lostcarnival | it comes with a free breakfast [closed]

Entry tags:

it comes with a free breakfast [closed]

Who: Childermass, Lambert, and Strange
When: D31, morning
Where: Trailer #6
What: Good morning, Childermass is cursed, how would you like your coffee?
Warnings: nah

And just as Childermass told both the witcher and the magician over the radio, not even a half hour ago, the smell of breakfast that fills the trailer and drifts out the cracked window are at least enough to say he did, in fact, have breakfast set out. The coffee is from his own coffeemaker, one of the various items pilfered from Wismuth what seems an entire age ago, but the rest?

Picked up from the cookhouse, no doubt. He certainly doesn't have the supplies to cook on his own and, for all they know, may not even be any good at it. Thankfully, the cookhouse is, and so there's an array of bacon, sausage, bread, butter, hard-boiled eggs, jams and fruit, as well as cream and sugar to go along with the coffee. Not that Childermass has used any in his own, already settled with his own cup of coffee, black as night.

The door will prove to be open (or, in Strange's case, a bathroom mirror put back up), though it's only Childermass sitting about inside, reading some loose papers and sipping coffee. No big dog sprawled out across half the trailer today, it seems.

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To Strange's credit, he's dressed. Granted, he's wearing slacks, slippers, and a corny as hell t-shirt that he got for Solstice but he is hungover and this is just in Childermass's trailer and he still wants to sleep. As such, Childermass and Lambert can deal with sloppily dressed and hungover Strange. Lord knows they've seen him in worse states already. If the spell being cast doesn't alert Childermass to Strange's presence, the fact that he bangs his knee on the bathroom counter and swears loudly will.

He walks into the kitchen area and just makes a beeline for that coffee. "Oh thank God," Strange murmurs, as he reaches the machine and starts to pour himself a cup. He looks over at Childermass...who looks perfectly awake and alert. The bastard. And Lambert's going to probably be awake and alert as well, thanks to his stupid witcher tolerance.

"I appreciate the spread but couldn't we have done lunch?" he grumbles, more for the sake of grumbling than anything else.

Edited 2018-03-22 03:21 (UTC)

Not being gifted with teleportation magic of any sort, despite being in the Supervisor Grove, Lambert arrives after Strange. Worse: he arrives fully dressed, though at least he also isn't fully armed, though he looks like he might have been on his way to being so. His hair's still damp, face still pink like he might have just freshly scrubbed it, and all in all he doesn't look hungover whatsover.

"Morning," he greets, though his evil smile is for Strange and his incredibly unprepared outfit alone. "Ready to get back to work?"

Because while yesterday had been a sort of break, and the Ringmaster had allowed the concession of a slow start to the morning, this is about when the nightrunners had better start heading out there. Without waiting for an invitation, he pulls up a seat at the table and sits down, already moving to heap breakfast onto his plate. Whatever Childermass has to say, he'd prefer to deal with it not on an empty stomach.

"Strange, this practically is lunch," Childermass says, not looking up from the papers just yet. He may have when Strange had banged a knee in the bathroom but he'll never know, now will he? Anyway, once the final party to their... well, brunch, technically, arrives, he does finally look up.

"I'm always ready to get back to work." Enjoy that boring answer, Lambert. There isn't even an iota of fun in it. "Any idea where the Ringmaster has landed the carnival this time around yet?"

This obviously can't be lunch, Strange feels like he could sleep for another solid three or so hours. Now that he's poured himself a mug of the coffee, he takes a sip and lets the warmness linger for a moment or two. Now he just has to drink the whole thing...and probably some water...and probably eat something also.

No commentary from the hungover peanut gallery just yet, Strange still has to work on feeling like an actual person. He shuffles over towards the table, pulls out a chair next to Childermass, sits down and immediately goes for some of the hard boiled eggs.

Lambert had meant that for Strange, naturally, but since Strange isn't feeling chatty, he'll go directly to answering Childermass's question instead.

"Door's open, doesn't look like anywhere we've been before. Mostly red and..." Lambert pauses, struggling to try and figure out a way to describe 'spacelike' as someone who's got no damn context for space to begin with. "... different. Guess we'll find out when we get out there."

