lostcarnival | ⇨ THE SUMMER COURT

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⇨ THE SUMMER COURT

Who: Everyone in the Summer Maiden's entourage.
When: Day 129 - Day 131 (Subjectively experienced as only one day.)
Where: The Summer Court
What: The Summer Maiden returns to the Summer Court for the first time in eons, leading a posse of carnival workers and Summer Fae. The Summer Queen has initiated a peaceful Elysium for discussions to take place, with dozens of the Court in attendance, but the true tone of the negotiations has yet to be unearthed.
Warnings: Fae being bitches.

SUNSET OF AN ERA↴

The phase shift takes few minutes to complete, when it's time. The Summer Maiden gathers everyone together - her guard of Summerland Fae, and her carnival wards - and activates the spell to bring them to the Summer Court. It's been planned with the Summer Queen, she says, and they should have her cooperation. Nothing has been settled in terms of negotiations, but at the very least, the Queen was not willing to shut down the opportunity to see her daughter for the first time eons, along with her lesser children, Ignatius and Gild.

The Summer Maiden has recommended that everyone dress formally and conduct themselves with respect, but she is not forcing anyone to do so. It simply seems like the best way to make an impression.

When they arrive in the Summer Court, they are in a courtyard. The Maiden's light magic fades and they will see themselves in a garden of alien trees, with golden towers rising up around them in all directions. Two Summer Court fae are waiting for them at an ornate gate, but it isn't until the Summer Maiden has claimed her role as an adjudicator or the present Elysium that she breaks the barrier surrounding her party. She tells everyone that it is safe to go forth but to be cautious. There is no way of knowing what direction negotiations will take.

The guard leads them in, and they will find themselves in a spacious and life-filled throne room, with massive trees that function and supporting pillars and the throne itself. A variety of True Fae that the carnival has never seen before are scattered around the room, waiting with a thick air of tension. As the Summer Maiden leads them in, she will announce herself to the Queen, and claim all those present as under her protection.

The introductions are brief, and after the Maiden is done, the Queen will ask to speak with her privately. There is a clear nervousness beneath the Queen's veneer of control. As the Maiden joins her at the throne to speak about personal matters, everyone else is free to explore the throne room and mingle - if they dare.

► STICKING OUT: There are some notable reactions going on as the Maiden's entourage arrives. In general, the Court Fae respond strongly to Ignatius's presence - both the fact that he's turned up as an ally to the Maiden, and his curious magical transformation. Ignatius, for his part, holds back and tries to keep to himself, looking like he's trying to hide a significant amount of stress. To the Gilded Mark, there is a particular note of resentment, which she mostly seems to ignore and focuses on staying close to the carnival folk. The Starlight, the Whirling Rainbow, and a few other Summerland Fae have come along, and they all hold back as the Summer Maiden discusses things with the Queen privately. In general, the Court Fae eye the carnival with a mixture of curiousity and disgust.

► TOUGH CROWD: There are dozens of Summer Court Fae here that no one will have seen before. They mill about the room as if this is an uncomfortable formal engagement, eyeing up the Maiden's entourage an gossiping with one another. The opinions they hold of the situation vary wildly - some seem more of the attitude that the Court would be better off if the Summer Maiden were to die and be replaced, where others are openly optimistic and excited about the potential of reparations being made. You are free to make up/NPC any of these fae as long as they aren't doing anything radical, like trying to break the Elysium. Some of them will treat the visitors as threats, while others may even attempt to ask them questions about the situation.

► ACCOMMODATIONS: There is food and drink provided while negotiations endure. Normally you may want to be cautious about accepting this kind of thing, but given that it's part of Elysium, they are obligated to not harm any of those present. So, if you want, you will be able to enjoy faerie ales and other luxury foods that have the capability of being distractingly tantalizing to mortals with low self control. If you need some space, you are free to go back out to the courtyard where you arrived. There are few fae out there, but it is still covered by the Elysium. Take some time to settle in - this could take a while, and there's sure to be drama before it's over. Later on, there will be public discussion.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Lambert doesn’t want to be here. He’s made that clear, where he stands personally, but now that it’s come to it, he’s standing with the rest of the Carnival with an easy confidence borne entirely of bravado, feigning comfort in his own skin. Unlike the Summerlands, he’s taken off the ribbons and wrappings he was using to disguise the alterations to his horns and tail; the lights of the Court shine off the jagged lines of exposed metal shaped like bone, glowing faintly with the gold threaded through them. He’s chosen a close-fitting, dark red suit with as military a cut as he could find in the Summerlands, trimmed in black and embroidered in gold that catches the light when he moves. The sword sheathed at his hip completes the look, though its plain sheath seems out of place.

