lostcarnival | ⇨ THE ATHENAEUM

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⇨ THE ATHENAEUM

Who: Everyone!
When: Day 47 - Day 58 ish
Where: The Athenaeum
What: The carnival arrives at book world. First week, they'll be performing for magical manifestations of book characters. Second week, it's time to hunt (for books, in the library.) Around Day 58 some stuff will occur.
Warnings: Reading is mandatory.

FAERIE TALES↴

Though the carnival will be performing for its guests in the first week, they are welcome to search the Athenaeum while they are off duty during that time. The manifestations of story characters will be out in full force during performance week, with animals, people, objects, and even locations growing out from various tales. Most are distracting at worst, and will be curious to check out the carnival. Some, however, can be as dangerous as they were in their stories of origin. You know what to do.

► IT'S TIME TO ROLEPLAY: The best way to deal with book ghosts is to follow their narrative to its logical conclusion - turn the tables, work the story so it ends in your favour! Naturalistic and narratively satisfying plotting will have the manifestations following your lead. However, push too hard and introduce too many plot holes, inconsistencies, or illogical plot twists, and they will reject your reality utterly, becoming quite aggressive in the process. You can also use your natural abilities and powers to fight them in a traditional sense, but in the Ringmaster's experience, it's best to fight reality benders by bending reality right back at them. If you aren't careful, it's possible to be dragged fully into a story's reality, and then things get really messed up.

► IT'S ALSO TIME TO READ: The carnival came here for a purpose, and that purpose is to research. Specifically, the Ringmaster is looking for information on the Queen's Miracles - the set of ancient fae artifacts that the Blue Rose is one of. The carnival needs these artifacts to defend itself, but nobody knows where they've been for thousands of years. That's what the books are for. However, nothing is stopping you from pursuing knowledge for personal reasons. The halls are open to your perusal, and only your heart can guide you to the book you truly seek. Check the plot post to see what's allowed, and sign up to find plot info or other important game information below.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A cheerful Jonathan Strange is either high on something, or up to something. As he can't smell any alcohol or drugs on the man (recently, anyway; who knows when he last laundered his clothes) Lambert regards the magician with wary suspicion. The moment he realized they were ending up in a library, he'd fully resigned himself to not seeing half of his nightrunners for the rest of their entire stay, so seeing Strange actually engage in human contact is a surprise.

"I already know how to mix drinks, Strange," Lambert answers. Terrible drinks that will get you drunk like a shot, but he takes the book anyway, after a cursory scan of the rest of the stack.

"What's there to vote on? I thought the place was run by queens and kings and nobles with too much time on their hands."

At least for this moment, Strange is definitely up to something. But also, part of this is that after not knowing what the hell was going on in Wismuth and not knowing what the hell was going on in space, finally Strange is in somewhere vaguely close to his element. Yes, some of

"We do have a parliament, even if it isn't used that much," Strange remarks, as if Lambert knows what a parliament is and knows exactly what Strange is talking about. He looks around for a moment before awkwardly setting the rest of his books down on some open shelf space nearby. There we go, that frees up both hands.

"And you don't know how to mix anything that tastes decent. Granted, Shura might not care if it tastes decent, but you've got to at least make an effort."

Strange heard stories about Space Drunk Obstacle Course. You don't compete in something like that unless you're okay with terrible alcohol.

Lambert's brow furrows. Why the hell would Strange want him to --

Oh. Right. Somehow, the magician still thinks she's the one Lambert's pining after. Lambert should have known he wouldn't forget about that. As it is, the witcher rolls his eyes at the magician.

"Who cares about the taste? It's about getting drunk." He's opening the book anyway, out of random curiosity -- and not without a little wariness. Look, he's been in here long enough to encounter book ghosts. He's not sure if weird cocktails can have ghosts, but weirder things have happened.

"If we're supposed to be looking for information here, we're going to be stuck a while," he complains. Not that Strange probably sees it as something to complain about, probably. "This place is huge, and nothing's organized."

Considering that Strange is bound and determined to be the best wingman he can be, there is no way in hell he's going to forget about that. After all, this is for Lambert's own benefit! He should be happy this is happening!

"And you wonder why you're still single?" Strange teases, as if it's obvious. Sometimes there's drinking to drink and sometimes they're drinking to try and pretend to someone that you have a sense of class. Lord knows he wouldn't offer Arabella any of Lambert's disgusting homemade booze if she came to the carnival, nor would he drink any around here. Sometimes you need to lie and pretend you're classy.

