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

"Then you give me more credit than I deserve," Childermass says, words terse. Some tension may leave Lambert but when he takes off, leading the way, it only winds Childermass up worse. He can't tell. How could he? This is Lambert's world, some part of it, some story he already knows, but to what end?

Seems for once Lambert gets to annoy the magician with expecting him to guess, to read his mind. He follows nonetheless, a few steps behind.

The witcher doesn't deign to reply to that. It doesn't take them long to get to their destination, because it's not a very big village, after all. They'll find they have to slow their steps to not outright overtake the man, who leads them to a hut closer to the outskirts of town.

'Hovel' might be a more accurate word for it. It's visibly in need of repair and listing to one side, the lantern light from inside shining through far too many holes. There's a fence around it, if one can call a series of poles hammered into the ground fences. It smells strongly of goats, though whatever livestock lives around here seems to have been put away for the night. It's at that boundary that Lambert stops, crossing his arms and frowning.

The man doesn't notice, still cradling a broken hand and disoriented by the witcher's demand. He gets to the door, but it turns out he doesn't have too even call out for anyone inside: it swings open as he's halfway to it, and what steps out to greet him is a boy.

Underfed for his age, dressed in clothing that's visibly worn but otherwise in good repair, and regarding him warily as he stands in the doorway, blocking his path. His eyes widen a little bit at the sight of obvious injury, and he glances at the magician and the witcher with obvious confusion.

"What--" he starts, but the man doesn't let him get far before he's hitting him hard enough to knock him down into the mud. The boy doesn't even squeak as he goes down, twisting with the momentum of the blow so it hurts less when he sprawls, though it'll still leave a bruise on his face either way. The man doesn't notice that, or the way that small face turns up towards him with an expression of livid fury for all of a moment before it's smoothed over into sullen indifference again.

"Shut your mouth, Lambert, and get me a drink. Where's your mother?"

Edited 2018-05-07 19:46 (UTC)

Childermass is already putting it all together before the man even opens his mouth again to say that name. Lambert had clearly been upset by this story before and it only takes meeting the confused glance he gives them from around his father to realize who the boy is. Then the man strikes him and Childermass immediately steps forward, moving as though he's going to interefere.

And unless he's stopped, he likely will, story be damned all of the sudden. Funny how opinions change once reality settles, though he hadn't been working with all the pieces of the puzzle save for the witcher's seething from the very start. If it makes him a hypocrite, well, it's Childermass. He isn't like to care whether it does or not, not with how his face twists into a sour expression just from what they're seeing before them.

He's been there. He's been that kid. He can only hope this doesn't segue from one childhood misery into one of his own later on, though he suspects he would be less volatile about it...

Lambert isn't like to stop him, even when he catches on that the magician's moving forward, but that's only because his gaze is focused elsewhere -- beyond his father, as he shoulders his way into the hut, bellowing.

"Mila! Wake up, you lazy bitch--"

The boy -- Lambert, once, a long time ago -- flinches as Childermass advances, instinctively curling in on himself. As far as he can tell, the magician's no friend, and the man with the sword behind him? He can only assume the worst. But the drunken shouting, at least, galvanizes him into motion, scrambling to his feet and lunging forward to try and slow him down. He makes the mistake of grabbing for his father's injured arm, though, -- a mistake that's greeted with a roar of pain and another hard blow. This time, something breaks, even as a woman's soft voice grows audible from inside.

"Osric?" She's thin and pale as a ghost, a woman plain as the homespun clothes she wears and her dishwater-colored hair. She gasps when she gets a good look at him -- all the mud and blood, and immediately moves forward, hands already outstretched in supplication. "You're hurt!"

In the meantime, the boy clutches at his nose and crouches in the dirt, hissing softly. Lambert steps forward, but he moves slowly, in a daze. The library has a damn cruel sense of humor.