He interacts with the fae casually, if not occasionally outright challenging, listening in on conversations and interjecting his unsolicited opinion when something catches his attention. More often than not, he’s holding a glass of faerie ale in hand, though it’s hard to track if he’s drinking it or pressing it on others.

He won’t miss, though, how other members of their entourage seem less sure of themselves. Which means when he catches them hanging out alone, he’ll come up to them casually, voice dropping to a murmur:

“You could try looking a little livelier. We aren’t at a funeral, you know.”

Wildcard

Got something else in mind? Hit him up.

Edited 2018-12-30 04:52 (UTC)

The comment earns him a scowl. It's bad enough that she's unable to keep her discomfort from being broadcasted so clearly; she doesn't need to be called out on it on top of that.

"I'm trying," she hisses back, growing flustered. Her tail swishes agitatedly, disturbing the hem of the purple dress that she's donned for the occasion. "We're surrounded by hostile fae, that doesn't bother you?"

“Believe it or not, hostile fae aren’t much different from hostile humans,” Lambert shrugs. “They might be immortal, but most of them are too small-minded to see beyond their own noses. It’s kind of sad, actually. They’re so mortal that way.”

He raises his voice at the last just loud enough for a passing fae giving them the stink eye to hear. It doesn’t cow the fae, but it does make her brows furrow a little, a wrinkle of perplexment that’s quickly smoothed over before she shuffles away. Lambert turns his attention back to Peridot, tone dropping to a more normal level.

“If we’re supposed to be under the Summer Maiden’s protection, we can at least act like we believe in it. We’re her allies, not charity cases.”

Peridot stiffens and looks petrified as the passing fae glares directly at them, which probably undercuts Lambert's efforts somewhat. She sucks in a breath through her fangs once the fae walks away, trying to get herself to relax a bit.

"Logically I know they're not going to murder us all or anything like that," Peridot huffs. "I just don't like the way that they keep looking at us all. I don't know how to respond to it in a way that wouldn't be considered... Out of line."

Lambert cocks his head curiously at her. “There’s nothing that says you can’t make them uncomfortable right back,” he points out, like it’s obvious.

“Take a closer look. Listen to more conversations. They’re not all united here. Some of them want this to work out. Some of them don’t think it will. And more importantly ... a lot of these fae aren’t small fry. There’s nobody like Nightshade or Frost hanging around, no changelings. We disgust them, but they can’t stop looking at us. They’ve probably never paid this much attention to changelings in their lives, or been around any that weren’t cowering.”

"...Huh." Peridot cocks her head, glancing around the room once more. Lambert is providing an interesting perspective, for sure. Are they trapped in here with all these snooty fae? Or are those snooty fae trapped in here with them, forced to mingle with disgusting changeling savages?

Maybe the key is in just... owning it.

"Yeah... You're right!" she says, more loud, more confident. "They're probably just staring so much because they're intimidated by how impressive we are. We've probably done more and seen more in the last few months than they have in millions of years!"

“Exactly,” Lambert says simply. He surveys the room with an increasingly nasty grin and a predatory air.

“When someone’s spent their whole life pretending people like you are invisible,” he says, something strident and determined entering his voice, “Sometimes just forcing them to see you is victory enough. They might go back to acting like you don’t exist, but even if it’s just for a moment, you win.”

Peridot grins wickedly, letting out a horrible little cackle. "You know, you're frequently far more clever than I sometimes give you credit for," she says gleefully, playfully batting his ankle with her tail as she joins him in surveying the crowd. "Can you imagine being so feeble in constitution that your day is ruined by the mere presence of a handful of changelings?"

