⇨ SHOW'S OVER

[ringleaders]

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.

Comments

[prazerbutterfly]

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.

[criticallyfucked]

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!"

[prazerbutterfly]

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!"

[criticallyfucked]

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.

[prazerbutterfly]

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?"

[criticallyfucked]

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."

[prazerbutterfly]

His brows raises high despite the deadpan look on his face at the somewhat absurd explanation. He's about to question the fact he cuts himself in his rituals and smears blood here and there to make things the way he wants but then he seems to go on explaining it is blood that isn't his own.

He snorts with his hands now both somewhat smacking Foster on the face. He's gotten drool on him and he's not pleased plus he's a little closer than he likes and he intentionally uses his gross face to push him back down into a proper sit. Then, he just draws his hands back because ugh, he drooled on him. He's still not over it as he pulls out a cloth from his pants to wipe the front of his shirt. It's thick and he's not sure if it is entirely saliva. Yeah, he can feel it on his skin through his shirt and he's going to use his Power to Choose now to force the cloth through shirt and skin to get rid of it entirely.

"You must not handle most situations well then given the carnival seems to love to bleed."

[criticallyfucked]

Tyki's comment throws him off, disrupting what he was doing--which happens to be scraping his tongue against his rough-skinned pawpads, excavating the inside of his mouth with his claws in some next-level distracted bid to cleanse himself of Tyki's illusory remnants.

But at that, he stops.

What?

"No," Foster starts, tries to swallow, fails. Ignores the failure.

"No, I... am fine with that." He waves one paw--the wetter one--in some detached illustrative gesture. "It's fine if it's outside me. I don't--I don't like other people's blood in me." He looks ill again just saying it.

Blood is essential. That's the point. Another person's blood, another being's... that's contamination. And it doesn't pass, but stays with you, is incorporated into you, becomes you, and damages, corrupts that vital purity, that self for weeks, months, years after....!

But blood outside of him?

"What kind of necromancer can't stand blood?" He asks, suddenly--then starts laughing.

[prazerbutterfly]

He's going to continue to use Foster's dumb face to shove him back until he's content with the distance. He's uncomfortable now and he wants to rectify that. He doesn't care where the napkin like cloth ends up as he tosses it to the side and reclines once more on the plush seating that lines the car. He snorts a little at the ridiculous assessment along with the way he speaks about it so carelessly.

"I was about to ask you the same thing actually," because it is absurd that he would have any sort of blood affinity loss at all. If he knew what was going through Foster's head he would question it and hard. He was anything but pure or worth the self worth.

"I could essentially rearrange all of your blood to be outside your body in a moment's notice if I wished but you can be assured I have can inhibit any of my own blood to end up on you."