He is, of course, managing to get all this out between getting down as much food as he can.

"Enlightening..." Yes, that is sarcastic. Come on, Lambert, that's like no information whatsoever, but it also isn't something he'll harp on about. Childermass invited them here for a reason and it wasn't to get details on their new stop, so whatever. "I suppose as long as it isn't another Wishmuth, it doesn't matter all that much."

Anyway, he lets Lambert and Strange dig into the food, apparently happy with just his coffee for now.

Strange is eating slower than Lambert, mostly because he's still got a pounding headache. However, he has noticed that Lambert's putting the food down at an alarming rate. Don't mind Strange as he just straight up attempts to take half the remaining sausages for his own plate.

"Agreed," Strange can't help but grumble. "It turned out alright in the end, but I'd rather not hear from the void or creation for a long while. That whole business was..." How best to describe this? "Exasperating," he settles on, before taking a bite out of the sausage.

"Now you've done it," Lambert tells both magicians, shaking his head.

"Bet they're going to break down our doors tomorrow just to prove both of you wrong." Strange can take the sausages, sure, but Lambert's going to go for the eggs in turn. He would have been fine heading out early on a mostly empty stomach, but this is a better alternative.

"So what did you want to talk about?" He knows Childermass. This isn't a social call.

That Childermass hasn't already cut straight to the point should probably be telling that, well, he doesn't actually want to tell them. He did tell Strange he was going to be more forthcoming, however, and this is him making the attempt, especially considering—

"Nightshade tracked me down during my time as a Harbinger." There. It's out. Seeing how this affects them all, keeping it to himself was never an option to being with. "I'm afraid I failed to kill her while I had the chance, though I doubt that would have been the best idea in any case."

From the immortal standpoint, anyway. From theirs? Would've been pretty nice, yeah. In any case, he says it as calmly as he does most things, like he may as well just be commenting on the weather or something equally dull.

Edited 2018-03-22 19:26 (UTC)

More than anything that shakes Strange up and out of his sleepiness. He drops his fork, which clatters against the plate. Nightshade found Childermass. Strange has never been good at hiding his emotion and doesn't even bother to temper the look of sheer panic that flits across his face. That rampant paranoia's starting back up again as he can't help but wonder why him, why then, did she know he was a Harbinger, what did she want?

Strange is desperately trying to keep calm and keep his cool but there's a distinct frantic tone in his voice. This isn't good at all.

"What happened?" is his first question, quickly followed by, "And does the Ringmaster know?"

Lambert doesn't drop a fork, or ask any questions. He doesn't, in fact, have much of a reaction at all.

Lambert's tail does, however, have no such hesitation. It slams into the underside of the table hard enough that all the plates and utensils jump about an inch in the air (and sorry if anyone made the mistake of holding coffee on it).

"Talk," he bites out, voice far too close to a growl as he holds himself stiffly in his seat instead of, say, lunging across the table and throttling Childermass. Because if it was as simple as Childermass running into Nightshade and getting away from her, he would have told them so to start with, wouldn't he? While Strange has his little freakout, he keeps his eyes on Childermass, expression already shuttering down. Whatever comes next, he knows it isn't anything he wants to hear ... but he has to. Childermass just probably won't thank him for blowing a fireball through his trailer wall, so he's trying not to let that happen.

Edited 2018-03-22 20:01 (UTC)

Sorry, Lambert, you're getting a disapproving look for the tail (though he thankfully had his cup of coffee held up at the time). It may not have broken anything but it might, next time when he actually hears what happens. The last thing he wants to do is explain around why his table needs to be fixed to engineering, considering that group is made up of purely nosey people to one extent or another.

Childermass is still scowling at Lambert as he does just that. Talk. He starts by answering Strange's questions.

"The Ringmaster was the first person I told," he says, watching the witcher a moment longer before letting his attention switch over to the other magician in the room. "We got into a fight. Apparently, Harbingers can give a fairy all the trouble a regular mortal cannot but..."

Because there's always a but, isn't there? One he doesn't sound at all pleased about.