Edited 2018-05-08 04:39 (UTC)

It takes every ounce of will in his tall, wiry body to not haul Osric back out of the hovel and finish what the nekkers had started. This is Lambert's father? This? This thing. Ultimately, he shouldn't be so surprised. It's not as though he, of all people, can assume a non-shitty childhood is standard. Still, while he does step into the place, Osric only gets a disgusted look thrown at his back and then he's crouching down by the little Lambert and pulling a handkerchief from a pocket.

"Shh, hold this against it, it'll at least keep the blood from getting everywhere," is all he can really offer if he isn't going to go all out and pick a fight with the boy's father. The story isn't liable to like that change and it is still a story, is it not?

In any other circumstance, Lambert would probably make excessive fun of Childermass for comforting a simulacrum of his younger self -- he's not even real, he's had worse, what do you think that's going to change? -- but his attention's all on the woman, who's now attending to her injured, seething husband. There's a brief impulse to say damn the story and gut this far too true to life version of his father just for the satisfaction he never got, but that's just as useless as Childermass comforting little Lambert over there, isn't it?

Little Lambert who cringes back away from Childermass's approach, gaze darting between him and the handkerchief in the man's hand like he half-expects it to burst into flame. He's not the only one looking nervous, though; his mother is also sneaking looks at them, though she knows better than to question her husband, who's still uttering curses as he heavily sits himself down and lets his wife tend to him.

At the lack of any overt violence forthcoming, the boy hesitantly extends a hand ... then yanks the handkerchief from Childermass's fingers like he's afraid doing it any slower would mean the magician might change his mind. Red blooms across the cloth as he holds it to his face, but there isn't really any need to shush him -- he's already as quiet as he can be while breathing shallowly through his mouth.

Edited 2018-05-10 06:11 (UTC)

What else can he possibly do in this story besides that? Childermass has come to all the same conclusions as Lambert has and it leaves him feeling useless. Worse, it makes him feel stupid for not turning away back when Lambert first did, but here they are now, going through the motions of a story neither expected. So, yes, he does comfort a specter of the witcher's younger self, in what little way he can.

He lets the boy snatch the handkerchief with no struggle, no additional 'you'd better return that laters', and instead turns to watch Lambert — the real Lambert — approach the doorway. He looks from him to the mother and father, then back again, quizzically though he can fathom from the expression Lambert wears, he isn't paying the magician much mind.

In the real version of this story, this took longer. The witcher didn't come calling until the next day, until Lambert had already been thoroughly beaten. But the idea of standing around here any longer, his mother looking at him like she looks at his father, is almost too much to bear.

"I've come to settle my reward," he says as evenly as he can. His parents look up, his mother confused, his father's brow furrowing.

"What ... what is he talking about, Osric?" his mother asks.

"What's mine by the law of surprise, for saving your life," Lambert says, forcing the words out. It's terrible acting -- nothing like the steely, dispassionate delivery of the witcher who'd come to their door, but the performance can't matter as much as getting the words right. "The first thing to greet you."

The man pauses, then laughs, short and ugly. "What, the boy? You can have him."

Edited 2018-05-11 05:37 (UTC)

So this is it, how Lambert goes off and becomes a witcher. It's no wonder he never sounds enthusiastic about his station in life. Childermass stays exactly where he is, realizing anything else he might do would only push the story off course, drag it out longer. It's the last thing he would want to do in this case, especially when it involves Lambert.

It leaves a bad taste of helplessness, to be stuck here, now, witnessing this and ultimately blocking the most viable escape route of the little book specter version of the witcher. All he can do is watch and wait, watch and wait. At the very least, he'll push himself back up to his feet, if only to give the boy some space while this conversation unfolds.

It's not going to be much of a conversation. The boy, who picks up on what's going on faster than his drunken father or his stunned mother. While she's only just beginning to protest, he's already springing up to his feet, preparing to sprint away.

Lambert is faster. With no effort at all, he reaches out and grabs the boy before he can bolt, fingers wrapping around one skinny wrist as he wrenches him to his feet. Small Lambert tries to kick him in the shin, trying to twist away, but the witcher's grip is impossible to budge.

