lostcarnival | ⇨ THE SUMMERLANDS

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⇨ THE SUMMERLANDS

Who: Everyone!
When: Day 119 - Day 126
Where: The Summerlands
What: Ignatius and Gild portal everyone to the Summerlands, with hopes of appealing to the Summer Maiden for help. Meanwhile, the carnival gets the chance to relax in luxury as only tentatively welcome guests. Here is the location write up from the last time the carnival visited. Since then, of course, some things have changed.
Warnings: Nothing in particular.

THE SUN RISES↴

After taking the time to rest, Ignatius and Gild will be able to pool together their energy to portal the carnival (and the airship) to the Summerlands. Those still in Polaris will be left to their own devices for the moment as Gild intends to ask for the Summerlands aid in relocating them, hopefully as soon as possible. With the effort the carnival put into sorting things out in there, however, they should be fine on their own for a little while, at least.

They will arrive in the flowery fields at the base of the mountains, and soon the Summer Fae will notice their presence. Since the last time they visited, however, the atmosphere has changed.

► YOUR ARRIVAL: As the Summer Fae discover the group's arrival, it will quickly become apparent that there is a tension present that wasn't there any of the other times the carnival has visited. The Summer Maiden comes to greet the group personally, with an entourage of armed Summer Fae. They are not at all aggressive unless provoked, but there is clearly a wariness that is new. They seem uncertain about Ignatius being here, and while Gild will be able to do a lot of the talking and smooth things over, the Summer Maiden will deflect having a serious conversation about affairs until the carnival has taken time to 'rest.' It's more likely that the Maiden needs a moment to think over this new information before dealing with it.

► SUMMER CITY: After the Summer Fae become aware of everyone's presence, and the initial uncertainties are accommodated, they will invite you into their city. There are stairs that lead up the sides of the mountains, but thankfully there are also magical means of getting up there as well. The Summer Fae will be willing to help workers with the injured as needed, offering herbal remedies and healing magic to those that want it. You'll also be invited to join them for dinner, but it feels like more of a formality, and no one is obligated to take them up on it.

► SUMMER PEOPLE: The fae here will do their best to entertain these new visitors - but it doesn't seem that much happens here besides day after day of peaceful meditation and relaxation. It is not uncommon to see Summer Fae spent days doing exactly the same thing, whether that be enjoying the weather, listening to music, or dancing - the day and night periods may be similar to earth, but when you don't need rest it can all blur together just the same. Some of the fae work on feats of agriculture or craftsmanship, and while there is no particularly need to work in this place, they take pride in the fact that they do.

► FAMILIAR FACES: One very different thing about the Summerlands this go around is that there appears to be a small settlement built at the base of the mountains, filled entirely with the former residents of the Manor. Alyss and Reyna will explain that they set up a place to live down there with the Summer Fae's help, and that the fae seems to be trying to remain hands off except when they are needed. The Manor folk overall seem to be doing well, though there is some tension regarding their place in the Summerlands - they are clearly seen as refugees, and while the Summer Fae do their best to help them, the arrival of the carnival and the request for even more help with refugee aid seems to be making things awkward.

► OF THINGS TO COME: The Summer Maiden will remain distant for the first few days, but according to Gild and based on personal observation, it will seem that the news that the Ringmaster has been taken and the idea that even more desperate mortals are requesting to come here are putting her at significant ill ease. She's not rude or dismissive, but she seems reluctant to address the situation head on, though she has said that she will hold a meeting with the carnival later in the week to discuss everything in more detail. None of them seem particularly angry or resentful, but they seem to regard the carnival as an ill portent of things to come.

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Childermass lets him pull his hand up, kiss it, without complaint. For all he's having trouble with what's changed about Lambert, it would be a lie to claim he doesn't miss the close, casual contact that had normally been there between them, before.

And as much as a relief as knowing that he does know, that this doesn't change some things, there's something else that comes to mind when Lambert mentions the rest of their lives. Good news or bad news, he isn't sure what the witcher will make of it, but now's as good a time as any other—

"Which will be longer than you may have anticipated," he adds, quietly.

For all that he’s tipsy as hell right now, Lambert’s not that slow on the uptake. Besides, they’ve had this conversation before... even if it was just with half of Childermass, meaning Lambert might remember it more clearly than he does.

