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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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."

The idea of Childermass stripping down for a dip in a faerie bathhouse is laughable for a number of reasons, meaning Lambert will only chuckle and shake his head.

“You can go on ahead if you’re not getting a bath; I can always let you know when I’m done.” He hold up the hand with the texting ring to make sure Childermass gets his meaning.

“I won’t take long.”

Childermass gives him a nod and, with that, is gone again. Not that he'll go very far, actually. He decides to tolerate the summer city just long enough to find a tobacco shop and share some stories from the Athenaeum in return for some tobacco as well as a new pipe. His old one had inevitably been sent to the furnace in Polaris, as it never was magical. He'll get that and a bit more, something for Lambert, provided he hasn't lost his interest in faerie "weed" or whatever it actually is called.

Then he's back outside the bathhouse, simply settling in to wait and puff away on the new pipe — mahogany and silver, from the looks of it. The smoke itself smells like chocolate and cherries. Certainly not the usual cheap tobacco, that's for sure, but then again, magic can probably make tobacco smell like anything at all.

Sure, Lambert said he could go, but he also said he wouldn't take long and, so, when the witcher finally does emerge, he'll find he doesn't need to bother with the ring.

When Lambert does eventually step out of the baths, his cheeks are pink from scrubbing. The wrappings around horns and tail are damp, no amount of care washing quite enough to keep them from getting splashed, and he’s swaddled in a bathrobe borrowed from the place, his dirty clothes tucked under one arm.

Spotting Childermass waiting, the witcher can’t help but snort.

“You couldn’t have gotten cigarettes for me?” he asks, coming up beside him to give him a friendly (and fluffy) nudge with a hip. “Since you’re here anyway, do me a favor and get me back to my room so I can get my things.”

Even if Childermass hasn’t been spending time where the rest of the Carnival is at, he’ll at least be familiar with the general area they got assigned to.

"If you want cigarettes, you'll have to roll your own," Childermass points out helpfully. "Besides, I did get you something."

What exactly that something is can wait for now, since he'll take one last drag off the pipe before he turns the ashes and smoke both out, tapping the pipe to make sure it really is empty before he stows it. That done, he offers Lambert a hand and they'll be off again as soon as he takes it. It's a familiar enough route, straight back to the rooms the lot of them had before, though this time he stops them at the hallway.

Familiar with the area, yes, but familiar with which room is Lambert's? Less so. He knew he was staying up here but he's not quite as much of a stalker as some magicians.

It won’t matter much anyway, as Lambert steps out confidently towards the door of his room. If Childermass makes to follow him, he’ll hold it open and let him follow him inside; if not, he’ll simply shut the door and leave him to wait on him again.

Either way, the witcher will be efficient about it, back to the door or the magician as he drops his soiled clothes into a hamper, strips off the bathrobe, and sets about rifling through a pile of borrowed garments, all equally bright-colored and hazardous to the eye. As he has since they’ve gotten here, he chooses what hides most of his torso away, bolts embedded in skin and all.

Childermass does step in, only he'll wait by the door just inside. Not that it stops him from watching, even if only from the corner of an eye. His attention will have wandered around to the rest of the room by the time Lambert settles on what to wear, though.

"Do these things still have those ridiculous bathtubs?"

Because housing in the Summerlands, up here in the city, always did seem to skew the way of outlandish.

“This one doesn’t,” Lambert answers with a shrug, tugging the last of his outfit into place — with less bells and coins to make noise this time, less likely to draw attention. As sparse as their possessions were, there’s nothing in the room that marks it as Lambert’s save for the witcher’s weapons, an assortment of carefully arranged potions, and on the foot of the bed, folded, a familiar red blanket that emits just the faintest heat at a distance. “Not sure about anyone else’s — haven’t exactly been.”

He steps over to a mirror, taking a few moments to fuss with tucking a loose ribbon or two back into place. It’s mostly for an excuse to do something with his hands and steady his breath. Their last visit to the Summerlands wasn’t under any better circumstances, but his memories of them aren’t as fraught — it’s certainly been rich fodder for summoning the elation to make his teleporting easier. Imagining it for himself and hearing Childermass refer so casually to it are two different things, though.

Speaking of the others... “I should go find Papyrus before we head down. Just give me a minute.”

"Alright. I can wait here."

Fewer people going to visit Papyrus means fewer people to question or drag out any small talk that might end up happening with that. While he has nothing against the skeleton, well, it's Childermass. He isn't chatty or friendly even at his best moments.

