Lost Carnival Mods (
ringleaders) wrote in
lostcarnival2018-08-28 10:12 am
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⇨ SHABONDAMASHII
Who: Everyone!
When: Day 92 - Day 99
Where: Shabondamashii Bathhouse
What: With the Silver Mirror claimed and the animals of Eden relocated, it's time for the carnival to kick back and enjoy an interdimensional bathhouse and the surrounding festival city. Meanwhile, the scattered shards of the Mirror have an unexpected effect.
Warnings: Dark/Light halves acting weird.
When: Day 92 - Day 99
Where: Shabondamashii Bathhouse
What: With the Silver Mirror claimed and the animals of Eden relocated, it's time for the carnival to kick back and enjoy an interdimensional bathhouse and the surrounding festival city. Meanwhile, the scattered shards of the Mirror have an unexpected effect.
Warnings: Dark/Light halves acting weird.
THE BIG CLEANSE↴![]() As the carnival recovers, the Ringmaster has brought it to the gates of a famous interdimensional bathhouse to rest. She won't be joining you for most of it, though she will be checking in frequently and available by radio. She's fixed a large portion of the Silver Mirror after it shattered, but it seems like pieces are missing. She doesn't want to rest until the missing shards are dealt with, and the Mirror itself is locked away safely. ► YOUR OTHER HALF: The shards missing from the Silver Mirror didn't just disappear - after breaking apart in Eden, fragments of the object embedded themselves in the spirits of those not already touched by its powers, and those that had been the most fae-touched. That means, your characters. The effect of this, explained in more detail on the plotting post, is that some characters will be splitting into two versions of themselves: the Light, and the Dark. This doesn't mean good and evil, of course, it's far more complicated than that. Splits can start happening at any time after arriving in Shabon, and initially characters won't know how to rejoin with their twins. Later on, it will become apparent that they need to reconnect via the shard of the Mirror they share... of course, in order to rejoin, you have to have both halves, and not all twins will be as eager to go back to the way things were before. This plot point is optional. ► SPA DAY: When you're not engaging in metaphysical division, you are free to enjoy the many luxuries that Shabon offers. Things will mostly have an east-Asian bend, like what you would see in the movie Spirited Away, but as long as it doesn't affect the setting much, you can honestly have whatever spa-type services available that you want. Food is served both in restaurants and 'buffet' style. There are also well paid sex workers here, if that is your thing, but make sure to tip well. ► FESTIVAL TOWN: The city surrounding Shabondamashii is largely meant to catch the business of interdimensional tourists. There are frequent parades and other events held, and the architecture is very closely packed. It's easy to get lost if you leave the bathhouse, but it's definitely worth it if you like party. You can pick out a few outfits for yourself and some fun nick nacks, but nothing that would normally require mod approval. |
B, darkness no parents
He obviously sticks out as he enters the bar. Not just because the light reflects off of Strange's scars like he's a walking disco ball, but he's his normal, happy, talkative self as he sits right next to Lambert and gives the barkeep a small smile.
"Whiskey, if you don't mind." And then Strange turns his attention back to Lambert. "I've been looking for you, you know. They've got at least three different saunas here and I don't want to try them alone."
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"Why? Couldn't get anyone else to go with you?" he wants to know, slurring. "Is water not Iggy's thing?"
He sniggers meanly into his cup, knocking another shot back, and Celandine chirps in dismay from the floor.
"He doesn't mean that," she swiftly pipes up, but then more honestly amends, "He does mean it, but -- he's not himself right now!" She seems terribly flustered and upset by all of this, fur puffing out as she paces.
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The bartender slides over a whiskey. With a nod, Strange takes it. Whatever is going on, he'll probably want to be drunk.
"It's no use trying to pretend you aren't interested. You were the one who dragged me to the sauna last time!"
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"Whatever," Lambert shrugs, listlessly. "If you want me to go, I'll go. 'Cause that's all that matters in the end, right? Whatever makes you happy."
