Lost Carnival Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ringleaders) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lostcarnival2018-03-21 03:33 pm
ringleaders) wrote in lostcarnival2018-03-21 03:33 pm
⇨ SPACE OLYMPICS
Who: Everyone!
When: Day 30 - Day 44
Where: The carnival, Zargon, and Olympic Spaceship
What: Things return back to normal as the carnival performs for aliens of all sorts at the Space Olympics. Or at least, as normal as it can be when you've got an underfunded and falling-apart spaceship hovering over a deadly planet.
Warnings: Sports and people's inability to do them.
When: Day 30 - Day 44
Where: The carnival, Zargon, and Olympic Spaceship
What: Things return back to normal as the carnival performs for aliens of all sorts at the Space Olympics. Or at least, as normal as it can be when you've got an underfunded and falling-apart spaceship hovering over a deadly planet.
Warnings: Sports and people's inability to do them.
REACH FOR THE STARS↴ At first glance, the Space Olympics seem marvelous. Aliens from all over the universe, of all shapes and sizes have joined together in an intergalactic display of teamwork and sportmanship. What could be more inspiring than that? It's only when you hang around for a bit that you notice things aren't exactly in tip-top shape. ► OLYMPIC SPACESHIP: This is where most of the events are held. It's a massive spaceship spanning hundreds of miles and consisting of multiple floors. Teleportation discs and space public transport can take you anywhere on the spaceship in a blink of an eye. It has almost every amenity an athlete can think of: multiple gyms, practice arenas, saunas, etc. Likewise, there are plenty of things for civilians and spectators: merchandise stands, shopping malls, grocery stores, and television screens everywhere so people can watch the event. Shuttles to and from Zargon arrive on a regular basis. ► ZARGON: Facility wise, Zargon itself is less impressive than Olympic Spaceship. The carnival and the athlete's village comprise most of the habitable areas. Both are concealed underneath a large biodome, the main thing making the area livable. Enterprising Zargonites have set up stands that let people explore outside of the biodome. Rent a spacesuit and you too can enjoy Zargon's natural wonders, such as the distant red plateaus and the stunning solar winds. Just try and stay away from the toxic mold, naturally occurring pockets of hallucinogenic gas, and ten foot tall Zargon Death Flytrap. ► 1980s TRAINING MONTAGE: Since carnival members can only attempt to medal in one event, why not try different sports to see what that one event is? There's equipment for all sorts of sports: gymnastics, swimming, biathalon, snowboarding, etc. They've even somehow brought space horses up here for Space Dressage! There's also equipment for sports that carnival members might not have even known existed: Space Gymkata, Space Pooh Sticks, Space Limbo Skating, etc. The sky's the limit! ► A BIT OF A BUDGET SNAFU: The Space Olympics is kind of falling apart. After performance week, the carnival is drafted to help out and keep the Space Olympics running as smoothly as possible. This means fixing buildings, breaking up fights, helping in the kitchen, trying to sell merch, etc. If there's a feasible problem, the carnival members will be drafted to help fix it. The biggest problem of all is the multiple mechanical failures: artificial gravity stops working, temperatures on the ship rapidly shift from hot to cold, and the snow machines for Space Slopestyle won't turn off. ► PERFORMANCE: Performance week will start early this stop, to try and get everyone back into the swing of things after the chaos of Wismuth. Athletes from the village roam the carnival, taking in the sights and sounds. A lot of them haven't ever seen anything like the magic of the carnival and it's workers and will proceed to ask question after question about how all of this works: turns out that sci-fi and fantasy don't crossover as much as one would think. Still, don't be alarmed when you turn the corner and there's a Hutt trying his hand at test your strength. |
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If he picks up on Foster's agitation, it doesn't seem to concern him much, though whether that's because he assumes whatever it is is entirely Foster's problem and nothing to do with him, because he doesn't care, or because he has no idea how to deal with it is a mystery.
"'There is no useless information,'" Lambert drawls, turning his head to focus less on the (lack of) a road to give Foster a toothy smirk even as he mimics the cadence and querulous pitch of his voice from that frantic, disjointed conversation weeks ago. "Weren't you the one who said that in the first place?"