So when Lambert takes off, right here is where he'll wait. He does step over to collect the red blanket, though. He already knows the witcher will complain about the chilly night down in the village. The buildings up here have enough enchantment to keep everything at the perfect temperature. Where Alyss and Reyna are staying? Not so much.

It takes a bit more than a minute, but Lambert will be back in short order, carefully holding a tightly-tied bag.

“Might want to put this in a shadow,” he tells Childermass. “Don’t want it spilling and getting anyone knocked out until it’s supposed to.” He falters briefly on the handoff, spotting the moved blanket, then shakes it off and offers Childermass a wry smile instead.

“Think that’s everything. Ready when you are.”

Childermass quirks an eyebrow at the brief hesitation but he also doesn't comment. He'll just accept the bag and hide it away in the shadow of his coat sleeve. That done and blanket still tucked under one arm, he offers his hand to Lambert again.

"How long is this effective? If we must skip dinner for a good night's sleep, I would like to know."

“It should be fine for the next couple of hours. I asked for something that should keep us under most of the night,” Lambert answers, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Childermass’s. “Enough time to get something to eat and settle down. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Once Childermass takes them back down, it more or less plays out like that. The stories and wine flow less freely tonight, Lambert distracted by the upcoming prospect of sleeping together again (if not quite in the way he imagined). When they retreat for the evening, the witcher will follow Childermass’s lead.

There's at least one highly dramatized version of how Childermass found and rescued Alyss, hiding her away in his shadow with the Prince none the wiser for all those days that followed. It definitely involves a much more dramatic flight through the woods and a far more interesting version of what's in his shadow than there truly is. For example, it is definitely not a doorway into some amazing shadow castle, but for once, for these people, in particular, he will let them enjoy their fantasy.

To that point, he drinks a little more than he normally might to try and keep himself convinced that a few inaccuracies are just fine and then the evening is over, they're withdrawing to the room they've set their now two guests up in. It's really just that, a room with a bed and a cot in it, extra pillows, one blanket each (albeit a nice blanket and the cot, of course, has the red blanket from before now settled on it). It's nice and clean and suitable for the short term. Better yet, it's something built with minimal magic involved, which is absolutely perfect as far as Childermass is concerned.

It doesn't stink of faeries in here, though he's not like to say that out loud to anyone.

No, if anything, he has something else to say out loud that he'd been avoiding.

"So I had another argument with Strange a few days back," he admits at long last. "Has he told you about that yet?"

“He did mention a fight,” Lambert affirms, looking around the room, then heading for the cot so he can sit on the edge and begin working his shoes off. It’s a simple place, which makes why Childermass prefers it infinitely more obvious.

“He also asked me to tell you he didn’t mean to mock you. He didn’t realize the Silver Mirror was making him better at mimicking people, and apparently you took it badly.” One shoe off, he starts on the other.

“Although he did say that’s not the only thing you disagreed on.”

Edited 2018-12-28 03:00 (UTC)

Childermass rolls his eyes and strips out of his various finery. The coat with the firm trim, the vest, tossing them aside before taking a seat on the edge of his own bed and follows suit with working his own boots off.

"You might want to try apologizing for it himself," he replies, although the rest of it... It really isn't the only thing they disagreed upon. "He thinks he can carry on calling himself my friend when he hasn't an ounce of respect for me. Worse, he was carrying on about how I don't remember something from the Athenaeum. Said I was enchanted to forget it, only he couldn't unenchant me the first try. Utter nonsense... I swear he's sliding back into madness when I thought he was getting better."

Lambert’s hands still on his clothing, looking up at Childermass with a sudden weariness.

“I can’t say anything about Strange’s idea of friendship, but he isn’t crazy about that last part. I’m the one who told him about it.” And he’s tried to tell Childermass. Again and again. But it never sticks, and he’d forgotten it until now.

Childermass stills as well. He keeps looking down at the floor a second or two longer, then slowly raises his head to give Lambert a wary look. Uncertain, like this isn't something he wants to hear.

"And just what was it that you told him?"

Lambert frowns, trying to find the right wording to piece together the gist of it without triggering another spell of amnesia. “We ended up in a book about you in the Athenaeum. You remember that much, right? There’s a part of that book you don’t remember, no matter how many times I’ve tried to remind you about it. It’s nothing dangerous,” he adds after a moment, squirming faintly on the edge of the seat. “It’s just odd.”

And then, since he knows something about how Jonathan Strange does things—

“Wait, does that mean you let him kiss you?” his head comes up, tail and ears pricked ndignantly.

