lostcarnival | the med tent is the hoppin place to be

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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.

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"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.

As much as he'd like to point out that Baker could be a wolfhound, well, even those are small compared to a dog big enough to ride. A draft horse could still very well be applicable. The rest, however, has him raising his eyebrows.

"And just how many of your army friends do you see regularly? The ones with no titles or rank of note to speak of?"

"Getting drunk and playing darts isn't something exclusive to the lower classes." Sure, Lambert might not enjoy some of the more upper class aspects of Strange's social group...but it's getting drunk. There's nothing fancy about getting drunk.

"Besides, when we return to England, you won't be able to do your usual skulking about and ignoring people. Depending on where Norrell and I are, you might be the greatest authority on magic in the country. Ministers and Parliament will be banging down your door. Lambert and yourself will have to deal with titles and ranks of note."

Childermass can only shrug and let the topic go. He'll just have to find out for himself how his army buddies may not care to rub elbows with someone who is, for lack of a better description, someone they would send off for cannon fodder. Of course, he could also be wrong about them, just as Strange isn't wrong about people inevitably bothering him, of all people...

"I am aware." It's a short answer to that and not exactly one that sounds enthusiastic. However, he does offer something longer than that following a brief silence. "Though I would not be surprised if they try Mr. Segundus first. I would much prefer they bang on his door while I'm busy translating the book."

Strange's wry little smile plainly tells Childermass that he's 1: actually thought this scenario through a bit and 2: is pretty much going to continue teasing him.

"Honeyfoot and Segundus won't have the luxury of saying that they visited faerie. You, with your fluffy faerie dog and ill-tempered faerie husband, will probably have magicians and ministers of all sorts asking you about it and trying to get your opinion on how faerie magic can bolster trade, deal with the French, or enhance those silly sea beacons."

Granted, Strange knows he'll get bothered about faerie and the fae as well. But Strange is pretty certain he'll be able to take invasive questions and stupid requests better than Childermass and a lot better than Lambert.

"You seem to think I won't have time to run off and hide before you come kicking England's door back in to announce all this faerie nonsense," Childermass mocks right back in return. "I'll take my faerie dog and faerie husband and live in the middle of a swamp. I'm sure they won't mind."

Or even better...

"Either that or somewhere that's always foggy. Maybe enchant some moors, let Baker roam about howling so everyone assumes it's too cursed to visit out there."

Strange is still smiling in that really obnoxious 'I know something you don't know' way of his that he occasionally does.

"Good. Then when I show up and inevitably drag you and Lambert to Shropshire for a week, I'll be hailed as someone who faced the perilous, haunted moors and managed to save John Childermass from their dastardly depths."

Because of course Strange is dragging Lambert and Childermass's ass to his home for a week or two. Why wouldn't he?

"Maybe a foggy swamp on some distant isle..." Although unless they got rid of every reflective surface ever, it would be for naught. This Childermass knows. Although, that smile of Strange's is earning him quite the side-eye. "Though you must realize most people will request you put me right back where you found me if you go around claiming that."

Edited 2018-09-12 00:49 (UTC)

That really obnoxious smile of his is still on Strange's face as he continues talking. "On the contrary, I'm certain they'll want you to stay around for a while. I'm certain that the prevailing wisdom around England is that I'm mad. You might be brought in to confirm some of my wilder stories."

It is only just now occurring to Strange that hmm. Might want to do something about that prevailing wisdom if he's going to come back with stories of faeries and carnivals.

Childermass wrinkles his nose at the thought, mostly because Strange isn't wrong about it. He may have improved some during his time with the carnival but time shouldn't have passed back home. He'll be walking right back into 'Strange is nuts and ran off', among other wild stories.

"I fear you may be onto something with that," he says with a sigh, bemoaning that inevitable fate. "I used to think it would be a good day to finally be called a proper magician but now I'll have to deal with that, along with whatever else Mr. Segundus is too timid to manage."

To his credit, Strange does look apologetic as Childermass gripes. He's well aware that by going crazy, getting cursed, bringing magic back to England, then vanishing with his curse and another magician, Strange has accidentally caused Childermass a shitload of problems.

"I am sorry that Norrell and I will cause you trouble," he admits, with a sheepish smile. Don't mind Strange speaking for Norrell because let's be real, there's a pretty high chance that Norrell might not even think of apologizing for giving Childermass grief. "Obviously, neither of us wanted things to turn out the way they did."

But sometimes you get your ass yoinked out of England thanks to a prophecy. Them's the breaks.

To that, Childermass shrugs. Stiffly, so not much at all thanks to all his stitches.

"It is what it is," which may as well be a verbal version of that very same shrug. It's not like anyone asked to be cursed and dragged away into the unknown, even if it does leave behind quite a few unanswered questions and problems yet to rear their heads. "If nothing else, it did finally end my employment with Mr. Norrell. I am free to make amends with those who will allow it, though I suspect it'll be an uphill battle for some time. Do not take my complaints as me unwilling to do what I must."

"Trust me, I know well enough the difference between complaining and doing." And he knows Childermass. The man's never let his personal preferences get in the way of his duty before. He doubts it will happen now.

"I'm not sure if poor Norrell realizes the true extent of how your leaving will affect him." Shrug! "He'll find out soon enough."

"Only once he realizes that there's no one left to pick up after him or run his little errands," Childermass says with a definite air of neutrality when it comes to Mr. Norrell. "And then he will no doubt write me a letter berating me for not returning in spite of my dismissal. Who he will send it off with, I could not say, for I do know what was left of his household staff fled soon after I left."

There's obviously a different level of comfort between two friends compared to a servant and his master. Strange is a lot less neutral and a lot more complementary in his treatment of Norrell.

"He'll figure things out soon enough. After all, I'm not going to do that sort of thing for him." Strange isn't going to pick up after Norrell because let's be real, Strange won't pick up after himself.

"I wish you luck with that inevitable argument," Childermass says oh so sympathetically (although it being Childermass, it actually doesn't sound very sympathetic at all). "I do not know what he will do with himself when you finally find your way back to England, though. I suspect you'll head off to find your wife as soon as possible."

"I will." And then Strange gets that slightly nostalgic, slightly sad look on his face that he gets when he talks about Arabella. God how he misses her.

While Strange talks about Norrell, it's obvious his mind is still on Arabella. He's oddly distracted.

"No matter what he does, it can only be better than when he left England. I will be back, we will be friends again, and certain noxious influences will have no sway over him."

"So we can hope," Childermass says, again very neutral. The current troublemakers are gone, sure, but what about others? There's no telling. There's also no point in considering that far ahead. "Well, regardless... I believe you were going to go check in on my dog, were you not?"

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