if we just stay together it'll be alright

[whattaprick]

Who: Lambert & Peridot and dead weight
Where: The Carnival
When: After Elysium.
What: An inglorious homecoming.

All things considered, everything in Elysium went a lot better for Lambert than his last encounter with True Fae, but he doesn't feel much better for it. He knows that they've only deferred their biggest problems for now -- if nothing else, the experience was a painful highlight of exactly how persistent the Ringmaster's enemies are, and they've still got their lost workers to recover -- but he can, at least, take care of one.

After everything, their return is almost anticlimactic: turn one corner, and then another, and then the Carnival entrance is there, where it was lost to shadows before. When they step through to the Carnival, and nothing follows them, Lambert isn't going to bother hiding the way his shoulders sag in relief. Rather than heading to the medical tent, though, where the Doctor might or might not be ...

"Can you bring him to my trailer?" he asks, turning to the dragon beside him. He doesn't expect her to answer him with a full mouth, but he imagines if she's tired of playing pack horse already, she'll make it known. "If not, I'll carry him the rest of the way."

Comments

[periphrasing]

"...It's really not," Peridot replies flatly. After a brief pause, she sighs. "Lapis has interests, she's just... she's had a hard life, you know? And she has her own issues to deal with. The last thing she needs is more complicated feelings mucking everything up and creating more drama."

[atouts]

The temptation to say 'so like everyone else' is high but Childermass senses discord that way. Ultimately, it's not really his business, is it? Beyond swapping relationship statuses, apparently, which Lambert saw fit to do for him.

So, he shrugs.

"As you say," which is the most neutral thing he can offer in return, closing the dresser drawer and crossing back over to sit on the edge of the bed. "Did Lambert take my belt?"

Yeah, he noticed that, too, but decided to get a shirt on first.

[periphrasing]

Peridot nods. "He figured it would be useful to take back out into the library." She tilts her head slightly, considering. "Where did you get iron from, anyway? I was under the impression that the substance was banned in the carnival."

[atouts]

See, where he had seemed less annoyed over Lambert telling Peridot about the relationship, that he went on to include the entire 'iron' part of things is what does the trick. He scowls, face drawn in a short-lived look of irritation.

"It is," Childermass can clear that part up right away. As for the rest? There's no point in trying to hide anything about the origin of the knives. "The Ringmaster gave them to me in case of an emergency. It was how I forced the Blue Rose's vines to retreat on the moon."

Or in the moon. Whatever.

"Though I imagine now that Lambert has them, they're about to become common knowledge..."

Whoops the mega thread ate my life srry

[periphrasing]

"Maybe he didn't know they were supposed to be a secret?" Peridot offers lamely, looking uncomfortable. "I don't know. Considering how many fae are apparently running around out in the athenaeum, it's probably a good idea for him to take it. Even if using it is against the rules," she says, adding that last bit at a grumble.

[atouts]

"I think I'd rather they carry on ignoring Lambert, actually," Childermass disagrees. His lips purse into a thin line and he looks towards the trailer door. It's hard to disguise to worry written on his face, or more like he won't bother to, now that Peridot knows anyway.

"If iron can make them notice you, it'll make them notice him."

[periphrasing]

"I'm sure he'd only use it if it was an extremely dire situation," Peridot tries to reassure him with confidence, very probably giving Lambert far too much credit.

[atouts]

Childermass, however, won't.

"He'll use it the very moment it becomes convenient to," Childermass grumbles. Awfully judgemental for someone who supposedly likes the guy, but that tends to come with knowing him fairly well or, at least, enough to worry that he's right.