lostcarnival | 🎶 He's the left hand of God on the stage 🎶

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🎶 He's the left hand of God on the stage 🎶

Who: Allen and you!
When: Day 28 and onward
Where: Getting lost in the forest first, then reluctantly Around
What: The unluckiest hobo Exorcist clown-acrobat of an endearingly stupid shounen protagonist is here!

[ Once there was a boy with no home who joined the circus.

Actually, there was a boy who no home who joined the circus twice. Both times kind of against his will.

This was a very unlucky boy.

This was also a very very dubious boy who tiptoed around the carnival without announcing his presence the moment he was set loose on the grounds. Who eyed the trailer he was supposedly assigned to and....... decided to give it a rather wide berth and continue exploring while remaining unseen as he could. Funny, he acts more like a fugitive than some semi-well-dressed Victorian kid.. that's kind of a weird... tattoo he has on his face, too? ~~Scar? But it looks like there's a pentagram..~~

Which is to say he lasted about an hour before he attempted to hightail it into the woods and escape. He has promises he made!! Screw this, he can't stay in any place for a year, let alone this one!! HE'S PROBABLY NOT EVEN GOING TO BE ALIVE IN A YEAR SO ALL OF YOU CAN SOD OFF

Which is also to say it takes him even less time to get woefully lost. And then a bit longer still before he finally admits it and finds some slightly less mossy rock to flop down on.

He rakes a hand through his somewhat overgrown hair. There are definitely some twigs there. ]

Haah.. even Timcanpy.

[ Does he sound a little sour? He sounds a little sour. He'd been shouting "Tim???! TIM!" for the last half hour after all. This is the worst. ]

[ Alternatively, after he comes sulkily back you may also find him:

1) In the cookhouse, surrounded by stacks of empty bowls piled far higher than he is tall and doubled over with gusto into demolishing his current one. No, seriously... it looks like this kid has just eaten thrice his weight in literally every dish that was being served. Including the ones he'd never heard of. ~~There's a questionable-looking carcass on the table next to him...~~
2) In the medical tent after it's dark and he thinks he's alone, trying to very surreptitiously snag some gauze and unbuttoning his shirt to... look incredibly confused at not finding a wound on his stomach? And starts poking at it?? What?? Excuse him??
3) Sitting towards the edge of the grounds after dark, his back to a tree and looking up at the lights of the Ferris wheel in a way that's quiet thoughtful as much as it's... morose? No, it's just a faraway sort of expression that's as bittersweet as it is uneasy. Looking up at the Ferris wheel like it's been a very, very long sort of time as he sucks on his now very-polished spoon. Ah. Dinner had been smaller than he would have liked.

He'd also seem to have a plump sort of golden... ball? with wings? accompanying him now and seeming to mimic and compliment him as a small golden shadow might. He would appear to like sitting on heads.

Wildcard if you want, he'll be poking around everywhere! And tag in whatever format you are most comfortable in! I vastly prefer brackets for my personal writing; if they drive you nuts drop me a line and I can make adjustments. ]

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[ What? He started to say something and just trailed off..

Looking up as he noisily sucks down the last of he noodles (does he chew?? it would seem not..), Allen blinks curiously for a moment as it seems he has company and.. ah...

Sorry he doesn't mean to stare but he's quite sure he's never seen anything like you before, sir. And he's seen a lot. (Is it.. um... even 'sir'?? Maybe?? He isn't sure?? Also he thinks that might be leaves and not hair but???) ]

Ah... yes? [ Cricket.

He swallows the last of the noodles. He'd kind of forgotten to the moment he actually looked at Syrlya. ]

...would you like to sit down?

[ Just... just roll with it, Allen. ]

It's leaves for his hair. It's leaves for his everything.]

... Yes. [And sit he does, a bit quickly as he rests his arms on the table and laces his fingers together. For a moment, there's only the silent and awkward staring of bewilderment.

And then he points to the stack of empty plates and bowls. And, with a tone that is nothing but gentleness and concern:] Are you all right?

[ why leaves!! how is that even — how does anything work!!

But he blinks at that, glancing for a moment between Syrlya and where he's pointing and not quite comprehending. Was there something wrong with.. the food? Was he not complimenting the chef enough by eating everything they'd made??

Oh! ]

[ With brilliance: ]

Yes, it's the best food I've had in months. ✨

[ It really is, it's sad. ]

[Syrlya isn't exactly a connoisseur of food, maybe this is exceptionally good food in general. Or maybe Allen lives on tack bread.]

I'm sure the chefs would appreciate hearing that from you. [He draws his hand back, mentally weighing down what degree of being polite versus being candid he's trying to express, here, to the boy that's eating enough that he might feasibly explode.]

I was... referring more to the--[Indulgence? Excessiveness?] Are you sick?

[ Tack bread would have been a luxury the last few months. 💔 ]

Sick? [ WELL..

Let's ignore his general condition as of late. Because he's actually feeling pretty good since he came here. Maybe the Ringmaster wasn't completely full of it when she said she could do something about his Awakening. ]

No, if I was sick I would have lost my appetite.