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He remembers, abruptly, the scorched onion.
On the other, Lambert was listening to him. He long ago learned that when he speaks, people either hear a gist (often the gist they want to hear, frustratingly separate from his message) or become hung up on some insignificant detail of his delivery, usually for the result of fighting with him about it. Either way, nothing gets done. He's used to that.
Having his own words turned against him (his words, his actual words, not out of context or laden with false assumptions, but intact, whole)--
[And I thought you disagreed.]
Maybe Lambert just startled honesty out of him, or maybe he's being evasive. Either one is plausible here.
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"So what? I disagree with a lot of people," he says, bluntly. Maybe Foster's observational skills are about as shot as his verbal comprehensibility, but Lambert thought that much, at least, was obvious.
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Foster's reply is guarded, and this is exactly why.
Truthfully, his observational skills are a lot better than he lets on, mostly on purpose. How much he trusts his own perspective, however, fluctuates dramatically from moment to moment. This is one of those moments where he doesn't know what to think.
Lambert is the houndmaster, the nightrunners his hounds; in that sense, Foster is a single rat, sustaining himself by scavenging the dogs' scraps. He's tolerated because he leaves no mess, but still dependent on the whims of all in being permitted his worthless life.
So he wasn't really prepared for Lambert to view their disagreement as a nonissue. But really, it makes sense. Why should Lambert care about his agreement or lack thereof? Lambert is goal-oriented. He desires an outcome and then achieves it--the result is what matters, processes bore him.
And it's results that Foster failed to deliver.
[But I'm not 'people.']
What did you expect?
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Around them, the farther they pull away from the biodome, the wilder their surroundings get, and it’s clear that Lambert’s interest is more focused on taking them in, ears flicking back and forth even in the odd little earflaps his hat’s been equipped with. If nature’s warning colors carry over from world to world across universes, the near-luminescent brightness of Zargon’s fauna practically scream challenge: you wanna come here and get fucked up?
Lambert admires that sort of spiteful survival instinct. It’s relatable.
“You ever heard about a place this before?” he asks, idly. As he slows the teeth-jarring speed of the vehicle down to allow him to take the scenery in at greater leisure. Just in time to watch a skittish six-legged creature, startled by their arrival, leap away— only to be promptly engulfed by a gigantic flower that had been doing little more than decoratively spread itself on the ground. Hm. Better steer clear of those.
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Foster isn't sure where Lambert got that idea. He's torn between his internal objection to that assessment and the desperate attempt to remember any 'whining' he ever did. But he doesn't argue, because that's not his place.
[Think lower.] he says, but for once, he doesn't keep going. He could--compare himself not to the horse but its leavings, or the detritus under its feet. But even that is too kind. Even worms have a place in the world, after all. He doesn't, though. Not before Lambert finds... what he was looking for, anyway. Whatever that may be.
Watching the alien beast's swift demise, he'd guess it's 'a challenge.'
Or risk. Something in that vein.
Foster doesn't generally like wilderness; it has nothing to do with danger and everything to do with a lack of interest. Which might be the same thing, really. Dying alone in the woods because you got lost is a stupid way to go. If it weren't for Lambert, he wouldn't be out here. But based on what he's been seeing, most of the threats are stationary... which is at least somewhat interesting. No pursuit, just ambush tactics... anything could be a trap.
[.... are you just sight-seeing?] he asks, and this time he doesn't bother to avoid a loaded tone.
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"Just seems like an odd place to pick for..." How did Scout phrase it? "'Peace through sport and interplanetary community' when it seems like the place would rather kill you." But hey, like he would know.
I'm sorry I was just reading Homestuck and it got into my prose
Okay, that's a lie. He has never had fun in his life without bleeding, or venturing into territory unsafe for work (although as Atlantis proved, it actually pays very well.)
So he takes Lambert's statement at face value--this is scouting, and Lambert's enjoyment or lack thereof is a nonissue. Given Lambert's position, though, his confusion over why such a dismal planet would be hosting an intergalactically-attended diplomatic event is actually itself confusing.
