lostcarnival | the med tent is the hoppin place to be

Entry tags:

the med tent is the hoppin place to be

Who: Childermass & open.
When: D90-D91
Where: Back at the carnival, in the medical tent.
What: Childermass had a bad time with a bear's claws and now he's stuck on bed rest.
Warnings: Mentions of violence, injury.

The tail end of the entire Eden fiasco is a blur to Childermass. He made a very poor tactical choice when dealing with Bezaliel, one of the Architects with far more power of the shadows than the magician could have ever imagined. One set of iron claws later and he only vaguely remembers being found by Syrlya and Lambert, bleeding to death in the forests of Eden. They brought him... somewhere.

The temple? He imagines it must have been, the one the healers kept, or else he doubts he'd yet be alive. Who and how he was brought back out of Eden is a mystery and one he hasn't inquired about. Someone carried him or the Ringmaster whisked everyone away, most like, and now all that's left is for him to lay still as can be in a cot and dwell on all the 'should haves' running through his head. In fewer words, sulking, although with his usual lack of emotion, it'd be hard to tell as much.

With his left side and chest all stitched up, along with deep scratches across that same side of his face and what's bound to be a brand new scar across his sharp beak of a nose, there's not much for him to do but wait. Eventually he'll be free to move without worry of popping a stich or two but until then, if he spots anyone approaching by foot he'll eye them and ask in a hoarse, gravelly voice:

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to help me escape back to my own trailer..." It's a pointless request. They wouldn't make it very far. "Or at the very least bring me something to read?"

Or if it's only someone else stuck there with him, well, he clearly can't ask them for aid. They're in as much a bad spot as he is, meaning the best he can offer is a curious look and then a somewhat pained shrug.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"You don't have to be the one to obtain every powerful artifact," Strange responds, with a wry little smile on his face. "Delegate that job to someone less faeblooded."

Isn't that one of the perks of being a supervisor? Delegation? Lord knows Childermass shouldn't touch the thing anyway, what with all the trouble that happened when Steven took the Blue Rose.

As for the question about Ignatius, Strange shakes his head. "Only I was captured at the start. He snuck into the prisons later and accidentally revealed his hand when I entered the Mirror. I think he was there to try and rescue me."

And then, Strange gets that slightly besotted look on his face that he only gets when he talks about magic or Arabella. "We talked it over after he was rescued from the party and while West was patching him up. Apparently I acted as a 'true comrade in arms.'"

He won't lie, after doing so much for Ignatius, trying to protect him, trying to just befriend him and show the fae that he doesn't have to go through all this by himself and there's at least one person in the carnival who cares about him and wants to keep him safe...hearing that phrase and hearing Ignatius actually acknowledge his efforts is friggen wonderful.

Unsurprisingly, Childermass looks thoroughly unmoved by this revelation. While it is a good thing to know and he certainly makes a mental note of it, there's little of that to show on his face beyond, say, him blinking. Which tells literally nothing at all, so.

"Even if I never touched the Mirror, it doesn't mean I could not have done more..." But that aside, back to certain fire fae. "Still on speaking terms with him, then," is the best he'll offer before leaping on what he now very suddenly wishes to know, "I take it he's upheld his end of the deal with you. Are you no longer bound to serve him?"

Edited 2018-08-29 00:25 (UTC)

Strange hasn't really felt any mental bonds breaking or dramatic magical signs to show that the deal's been broken. But, he trusts Ignatius and trusts the fae to stick to his word. So, Strange assumes that it's happened and nods.

"I believe so." Strange looks more wistful than pleased about the whole matter. He's quite glad he's no longer under Ignatius's service and quite glad that once Ignatius leaves the carnival, he won't be pressganged into serving the Summer Court...but poor Ignatius now had absolutely nothing.

"Besides, it would be better when I help him out if it's due to my own free will instead of a forced bond between the two of us." Because of course Strange is still going to obnoxiously stan for Ignatius and help him out should the situation call for it. They're friends. And aside from that, Strange knows the value of someone saying 'hey, don't do that' when you're desperate and prone to making stupid decisions.

"Could you please try not to look so sad over your freedom, Mr. Strange..." It isn't even a question, just an extremely tired statement. If it really carries on like that even after the agreement has been annulled, Childermass will be forced to wonder if he will be telling Mrs. Strange she's been replaced. Something he won't mention out loud, naturally, since that would only offend Strange even further.