[ Well it's true. ]

I suppose so. [Or indulging himself because he's a dying man.

Syrlya stabs his fork into his salad with chicken, getting a moderate chunk on it though he doesn't yet lift it to eat.]

Are you new to the carnival, or someone returning to finish your contract? [Allen honestly doesn't stick out as much as most of the other carnival members, especially those who have stayed for a while... or are just naturally weird, like him. But as a Nightrunner, he tries to keep at least knowledge of a face to everyone even if he's still learning all the names.

Maybe they should keep that little paper list up to date...]

!!! [ Well.

Congratulations, Syrlya. You got Allen to almost choke. Excuse him as he sputters for a moment. ]

'Return'??!

Do you mean people can just leave and come back later?! [ not that he would come back, but

WHY WASN'T HE ABLE TO LEAVE THEN ]

[Syrlya blinks, briefly wide eyed before he raises a brow.]

So I've heard, but I presume something like that requires permission of the Ringmaster.

[That would probably be the reason he couldn't leave yet.] I'm sure she always requires the other end of the bargain to be fulfilled, regardless. Some may just prefer to perform their employment in pieces.

[And that's when he finally takes his bite, chewing like a normal person and not a vacuum. Even thinking about it, he doubts the Ringmaster breaks contracts--or if she does, certainly not easily.

But he can see how it isn't what some expect to find themselves in. He was a little more prepared to expect the worse, but it's been trying.]

[ Well he looks a little crestfallen at that, but resigned. He didn't think it'd be something that easy, no. And that certainly doesn't seem like a request she'd entertain from him anytime soon, if their first encounter was anything to go by. (She reminds him a little of his master. Except less terrifying, thank god.)

He rests his head against an empty bowl for a second. ]

I suppose that isn't any more far-fetched than any of this. [ why him ]

[ But..

He does remember himself and where he is, sitting up a little then and looking back over to, ah.. is he a plant person...? ~~is this real anymore, he doesn't know but is a bit too numbed (by his entire life) to really get worked up about it~~ ]

I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.

[ He doesn't mean to be dreadful with his manners, there's just a lot on his mind lately... ]

I think you will find it stretching the limits of your imagination very quickly. [At least, if that much is far-fetched. Does he know about the stalled time continuum, too...? Or the physical changes he'll experience?

... Honestly, Syrlya would not be surprised if the answer is 'no'.]

Mm--[Syrlya lifts his head, slightly, hurriedly swallowing while he makes a pausing gesture to Allen.]

Syrlya. A pleasure. [He smiles, just a touch.] And you?

[ Look if there's anyone that can space out on the details, it's Allen Walker. He was kind of hung up on other things at the time..

The simple question of his name causes hesitation though, pale and now-luminous eyes that are just shy of white flickering to him with a quickened sort of sobriety. He had been using aliases or avoiding the use of his name entirely as of late, but.. ]

—it's Allen. Allen Walker. [ It's been a while so maybe he's rusty, but.. he extends a hand then, to shake. Gloved, of course.

But warm. With genuine sincerity. ]

What is it that you do then, Syrlya? [ That's the point, isn't it? That they're all working together, right...?

At a carnival. The irony; it's not lost on Allen. It'd almost be nostalgic if he wasn't so cagey about the whole thing. ]

Allen. [Syrlya repeats it smoothly, reaching to take Allen's hand in a firm shake. It's practiced and orderly, fit for military. Even under the glove its clear that the skin isn't as soft as it should be if he was human.] I would say that you've arrived at a good time, but... I would not want to tempt fate.

[Although, frankly, they probably don't even need to tempt fate for it to screw them over. That's not lost on him, and his expression twists wryly for a moment.

He draws his hand back when their grip is loosened, collecting more salad onto his fork.] I serve in defense of the carnival. Sometimes as a bouncer, protecting the, ah, rides. Usually, however, I work with the Nightrunners to handle dangers present in the places we visit.

[ Yeah no, tempting fate is... look, Allen's sheer existence tempts fate enough as it is.

But consider his interest immediately piqued. He may have been hired as a clown—that may be the thing he's technically done the longest and is a thing very dear to his heart, but.. what Syrlya said also nudges at the thing he actually exists for more. And is a bit surprising; a carnival isn't a place he'd normally think of as needing defense, or that there would be dangers.

But then this really isn't a normal sort of place at all, is it.

He stabs at his pasta again and swirls it onto his fork, even if his attention is still on Syrlya. ]

The 'Nightrunners'?

That's what they call us. [Syrlya rests his chin on the back of his hand.] Under the Nightrider, Lambert. You'll find him by his gold tail and horns.

[Syrlya circles his finger over his ear and back, tracing the shape.] If you're ever in trouble, you can call for us or the patrol.

[That's not personal, he offers it to everyone in the carnival. If Allen's asking, he probably wasn't assigned to them. Although that reminds him--] What is it you will be doing?