“Because you’re a faeblood, right?” He doesn’t ask where Childermass has gotten the information or if he’s sure; he must at least think so, for him to be telling Lambert so. The witcher gives him a smirk that doesn’t entirely reach his eyes. “Hah. Told you so. I knew I should have bet on that after all...” He presses his lips to Childermass’s hand again, because he can and because at least the magician seems willing to put up with it, before he lowers it reluctantly.

“Doesn’t change anything for me. Unless this is your way of warning me you’re already planning to throw me over for some hot young piece once I go grey... but to be honest? If we can make sure we both live that long, I’d say you’ve earned it.” A last gentle squeeze of his fingers, and he does start to pull away again. The longer he stays, the less he’s going to want to leave.

"Unless you have your own shortcut to immortality, all I've earned is to be the one who watches you grow old and die instead," Childermass can't help but focus on the most possible dreary outcome of this development. He lets his hand drop away, back to his side, once Lambert lets it go. He won't reach out and stop him again.

He'll just try to muster up a smile regardless, even if there isn't much heart put into it.

"But I suppose that's also something to talk about another time... Good night, Lambert."

Whether either of them will live that long remains to be seen. Lambert just chuckles and shakes his head, the bells sewn on his clothes jangling as he gives him a jaunty wave.

"Good night, John."

The next afternoon goes much the same as the first, without much to show for it except Lambert's bad jokes, more handholding, and Pig and Baker making a wreck of another section of forest entirely. In between bouts of practice, Lambert offers inane withering commentary on the attention he’s gotten from the fae, how the other Carnival members are adapting and what terrible fashion choices they’ve made with fae encouragement. Apparently, Lambert's mornings are taken up by sparring with Syrlya to help the Sylvari and witcher alike regain their fighting ability, it seems, and recently injured or not, the man's still managed to give Lambert a few good bruises or two.

After a point, it's probably embarrassingly clear Lambert's figured the most he's getting out of this exercise is the chance to hold Childermass's hands as long as possible. Which is what he's doing now while looking down at their feet, absently flexing his free hand into the sign Childermass came up with, the motion already second nature.

"So," he says, "What did they say about me sleeping down here? The dust Papyrus makes doesn't work that well if it's left out too long, so I'll have to go up and get it to you just before you turn in."

Edited 2018-12-17 07:05 (UTC)

All of which is beginning to feel foolish to Childermass. He has no other idea how to teach a spell like this to someone else, not when he taught himself through pretty much the same method. Perhaps he should have started by teaching Lambert the English spell for turning into a stationary shadow, at least to another's eye, but would it have really helped?

He doesn't know but he is about to suggest it when Lambert speaks first, bringing the magician's head and attention both back up from the shadow under both their feet. He furrows his brow for a second or two before recalling, right, he had asked about that.

"That it's fine, of course," he says, like it was never a worry. The changelings from the manor are friendly to them all, thank god for that. "They've spare cots to set up. They can put one in the same room I'm staying in."

"Oh," Lambert says. He doesn't have much to add to that, not at first, like he's trying to decide how to respond, or tamp down his immediate reaction. His lips can't help curling, though, not realizing Childermass has looked up at him, still focused on the ground beneath them instead.

"Hm, so just like camping again, huh?" Only it's not like camping at all, of course. Yet for all Lambert had spent most of that time dozing away his injuries and exhaustion, not to mention the explosive shouting matches with Strange and everyone else, he remembers it pretty fondly. It was nice, having Childermass stay beside him, afternoons to spend sitting together in warm, dappled sunlight instead of just stealing moments in the shadows...

It happens with little warning. One moment, Lambert's standing in front of Childermass with a slightly foolish grin on his face. The next, there's a flash of gold light and the witcher's suddenly ten paces back, in a patch of light shining through the tree canopy. It's startling enough that Lambert takes a step back, only to hook a heel on a root and crash back with a yelp of alarm.

Edited 2018-12-18 20:51 (UTC)

"A little like that, ye—" Only then Lambert is gone and Childermass is left staring wide-eyed at where he reappears, as surprised as the witcher is. There aren't any shadows where he reappeared, at least none he could have used on a whim. It's Lambert tumbling over and sounding off in alarm that gets him to move instead of stare, though, rather than the sudden burst of magic.

"Lambert!" It's only ten paces, space the magician closes easily, and then he's reaching down to offer him a hand up. It's an unconscious gesture, not really one he puts too much consideration into... like if he can even help someone with metal bones up again.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Lambert pants, pushing himself up on one arm and clasping the offered hand with the other. He's still breathless from having the air knocked out of him, still slightly wide-eyed. Childermass ... Childermass definitely can't really successfully lift him up, but he'll be able to feel the weight Lambert's been trying to avoid putting on him before now, the witcher too distracted by what's just happened to be as careful as he's been trying to be.