Still, the conversation's shifted, so Strange shifts with it. Unfortunately, it's shifted to books so really, Lambert might want to end up going back to romance after Strange nerds out. "I wouldn't mind being stuck here. The organization's terrible, I'll admit that, but it's a library of multiple worlds! I could only dream of reading some texts like these."

Strange is talking, all Lambert can hear is "blah blah I'm a huge nerd." Still, he's happy to leave the topic of singleness behind ... until something inevitably brings it up again, anyway.

"Don't know why you'd want to read some of these, anyway." Lambert tucks the drink book under his arm absently -- he's curious about it, and he can think of a few uses for it, but like hell he's telling Strange that. To illustrate his point, he picks up a book at random off the shelf, reading the title out solemnly.

"'Fifty-One Things To Make Out of Your Own Leg Hair.' Yeah, I've definitely been looking for this my whole life."

Alright, that is nasty and Strange can't help but grimace a little at the title. Still, he's firmly on the side of team library and of the opinion that the Athenaeum is absolutely wonderful, so he's going to at least continue trying to make his case. And so, defiantly, he picks a book off of the shelf at random, looks down at the title...and then discovers it's written in braille.

"Well whatever that says, I'm certain it's of use to someone," he says, as he shows the book back into the bookshelf. "Besides, we're not searching properly. We'll find something of use when we search the way we're supposed to."

When they...search by following their heart. That needs work and Strange knows it.

“When have we ever done anything the way we’re supposed to?” Lambert rolls his eyes. It’s like you don’t even know the people you’re working with, Strange.

“Run into anything about yourself yet?” From his smirk, it’s not hard to tell he’s laughing at something internally. He’d assumed he magician’s heart’s desire would always be to read about himself being famous, but... “If not, you could add them. Heard one will swap stories and books with people, if there’s something they wanna keep.”

"I have run into a few books about me," Strange admits, surprising no one. "And I already know what I'm going to add to this collection. Can you believe that so many of these books relegate Arabella to the footnotes?"

Lambert, let's be real. Strange's heart's desire flips between 'magic' and 'Arabella' on a daily basis. The word 'footnote' is said in a tone of utter horror. Arabella is amazing and pretty and just oh so smart, why can't the books realize how amazing she is and give her a book of her own? Come on, library!

"I'm going to write something about her instead."

Lambert stares at Strange a bit blankly. He doesn’t get why he seems so up in arms about this, but...

“What would you even write about?” he asks, skeptically.

And now it's Strange's turn to look at Lambert a bit blankly. Why isn't he up in arms about this?

"Her life," he remarks, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "What she was doing while we were in England. How we met. Things like that."

"Doesn't make for a very good book, would it?" Lambert opines. "It'd be a lot of just doing things around the house and waiting for you to stop being done with magic. Sounds like about the most exciting thing that happened to her was marrying a magician, getting kidnapped by a faerie, then getting her husband cursed by that faerie."

Although now that he's thinking about it, that's a story, isn't it? He turns to gaze at the books speculatively, hand on hip.

"Did any of the books about you talk about that?"

"Of course it would make a good book!" Strange splutters. "A book doesn't have to be action-packed, it can just be about a conversation! It—" But Strange cuts himself off as the familiar feeling of magic being cast plays in the back of his brain. He turns around to find the source, but it's too late. Darkness is already spewing forth from one of the books on his desk as the scene changes.

It's a small Italian courtyard, sandwiched in between two large apartment style buildings. Mirrors are scattered throughout the courtyard: hand mirrors, larger bedroom mirrors, et cetera. There's a large birdbath like structure in the middle of the courtyard, filled with water. The courtyard is also filled with ravens which regard Strange with wary eyes before fluttering over to Lambert and landing near him, like they're waiting instruction. But the most noticeable thing is the darkness. It's thick, pervasive, blotting out any sign of the sun or stars. It's magical as hell: the product of the faerie's curse on Strange.

Lambert also gets a book present. He'll find himself with two things: a letter in one of his pockets, and a small blue box in his hand. The box has a detached woman's pinkie finger inside. Not that Strange realizes the narrative slotted Lambert in the role of himself: he's too busy swearing, complaining, and trying to seem like this doesn't bother him when in reality, it really does. "How wonderful Lambert, you've jinxed us. Apparently simply talking about the curse is enough to drag both of us into it!"

Lambert's unimpressed expression says clearly enough that he begs to differ, but his medallion jerks against his chest -- harder than the low-level hum it's been doing the whole time they've been here. He looks up, ears flattening to his head as the scenery changes around them, and he almost takes half a step back when the birds flutter to him.

