lostcarnival | ⇨ SHOW'S OVER

Entry tags:

⇨ SHOW'S OVER

Who: Everyone who DIDN’T get caught up in CY-Ren’s music, D13-D14.
When: D13-D15
Where: Wismuth, the Carnival
What: Recovering, taking stock, and trying to figure out where to go from here.
Warnings: ? ? ?

FALLEN STARS↴

► AFTERMATH: After the culmination of the confrontation between Noa and CY-Ren — as much as it can be called one, since it ends with the Guardian being flung off the stage — the arena returns to darkness. After a few seconds of silence, the backup lighting sputters on, but instead of music a loudspeaker begins to blare loudly:

ATTENTION, FANTASIA FESTIVAL ATTENDANTS. DUE TO AN EMERGENCY, WE WILL BE EVACUATING THE VENUE. PLEASE FOLLOW STAFF DIRECTIONS AND PROCEED TO THE NEAREST EXIT. THANK YOU.

The pleasant, automated woman’s voice begins to play on loop as the concertgoers, snapped out of their trance, look at each other in confusion. The Void creatures that had come out at CY-Ren’s command are nowhere to be seen now, and neither is the singer herself.

Wismuth police officers, though they look as uncertain and dazed as half the audience seems to be, break up the crowd and directing them to file out of the Fantasia Festival’s exits. It’s easy enough for Carnival members to slip away, though as they go through the crowd they’ll hear the festivalgoers discussing anything but the sight of Guardian and Harbinger in combat, much less people being dragged into shadows…

“Right in the middle of CY-Ren’s set, too! Aren’t they supposed to check the wiring on these things?”

“I paid to go to a concert, not a fire drill! I’d better get a refund!”

“They didn’t have to shut the whole place down—"

In the chaos and flow of people, it’ll be hard for Carnival workers to keep track of each other, but one thing is clear: they can’t stay here.

► HOME AGAIN, HOME AGAIN: The would-be saboteurs and those who’ve stayed behind have a chance to meet up again once they get back to the Carnival’s grounds. However, what exactly happened back there is unclear — and the one who might have answers is still unconscious from her brief altercation with the Harbinger. Still, there’s no shortage of things to do: after all, once they get back, it’s obvious there are more than a few missing faces.

► HEADLINES: Anyone who ventures to Wismuth in the days after the festival will find something peculiar: all news about the incident at the festival has been written off as a freak fire from some faulty wiring or a potential incendiary device, which reporters say police are ‘investigating the cause of’ and which some of the more sensational news sites are already having a field day with (based on rumors and hearsay the venue may have received a bomb threat). Most entertainment sites and social media coverage of the event only include blurry clips with captions like ‘tmw you fucked up the only vid you have of cy-ren’s concert 😭fml' and generally agree that it's a pity she never got past a second song.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Foster had actually ditched Ginko to go back to the venue once he was safe, and has spent a great deal of time picking over the wreckage and accosting anyone still around to grill them about what they saw and/or felt.

He's somewhat dishevelled-looking, even for him, but that may just be the consequence of Zangetsu's (fairly smart) decision to yank him around by the hair in lieu of any available reins. He's actually carrying a bit of the stage in one hand, looking deep in thought.

He's so distracted that Tyki's gesture almost results in a car door to the face--he stares blankly at it for a good long second before raising his eyes to Tyki himself.

He was not expecting to see him again, especially not so soon. Or like this.

He blinks very slowly, the corners of his mouth tight and dour--like he's disapproving of something.

Glances at the driver's seat.

Looks back at Tyki.

Whatever furrow there was in his brow is gone now.

"Did you put a gun to his head?" he asks, laconically.

In Tyki's personal opinion Foster always looks like he's a mess. He lowers one brow at the piece of stage he's carrying and then down towards the rest of him to assess any injuries. He's unaware of the fact he wandered back in but this is the second time he has chosen to round him up and coral him somewhere. There's a moment where he has to consider if he's making the right choice and he'll look back up towards that odd looking mug with a snort.

"I don't really like guns," he begins with a tone that betrays his honest opinion only because it was impersonal and cheap. He had to admit they were effective and he has never been on the brunt end of one, "But there are other methods that ensure he's quiet and complacent."

To which is fingers will raise lightly to let a Tease flit onto the tips of them, "Just get in the damned car before I drag you in here myself."

Foster absorbs that information without much change in expression--but he does absorb it. Believe it or not, Tyki, that's the kind of personal detail Foster actually finds interesting--not where you came from or whatever the hell else you're hiding behind that smile.

But Foster's pause is still present, and it's because of the car.