"She got the upper hand in the end. I refused to help her and so she left me with a curse from the Rose Queen instead."

Unfortunately, that tail thump knocks Strange's cup of coffee all over his plate and partly on Childermass's table. Strange still stares for a moment, a bit shell-shocked and panicky, as he half-heartedly tries to mop up some of that coffee with his napkin...only to stop entirely when Childermass mentions that he's cursed.

Almost instantly, Strange starts to stare at Childermass, trying to see if he can piece out the curse himself with his Third Eye. Now that he knows what he's looking for, it's a bit easier to spot the magic. A hint of something Summer Court that flickers around Childermass's heart. If he wasn't looking for it, Strange would ignore it entirely. But now that he can spot it, it just validates what Childermass is saying.

He hates this. He hates that Childermass is cursed, he hates that this happened in the first place, and he hates that his dispelling magic isn't strong enough to remove something like this in the first place. What a failure of a magician he was.

"Goddamn it," Strange swears, though the outright staring continues. "Did she say what the curse did?"

"What is it about English magicians attracting curses like flies to shit?" Lambert asks of no one in particular. He can't stand this, and his instinct is to fly off the handle and just start screaming at Childermass's ability to remain calm in the face of all this -- or visibly calm, anyway -- but he tells himself he can save the pissiness once he has the full length and breadth of exactly how angry he should be.

"How fucked are you?" For now, he'll grit his teeth and cross his arms, claws digging into his own skin, hard.

And you'd better believe he's remaining calm throughout this entire conversation, because, of course, it's Childermass. Panic would solve nothing. If anything, it could very well make it worse, rolling this out into a massive shouting match between the three of them. So, no. He'll stay calm, thanks, even if his expression does tighten, betraying the faintest bit of worry.

"We won't know until it takes effect," is the extremely unsatisfying answer to that. "The Ringmaster described it as a promise of harm. There are no actual parameters aside from me being cursed. No how, no when, just that something will happen at some point."

A promise of harm? Well. Considering just how harmful he knows Nightshade can be, that makes his heart sink somewhere close to his stomach. No matter what, they can't let that happen. There is a problem, Strange is going to try and throw magic at it.

"The death of the enchanter is an option, but not guaranteed. I could try and ask Creation but I have no idea how that promise actually works. What if—what if I study some more, if I bolster up my spellbreaking then that could at least lessen it."

It's obvious that Strange is rambling a bit, dipping back into theory and magic because what else is there to do? Someone should cut him off, otherwise the slightly panicked theory rambles could go on for minutes on end.

"If you want to fuck up the fae, iron's the way to do it," Lambert answers flatly. Iron which, last he checked, Childermass had, which begs the question--

"You had iron. Why didn't you just use it?" His words are clipped and accusatory, a testament to the fire he's fighting to tamp down when all he really wants to do is to hit Childermass for being a colossal idiot with no sense of self preservation. As is Strange. He can feel his temples pounding with how tightly he's clenching his teeth.

Edited 2018-03-23 01:39 (UTC)

Childermass knows he could have and should have, just added the knife to the cards he was throwing around. It may have saved him. They'll never know.

"I just didn't," he fesses up to that after a tense silence, ending it with a sigh and his shoulders slouching some. No trying to defend it, no trying to make up an excuse. His attention strays from Strange to Lambert, then back again.

"Strange, that's enough. If the Ringmaster can't help it, I doubt either of us can do better..." Although, what was that thing he said about Creation? He furrows his brow at that. "How would you even ask Creation? I don't recall you being a Star Guardian."

"I wasn't," Strange responds. And, knowing full well that he'll sound even more like a madman than usual, Strange starts to explain.

"When the concert ended, I could feel something different. I was never a Guardian or Harbinger but I knew that Creation had reached out and granted me a boon. I don't know the terms or to what extent it could help, but it's there."

Strange frowns a little before going back to trying to wipe up the rest of his spilled coffee. When he phrases it like that, he sounds like an idiot. But how the hell does one explain something so instinctual in the first place?!

