaining. Yes mom, he'll take care of himself mom, he's got this mom. He's laying back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling as Lambert points out the obvious.

"I don't think I do," Strange muses. "I can cry, but I don't think I get dry eyes." He continues the logical train of thought: does that mean he doesn't need to blink?

"I'm going to try not to blink," Strange announces, as he looks up at the ceiling...and then continues to stare at the ceiling. He's not blinking, something which gets more and more unnerving the longer he does it.

And this is how Strange rides out his high: staring at the ceiling and looking at various hallucinations.

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⇨ THE LUNAR SOLSTICE

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cw for period-appropriate homophobia

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