Jonathan Strange (
kingsroads) wrote in
lostcarnival2018-02-14 11:40 pm
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Entry tags:
the terrible horrible no good very bad week
Who: Strange & OPEN!
Where: mostly the carnival, with a Wismuth prompt
When: D17 and onwards
What: Strange has had a run of shitty days/decisions and is coping like a champ (he's sulking)
Warnings: mild drug & alcohol use, Strange's general asshole tendencies
sulking at the training grounds
Over the past few days, Strange learned that the closest thing he could call to an enemy was back and she had poisoned his best friend, found out his other close friend was kidnapped and enthralled, got dunked in a lake, got his emotional support gem stolen, got dunked in the ocean, made a kid cry, discovered he had a fun new phobia of sentient pineapple beasts, got gum in his hair, and received harsh truth bombs from at least two different people. And only half of this is his fault! (Maybe five-eighths. Strange'll fight it if anyone says three quarters.)
To top it all off, apparently the entire universe is in danger of ending and Creation's decided to fix that by giving people fun magical powers but apparently the universe doesn't think he's good enough! Like what the hell, Creation? As if his self-esteem wasn't already weirdly low thanks to the fact that he got beaten up by plants and the previously mentioned harsh truth bombs.
So, Strange is coping with pyromania. At least four of the practice dummies are currently on fire and have been on fire for the past half hour or so. Strange is in the process of casting a spell to set a fifth ablaze. Anybody who remotely approaches the training ground is getting an amazing death glare courtesy of Strange, as well as a grumpy "What?"
sulking part 2
Alternatively, there's an abundance of purple smoke hanging out near the top of one of the game trailers in the gamer's circle. Can smoke sulk? Undecided, but there's certainly something sulky about this smoke. It's definitely lingering around the top of the trailer and not moving in a manner that's reminiscent of sulking.
welcome to the plot
For the most part, Star Guardians need to sleep too. As does Strange But considering that Strange lives a comfortable life as the man with the world's most erratic sleep schedule, his is variable as hell and he's wide awake at around ten pm, when most people should be getting ready for bed. He's wide awake as he bangs on the trailer door of each inhabited trailer, hoping that someone's in.
He doesn't waste any time. Whenever anyone answers their door, Strange bluntly asks, "Did you get those odd powers like what Noa has?"
Fuck it, he knows about pillars, he can still be useful.
wismuth
Staying at the carnival and not getting out of bed just sounds like a really good plan right now. Except Strange is a nightrunner and when you're rooming with the deputy nightrider, you can only wallow in self-pity for so long. Scrying can only do so much so he's hitting the pavement. As he walks the streets (wearing a slightly ridiculous baseball cap), Strange keeps his senses open for any sort of magic: guardian, harbinger, fae. He's already gotten his ass whooped twice, any sort of large spikes of harbinger magic he is staying the hell away from. But it's the smaller things, the after effects that he can at least try to dispel.
And so, that's why Strange is standing next to an ATM that's currently spitting out cash, muttering something while debating if he's actually got to put his mouth on that thing or not. Thankfully, the machine sputters to a stop and the spell breaks before Strange has to actually kiss the box.
"I don't even know what this is," he complains, to anyone listening. Foggy modern AU memories can only go so far and did not extend to ATMs. But look at him go, stopping the horrible...money spitter outer machine. Greatest magician of the age, everyone.
Where: mostly the carnival, with a Wismuth prompt
When: D17 and onwards
What: Strange has had a run of shitty days/decisions and is coping like a champ (he's sulking)
Warnings: mild drug & alcohol use, Strange's general asshole tendencies
sulking at the training grounds
Over the past few days, Strange learned that the closest thing he could call to an enemy was back and she had poisoned his best friend, found out his other close friend was kidnapped and enthralled, got dunked in a lake, got his emotional support gem stolen, got dunked in the ocean, made a kid cry, discovered he had a fun new phobia of sentient pineapple beasts, got gum in his hair, and received harsh truth bombs from at least two different people. And only half of this is his fault! (Maybe five-eighths. Strange'll fight it if anyone says three quarters.)
To top it all off, apparently the entire universe is in danger of ending and Creation's decided to fix that by giving people fun magical powers but apparently the universe doesn't think he's good enough! Like what the hell, Creation? As if his self-esteem wasn't already weirdly low thanks to the fact that he got beaten up by plants and the previously mentioned harsh truth bombs.