"You 'just didn't,'" Lambert echoes, slow and mocking. He's never handled being helpless well, as both of the men at the table well know. Strange's rambling, unfortunately, isn't even going to get a bat of the eye from him, because Lambert? Lambert is fucking pissed, and the smile he gives Childermass as he leans over the table to hiss at him is all teeth.

"It's just too bad there wasn't a way to prevent yourself from being found by her, isn't it?" he asks, jovially, before pretending to have a revelation. "Except of course there was! Because she never found Steven or Strange! It's almost like they had a spell to protect them." Point made, the last words come out in a snarl edged with the barest flicker of flame, and he takes a deep breath, gaze snapping to the other magician ineffectually wiping at the table.

"Get your quill."

Edited 2018-03-23 03:26 (UTC)

Well, he was listening to Strange ramble, no matter how ridiculous it may have sounded. Childermass may have only felt the brush of Creation for a few hours before that entire mess ended but it isn't an impossible concept for him, to just have a feeling. It's certainly how he knew what all his cards did, even without testing them out first, drawing what he needed without even looking--

Ah, but then Lambert's up in his face, all teeth, and that pulls his attention back to the witcher. He won't lean away, not even when snarls, not even at the flicker of fire. He just purses his lips into a thin line and takes every word drowning in sarcasm.

He'd have been content to sit in silence while he went on and on, too, only Lambert turns his ire towards Strange and leaves Childermass puzzled.

"Quill? What quill?"

There's so many worrying signs about the quill before Strange actually explains what it is. As soon as Lambert mentions the quill, Strange gives him a glare that clearly states Lambert's an idiot for bringing this up here and now. Didn't he already tell Lambert that Childermass would react badly to the simple existence of the quill? Why bring it up now of all times?

At least this is taking Strange's mood from panicky to annoyed. Great, now he's going to get yelled at by two people. And he's still hungover!

"For the lunar solstice, the Ringmaster gave me a magical quill that can be used to write powerful binding agreements—specifically, blood contracts. Though I've no idea how Lambert thinks a binding contract could counteract a faerie curse."

He's standing his ground: Strange is explaining the quill in a matter of fact way. He's not guilty about it and certainly isn't ashamed, he just really wishes Lambert could have kept his dumb mouth shut so the subject could eventually be brought up at a better time.

Lambert doesn't flinch or retreat. Sure, he's no expert on faerie whatever, but apparently neither of the two idiots in the room are either, so his opinion is as valid as any other, isn't it.

"The curse is a promise of harm. A contract's a promise," he says, flatly. "Faerie magic's powerful, but we know it can be bound. We can make a contract that if the curse comes to pass, it'll split between us. Or make a contract that if something happens to him," he jerks his chin at Childermass. "One of us will know it. Or promise that if we ever hear about Childermass making a contract to protect someone without protecting himself, I'm going to drag him back there myself."

Edited 2018-03-23 04:13 (UTC)

It would probably be kinder to actually just yell at them both and leave in a huff over the sheer implication of this quill but, again, it's Childermass, so he only grows very quiet, very still, while he looks from one to the other. If anything, the idea that the Ringmaster would give Strange such an awful gift to begin with, that's what pisses him off the most, even if he won't say as much, the only real sign of anger how his jaw tightens as he clenches teeth together.

He won't yell. He doesn't want to. What he does instead is very carefully set his cup of coffee down (as he's been keeping it up in case of further tail outrage) and says, "I don't care what you think these contracts of his can do. I refuse to sign anything."

Who's surprised? Strange isn't! He looks intensely annoyed in general: partly due to Lambert bringing up the quill, partly due to the fact that he knows Childermass loathes that thing and is doubting Strange's judgement already, partly due to the fact that again, he didn't want Childermass to know this to begin with!

"You can't use a contract to solve all your problems. Besides, I told you this would happen," Strange grumbles, looking at Lambert. He's briefly letting himself get in that 'I told you so' before standing up and walking back over to the coffee machine. He needs to be more awake for all this nonsense and thanks to Lambert's tail, he's out of coffee.

"The contracts require consent," he grumbles vaguely in the direction of Childermass. "I couldn't force you to sign one even if I wanted to."

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