[ In a simpler time when Allen wasn't so worried his presence alone would invite unwarranted trouble down upon anyone around him he might be more intrigued and ask into it for himself--but how he is now, it's better he doesn't. Also he doesn't need to be part of any organization to exist to protect others; he's going to do it anyway if the situation arises. It's easier to on his own, frankly. His sense of morality when it comes to saving others... it doesn't mesh well with that of others.

Lambert though, is it? Gold tail and horns, huh..

He blinks for a second a the question though, pulled from his drifting thoughts. ]

Oh, I'm a clown.

It's what I did before, too.

[ Yeah that's the easier answer, let's go with that. ]

A clown. That is... one of the performing positions, correct? [He feels like he's seen less performing and more getting into trouble since he's signed onto the carnival, so he's still a little fuzzy in some of the jobs people are supposed to be doing.] So you have moved from one carnival to the next?

Mmm, no-- I was performing by myself before. [ And sitting back a little -- he's mostly done with his meal anyway ~~somehow, finally~~ -- he pulls Timcanpy from his head and into his lap.

Tugging on the golem a bit like a toy or a stress ball, he kind of seems to stretch a bit like... putty? That the little thing tolerates patiently with a toothy sort of mellowness. ]

I grew up in the circus though. Before my foster father took me with him -- he was a traveling Pierrot. It was just the two of us after that.

[ Let's just.. glaze past a whole lot of details there. There's still a lot of painful doubt and confusion there for Allen if he really dwells on it. ]

Edited 2018-03-19 20:43 (UTC)

[Timcanpy is such an oddity. Surlya watches him while taking another bite as Allen relays his story. He can't quite tell if he's an animal or some sort of bizarre magical construct.]

Mm--[Syrlya nods once, swallowing. A Pierrot, he assumes, is probably a similar role.] I see. I'm afraid I am little help for any guidance on preparing you for being a clown in a full, magical carnival. Joker oversees that, so you should work closely with him.

[Syrlya gestures toward Timcanpy with his pinky finger.] Who is your... pet?

[ Timcanpy is.. Timcanpy. Allen would be hard-pressed to provide better explanation. ]

It's fine, I learn pretty quickly. [ It's -- entirely too quick and cheerful a response. "Full, magical carnival" hahaha...

He stops stretching Timcanpy and lets him pop back to shape, the golem fluttering for a moment just above his hands and twisting his face to look up at Syrlya. Well--"face". Yet despite lacking eyes he would seem to be looking right at him with his beady little cross... ]

Ah-- his name is Timcanpy. He isn't really a pet though.

More like a partner. He's a golem. [ He's like his little brother. ❤️ ]

A golem? So an artificial companion?

['Companion' is stretching it by most definitions of golem Syrlya is familiar with... Taimi is extremely attached to scruffy, however, so the affection isn't totally outside the realm of possibility. Tim is starkly different from the ones he's familiar with, though, who were also different from the golem with the world walkers. It's interesting that the word has been adopted across so many worlds, but for something so different.

Anyway, when Tim grins wide and toothy, Syrlya returns it--revealing an equally long set of sharp fangs. Changes get so weird, Syrlya's forgotten that they're probably a little unsettling on someone so blatantly inhuman.]

Well met as well, Timcanpy.

I suppose... my master made him. [ And, well...

It's a good thing Allen's already pretty well shell-shocked by everything else by now. Also that Syrlya is a... type of plant person? Honestly fangs don't really phase him at all anymore. Unless he's a vampire plant. Is that even a thing? But then one of his friends is kind of a not-a-vampire so.

Yeah he's just going to blink for a second and decide it really doesn't matter. Especially to someone being so kind to Tim — it's always a plus in Allen's book.

He brightens a bit at it, and Timcanpy flutters loose to hover in front of Syrlya. ]

If you're part of the patrol then — are you a soldier?

[ It was the handshake, and maybe a bit of the clipped but polite demeanor. Allen himself might not consider himself a soldier or even a warrior at all but he certainly has had enough comrades who are. ]

[Syrlya nods with a confirmatory hum, holding his hand up to give Timcanpy a place to perch if he chooses.] The Ringmaster is astute to assign people something they already have some experience in, I have noticed.

[Like Allen's clownness. He can't say much for the rest of the organization of this place, however. It's a little haphazard.

That said, a Master who makes golems doesn't sound like just a performing role. He could be wrong, but...] What was he a master of?

It's hard to say... [ What a good question. Timcanpy meanwhile almost alights on Syrlya's hand... instead he reaches out with his own very tiny hands and clutches onto the bark of his finger like a tether. ]

He was a general. And a sorcerer.

[ Giving a faint sort of huff — it might be annoyance but it's hard to tell from a sigh — Allen shifts a bit in his seat. ]

Pretty much anything he set his mind to he was a master of. [ It could... almost be pride. Maybe. In an incredibly backhanded sort of way. If you squint.

Mostly because the caveat being whatever he set his mind to since that mind was often on fine wine and women. ]

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