"Even though I do hope your friendship with Ignatius is a true one, knowing he can't whisk you away as easily as before will be a relief for more than a few of your other friends."

You know, the ones who worry about him. A lot. Like all the time.

A slightly annoyed frown comes across Strange's face as Childermass remarks on the situation. He knows it's a good thing he can't be yanked away from his life. He's got Arabella back home, as well as Childermass and Lambert to think about—all of them know this. But this isn't as black and white as Lambert and Childermass hope it will be (or at least, how Strange thinks Lambert and Childermass hope it will be.)

So, despite the fact that it's a little spiteful and probably not the best thing to do at the moment, Strange indulges in some slight teasing.

"Honestly, the way you and Lambert go on about this matter, it's like I've abandoned the two of you completely." Which they both know is a bigass hyperbole, but Strange is still feeling a little miffed at the moment. "Jealousy isn't a good look on you, Mr. Childermass."

"And fire isn't a very good look on you, Mr. Strange," Childermass replies, settling into his usual bored tone of voice in the face of Strange's teasing. A little ruder, sure, but it's Childermass. No one should expect better. "I had not been looking forward to letting your wife know you've been lost to a faerie army forever."

Strange kind of hates how all someone has to do is mention Arabella and nine times out of ten they've won the argument. Strange gives Childermass a tired look before he idly continues the teasing.

"I'm the one who has to explain to Norrell why you're a bird. Arabella is used to my eccentricities-Norrell isn't used to yours. I'm certain I'll have to deal with a novel's worth of questions when your feathers come up."

Ah, to that? To that, Childermass can't help but give a quiet laugh. It's easy to hold Arabella over Strange's head, very much less so to do the same with his very former employer.

"Why explain at all? He won't be interested," he replies. It isn't a bitter response, just one that knows better. "At best, he'll tell you I'm a deviant for pretending to be a magician and bound to become a layabout thanks to being fae-blooded."

"I think he'll think differently about the fae when we return," Strange remarks, gesturing to his hair as he does so. Strange doesn't know how Norrell will react to their return and their dalliances with the fae...but Strange knows how lonely he would be if he burned all his bridges with the other two. He'll adjust.

"All of England will. I plan on being open about our stay in the carnival. If they want to solicit my help, they'll need to accept the fact that I'll ally myself with the fae."

Of course, Strange would be open about that. Still, it gives Childermass himself a moment of pause, lips pursing in a frown.

"Hopefully only open about your own parts in it," he feels the need to either mention this now or, perhaps, remind him. Muddled as he is, he can't quite recall if he's warned the other man off about that or not. Some people are just so much more private than Mr. Strange himself.

Strange outright rolls his eyes.

"We've been over this. Of course I'll keep your private life private." At least, he'll keep it private for as long as he can. If, god forbid, the Count of Crows showed up in England then he'd tell the rest.

"I know you have little faith in me to begin with, but trust me on this."

"I believe it bears some repeating," he points out in reply. "I know you don't mean any harm by it, Mr. Strange, I honestly do, but I have much more to lose over it than you do."

"You think I don't know that?" Strange grumpily snaps. It's obvious this point annoys him more than he wants to let on.

"I am not cruel. I cannot promise that I won't tell anyone due to magical coercion, but I won't tell anyone of my own will."

"You never know when you might forget," Childermass answers honestly, but it's there and then that he'll relent. "And I can't ask for anything more than that. Here's to hoping no one in England is so interested in what I do in my free time that they would go that far."

Well Strange is in a terrible mood now. He gives Childermass a little glare. At least in his mind, this is just yet another instance of Childermass underestimating him and thinking him to be reckless or careless.

It friggen sucks.

"Why did you even attack that bear in the first place?" Strange grumbles, practically sulking in his chair. "You must have known it was a silly decision."

See, there are reasons Childermass does not often seem to have friends in England, although he can see the sourness there. Again. He keeps making mental notes to stop being so critical and yet he keeps on doing it and now they're at a new topic he isn't particularly proud of. He sighs and goes back to staring up at the tent's ceiling.

"We both used shadow magic. I thought I would at least be on equal footing," he says after a moment. Without saying it, he was wrong. The outcome is obvious enough with him laying on a hospital cot like this.

Strange doesn't have to say 'this was a terrible idea and you should have thought it over': the tone of his voice is carrying that sentiment quite well. And they called him the reckless one. Strange makes a little scoff before he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, blatantly judging Childermass.