It's been a long, long time since Foster has been in a car. Over six months, actually. He's never driven one--he has no license for identification reasons, and wouldn't be able to pass the test anyway--but it's still sort of a jarring realisation that he hasn't even been in one in... how many months? Six? Eight?

Mmmm. Well. Things have... become different. And yet--

Not very different at all. He flashes Tyki a smile.

"Think I'll fit?" he asks more or less rhetorically, before climbing inside.

Good(?) news: he fits.

There's not a lot he could do if he was hurt other than maybe push skin together awkwardly but then he was no doctor so he's thankful at least that Foster seems relatively unharmed. It doesn't stop him from leaning over the plush seats and sliding his hand down it as he moves back to give him room to climb in.

Because he's right as to the size and he's quiet as he judges that over for a minute. He might have to help with his power and in all honesty he doesn't exactly want to touch Foster unless he has to. It's not repulsion as much as it was just a distinct want to not touch him at all. Either way, he's not going to clean up any mess he might leave behind. He could pay someone to do that.

"Probably," he replies lazily as he scoots over enough to get him room and then gestures for him to sit somewhere opposite of him if he can. It's enough room to sit comfortable with two sets of double seats sitting opposite of each other. "Otherwise I'll have to tie you to the roof and it'll raise a lot of questions I don't want to answer."

The good news is that Foster really does fit inside.

A good portion of that is the glamour, most likely, but if he were the complaining type, he could very honestly say he's not as comfortable as he might look. Horses aren't small animals. Neither are bears. The boundaries of the glamour spell contain his physical mass for outsiders' benefit, but Foster himself feels squeezed and contorted, with no clear definition--mentally or physically--to where his limbs actually are, let alone his torso or how his skeleton accommodated this space.

It is simultaneously quite painful and fully desensitising, and Foster is effectively suspended between the two, which is about as close as he's ever come to realising the physical equivalent of his regular mental state.

He feels like he can't breathe. Or maybe he doesn't need to? His lungs aren't there--how many lungs did he even have? Maybe it didn't matter, because they were rotting now, rotten now--decomposing, decaying, dissolving into a frothing mass of blood and pus and autolytic fluid, there's no need for breath now, only...!

Without a word, he slides down and sits on the floor.

That's... a little better.

"Magic," he says, both facetiously and by way of explanation.

He was serious about not wanting to explain things but as Foster makes his way into the car he has to absently reach over to shut the door for him. It takes effort considering he doesn't want to press his face into various parts of him but the door clicks shut with some effort.

He's aware as well he's gained the attention of the driver and he'll make a face of displeasure and gesture with his fingers for him to turn his eyes back around. Their contract is purely drive, assist people in and out, don't ask questions, don't listen into conversations. It's even to the point that he'll point upwards and Foster will notice the driver rolling up the window between them to give them privacy.

He presses his cheek into his hand and tries to get over the image of Foster cramped up on the bottom of his car. At least he's courteous enough to try to move his own out of the way to give his more room. He snorts briefly though and Foster will find him laughing softly at his answer. It's his own answer most of the time and the vague way he explains everything to someone he doesn't want to, "I suppose I could go with that."

But once his laughter stops, "It'll take a bit to get back to the carnival given he has instructions to drive around and then head towards that spot."

Foster, chilling on the floor, his knees up to his chest in glamour (but with long equine legs folded tightly under him in truth) listens to Tyki laugh but offers no readable expression. He watched the window roll up with that same benignly flat look.

"I'm in a hurry," he replies when Tyki speaks--though not impatiently, oddly enough. It's just... a fact. Like his time isn't Tyki's concern. Which, conveniently, it isn't. His needs and wants are beneath the considerations of others. "I left Ginko to walk back, by the way. He's still alive."

Which is what you wanted, right? Alive, not brainwashed. Or captured, or whatever else.

"I missed what happened thanks to that." And no, he wasn't happy about it; till, a few minutes is all it ever takes for a layer of detachment between him and most things. He experiences a dull pang of anger and loss, like he's been cheated of something, very briefly, but that's all. It's over before he finishes the sentence.

He stretches out like he's getting comfortable himself with his legs folded up onto the seat and he'll reach a hand out to lightly flick Foster's nose, "Then you're lucky there are no extra stops and it is likely the direct path we are taking."

A thin brow raises very slowly at the way he speaks and he'll grin lightly as he reaches over for an apple off to the side on a little pull out tray, "I could thank you but it seems like an inconvenience to you. After all, we did force you in some way but it was your choice to run." Everyone had a choice, hair pulling or ass slapping otherwise.