The box in his hand and the weight of something unfamiliar in a pocket surprise him, but Strange whining distracts him before he can investigate further, so he'll address that first.

"Why would it act up now? Isn't it not supposed to work while you're not in your world?" Or something like that. One of those weirdly specific magic rules that he doesn't entirely understand. He frowns at the mirrors around them, the scenery that's been swapped in for the shelves.

"Where are we?"

Lambert's right: it shouldn't work here. But the familiar blackness told him almost instantly that this was his curse, the tower of darkness. And now that he's looking around and can spot the other details, Strange knows exactly where they are.

"We're in Venice," Strange responds. Oh great. They're in Venice. He spent all of his time in Venice being cursed or insane, he doesn't want to be in Venice! Strange walks up to one of the mirrors, making a half-assed attempt at an explanation as he does so. "My apartment is just up those stairs. I haven't returned magic to England yet, all the mirrors are still in one piece. Oh God, if this is a book, does that mean I'm cursed or there's a book Jonathan who's cursed?"

Strange continues to yammer and theorize under his breath. He has a slight idea of what's going on (book nonsense) but his expression is swapping from irritated to confused to slightly scared every second or so as Strange mentally goes through the whole range of emotions.

Naturally, Strange yammering is Lambert’s cue to tune him out, as there’s little he can do to calm down a Strange who’s so thoroughly worked up. Instead, aiming to satisfy his own curiosity more than anything else, he decides to open the box in his hand. It opens readily enough, but the contents ... are not illuminating.

Since the only one who might have a clue is over there in the corner muttering himself into a frenzy, Lambert’s going to take the opportunity to interrupt, rudely:

“Do you know what this means?” He holds out the box with the pinky in it, brows raised. This should make for an entertaining explanation, if nothing else.

Edited 2018-05-02 05:44 (UTC)

As Lambert holds out the box, Strange looks over with a little frown. "That's Lady Pole's finger," Strange explains, as if a finger in a box is a perfect explanation. "I gave it to Childermass to reattach it and break the spell on her. Or, the book Strange will give it to Childermass, I suppose."

Because seeing that finger definitely hammers home that no, this must be a book. He already gave Drawlight the finger to give to Childermass: he knows that much. And considering that the mirrors aren't broken, that makes even more sense. Which means that Strange has a pretty accurate guess of his mental state right about now.

"If I show up, I'm leaving you to deal with me." There's a pause because wait, does that sentence make sense? Strange doesn't know, and starts to clarify. "The Jonathan Strange of this story is currently mad. I don't think it would end up well if that me had to deal with a vision of the future on top of everything else."

“I thought you were still claiming you were currently mad, and you know we’re not getting out of here until the story’s done,” Lambert points out, though without much rancor. Still, he looks around, as though he half-expects mad Strange to jump out from the shadows at any moment.

Reattaching a finger to break a spell is strange, though he’s heard stranger ... and it tickles at memory, finally connecting the goings-on with what Strange has only mentioned in passing before, and he frowns.

“What was the spell he was supposed to break? You said the faerie brought her back — was Childermass supposed to kill her again?” Because that’s obviously what you do with resurrected women, right? Lambert’s never heard a tale of that which ended well. Turning away from Strange reveals where the letter’s found itself, stuck in the back pocket of his pants, though he’s well distracted from it now. Because—

“When did you give it to Childermass? Is he suppsoed to show up here?”

Edited 2018-05-02 14:20 (UTC)

The way that Strange keeps stealing glances at one of the apartments tells Lambert where he thinks book-Strange is: up there, probably wondering where the hell his letter and little box went to. But Lambert's question brings him back to the conversation.

"What? No, of course not. Lady Pole was enthralled alongside Arabella. Reattaching the finger would break the enchantment." Strange is honestly a bit confused at the idea of rekilling Lady Pole. She was brought back from the dead, it seems a waste of time to kill someone who was alive again.

"And Childermass won't show. I gave the letter and box to a man named Christopher Drawlight, someone Norrell sent to spy on me. Drawlight gave the things to Childermass." Well, Drawlight was supposed to give the things to Childermass.

Strange looks around the area, with a frown. "He isn't here," he murmurs. "I suspect the story ends with the book myself giving Drawlight the instructions and bringing magic back to England, but we can hardly do that if neither of them are here." Which leaves...what? The two of them hanging out in a darkened courtyard, surrounded by ravens and mirrors?

Yeah, with the way things are, there isn't really much of a story here except 'crazy magician sits alone in the dark and dies of boredom,' which Lambert isn't terribly interested in living out. It's both a relief and not to know that a book version of Childermass won't be making his presence known -- he wouldn't recognize Lambert, anyway.