So, Strange is coping with pyromania. At least four of the practice dummies are currently on fire and have been on fire for the past half hour or so. Strange is in the process of casting a spell to set a fifth ablaze. Anybody who remotely approaches the training ground is getting an amazing death glare courtesy of Strange, as well as a grumpy "What?"
sulking part 2
Alternatively, there's an abundance of purple smoke hanging out near the top of one of the game trailers in the gamer's circle. Can smoke sulk? Undecided, but there's certainly something sulky about this smoke. It's definitely lingering around the top of the trailer and not moving in a manner that's reminiscent of sulking.
welcome to the plot
For the most part, Star Guardians need to sleep too. As does Strange But considering that Strange lives a comfortable life as the man with the world's most erratic sleep schedule, his is variable as hell and he's wide awake at around ten pm, when most people should be getting ready for bed. He's wide awake as he bangs on the trailer door of each inhabited trailer, hoping that someone's in.
He doesn't waste any time. Whenever anyone answers their door, Strange bluntly asks, "Did you get those odd powers like what Noa has?"
Fuck it, he knows about pillars, he can still be useful.
wismuth
Staying at the carnival and not getting out of bed just sounds like a really good plan right now. Except Strange is a nightrunner and when you're rooming with the deputy nightrider, you can only wallow in self-pity for so long. Scrying can only do so much so he's hitting the pavement. As he walks the streets (wearing a slightly ridiculous baseball cap), Strange keeps his senses open for any sort of magic: guardian, harbinger, fae. He's already gotten his ass whooped twice, any sort of large spikes of harbinger magic he is staying the hell away from. But it's the smaller things, the after effects that he can at least try to dispel.
And so, that's why Strange is standing next to an ATM that's currently spitting out cash, muttering something while debating if he's actually got to put his mouth on that thing or not. Thankfully, the machine sputters to a stop and the spell breaks before Strange has to actually kiss the box.
"I don't even know what this is," he complains, to anyone listening. Foggy modern AU memories can only go so far and did not extend to ATMs. But look at him go, stopping the horrible...money spitter outer machine. Greatest magician of the age, everyone.
wismuth; the 16th
Still, when it comes to magical bullshit, he's at least lucky enough to know the number one expert. That means after a short, maybe slightly frantic call to Strange to confirm his location ("And stay there," Lambert snarls into the radio, before slamming the connection shut) it won't be long before Strange hears the revving of a motorcycle engine.
With a screech of tires as it skids to a stop, a sleek red-and-gold motorcycle pulls up to wherever Strange is at, a wild-eyed Lambert straddling it. He looks ... well, eye-catching is the least of it. Most of his clothing seems to be some level of 'skin-tight,' 'gold-sequined' or both, and there isn't very much of it. And he's -- brimming with magic, and so is his bike, both burning like stars in the dimming sunlight.
"Strange," Lambert says, with no preamble, "What the fuck is happening?"
"Lambert," the sound of a woman's voice, gently sighing, comes from the motorcycle. "If you'd let me explain--"
Lambert blanches, scrambling off his ride and turning to face it head-on, comically flustered as his tail stands ramrod-straight behind him. "You shouldn't even be able to talk!" He yells, throwing his hands up.
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1: the entirety of Creation itself
2: CY-Ren
3: Childermass
4: Nightshade
Because seriously universe, what the hell? Lambert gets the fun cool new magical powers and Strange gets his stuff stolen and gets menaced by fruit?! What the fuck! This is stupid! Oh he can easily figure out what this is: Lambert's new magic seems to be the entire opposite of Childermass's and Steven's, feeling full compared to the empty magic of those two. Considering that it also looks close to Noa's, those are obvious enough signs that Lambert's one of the lucky assholes who's become a Star Guardian.
It doesn't explain why he has a talking motorcycle, though. That's new. Amethyst was a rabbit (actually, she was a cat), maybe somebody else was the motorcycle? The entirety of Creation is still at the top of Strange's shitlist but it at least earns a couple of karma points for not turning him into a car.
Talking motorcycle aside, this is dumb and Strange hates it. He briefly looks like he's going to pull his hair out in aggravation before he realizes this isn't Lambert's fault. Had he the choice of receiving dumb magical powers or not, he'd probably squarely pick 'not' (unless said dumb magical powers made him better at stabbing.)
"Magical power as great as this doesn't just get shoved on people," grumbles the person who has canonically shoved great magical power on some rando. "Creation chooses it's champions: it looks like you're a Star Guardian."
Now that Lambert's standing next to Strange, those enhanced witcher senses can pick up on the fact that Strange overwhelmingly smells like pineapples. Fuck you, porcupineapple.