"From my understanding and what I was able to see the barrier came down after some significant force, though I have a feeling it was more on Noa's part than ours. Her singing stopped and they both changed outfits with some sort of odd transformation. They started to fight. Noa lost as I predicted she would." Look, he's even pulling out pictures from his pocket and displaying them in front of Foster for visuals. They aren't the best but it's something. "Then CY-Ren ran off with our people."

You know, Tyki, even Foster thinks it's kind of weird that there's a whole tray of apples... in this car. But all right. He'll remember it... but he has bigger issues right now.

Priorities.

So Foster makes a pensive sound as Tyki starts his recap--disconnected, detached, but still ruminative. He's very interested in the visuals though, and becomes a lot more obviously invested.

".... our people," he echoes, not quite in the same tone. Then he thinks about it, and asks, "What do you mean 'ran off with?'"

See, the cool thing about missing everything is that basic facts become a lot more ambiguous. And the thing Foster hates most... is ambiguity. He thrives on potential, but lack of information--

Foster doesn't get to apple shame anyone, alright. He'll even pick one up and take a bite out of it as Foster talks. He'll even set one on top of Foster's head as cramped as he is.

He'll let Foster take the visuals if only to free up his hands. He will expect those back after he's done talking. He's to the point in any case with his tone vibrant and focused.

"There were creatures among the crowd. They were easy to see given their differences from the human body. As our people approached the stage, bewitched by her song, I saw several taking hold of them and pulling them into whatever they had come out of. I don't like to assume but we can assume that was the same place CY-Ren retreated to after her fight with Noa."

Given the whole grape soda thing, the top of Foster's head is not the best place for an apple. Well, it probably wouldn't be anyway, but the grape soda doesn't help. Foster goes still when it's placed there, though, and looks at Tyki sidelong, without moving his head--or dropping the apple.

It's a very long stare.

If Tyki doesn't react, he'll pluck the apple from his head and take a bite out of it--all while maintaining eye contact if Tyki hasn't looked away.

"What did they look like?" he wants to know. "What else did you see--who did you see?" Not that he actually cares about them personally, but--

Wait.

"Did Noa do anything?" he wants to know. It's... not a kind tone, at all.

No, it's perfect. It's likely sticky and matted down so the apple can be flavored from a few hours worth of soda. He's waiting for a reaction no matter how long it takes and when Foster does nothing but eat it he can't say he's disappointed.

Don't worry. He hasn't looked away. As someone that read body language and continued to read people long after his usual assessments he won't look away from him again. He knows where a lot of things are in this confined space. Plus, he's full of confidence and it shows with the way it looks like he just owns this space.

"They transformed into different clothes. Noa was wearing a sequenced gold attire with whites and soft clothes while CY-Ren changed into sleek black with blueish green accents." Look, he'll even provide another picture but that's when he stopped taking them and it is the last visual he'll get.

He understands that tone. This whole thing was a giant joke and following a woman so uncoordinated had been a bad idea from the beginning, "She danced to CY-Ren's next song. Or that's what it looked like. Dancing."

There's something about the way Tyki carries himself--unapologetic for the space he occupies, frank with his assessments and in deliberate control of what information he gives out. It's not... commanding. Not... powerful.

But like he's convinced of power.

As for the apple: Foster not only eats it, his expression doesn't change a jot while he does. He holds that eye contact as he chews.

The outside tastes sticky, syrupy, and a little gritty.

Then it just tastes like apple.

If Tyki is paying close attention to details, the bite out of the apple is sort of alarmingly... smooth, as though it were removed with a melon baller, or like a cookie-cutter through dough.

Foster takes the image of Noa and CY-Ren without a word.

"Dancing," he says out loud.

"....dancing?"

He waves the apple into the air as he talks before setting it over his chest and drawing downwards like he was cutting himself in half, "CY-Ren pulled a violin bow out of her chest and cut herself in half. This miasma spilled out of her and her clothes transformed. Then she started to play it and magical energy shot forth towards Noa who had also transformed. She was dancing to her beat, yes dancing as she used her ribbon to block the barrage. Except she faltered and when she failed CY-Ren's magical music knocked into her and she went flying into the stage."

He grins wide as his hand lowers and he resumes another bite of that apple, "It's like a story out of some book made for little children. Dancing and singing for attacks." He preferred a more steady brawl than anything else, "But then Sans got there first followed by a yellow lizard or monster. Not sure. They talked but I didn't hear what they had to say. I had other priorities and I didn't care that she was hurt."