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"This would make you happy as well. I imagine the steam would be good for your wounds." Maybe. Strange isn't sure how steam works. "Besides, it'd be more fun than getting drunk by yourself."
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“It’s not really about making me want to feel better, Strange. It’s because you’re lonely. If we’d met outside the Carnival, we wouldn’t even have anything to talk about.”
The problem with being split into a light and dark side when you have so many parts of yourself you’d cut out if you could: they don’t necessarily mesh together into any sort of a consistent personality. Case in point: when your shitty self doubt, your need to please people, and your tendency to run your mouth and feel guilty about it later all run together. Guilt flashes across Lambert’s expression flashes nakedly before he shakes his head and turns to his drink again. He’s clearly not drunk enough, if he can still string sentences together.
“Lambert...” Celandine sighs, then looks to Strange. “I don’t know what happened, but apparently, there are two of him now.”
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Strange isn't smart enough to back down and stop pressing when it's obvious there's odd magical shit going on. He takes a sip of his whiskey before pausing and then continuing to talk.
"Considering we're going to meet back in England, of course we'll have things to talk about. It would be boring otherwise."
"Since you're coming to England, we'll have plenty to talk about. I won't stop chatting with you."
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He knocks back the last of his drink, then drearily drops his head to the table with a thunk.
“Just go, Strange. You don’t need me. And I ... I don’t need you.”
As far as lies Lambert has told, that’s got to be among some of the more unconvincing yet.
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"Of course I want you in England! When have I ever said that I wouldn't?" He's a little bit angry that Lambert would think otherwise.
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He turns his head slightly, still plastered to the table, to look at Strange — and even in the muted light here, his eyes are red-rimmed. Lambert’s shadow, stripped down to all his insecurities and unhealthy coping mechanisms, is one miserable son of a bitch.
“You probably don’t even remember,” he says dully. “Not that I expected you to. It wasn’t important to you.”
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It's in that moment of doubt that Strange splits. One version of him takes a few steps back, watching the situation with a quiet, worried frown. The second Strange is still sitting at the bar. He gestures for another drink before turning and giving Lambert a small smirk.
"If it wasn't important, I wouldn't have asked. You rush into things headfirst. Forgive me that I wanted to check that you were actually thinking with your head for once."
It's really not good when one of the things Strange hates about himself is the fact that he can be so callous.
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“It’s happening to you too!” She squeaks. “This is terrible — oh, Lambert, can’t you get your head out of your ass for a second?” She normally isn’t so harsh, but miserable, drunken Lambert has sorely tested her.
“Well, you’re half right,” Lambert answers, huffing quietly. “I wasn’t thinking with my head.” ‘With his dick’ would be the joke to make here, ‘with his heart’ too embarrassing to say, but Lambert is too tired to even joke about it.
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The Strange at the bar takes his drink and knocks it back in one gulp. "Considering that Childermass is in England, I know exactly what you were thinking with." He frowns a little, looking over at Lambert. "You're only going over there for him, aren't you." Though he's trying to hide it, there's a little needy tone in his voice.
The quiet, standing Strange finally speaks...and he's totally ignoring the other two, talking directly to Celandine. "Celandine. Whatever this is, it doesn't look like a spell I can easily break. It's magic, though, and an oddly familiar one at that."
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“I told you,” Celandine says mournfully. “He isn’t himself right now — not all of him. I don’t know how but he—he’s split himself apart. He’d never let you see this if he had a choice...”
This half of Lambert, in the meantime, is too sunk in his own misery to pick up on that neediness in Strange’s voice. “Doesn’t matter,” he shakes his head. “He doesn’t want me there either. I’d just be one more problem for him to worry about.”
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The standing Strange is still examining the magic. "I'll need to do a bit more research before I can see if I can break it myself. I'm not going to impose but feel free to bite me whenever I do something thoughtless."
The seated Strange looks over to give the standing Strange a scowl. "We don't need research, I can fix this by myself."