"You must have done something to get him here, to give it to him, right? You just have to do it again." As he speaks, he finally reaches back to pull out the letter from his pocket, squinting at Strange's handwriting (not the most legible, in his opinion, mad or not) to see if it's anything remotely useful for the present situation.

It's not entirely useful. The letter is just cliff notes for Emma Pole: stay asleep, show Arabella the exit, here's what Childermass is going to do, we'll have everybody else save you when the time is right, I'm going to summon the Raven King, and so on and so forth.

As Lambert reads the letter, Strange walks over towards the birdbath. Fine, fine, he'll do the magic and get this over with (though Strange does roll his eyes at Lambert as he heads over.) He closes his eyes, tries to reach out to the darkness, to let the magic of the curse seep through him and boost his own magic. Waving a hand over the birdbath, he commands, "Show me Christopher Drawlight."

Nothing happens. Lambert's medallion isn't even humming. Strange frowns, moves his hands slightly, then commands again, "This is how it was done before, this is how it'll be done now. Show me Drawlight." And nothing happens. Out of irritation, Strange snaps his fingers, muttering a quick word. A flame hovers where he snaps before Strange snuffs it out of existence. So, some magic is working but others aren't. Strange turns to give Lambert a confused look...right as he notices one of the ravens watching Lambert, waiting patiently and giving him an expectant expression like they used to give him, before he brought magic back to England. Strange attempting the magic of the story didn't work and Lambert had the box and letter on him. He's got a fun new theory now and it absolutely sucks.

"You give it a go."

“Give what a go?” Lambert snaps at Strange, looking up from the letter he’s been skimming with a frown. “You’re the magician, not me, remember?”

The theory that is occurring to Strange is slowly occurring to Lambert as well, but unlike the magician, he’s far more reluctant to accept it, instinctively pushing the knowledge away. He doesn’t want to be drawn into this story — but the longer he delays, the deeper the darkness grows, the more the birds seem to encroach. Stiff-legged, he makes his way to Strange and the birdbath, scowling all the while.

“This is stupid. Show me Drawlight,” he mutters sullenly, waving a hand over the water. For all his protestations, he did notice what Strange was trying to do.

And the magic works. Reflected in the water is Drawlight: a nervous and slightly scared looking Englishman. His attire is shabby as well, but it's a 'desperately trying to stay fashionable with no money' shabby, unlike Strange's 'I don't give a fuck' hobo chic.

Well. This confirms it. Strange looks over towards Lambert with a funny little smile on his face. On the one hand, he's a bit pissed off that the narrative has somehow recognized Lambert as Strange instead of Strange himself as Strange. On the other hand? Ooooh look at me, I'm Lambert and I'm not a magician despite the fact that I do magic on a regular basis. Who's not a magician now, buddy.

"Well, magician," Strange starts, with that funny little smile still on his face. "You'll need to summon Drawlight here, give him the instructions and box, and then open the mirrors and bring magic back to England. Any questions?"

Lambert, needless to say, looks incredulous, and rightfully so in his opinion. He looks from Strange, to the ghostly image in the birdbath, and then back at the magician. The urge to chuck the the finger box at his stupid smiling mop of a head is nearly overwhelming for a moment, but he reels it in.

"And just how the fuck am I supposed to do that?" All right, so he didn't reel it in all that well, but he's trying, see? Gritted teeth and all.

Oooh, look at me, I'm a witcher, I don't do magic unless it's practical, just ignore the whole daemon thing. The more Lambert's irritation grows, the more Strange's irritation starts to fade. He's still a bit jittery because of the surroundings and the curse, but Lambert's complete disapproval of everything makes him feel a little bit better.

"The curse is killing you, but you can manipulate it as well." Did he tell Lambert about that 'I almost died' bit? Hopefully. Well, if not, now he knows. "Now that you know where he is, ask the darkness to reach out and bring him to you."

Lambert stares at Strange blankly. “I don’t feel like I’m dying.” The story’s trying very hard to make Lambert think he’s dying but that’s where that mental fortitude comes in handy. The best it can do is try to dim and flicker the images around them to simulate fading vision, and one of the ravens caws when Lambert speaks, an air of disapproval about the way it cocks his head. The floor underneath them lurches angrily, making Lambert reach out to steady himself on the bathtub quickly with his free hand.

“All right, all right!” he grumbles. “Bring me this fucking idiot so we can get this over with already!” He gestures ineffectually at the darkness like he’s seen Strange do a hundred times before, impatiently.

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