It's then that he leans forward with his feet planted on the spare space on the floor again after shoving the core of the apple into his mouth both hands lift towards Foster's face much like he had before at the concert, "I want to see your teeth for a moment." Cause now he's curious.

Foster doesn't care that Noa was hurt either, frankly, except that it bodes very poorly for Creation relative to the Void. Which bodes poorly for this world's pillar. Otherwise, most of this is just... the description of a form of magic he doesn't know. Most of it is hard for Foster to even listen to, especially since Tyki blatantly admits that he didn't listen in--what was even the point? He wants to ask what Tyki was doing, but there's an even bigger point of interest first.

"She cut herself open--?" Yes, that got Foster's attention--but he's cut off by Tyki's hands closing over his face. As if Tyki needed any more proof what a compliant animal Foster becomes when manhandled.

Foster doesn't resist in the slightest. And not only does he not resist, he opens his mouth obediently when prompted.

Revealing the predatory teeth of a prehistoric fish that neither of them have ever heard of.

It's going to end in a disaster if someone doesn't do something about it soon and Tyki was too much of a lackey to lead right now. He had his own ideas but his style didn't fit many people. There were too many here with morals and constrained opinions on how things should be done. Yet he was finding when desperation kicked in and people started grasping for straws those morals meant nothing. Humanity at its worse made it worth seeing.

"Yes, like she skinned herself and created something new," he says with a cheerful fascination. He's kind of learned not to ask Foster for things as much as to tell him he wants something. He doesn't know why but it was easier for him to do so despite wanting to be polite to some degree with carnival workers.

Without any real consideration one of his thumbs slides along those teeth and underneath against the edge as if testing for sharpness, "Interesting."

It's like Tyi is trying to paint an image to Foster's interests. Hell, maybe he is; Foster isn't picky. He can't afford to be. Like Tyki, his style isn't really compatible with a lot of the Carnival, and his vision of reality was frequently at odds on even the most basic of levels. But it does make him easy to understand, assuming all you wanted out of understanding was for him to do what you wanted him to do.

Foster can't really talk like this, but it does give Tyki a chance to talk about whatever he feels like without unwanted questions overtly critical commentary.

He's watching Tyki while the other man inspects the inside of his mouth, which could be construed as a bit creepy, but he makes no sound of complaint. And he presses his tongue down into its bed on his own, avoiding any extra contact with Tyki's fingers.

Hopefully he's not running that thumb against on the bony plates with any pressure, though, or they will slice it open. At the very least, they'd slice a human thumb--the edges shear against each other as Foster opens and closes his mouth, sharpening one another in the process. Foster has had more than one mishap with them, biting his tongue, lip, or inside of his cheek.

Tyki was always accommodating, polite, and pleasing. Well, when he wanted to be. Foster had asked him a question and he had done his best to answer it. Not to mention there was something about being polite when dealing with someone who had a maw wide open in front of him. He has fast reflexes but he'd still rather avoid a bite.

"At least, to what little comfort there is about it, she is likely not fae," he says out loud as if just talking to himself now and using Foster as a means to bounce something off of. Then again, it wouldn't be the first time he's just straight up used Foster for his own means today. "But if she can sing at any time and manipulate anyone around her she may as well be."

Even without the tongue, Foster's mouth is kind of gross and he appreciates not being licked in more ways than he could properly convey. Unfortunately for Foster, his thumb does what it wants as he pushes on whatever he can get his hands on. Thankfully for the both of them it isn't an intent to attack and when it slices downwards towards his thumb he'll blink lightly at it passing through his skin. Foster might get an unfortunately tingle if he can feel anything through his teeth.

After that he'll at least give him his mouth back as his hand stretches out in the air to allow any saliva to drip down off his fingers with his Power to Choose and onto the floor.

Foster's brows knit together at the suggestion CY-Ren could have ever been fae, or even suspected of it. He could have old Tyki she wasn't, and he didn't need to attend the concert for that. But no one bothered to ask him.

And it frankly didn't occur to him that this was a possibility anyone would seriously entertain.

But all of that is basically forgotten the instant his tooth goes through Tyki's thumb; he feels it, all right--feels the change in pressure, the 'give' of flesh to his sharpened plates and the distinctively strange sensation, like his actual tooth has suddenly fallen asleep. He recoils in an instant, physically jerking away from Tyki in panic--already gagging, choking on the imagined sensation, taste, presence of blood not his own.

He has very little experience with the carnival and so far everything had been a problem with fae in general. He'll have to excuse him, or not, of the fact he is unaware of other dangers. His world also only had one opposition. It wasn't that vast or had any real variety.