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"It could have told me what it was shoving on me first!" Sure, sure, Creation had intimated something vague about protecting life, but it just had to do it then, didn't it? It's like the Earth Spirit all over again. Lambert raises a hand to scrub through his hair, cursing when his claws get caught on his goggles instead.
With a shower of sparkles, the motorcycle dissolves, coalescing into what looks like a miniaturized pony toy with golden hooves and an impassive expression. Although she's much smaller and less intimidating than she normally is, there's something about here that will feel like Strange has seen her before...
"Strange is right," she says, calmly, unruffled by Lambert's sputtering. "The sooner you accept this, the sooner we can get to work."
"See that?" Lambert hisses, pointing wildly. "Creation turned Pig into this."
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Strange just looks at the tiny talking horse with an expression of utter disbelief. Why is the horse talking? How does the horse know about Creation? What the hell is all this?! This situation just keeps getting more and more weird. Strange just stares, looking intently at Lambert, as if his third eye will somehow explain all this nonsense.
"If it helps, I had no idea Creation was this..." dumb? "...unique. All I knew was the bit about saving all of existence."
Not horses and outfits. Strange walks around Lambert to get a good look at the entire outfit. He really shouldn't be surprised that Lambert is showing off his butt AGAIN.
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Pig sighs. "I'm here to guide Lambert. I suppose Creation thought it would be easier if it was something he was already used to..."
"Then maybe it should've picked Strange instead," Lambert grouses, before he frowns. "What happened to you, anyway?"
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Welcome to the plooootttt (this is before Peridot becomes a familiar)
The sulking is extra sad because she's just sitting around a supervisor-sized trailer all by herself while she's doing it, her roommate's conspicuous absence a constant reminder of what she's lost to the Void. Thus, when she answers the door to Strange, she looks like a goddamn mess: Her usually perfectly geometric hair is rumpled and frazzled, her bow-tie is askew, and she has massive bags under her eyes. Her dead-eyed expression doesn't even change when she stares past the sliver of door she's holding open and sees him standing there.
"No," is all she says, her tone flat and her voice raspy, like she hasn't used it in a few days.
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"I'm not either," he grumbles. Because while part of Strange badgering everybody is to tell any and all Star Guardians that surprise, you're part of saving the world now, the fact that Peridot's not one either is...refreshing? It's nice to know that there's another person stuck in normality with you. It's also nice to know that Peridot seems to hate all of this as much as he does.
"I've got a bottle of faerie ale and a joint's worth of faerie weed if you want to share either and complain about things." Friends introduce friends to their horrible coping methods. And considering that Steven's evil, Amethyst's evil, Connie's MIA and Lapis is MIA, Strange has a feeling Peridot might want alcohol and/or hallucinogens. At least, he knows he would.
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She leaves the door hanging open behind her and assumes that he'll take that as invitation to follow her in. Where she heads next is to the living area, tromping her way there with her shoulders sagged and her tail dragging limply on the floor behind her. Then she kind of just. trods up to an ottoman, pauses, and then flops forward, draping herself over it face down while Pumpkin and Fleshy both watch with concern from the associated armchair.
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Getting fucked up in front of the pets, alright, he can work with this.
As he sets the bottle of faerie ale near Peridot's prone form, Strange starts conjuring up a little flame to light the end of the joint. And so, the complaining starts. "I can't believe Lambert got that magic," Strange grumbles. "He whines about how he's not a magician every time I ask for clarification on one of his spells." He scoffs, though it's more out of grumpiness than outright maliciousness.
"I suspect he's set something on fire or broken something already."
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While he hasn't had such a bad day as Strange's he did run into a few Harbingers and failed to capture any of them. Even with Zangetsu's valuable assistance and the fact the crazy hollow was likely lurking somewhere near by, he had come up short, gotten a few nasty wounds and allowed himself to feel a little less reckless than he probably should have been.
Strange will notice that hand still outstretched with a hint of a twitch of his fingers. The Dark Matter dies down quickly to a stand still as thick bandages wrap around his palm and up the side of his arm. Despite the rough patch work on his half, the red crimson smatter of blood has soaked through his palm from his run in earlier, "You look horrible, Mister Strange."
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"You look just as bad, Mister Mykk." Strange turns to look at the other man, frowning a little as he spots that blood on his palm. "Surely we have at least one healer left who can patch that up for you."
Says the man who hasn't gotten his wounds patched up yet either. Still, leg wounds are different from a hand wound and that's the excuse Strange is sticking with.