Obviously, politics (and the use of social transactions as leverage for other, more tangibly manifested benefits) are how Foster interprets just about everything that isn't a direct use of force (and even that, really.) But this seems really... basic. Like, learning-the-alphabet grade-school hold-hands-when-crossing-the-street basic. 'Known to someone as catastrophically stupid as him!' basic.
[That's the point. It's.... political.]
He stares at Lambert with all four eyes squinted up for a not-insignificant number of seconds, like he's still trying to muddle through the processes required to comprehend this. Like he still can't be sure he didn't just put all four booted hooves in the mouth he doesn't have by saying something that fucking obvious.
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“Beats running around wearing mostly glitter.” And then he grins, suddenly. “Or being turned into a toy.” He may not have interacted with Foster extensively as a familiar, but he’d caught glimpses of him at the fringes of things enough to make his brows raise.
“Worked out well enough, though,” he adds, steering them up a steep incline that seems likely to get them to the top of a plateau. “Wouldn’t have known it was even possible to ask to turn into one if you hadn’t tried it first.”
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Foster explains, but is caught off guard by the glitter comment. Or more accurately, he's interrupted by it, and takes that segue reasonably as Lambert taking the opportunity to make fun of him, which is all well and good until--
Well, until it isn't. He can't really frown (in confusion or otherwise) because he has no mouth or even nose to wrinkle up, but there's definite consternation--even disapproval lurking under the dismissive tone in his 'voice.'
[It wasn't just me. That one patrolman, the one who claims he's fourteen. Gone-bazooka or Gobozaka--anyway. It didn't do much, did it.]
He put in a lot of effort to achieve absolutely nothing.
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"Sometimes you've just got to throw shit at the wall and see what sticks." And then his gaze slants to Foster, sharp and amused. "What's the matter? Don't tell me you wanted to play hero."
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There's no ego in it--no barbed resentment. He just sounds hollow.
Foster told Syrlya at the beginning what strength Creation had.
The message's recipient just didn't listen, or didn't like it, or didn't... didn't pass it on, in whatever capacity, and once he'd been dismissed, Foster (the least suited to the will to live, let alone being suited to heroism, of quite literally the entire Carnival) had stupidly assumed his words had at least been understood.
And then he wasted all that time: chasing Amethyst, tracking down songs and 'real names' and a hundred other loose ends--
[And Creation seems to think I want to.]
It's just snide enough to undercut his dour tone.
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Fortunately for Foster, any scathing commentary on the merits or demerits of aspiring to heroics is forestalled by the second part of what he says, which gives Lambert pause, ears flicking.
"And what makes you think that?"
Strange had said something about Creation, before Lambert had stomped out of Childermass's trailer, but... he hadn't been in much of a mood to listen then, for obvious reason. Once he can dismiss as Strange's ego deluding him into hearing things. Twice ... he can dismiss as Foster's ego deluding him into hearing things. But all the same, he's curious exactly where that confidence comes from. It's a lot more pointed than other ramblings, so maybe there's actually something to it, for once.
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Foster sounds... not bewildered, exactly, but it's clear that's not a question he was expecting. It's the same dubiousness that accompanied Lambert's questions about politics.
[It didn't speak to Familiars. I knew it was there, of course, but I knew that already.]
It's short and dismissive--but really, he knew about Creation long before he joined the Carnival. He just didn't have a name for it. Not a name that was used by others. He had his own knowledge of it, an awareness of its presence and power, just as he knew the Void's shape, its reign over the End of All Things. He could sense it, grasp it in its essential form, the form of ultimate truth he could know but not explain--!
[But after... I had a brush with it. I can reach out and find it, if I have a purpose to.]
He already knows his purpose, though--he has his purpose, he knows its form. Or he did.
He still does, really. It hasn't changed. It's just.... harder to find his way.
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Or maybe not, but he's dealt with nebulous cosmic entities twice now and both experiences aren't things he'd care to repeat. What Foster's describing sounds somewhat similar to what Strange was blabbing about, before (i.e. magic bullshit). Since it's less plausible that Foster and Strange separately or together convinced themselves that Creation took note of them as special, Lambert can only conclude that as bizarre as this all sounds to him, it must be the truth.
"Good to know. Might come in handy, one of these days."