Noa was just as strange as CY-Ren in his opinion. They were both absurd and yet one of them was at least a threat. A threat he wouldn't mind quelling.

There's a lot of blinking on Tyki's end, not out of fright or of him suddenly panicking, but of Foster's innate reaction to something he does not understand. He almost lets him recoil and panic as long as he wants before his hands are lowering into his own lap and a lean forward, "Calm down. It's merely a passive magic on my end. I didn't remove anything." Words mostly because he doesn't understand the reason for his sudden alarm.

Remove--?!

Foster looks at Tyki like he's lost his mind, which is impressive because he also looks like he's either going to throw up or pass out from shock and terror. But he's he's already lunging forward to grab at Tyki's hands and wrists violently, looking for even the smallest spot of blood--

"Your hands!" he tries to say, but he's still gagging, retching, choking on bile and spit and whatever stomach acid has lurched up to burn his throat and sour his spit. And he's drooling excessively even for him, and he can still taste it, the copper-sharp revolting rust; it's vile, it's vile and he has to throw it up but it won't be enough, he can't get it out now it's in--

"Let me see your--let me see your fucking hands!"

Remove is what he thought Foster was going for. He's reacting so negatively all of a sudden that he doesn't understand. His face is in a neutral expression, caught between a dead pan and sheer disbelief, over the fact that he's unaware of what is causing him to suddenly show emotion for once.

His outstretched hands snap back and Tyki reflexively reacts to the sudden change in position. He treats it like an attack as his shoulder square, his foot slides against the bottom of the car and his palm opens wide like he's ready to grab and rip if necessary. He'll slap this fucker if he has to. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the driver through the sealed glass glancing back in alarm and panic. He gestures with a hand to keep his eyes forward and his ass driving at the same speed and tempo he was before.

But he's listening, always listening, as Foster gags, retches, even chokes on air. His body language bleeds desperation, and it is not with trust or concern that he allows his Power to Choose to deactivate. His hands are out again, palms up, and he'll let those massive bear paws to grasp onto him if need be. He's not fearful as much as he is partially disgusted at the amount of drool coming out of this man's mouth.

"Fine! Here! Now calm the hell down before I make you!"

Edited (WORDS. PAWS. ) 2018-03-01 05:06 (UTC)

Slapping him stands a better chance of working than reasoning with him, but one could be forgiven for trying to avoid that tactic. Especially with a driver to consider--a driver who will have a very interesting story to tell when he goes to drink all of this into oblivion later.

Given permission, though, Foster seizes Tyki's hands--not all that dangerous a move on its own, as his paws are too big for his claws to be the part he's grasping with, but it's uncommonly aggressive, and not exactly gentle.

Once he has them--and assuming Tyki doesn't Choose not to let him have them any longer--Tyki's hands are held roughly by thick, coarse green pawpads as Foster scrutinises every finger of each hand closely, turning them forward and backward multiple times before he's satisfied.

Only then does he calm down... slowly, but he does calm down. He remembers, even, to wipe his mouth and chin with the back of a paw.

Tyki slaps hard. He doesn't go easy in any of his attacks. Reigning in his power was never his strong suit which is why he hardly ever uses his hands unless he has to. He's annoyed right now at the sudden change in position and he allows Foster to seize his hands in those meaty paws. He can already feel the unrelenting squeeze and for a moment he almost tests just how strong that grip is.

His hands are out flat like he's trying to soothe a wild beast more than a man. This is two times now when he can akin Foster to more of a beast than anything else. One eye closes faintly at his arms being twisted whenever his hands are twisted and examined. It's not painful but he can feel the pull of his clothing.

His expression flattens and when one hand is freed in favor of Foster wiping his mouth he raises his hand to smack Foster's cheek a few times in a rough pat, "What is it that got you so worked up anyways?"

Foster looks slightly stunned, but those rough little smacks to his face do seem to help somehow. Even just having such a firm physical intrusion, such a strong reminder of the physical, an anchor to the real exerted by Tyki's presence.

"Blood," he says, though still drooling (and wiping the blood off his face again.) "I don't like blood--not other people's." He's rattled and distracted--a lot is happening inside of his head, and organising that for the environment outside of it is not his strength even when things are internally linear. In fairness, simplicity sometimes makes it worse--but he wipes his face a third time, this time with the other paw, scrutinising his own fur in agitation as he continues.

He's definitely still upset about this, but in a fractured way.

"I don't like blood that isn't my own."

⇨ SHOW'S OVER

Get In The Car

We're going shopping

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TW: graphic.... rot? Foster please use your AC points to buy some chill.

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