just gotta ignite the light and let it shine

[whattaprick]

Who: Everyone who's stupid enough to show up for this, because legal drinking ages are for people from a different century/planet.
When: Afternoon/Evening, Day 30
Where: Lakeshore
What: Local Carnival workers get wasted and set off fireworks by the lake.
Warnings: Carnival shenanigans, ie. booze, drugs, and people getting set on fire probably. Put any tag-specific warnings in your headers!

So, Wismuth happened.

Lambert's pretty willing to bet a good chunk of the Carnival is pretty happy to act like Wismuth didn't happen, but he also doesn't really care about what sorrows people are drowning or not tonight: he knows he needed this drink, and after he'd slept off the immediate exhaustion that came with running around Wismuth for nearly two weeks with the power of Creation more or less constantly burning through him, he's ready to something, anything to feel like himself again.

Fast-forward to the lakeshore. There's a huge bonfire going, a box of assorted fireworks that's been 'liberated' from wherever the hell engineering keeps their supplies, and probably a crate of wine that's going to disappear sooner rather than later. Anything else, someone's going to have to bring themselves.

[ ooc: This is a mingle log! Bring your own entertainment, food, questionable substances etc. ]

Comments

LAMBERT | OTA

[whattaprick]

The Nightrider is around, blessedly free of sequins and booty shorts at last. While they’re technically already at a stop and he should probably be getting ready to do his job, 1. he’s pretty resistant to getting hangovers, and 2. he’s arguably worked in worse conditions.

The spring to his step isn’t as sprightly as it should be — the leg wound Childermass gave him is well on its way to healing, but he’s still a bit stiff. Despite that, he seems relaxed and in a relatively good mood. That may have a lot to do with the bottle of unknown but undoubtedly alcoholic substance and shot glass he’s wielding with a wicked smirk, brandishing it at whoever happens to be in hearing range.

“Want some?”

Later, when the liquor runs out (he only brought so much, considering he suspects he’s better off saving it for future drinking binges), he’ll move on to other entertainments.

“Try one of these, Peridot made ‘em.” He’s holding out a bowl filled with chunks of shiny, oily... something. Do you dare try a bite?

“Here, hold this!” Some sort of explosive is being shoved into your hand. And now Lambert appears to be trying to light it with magic, while you’re holding it.

And much, much later, when the laughter and the running around has worn him out, he’ll get away from the rest of the crowd to stand by Pig’s paddock (the horse now thankfully back to a horse and no longer talking). Not doing anything in particular — just leaning against the wood and smoking.

Time to get a plant drunk

[chronosynthesis]

"Hm?" Syrlya leans over as Lambert catches his attention, looking at the bottle of faerie ale he's holding--which actually does cause him to perk up with interest, but probably not for the same reasons Lambert would. Frankly, fae ale is just really pretty to look at.

"Oh, all right," he offers a tilted smile. He ended up coming to Lambert's call, he might as well indulge in the merriment as well. It's some sort of celebration, isn't it?

[bangs fists on table] get the plant drunk get the plant drunk

[whattaprick]

Some sort of celebration for some people, maybe ... Lambert mostly just wanted to get drunk and set things on fire. Not much of a deeper reason than that.

"That's the spirit." He tops the shotglass off with glowing, iridescent liquid and hands it over to Syrlya, smirking. If he hasn't had the stuff before now ... well, Lambert's not going to warn it of its potency. He'll just see how he reacts.

[chronosynthesis]

Lambert's thinking isn't far off from a lot of Vigil soldiers, which is probably what makes Syrlya more willing to play along. Not being terribly refined in the alcohol department, he does no sniffing to testing before he just takes the shot of fae ale like he would water. He;s definitely unaware of the potency.

Syrlya pauses, swallowing and them clearing his throat from the burn of alcohol. "It's--not bad. I wasn't sure what it would be like, with that color..."

[whattaprick]

It's pretty good alcohol. Definitely the strong stuff -- and Lambert, taking the shot glass back, has no hesitation pouring himself his own shot and chugging it down with a satisfied sigh.

"It works, and that's about all I care about," he says, shrugging. "Do Sylvari have fancy magic booze, too?"

[chronosynthesis]

"It's not magic, but we do ferment nectar to make it alcoholic." Something definitely sweeter, thicker than the booze the other races produce. It's popular enough, though, and possibly a little too easy to get down. Probably the same issue one can have with faerie ale.

He holds the shot glass out for another pour. "It doesn't keep as well, however. Usually other soldiers would bring beer or fire whiskey to the field."