"What was that?" It's only half a rhetorical question.

Edited 2018-12-20 22:18 (UTC)

The weight is off-putting, a sudden and real reminder of Lambert's alterations. He immediately stops trying, letting go of Lambert's hand and stepping back. He wasn't doing much to help, anyhow, so it's hardly a loss. Still, he purses his lips and tries to smooth over any upset he might show on his face.

"I'm not sure," he admits. "There's no shadow over here for you to jump to, yet you most certainly did jump."

Lambert's hand lingers in the air for half a heartbeat before he snatches it back to himself. If he wasn't on the ground, there's a mild impression he might have backed away too, but as it is, he can only look away.

"Well, it was something," he mutters. The scuffle, thankfully, hasn't been enough to take the padding off his horns, though one of the ribbons has loosened enough to dangle by the side of his face. "What did it look like?"

He similarly looks away, unsure what else to do apart from think back on just before Lambert teleported. There was no shadow over here, nothing big enough, deep enough, but there is a lot of— ah.

"Lambert..." Childermass looks towards him again, this time with a curious look on his face. "What were you thinking just before it happened? What were you feeling?"

The witcher looks back at Childermass at that, bewildered, light spilling over his head and shoulders. What was he thinking about? It takes him a moment to think back to before the sudden scramble, but he finally answers, slowly:

“I was thinking about you. Uh, us. After the Athenaeum, when we were all out living in the woods.” His ears twitch back, and he looks around. “This... reminded me of being there.”

"Which parts of being there, though?" Childermass pushes the question. He has an answer for Lambert but he'd like it to be a thorough one. "You must remember the details."

“The good parts, obviously,” Lambert retorts, stung that he even has to say it. Whatever passing good mood he’d been in before, it’s slightly fraying now. “Getting to be with you without worrying about hiding in the dark.”

Edited 2018-12-21 05:26 (UTC)

Lambert's good mood may be fraying but Childermass's is rising. He gives a quiet laugh and steps forward again, offering his hand a second time, this time with more certainty. He still can't get Lambert up on his own, sure, but the offer to help is there again, weight and reminder be damned.

"There, that's it," he announces, a crooked smile crossing his face, "You were thinking about how happy you were, not hiding in shadows. Don't you see it, Lambert? What's over here instead of darkness?"

Lambert’s ears wilt back in confusion at the laughter, shaking his head at the offered hand and pushing himself up to stand on his own strength. He brushes himself free of dirt and dead leaves.

“Stop making me guess and just tell me.”

Now that does have Childermass's smile faltering. He steps back again, dropping his hand back to his side. It's hardly like when he first got the spell right, pulling them out of an unexpected fall to safety... or maybe it is, if he really thinks about it. Lambert celebrating, Childermass annoyed with it. Now this, the other way around.

"You used the sunlight, Lambert. You moved through light, not shadows."

It’s not a connection Lambert ever would have made. He only borrows spells; he doesn’t invent them, and he certainly doesn’t stumble into magic on accident. He stares at Childermass blankly for a moment, uncomprehending, before he sighs and presses knuckles to the bridge of his nose.

“Typical.” All that work trying to find common ground, and right now it just feels like one more thing wedged between them. Lambert considers the merits of just lying back on the ground again, possibly to never get up again this time, and dismisses the idea as unnecessarily melodramatic.

“So think happy thoughts and I can move through light.” Only happy is just about the last thing he sounds like, right now. His shoulders slump. “Guess it’s better than nothing.”

How dejected Lambert looks over it leaves Childermass bewildered. He just invented an entirely different use for his spell and he's upset? He furrows his brow, frowns for a moment, but then his expression smooths out again and he takes another step closer.

It's impossible to disguise how he does hesitate at first but, now that he's already in close like this, he forces his hand out to gently, lightly touch the witcher's shoulder.

"It isn't just better than nothing, it's amazing," he tries to get that through to him. "Shadows weren't working for you. You aren't a quiet man, Lambert. You're loud. You love attention. You love warmth. You did learn the spell but you learned it in a way that's for you. It may only work now with happier thoughts but that's just a start. You won't always need to hold those in your mind for it to work. That's what practice is for."