"No!" the boy shrieks, panicking, trying to get back to his mother, who's managed to shake herself out of her stupor enough to rise, stepping towards her son.

"Osric, you can't let him--"

"Enough," Lambert snarls, yanking the boy around and raising his free hand, fingers flicking through familiar motions. "Sleep."

The boy's eyes roll up in his head and his knees buckle like wet paper. In a single, effortless motion, Lambert hoists him up over his shoulder and grimaces at the magician. "We're going."

Childermass looks as though he might disagree with that, just leaving like this, without another word, if the way his brow furrows and the grim line he purses his lips into say anything. He won't, though. He will look back at the two other specters of the story, the two parents. Osric's indifference and Mila's growing horror. Nothing he could say would change anything, as he's already realized before, even if it is frustrating.

So he just leans down to retrieve his handkerchief, from where the boy had dropped in when he sprung up to flee. It's still stained with red, though he suspects it will fade the same way everything from these books do over time. As such, he pockets it without worry, turning to follow Lambert when he goes and picking up his pace for the few steps needed to close the distance between himself and the witcher.

What he can do, if nothing else, is escape this scene before Mila begins wailing or even worse can happen. That means taking Lambert by the arm and pulling him — both hims — into the shadows yet again, trying to get them back outside the village as quickly as they had arrived.

On pulling them into the shadows, rather than the usual quiet, it's filled with the sound of fluttering paper -- like a flurry of pages being flicked through at once, loud enough to drown out all else.

When they emerge again, it's not into the edges of the village in the middle of the night ... but in the deep shadows cast by two trees whose branches have knotted tightly together, at the edge of a meadow riotous with flowers, perched on an overlook. Lambert stumbles heavily and catches himself on one of the trees, swearing as he shuts his eyes against the sudden brightness.

The boy is gone. Instead, they're looking down into a valley with a brightly-gleaming lake at the bottom, with the ruins of some sort of castle rising at one end. The whole place is bright with the fresh growth of spring, and there's nothing but wind and birdsong to be heard.

Childermass doesn't stumble, though the sound of paper distracts him, leaving him looking back from where they came through. What that meant flits through his mind, ultimately settling on how they must still be in the book (it helps that he doubts the library has a real forest in it). Then he turns his attention back towards Lambert, poised as if about to say something—

First thought after wondering about the noise: where's the boy? But the second by far outweighs the first. England doesn't lack mountains. There are some, at varying sizes, but none that Childermass has ever bothered getting lost around, outside of roads. What England doesn't have is any like this. It catches him off-guard enough that what he meant to say dies in his throat and he's left gaping like a fool at the view.

It doesn't last long, as this is, after all, still Childermass. He isn't like to stand around staring, as much as he might want to.

"Lambert. Where are we now?"

The question seems to snap Lambert out of it, and he shakes his stupor off, looking around. They're still in the book, obviously, but rather than the smart-ass answer it's tempting to give, he'll answer simply and to the point.

"This is Kaer Morhen. Home to the School of the Wolf." Where witchers are made, he'd say, if he felt like being dramatic, but ... he doesn't. Looking around, it seems to be just them, no sign of a story to chase or unravel.

It's beautiful, he could say, but he won't. Lambert may not appreciate it, considering, and it isn't common enough for Childermass to make such claims out loud. That doesn't stop him from looking out at the valley a moment longer, silent, until he stirs himself to move, to turn back towards the witcher.

"Back there, is that where all witchers come from? Kidnapping?"

Because even Childermass can't look at that and call it, well, not an unfair exchange, but certainly not something he could agree to. A life for a life seems to be a common currency in enough stories and places but to what end? Those can't possibly have good endings.

After a moment's consideration, Lambert just ... huffs, sitting his ass right down in the pass of grass and rock by the overlook so he's facing into the valley, instead of looking at Childermass when he answers. The drop-off is dizzying, looking directly down, but the height doesn't bother him.