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Apparently, the words are enough to earn a sputter iof indignation from Lambert, who finally finds his temper.
“I care about him,” he flushes, and looks down. He cares, but he knows Childermass deserves better, knows the selfish, childish desire to keep him to himself is something Childermass ought to be running away screaming from if he had any sense. “Don’t talk about him like that. You don’t know him.”
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It's Lambert's childishness and selfishness butting up against every needy thought Strange had and worry that he'll be abandoned by those he cares about. The seated Strange reaches over to grab Lambert's arm in a slightly possessive manner.
The standing Strange winces at this. Giving Celandine a little frown, he turns back towards the two seated and starts to mutter, attempting to dispel the magic.
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“I knew that already!” he rails. “I know I don’t make a damn difference! But I don’t care!”
And now here’s a horrific sight: Lambert’s actually beginning to tear up.
“Let go of me!” He’s still stronger that Strange is, physically, and the urge to get away is strong enough that he has no problems finding the urgency to yank his hand away.
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"That's enough," sensible Strange says, giving reckless Strange a frown. "Lambert, come with me. We'll find your other half and get this fixed."
"He's not leaving!" reckless Strange whines, as Lambert yanks his arm away. "You want him fixed? I'll break the spell myself!"
And then reckless Strange quickly leans back in and tries to kiss Lambert smack on the lips. On the one hand, he is trying to dispel the magic. On the other hand, he's using tongue.
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Meaning Strange has a good three seconds to mush his mouth against something that’s essentially a dead fish for as much action as he gets. Celandine is similarly stunned speechless, and then her shrill voice cuts across the silence.
“Lambert!”
It galvanizes the witcher into action, and he jerks like he’s being yanked by puppet strings. He wrenches his face away from Strange and slams his fist squarely into his nose, hard enough to knock him back. Glasses clatter off the counter, but that’s not the only thing that shatters, as it’s accompanied by shooting pain in his hand.
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The problem with being composed pretty much of reckless, neediness, yearning for validation, and callousness is that reckless Strange literally has no idea how to react when Lambert punches him. He blinks, looking damn confused, like a deer in headlights.
Sensible Strange looks embarrassed. He puts his hand on his head, rubbing his nose in irritation, before he looks over at Celandine. "That's it. The sooner I figure out what's wrong, the sooner both of these idiots can be back to normal. I'm terribly sorry, Celandine, and hope I'll figure something out soon."
And so, sensible Strange storms out of the bar, leaving reckless Strange looking over at Lambert, a little confused. That confused expression only gets more intense when he pushes down one of his nostrils, blows like he's trying to expel something stuck in his nose, and a few mirrored slivers (as well as a ton of blood) fall down into his hand.
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Lambert, in the meantime, has pushed himself to his feet, cradling his injured hand with the other and hissing as his fingers brush hard material embedded in his hand. What the hell...? He looks up just in time to see dysfunctional Strange blow snot and glass into his hand and hisses, jerking back.
"What the fuck is wrong with you!" That goes on the physical and metaphorical level as well. The bartender, on the other hand, doesn't seem too pleased to have patrons that are willing to punch others on his premises, and is raising a hand to beckon the bouncers over.
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"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Strange responds, eerily mirroring Lambert's anger and tone of voice back at him. "I was trying to fix this, you asshole! Or do you want to remain a pathetic drunk?"
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"You want something to fix? Try fixing yourself first!"
"Lambert," Celandine says warningly, her eyes on the advancing bouncers. She thinks Shabon doesn't have a jail, but she'd rather not find out the hard way. Lambert shakes his hand out, feeling the sting in his knuckles and only getting angrier.
"Stay the fuck away from me," he snarls. "I don't want to see you again."
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"I'm not letting you leave me!" Once again, he reaches out towards Lambert and attempts to grab his wrist. But if Strange succeeds this time, a set of claws are digging themselves right into Lambert's skin.
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light spa shenanigans y/n/m?
yyyy!
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