Even if he sees the sense in what Childermass is saying, that doesn't make Lambert feel too much better. He sighs, shaking his head, but this time he won't shrink away from Childermass's touch. It's tentative enough as it is. Instead, he musters up a wry grimace for the magician, recognizing that his upset probably doesn't make any more sense to Childermass any more than the fact that Childermass is thrilled about it makes sense to Lambert.

"I'm just tired of surprises, that's all. Even useful ones." He gestures vaguely, not even sure what he's trying to get at himself. Learning a spell should have been something straightforward, an achievement they could celebrate together. Instead, it's just another example of how things never go to plan around here.

"But you're right." He squares his shoulders, lifting his chin. He still doesn't look happy about it, but there's a grumpy determination in his expression that wasn't present before. "If that's how it works, then I'll just have to work with it."

Edited 2018-12-22 02:28 (UTC)

Lambert's reaction makes this seem all the more like a defeat than anything else, doubt flickering across his face and mind both. It's because he's a terrible teacher, that same whispering uncertainty he felt in the Void flaring up to let him know that. Always looking for a weakness, always looking to make him give up, all over again. Why bother if he can't see the brilliance in what's happened? Why even stay?

It's just yet another problem for Childermass to shake off and he does, pursing his lips and forcing his hand to remain right where it is, on the witcher's shoulder. He won't tell him it isn't that surprising if he actually thinks about it, since he isn't sure if he can even see it, why the magic molding itself to fit Lambert seems more right than shadows...

No, that's something Strange would do. Pick a fight over how magic may or may not work. He won't do that.

"And I believe it shall work out very well. We have plenty of daylight left. Did you want to take a break or keep going?"

"Let's keep going," Lambert confirms, with more confidence this time, surer of himself. Having made up his mind about something, it's easier -- as always -- to keep moving forward now that he's set a course.

They work on it for the rest of the afternoon, at least as long as it takes for the sunlight to fade and begin to be replaced by the bright moons of the Summerlands. Progress is slow, but now that they've an idea of what's actually going on, they'll actually manage to do more than hold hands at stare at each other. Childermass stands in the patch of sunlight while Lambert uses the sign he came up with -- no use wasting a good mnemonic when he has one -- and tries teleporting to him, over and over again. First at ten paces, then fifteen, and by the time they run out of sunlight, he finally manages to teleport a full forty. The distances he manages after the sunlight begins to fade grow smaller, and the last short hop through takes more effort than all the rest before, and he nearly slams into Childermass on the exit. He manages to stumble to his knees on the grass instead, hair and face damp with sweat, face red with effort.

"All right," he croaks, groaning and flopping over his back on the ground, arms splayed. "That's it. I'm done for today." He raises a hand, flexing his fingers in a vain attempt to stave off a cramp. "Last one was rough ... guess I won't be trying that without more light."

"All spells have their limits," Childermass says with a shrug. He kneels down next to Lambert, putting them both on the same level for the moment. "I can't do much when the shadows in a place are too thin, makes sense it'd be the same for light. You may be able to use moonlight, though, but... perhaps another time."

Lambert says he's done for the day and he won't disagree. The witcher certainly looks tired enough.

"Shall I get us back to the village? They should have dinner set up by now." Though whether they'll be running early or late is hard to tell. Regardless, there'll be something left out for Childermass and, now that they're expecting Lambert, enough for two. "Or the baths, if you'd rather..."

Which he adds after taking a closer look at Lambert. For someone practicing magic, he's managed to work up as much of a sweat as someone chopping logs all day.

Some people are capable of quietly working their way through everything looking enviably put together; others are inevitably doomed to get disgusting and sweaty whenever they exert any sort of effort. It’s just the way it is.

Lambert considers, mulling it over. He’s starving, and while he doesn’t normally care if he’s perceived as disgusting or not, why sleep in filth when you’ve other options available.

“The baths,” he affirms, holding up a hand for Childermass to take, assuming he’ll comply readily. “I need to see Papyrus before heading back down anyway, I can do it after getting cleaned up.”

As expected, he does. Childermass has spent so much time taking Lambert's hand again by this point, there's at least no hesitance for that. He'll take it and reach for the growing shadows around them, pulling them through. It's first a hop up to the city itself, then another hop to the baths.

He knew where these were before, their last visit to the Summerlands, but he isn't the one who's used them before. So once there, standing before them, he balks at going any further. Instead, he lets Lambert's hand go and looks around them. Back in the city, though thankfully not many of the fae around, none who bother to stare apart from a curious glance at suddenly appearing changelings and then carry on their way.

"I suppose... I should wait. Out here. I don't know if I like the idea of a faerie-run bathhouse."

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