"Even without taking into account the fact that you knew iron was involved, wasn't the belief that the architects could manipulate reality?"

"A belief doesn't necessarily mean a truth," Childermass almost snaps. He's tired, the gashes still worry away at him with pain, even if it has been dulled. "I am well aware I made a bad choice. You aren't going to find me arguing otherwise."

"So you are willing to admit you make mistakes. Well, there's a first time for everything." Which is a little mean, but Strange isn't willing to play nice with Childermass at the moment. He's tired of being judged for rushing into things and making terrible spur of the moment decisions when it seems like everybody who went up against one of those damn Architects rushed into things and made a terrible spur of the moment decision.

Still, he can be a jerk but offer a bit of help.

"On another note, if there's anything you need from your trailer, tell me and I'll bring it to you."

"I've made more than a few in my time, Strange," is what Childermass adds in regards to mistakes. He's as human as the other magician, ignoring the entire accidental faeblooded portion of that. After that, he's quiet for a tic or two, actually considering the offer, but...

"Just if you could go and make sure that Baker has been let out. I don't like keeping him holed up in that ridiculous little ball device but I couldn't have him digging up the entire carnival while we were gone."

Yeah, all he can think of is 'please go check on my dog'. Of course.

Go check on my dog. Wow. Wowwww. Strange can't help but smile, giving Childermass a sarcastic little smirk. He's equal parts charmed by this and planning to tease the shit out of Childermass for this as well.

"Perhaps when I talk to people about our stay in the carnival, I'll lead with 'Childermass spoils his dog.' At least then, if gossip turns elsewhere, they'll be less likely to believe it." He hasn't actually answered the question so Strange continues with, "I'll check on him, though. I think I'll take him for a walk through the woods as well—maybe he can fight Coco."

And he'll also possibly use Baker in a few experiments involving his magic of storing things in reflections. Pupper won't mind.

Hey, don't be that way. Asking to go check on his dog is the greatest sign of trust Strange will ever get from Childermass. Ever. The comment does, however, earn a weak smile from Childermass.

"As far as what they learn about me, that one I do not mind," he says. "Although considering I'm bringing him home with me... That may turn out easier to prove than anything else."

That's right. He's bringing a massive fire-breathing dog back to England with him. It's not as though he could be expected to leave the arcanine here, right? The rest he doesn't say much in regards to, already knowing damn well Strange won't go near enough to Coco to cause a fight and that Baker will just slobber and roll all over him rather than be bossed around. Such is dogs.

"You worry about your relationship when you're bringing home a six foot tall firebreathing dog." Strange can't help but shake his head, looking at Childermass with a baffled smile. "Sometimes your priorities confuse me."

Surely the concept of 'pokeballs' and 'Arcanines' would be more shocking, scandalous, and confusing to English society than 'Childermass likes dudes.' Strange briefly entertains the thought of poor Norrell or one of the other magicians dealing with Baker before a different, slightly more terrifying thought crosses his mind.

"Christ, that means Lambert's bringing his horses, isn't he." Pig's well behaved enough, but Butcher the crotch headbutting terror might not be a good fit for England. Or civilized company in general.

"'This is my fluffy faerie dog' will go over much better than 'this is my ill-tempered faerie husband'," Childermass grimly jokes, "Considering what the number of people who like dogs will be compared to the people who like Lambert..."

The witcher is a grating presence to many, he knows it and isn't bothered by it himself, but it's still there. That he'll have to bully the man into behaving in England, there's no doubt, though he'd rather not dwell on that while already feeling like absolute shit.

"Although I imagine we could always ask the Ringmaster to glamour them completely. Draft horses are large enough."

"You forget, I've plenty of friends who were in the army. The magicians might not like him, but I suspect he'll get along alright with the soldiers."

It's the truth. For all Strange loved the company of his fellow magicians, there were some big ol'nerd tendencies. Soldiers were more Lambert's speed. They were more likely to go out, have some drinks, and shoot pool than Segundus or (now here's a bizarre mental image) Norrell.

"As for the glamour, draft horses would work for Pig and Butcher, but not your 'fluffy faerie dog.'" As Strange parrots Childermass's words back at him, his accent shifts and his voice gets a little more gravelly. It's a weirdly uncanny impression that he straight up couldn't do previously.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject