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

[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."

[whattaprick]

It's a possibility. It's a possibility that looks even more likely considering what the Ringmaster's just proposed they start looking into -- nothing about fae artifacts and extended lifespans go together. It's not anything Lambert hasn't already considered himself, so there's not much to ruin there, and shrugs.

"Since when do you listen to what he says?" he snorts. "Besides, I wouldn't make the mistake of telling him I'm going to do it. My contract doesn't end until after his, so it's not like he'll ever know until after it's a done deal." Upon which he'd undoubtedly throw a shitfit, but again, not Lambert's problem.

[atouts]

Childermass shrugs and offers the cigarette back over. Since never, of course. Strange is a... friend. Yes, certainly a friend, but not a master he has to pay any mind to, that much is true.

"It might be quicker, though," he points out, "If you contract for breaking the curse and he contracts for your passage to England in retaliation..."

There, however, he trails off, brow furrowing. Curses. Of course, now that a different fairy curse is in mind, it brings it back to a more immediate dilemma. Just how much does he tell Lambert? Does he tell him now? Does he delay? Tomorrow. He'll wait until tomorrow, he decides, gaze trailing down from the stars to the party still staggering on back by the lakeshore.

"I'll have to see the Ringmaster about setting one of those eggs up for you, if you're planning to stay that long."

There. A different argument for now.

[whattaprick]

"That'd mean telling him why I want to go to England, wouldn't it?" Lambert pauses to take the cigarette back from Childermass, slow enough to let their fingers brush together as he does. He's not sure if Childermass wants to broach that subject with Strange. In fact, he's pretty sure he doesn't know how to broach that subject with Strange in the first place.

Though any other thoughts he meant to air on the matter -- some boring garbage about how he's certain that Strange's chances of survival are even slimmer than his own -- are cut off when Childermass leads into that, and he makes a face.

"What? Why?"

[atouts]

They are slimmer, hence why Childermass would inevitably remain as well. It's troublesome. For as useful as a second round of boons would be, he does have work to do back home, a book he desperately wants to translate, one that might solve their missing abbey problem in its own right. With so much to think about, he's beginning to wonder if he should go track down a drink after all...

"Hm?"

Lambert shakes him out of that thought, bringing his attention back to himself. He blinks, then frowns, looking entirely like the answer should already be obvious.

"In case you're killed, of course. If it can happen to someone like Sans..." Who can literally teleport to safety by thinking about math. "It's only planning ahead. It's sensible."

[whattaprick]

"If it's so sensible," Lambert drawls, slow and drawn out, "Then it should be something you've already done for yourself, shouldn't it? Even Strange has you beat there."

[atouts]

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not the mercenary here," Childermass counters.

[whattaprick]

"You're the one who keeps getting taken." The agents, the Winter Court, the Void ... Lambert's odds of dying might be greater, but Childermass's odds of getting kidnapped seem to be astronomical. And Lambert's likely to dash himself to pieces trying to get him back every time, too, though he won't say as much out loud.

That much was probably obvious to begin with.

[atouts]

"That's hardly the same," the magician grouches back when that's pointed out, lips pursing into a disapproving frown. "None of those have actually ended in me dying. You can't say the same."

Even if the hunt had been temporary...

[whattaprick]

"I can say I survived just fine for over half a century without relying on spells to bring me back," Lambert huffs, rolling his shoulders back and slouching against the fence.

"No, Childermass. I'm not going to take protection from you that you won't even take for yourself."

[atouts]

Childermass just scowls at him a moment longer but after that, well, there really isn't any argument against something like making sure you don't die, is there? So, he sighs and looks off towards the lakeshore again.

"Very well," he relents. "I will speak to the Ringmaster about two of them."

[whattaprick]

Lambert tips his head to the side, giving Childermass and his expression an assessing look before breaking into a smirk.

“Good,” he says, firmly, before leaning over to nudge him in the side. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

[atouts]

Cue a roll of his eyes in response, gaze returning to the witcher as he does even as he admits, "Of course it was. It doesn't make it any less of an irritation."

But it is what it is. He really shouldn't complain about having a second chance in case he bites it, having been near enough to death at least once before.

"I'm not sure I'm too keen to see what I come out looking like should I ever have to use it."

[whattaprick]

"According to the Ringmaster, you'll come out naked," Lambert informs him, not at all bothering to hide his shitty, shitty amusement at the idea. He knows that's not what Childermass means, but considering what he missed out on, he's duty-bound to inform him.

"Hearing that sure put Strange off the idea of dying."

[atouts]

Okay, that garners a smirk.

"Did it?" Childermass doesn't quite laugh but he does sound amused. "You would think he'd be more focused on having just come back to life..." That has to be quite a hefty bit of magic but, no, Strange doesn't want to be naked. "You, on the other hand, are like to stroll back to your trailer without asking for pants first."

[whattaprick]

"Why walk when I could just ask you to give me a ride to yours?" he asks, brows raised. It's a bit bold, and though he's smirking, he's also watching Childermass's expression, gauging how he takes this.

"There have to be some perks to being your kept man."

[atouts]

"Because last I checked, I don't keep your pants in my trailer," is the answer he gets. It's said in good enough humor, since he's well aware what Lambert is really getting at with that, but he just plays obtuse and raises his eyebrows right back at him.

"Or is that your way of trying to expand your closet space?"

[whattaprick]

"You already keep stealing my things," Lambert points out. Admittedly, it's mostly his shiny things, but the point stands. They both know neither of them really own a wide enough variety of clothing to fill even half a closet, let alone spill over into two.

"Besides, who said I'd need pants?"

[atouts]

"Someone who doesn't mind taking his time getting them back off of you," Childermass says, reaching back over towards Lambert and holding his hand out for the cigarette that the witcher has, thus far, forgotten about.

[whattaprick]

"Is that so?" Lambert laughs, warm and easy, and passes the cigarette over willingly enough. If Childermass wants the nicotine that badly, he can keep it; the witcher has better things to do with his hands.

And his tail. Side by side and leaning against the fence as they are, it's entirely trivial for it to slide companionably around the magician, not quite dragging him to the witcher, but the idea's there.

"Well, you don't have to wait for a special occasion for that."

[atouts]

As comfortable as it has been up until now, the tail coming up around him does have Childermass tensing up, albeit for only a short time. They're apart from the rest but not so far removed that he can ignore it. There's a furtive look given that direction, but inevitably...

Well, inevitably he just takes another drag from that damn cigarette and relaxes again, doing his best to put his usual preference for privacy away for now.

"Oh, I know," he says eventually, once he's pulled the cigarette away from his lips. The magician glances back, away from the lake. "Don't actually need to put much work into, either, knowing you."

[whattaprick]

And as close as they are, it's impossible to miss the way Childermass tenses, if briefly, or where his gaze falls. Sober, it would make Lambert frown; drunk, he just gives Childermass a frank, appraising look, head cocked slightly. He's still smiling, though there's something a touch wistful about it.

"All you'd have to do is ask." It's easier for him to say that, being mildly intoxicated, and also, having already gone the embarrassment of awkwardly pouring his heart out in front of a captive audience. Childermass can't say the same, though, and that's why he squeezes him lightly with his tail, once, then starts to slip it away.