"Not all of use, but enough. It's called 'the Law of Surprise,'" he drawls. "They say it means you're marked by destiny." He says it bitterly, scowling out at the beautiful scenery as though it's done him a personal offense.

"Sounds nice, doesn't it? Until you realize they never said it was a good destiny."

Edited 2018-05-18 00:18 (UTC)

"So what happens if the first thing at home to greet someone is a dog? Or a lamp?"

Childermass ends up stepping over and dropping down to take a seat in the grass right next to Lambert. Seeing as he's literally a bird so often these days, heights can't even begin to worry him anymore.

"I'm not sure a destined lamp sounds as appealing as a destined child." That's about it for his attempt at a joke, for what it's worth. He's still looking around them, admiring the view, but he will add to that with, "Though I think if I must have a destiny, I'd rather hear it in a book."

Or his cards, as vague as they can be at times.

"Hah." That does get a smirk out of Lambert, even if it won't entirely lighten his mood. "I asked that once and got stuck running extra laps of the Gauntlet for a month. I think most witchers who don't end up with a kid to take just sell what they get at the next market."

Now that he's looking at Childermass, he notices where his gaze falls, and his grin becomes a little more genuine. "Beautiful view, isn't it? This was always my favorite spot. Took ages to get up, though."

This really must be a book about him, then. It's a weird thought. He'd always wanted more recognition, but it's not like the parts of his life he wanted written down in a book where what Childermass saw just now. The thought's enough to draw a shadow over his expression, lips tightening again.

Edited 2018-05-18 05:31 (UTC)

That earns a snort, though whether it's an offended one or an amused one is up to debate.

"That's no destiny if so," Childermass points out. If it were, it'd be a child every time. Still, there isn't much else to say on the matter, considering the chances of Lambert wanting to dwell on it a slim to none. That means the view becomes the new topic, despite how mundane that is. That means taking a moment to consider it all over again.

"It is..." At least he can admit what he was thinking earlier now. "We do have mountains back home but nothing like this. I've never seen them so tall."

"They wanted somewhere they couldn't be found, I guess. Not that it worked out for them, in the end. Here, hold out your arm." Lambert shifts closer to Childermass, taking his arm and sighting down it as he talks.

"Should be over... there. That gap between those two ridges, you see that? That's the only way into this valley. The snows completely block that pass in the winter."

Lambert, he can look without needing an arm as a pointer, he really can. Not that he complains when the witcher takes his arm and aims it towards the pass, humoring it instead and just looking really hard in that direction for the pass. The two ridges he can see, so he can assume there is a way between them there. It's a far way to look, though, and—

"Damn, I keep forgetting that." Childermass moves to pull his arm away, intending to search the many pockets of the coat they'd given him back on the moon (it's since become a replacement for the one wrecked at Heartstone). "I have a spyglass somewhere here..."

Lambert lets him take his arm back, glancing around instead. The other problem with this ridge is that it tends to attract monsters ... though on that thought, he can’t help but laugh, nudging Childermass in the side.

“Would you rather look through it through a glass, or would you rather fly?”

He'll pause in his search to look up, skeptical of the whole suggestion.

"I would but the last thing anyone needs is you stripping in a library." In a book or no, they are still, technically, out in public. Lambert, c'mon. "Unless you've finally mastered transforming your pants?"

“I’m talkng about you,” Lambert shakes his head. “You turn into a giant bird now, don’t you?” His fangs flash in a grin as he leans forward, eyes gleaming. “Were you ever going to tell me about that?”

Ah, that. Childermass had wondered if anyone would bring that up again or write it off as a Harbinger-given ability. He could just as easily claim it was, but to what end? There's no reason to hide what he can do from Lambert and the witcher isn't like to believe him over it.

"I can," he admits, remaining still as Lambert leans closer. He does raise an eyebrow at that grin, though. "And eventually, yes. I hadn't expected to use it much at all, to be honest. It isn't very subtle." Monsters typically aren't. "Don't tell me you think I should carry you around."

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cw from this point on: child abuse

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