[kingsroads]

Strange is gatecrashing the 'get his trailermate drunk' party a little late. Because he saw that Lambert was shoving the faerie ale on Syrlya and decided that the best thing to do is get something a bit less potent that would go down fairly easily.

So, he's walking over to the two with a half full bottle of the sunlight ambrosia and a glass for Syrlya. "Try this one," Strange starts, as he offers the bottle to Syrlya. "I guarantee you, it'll go down much smoother than anything Lambert forces on you."

Which is entirely the point. The drink goes down smoothly but hits hard later. And really, if they're going to get Syrlya a bit drunk, might as well get him drunk on the thing that isn't alcoholic paint thinner.

[whattaprick]

Fermented nectar... sounds too sweet for Lambert's taste. Though he does snort when Strange cuts in.

"He was asking for more," he'll point out, but he'll leave the choice to Syrlya, though not without ribbing Strange in the process. "I'm surprised you still have any of that left. Did you clean out the Caravan's supply?"

Because let's be honest: nobody is going to gift Jonathan Strange alcohol.

[atouts]

And it's that much, much later that a crow decides to land the fence post nearest to where Lambert leans. As previously predicted, he absolutely did skulk the night away in a tree, keeping an eye on the party as it ran up and then wound down again. He gives a quiet caw noise, tilting his head to one side so he can eye the witcher curiously.

[whattaprick]

The flutter of wings mostly gives away the feathery presence before he officially announces himself, but Lambert doesn't turn his head until he hears that soft caw. He's still flushed and loose-limbed from drinking all night, though by now it's worn down to a pleasant buzz rather than wild abandon.

"Finally decided to show up?" he asks the bird lazily. "'Fraid I'm all out of drinks."

[atouts]

To which the bird croaks and flutters down off the fence post. There, there's a flicker of motion, magic being released, and — to more sensitive noses — the barest scent of pine trees and snow. In place of the bird is, of course, Childermass, who immediately leans back against the fence and gives Lambert a shrug.

"Can't say I was ever interested in the drinks in the first place, so that's fine," he replies. For the most part, he was just waiting for everyone else to burn out on partying and for it to finally be quiet down here again. Anyway, now that he's there and human-shaped again, he can quirk an eyebrow at Lambert and ask, "So, you'll follow me across worlds if you have to, hm?"

Yeah, Lambert wasn't escaping that line, at the very least.

[whattaprick]

The smell of Childermass's magic, back to the way it should be, makes Lambert half-smile -- though he's sure the magician wouldn't care to hear why. But then he starts speaking.

Wow. Only the barest of contact for the past few days, long enough for Lambert to assume the matter forgotten or desired to be forgotten, and Childermass comes at him with that? He's too drunk to hide the way the question flusters him, though the immediate reaction that follows embarrassment is a scowl and chin lifted in challenge.

"Yeah," he says, mule-stubborn. If he can't deny it, he may as well own it. "Got a problem with that?"

[atouts]

"Logistics, mostly," Childermass admits with a faint smile of his own. If Lambert had been anticipating denial or mockery, he won't find it this time around. That said, he reaches over to steal away the witcher's cigarette for himself.

"But otherwise? You're free to do what you will, even if that is trudging back to England with me."

Ultimately, there are more than a few problems with that, but he isn't here to ruin anyone's night, much less his own, by dwelling on those facts just yet.

[whattaprick]

"What's there to think about?" Lambert huffs as the cigarette is stolen from him, but he won't fight it, resting his elbows back against the wood -- feels like a lifetime since he set these up to house a rowdy Pokemon -- and tipping his head back to look at the stars.

"Finish my contract, sign up for another year to get rid of Strange's curse, then sign up for another year to go to England. Easy."

Sure, things like 'reality' and 'almost dying' might get in the way of that plan, but at least laid out that way, it's something to work towards.

[atouts]

"And die somewhere in between those two extra years," is all Childermass can imagine coming from that. The last thing he needs is to wonder if he's waiting for someone who's never going to reappear which does, unfortunately, put a damper on trying not to ruin Lambert's evening. He takes a drag off the cigarette and looks skyward as well, breathing the smoke back out into the night air.

"I've already offered that, by the way. To pick up a contract to bring Hurtfew Abbey and both magicians back," he adds idly, backtracking to that thought as it's somewhat more amusing. "He forbade it, of course. Said if I did that, he would just find a reason to contract another year on my behalf."

Which leads to a conundrum...

"I imagine the same would apply to you, so if you stay, he stays, in which case I'll have to stay."