"I do remember we found Vinculus in the tree," Childermass does admit that much. That he can only recall Strange telling him he's forgotten something but not quite what it was related to anymore is a little telling, actually, so he won't question Lambert further on what he forgot.

It's nothing dangerous.

That should be fine.

But of course Lambert gets to that part and Childermass just rolls his eyes.

"On the hand. He knew better than to think I'd let him try elsewhere."

Lambert huffs at that, tail stiffly lashing against the sheets. “Damn right he’d better.”

He seems to realize how stupid the fit of pique is before it can really get going, though, and lets it go with a sigh, fingers dropping to his clothes and fussing with loosening his clothes as best he can for sleep without actually taking them off.

“If you really want to remember, maybe the Starlight could help. Nightshade got Strange his memories back in Portland, even if they might have come back on their own anyway. But I’d wait until all this mess is sorted out, first.”

"Lambert, you know it's not like that," Childermass scolds him anyway, even if he doesn't get started on Strange and his magical kissing. The next part, well, he does pause before deciding to add, "And I agreed to let him try again, later. He was very intent on removing the enchantment. I just... didn't think it was real."

“Do I know it’s not like that?”

Hm, didn’t come out right. Lambert makes a face that only gets sourer at the mention of more disenchantment, which undoubtedly means more kissing, before he clarifies: “I don’t know what’s going on in his head these days. So did the argument come before he tried kissing you, or the other around? And here I thought that was our thing.” It’s clearly an attempt at a joke, even if it’s not at its best. Under normal circumstances, Lambert would turn the whole thing into something to be laughed at.

Edited 2018-12-29 06:11 (UTC)

"I am not planning on giving Mrs. Strange or yourself anything to worry about," Childermass answers dryly, though he sees the humor in it. Well, regardless of topic, he turns back to pulling his boots off and finishes with that.

"After. For a man obsessed with having everyone else respect him, he certainly refuses to lend as much to anyone else," he says with a huff, setting boots down on the floor and looking up again. "I have always been a difficult man to be friends with. That he assumes I will be friends with him on the same grounds as he is with you or Mr. Norrell just tells me he knows very little about me. You, you're his drinking buddy, a brother in arms in some odd, roundabout fashion. Mr. Norrell was his master and equal and found no issue with endlessly arguing over the pettiest of details. I am neither of those, Lambert. I cannot be."

Lambert uses a knuckle to idly scratch the side of his nose, thinking the words over. He certainly has had his own issues with Strange of late, and he’s not sure if Childermass is just looking to vent some steam.

“I don’t know what anymore,” Lambert admits, leading with that rather than a direct response to Childermass’s complaint. “He apologized to me for acting like an ass for the last few weeks, wishes things hadn’t turned out the way they did. But then he said he didn’t actually regret anything — becoming friends with Ignatius, or whatever he thought he was talking about. He wasn’t all that specific.”

He shifts to flop back on the bed, hands laced together on his chest and staring at the ceiling. If there’s any benefit to his new horns, it’s easier to do this.

“He wants to be friends, but ... I think that means something different to him than it does to me. Maybe that’s the problem.” He pauses. “Turns not telling him about us is the reason he decided he’d rather spend all his time with Ignatius instead to start with. Said he felt hurt he wasn’t the most important thing in my life, like he thought. But even before I’d decided I liked you, that wasn’t how I thought about him, so I don’t know what made him see it like that. I don’t seem that friendless and desperate, do I?”

Edited (even more werds) 2018-12-30 03:13 (UTC)

"Does he realize I asked you not to or does that not matter to him at all?" Childermass grumbles that before getting up off of the bed.

He isn't about to nod off in the clothes he has from the Summerlands, though. It's all too heavy and embroidered to do that, even if it is all enchanted never to wrinkle or easily tear. He's back up and going to rifle through the dresser in the room, pulling out sleep pants and swapping into those. He won't bother with a shirt. He'll just sleep without, thanks, even if it does put the bolts the technicians added to his back on display.

"I imagine I won't be getting any sort of apology. He no doubt still considers himself in the right about everything, at all times. It's going to be a damn mess when he does return to England to upend any order we've managed to make of all the magicians."

Which may or may not be true, but the ire of how Strange carries on thinking he's the most important, at all times, is just rubbing more salt into the wounds here. Wanting privacy doesn't matter, wanting to be respected in turn doesn't matter, it's always Strange who's allowed anything and no one else, though those specific thoughts remain unsaid. It would only rile them both up further if he dragged that out.

⇨ THE SUMMERLANDS

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waves hands vaguely and casts spooky timeline magic

what happened when who even knows who even cares

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