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"None that I trust," he says matter of fact, not that he trusted any in the first place, "Herb is gone, so is the kid they had, the new boy is off playing star guardian, then there is someone else." He snorts lightly as he leaves the spot he's at with a burst of speed. He's light on his feet as he launches himself upwards and roundhouse kicks at one of the dummies on fire. It's head goes flying like a fireball on the loose. On the edges of his toes he stands on the remain portion still on fire and allows the flames to caress his legs without harming him at all.
"It'll heal on its own either today or tomorrow."
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The bitterness is far too apparent in Strange's tone of voice. For all he complains about it, it's obvious he wanted to be dragged into that ridiculous conflict. What made Creation pick everybody else over him? It must have happened for a reason. But hell if he knows what that reason was.
Strange turns towards the dummy that Tyki just kicked at and, with a gesture, starts to dispel the fire magic. Yes, he knows about the power to choose and that Tyki won't get hurt but the fact remains that he doesn't want any more flaming limbs to go flying all over the place!
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Welcome to the plot we don't get to be cool kids
She opens the door and is met with Strange's bluntness. Instead of answering, she puts her hands on her hips. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
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"You didn't answer my question, by the way."
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"No, I do not have any 'powers' and I'm perfectly fine with that." She sighs. "Are you really going door to door asking everyone that?"
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"Haven't you seen what the Guardians are capable of? Why wouldn't you want that?" Who wouldn't want kickass phenomenal magical power? At least in Strange's mind, wanting something like that made perfect sense.
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for syrlya: fun in wismuth
"It's a combination entertainment center and restaurant," Strange explains, as he holds the door open for Syrlya. "Peridot and I went to one a week or so ago, these things are quite..." And then Strange trails off, looking at the interior.
This combination entertainment center and restaurant is a Chuck E Cheese. As such, it is swarming with children under the age of ten. An animatronic rat plays the guitar near the back of the store, a six year old girl is crying for some reason, and a ball from the ball pit goes soaring through the air in front of them, landing somewhere that is obviously not the ball pit. This is obviously not what Strange expected and he's looking at the chaos with a small quizzical frown on his face.
"In my defense, the advertisement didn't say there would be so many children." There's a pause before that lack of an attention span kicks in. "Oooh, they have skee-ball!"
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"They have what?"
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"Skee-ball! You take the ball, roll it up a slope, and try to land it in one of the holes. The smaller the hole, the more points you get. It's quite fun and I've gotten rather good at it."
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"That sounds like a carnival game." And as his gaze drifts over to where Strange is taking him, it looks like a carnival game. Except, somehow, with even more flashing lights.
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for rita
So, though it pained him to do so, might as well call a Guardian. It was a quick message over the radios to Rita: come to the mall at this address, go to this store, there Harbinger activity and I can't do this alone. But what he could do was keep things stable. The kitchen area's unlocked and, as Rita enters, she can see Strange standing directly in front of the freezer.
"There you are," Strange says, with relief, as he looks over at Rita. His hands are placed in front of the freezer and, though it's not visible, he's definitely doing magic. "I've been trying to siphon the cold away from the freezer but I can't remove it entirely. I can only keep it stable and there's something in there that's making it colder."
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True... there does seem to be some kind of Void magic emanating from within the freezer. But...
"Uh..." Rita looks over the scene with an uncertain frown. "Don't tell me you called me out here because there's a Harbinger who's making the freezer colder." Because that would quite possibly be the dumbest evil plan ever.
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"There's a Harbinger who did something to make someone lock themselves in the freezer. I've no idea how long they've been in there but I know they're still alive and I know I can't maintain this magic forever."
Strange gives Rita a bit of a Look. Well, come on, are you going to help or not?
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"...Got it. Guess we'd better be ready for anything," she decides, then touches her hand to her chest. If it's the Void they're up against, she'd best transform first.
In her hand, she grips her Spark, manifested in the form of an orange-jeweled amulet, like a blastia... then holds it up, conjuring a whirlwind of paper that rises around her, obscuring her form as her clothes disintegrate, then reform into a colorful Guardian uniform. The flying pages collect against the amulet and, with a flash of light, bind themselves into the shape of a large book.
Francis, during all of this, is magically bestowed with an orange-jeweled collar to match the book.
As the book floats in the air, Rita immediately sets about flipping through its pages. "I take it you've tried the lock already?" she asks as she searches through the pages, each covered with runes that look unintelligible at a glance.
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