[dirthena]

Lavellan has, due to previous encounters with Lambert and alcohol, learned to treat any overt offers of a drink with caution and skepticism. After Wismuth, however, she's willing to put past lessons behind her and not care. Maybe it'll help her figure out how to apologize for nearly killing Cole, even though she knows he wouldn't ask her to in the first place.

"I do believe I'm owed one," she says with a smile and a brow raised. It's the only thing she wants about Wismuth on her end unprompted, even though the urge to comment upon the acquisition of something other than short shorts to wear is there, lurking beneath the surface. It most likely shows in her eyes regardless, amused but also thankful.

[whattaprick]

"That you are," Lambert answers, cheerfully -- maybe too cheerfully, a testament to having had a few shots himself, but he isn't greedy with the alcohol, pouring her a shot of the gleaming alcohol and handing it over. He's just here to drink and have a good time not having to be on either side of a cosmic battle between life and destruction, thanks very much.

A firework goes off over the water in a shower, and Lambert turns to grin at it. It is turning out to be a party, not that he ever intended for it to be.

[dirthena]

The cheerfulness doesn't go unnoticed, but honestly? She'd rather have that than anything else currently -- the Void might be gone, but memories weren't as easy to erase. Well, unless she asked Cole; she's not sure she wants to. So instead she raises the glass and downs it in a smooth motion.

Mostly smooth, even as she's prepared for the burn. Coughing a little, it's a moment before she looks back up to Lambert and the scene before them. The urge to say something is still there, and so: "You know, since your time with short shorts has come to an end, have you considered taking up party planning instead?"

[whattaprick]

There's that word again. Lambert makes a face. "I didn't plan anything," he shrugs. "People just showed up."

Lambert likes fun, but saying he planned this sounds too much like he actually, you know ... cares about people or something. Speaking of caring--

"No company tonight?" He looks around Lavellan warily, ears pricking. After what he saw in Wismuth, he practically expected Cole glued to her side ... but he can also make himself go invisible, so there is that.

[dirthena]

That gets a skeptical brow raise before her grin widens. "All the more reason why you should consider it, if you can lure people in without planning." After all, the bonfire, fireworks, and wine had to come from somewhere. But she lets the subject drop -- the wariness with which he examines around her strikes her as vaguely familiar.

"Not that I know of." Said blithely, clearly unconcerned with the fact that he could be if he wanted to. Congratulations, Lambert, you've met one of Cole's biggest enablers. "Besides, it's tradition where I'm from that I make the rounds of any party alone," she jokes. That was more of circumstance than anything else, but she's willing to make light of it all the same.

[whattaprick]

Lambert has not, as yet, quite realized Lavellan is one of Cole's biggest enablers, but it's no doubt only a matter of time. He grimaces at Lavellan's light response -- clearly, the only thing to do is to take the shot glass back from her and take a shot for himself.

That helps, at least, get his mind off things like 'spirits of whatever the fuck that may or may not be hanging around.' "Do you go to a lot of parties, then?"

[sunflowerfields]

Hinawa blinks in confusion at the explosive in her hands, and it finally dawns on her what it is when she sees magical sparks trying to set it alight. She drops it with a yelp.

"I knew I was right to check up on things." She sighs, putting her hands on her hips.

[whattaprick]

Unfortunately for Hinawa, although she drops the firework, it doesn’t prevent Lambert from following it down automatically and lighting it anyway.

Which means there’s now a lit sparkler pointing between her feet, fuse burning down, and instead of replying all Lambert does is slowly blink at it. The paper trembles... and then starts to shake and shudder, disgorging multicolored shots Roman candle style.

[sunflowerfields]

Hinawa lets out an undignified bleat as she hops away from the sparks. With one hoof she starts to kick dirt on it in hopes of putting it out.

"What in the world is wrong with you?"

in which i swore i replied to this but i guess i did not

[whattaprick]

Even as Hinawa tries to scuff it out, Lambert rescues the firework from an early death, scooping it up and laughing at he aims it out towards the water instead. With hollow-sounding thumps, the sparkler continues to shoot out sparks that leave trails of blazing color in their wait.

"'What in the world is wrong with you'?" He mimics Hinawa's voice as best as he can, which is particularly awful because it requires pitching his voice to a falsetto. He laughs, after, ears flicking good-naturedly as he drops down to sit on the grass, content to let the firework going.

"Relax, would you? If anything happens, the Ringmaster can apparently bring people back from the dead, so there's nothing to worry about."