“I’d be surprised if any of them could have survived half of what we’ve been through, no matter how much power they have,” Lambert agrees, looking down at her and (gently) batting his tail right back. “I think that’s what they’re scared of, you know. That’s what they see when they look at us: change, finally coming for them after all their years.”

Internally, Peridot has a brief moment of wondering 'what the hell just touched me' when he bats her. It's really easy to forget that his tail is metal, when she's not actively trying to sense it.

She snorts. "They'll have to adapt to it eventually. I managed it, and I spent three thousand years doing the same job the same way for the same people."

Her grin fades slowly into a contemplative frown. "What we're doing here is... Really big," she murmurs, the enormity of the situation seriously hitting her for the first time. "The outcome of this summit could have multi-verse wide consequences."

Lambert looks at the room, cocking his head and considering that statement.

“Maybe it will,” he shrugs, apparently undaunted by the idea. “But the multiverse isn’t what I’m here for.”

She cocks her head, glancing up at the witcher contemplatively.

"I suppose it's not what I came here for either," she concedes. "But you do have to admit that it's pretty incredible. Just consider this: If we can change the fae... Perhaps we could convince them to cease their colonization efforts! Can you imagine the good that would do on a multiuniversal scale?"

“Sadly,” Lambert says with a straight face, “I really don’t have that much imagination.”

Keep expectations low, don’t be disappointed, right?

(no subject)

periphrasing - 2019-01-08 18:15 (UTC) - Expand

Yuya pulls his head up from where he's sitting and sulking in the courtyard as far away from the fae as he can be. He's at least trying not to be a spectacle, and they don't want to talk to him anyway.

He stares dully for a moment before looking back down. "I just need a minute. I'll get back to it."

Despite the tepid response, Lambert doesn’t leave. He’ll remain where he is for a moment, swirling his faerie ale around his glass, before he comes over and sits on the bench next to Yuya.

“This wouldn’t happen to do with whatever you and Strange were talking about, would it?” he asks plainly. The argument earlier wasn’t exactly subtle, even across the room.

Yuya's expression pinches and he draws his legs in closer. He tries to keep his voice steady when he speaks. "Yeah."

He's not crying about it anymore, but his eyes are red.

Lambert pauses, waiting. When Yuya doesn’t seem inclined to be forthcoming, the witcher speaks again.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Yuya worries over his lip, uncertain. "I don't know what to say."

He's not trying to be difficult. He's just not sure how to start rolling out the tight emotions in his chest.

He peers up at Lambert from between his bangs. "How much did you hear?"

“This might help,” Lambert offers Yuya his wineglass. He’s only half-kidding, expression wry.

“I didn’t hear much of it. Just the part where you hit the table and told him to stop saying he cares.” His expression turns more serious. “I didn’t think you two were fighting.”

Strange will squabble with anyone at the drop of a hat, even enjoying the arguing, but Yuya’s always seemed exempt from that. Until now.

Yuya actually takes the glass, sniffing the contents. And then his face wrinkles up in disaste and he holds it back out to Lambert.

"I don't know if it's fighting." He doesn't meet Lambert's gaze, not wanting to say it might just be over. "I don't think we were friends the way I thought we were."

Or rather, he thought he meant more to Strange. And how much Strange means to him means nothing.

Lambert shakes his head, nudging the glass right back. “At least try it before you decide you don’t want it,” he tells him.

Considering what he says next, though, Lambert feels like he’s the one who could use the drink himself. He sighs, leaning back on the bench and tipping his head back to look at the stars.

“What did he do to make you feel that way?” Ultimately, it’s not his relationship with Strange that has bearing on the present conversation, so he may as well find out what he can.

Edited 2018-12-31 00:17 (UTC)

Yuya takes the glass with an expression full of protest and doesn't move to drink it just yet.

He's quiet at first, looking conflicted. He came out of his conversation with Strange feeling like maybe it was his fault for believing their friendship was stronger.

"He..." Yuya shifts sideways. "He said he'd leave if he had a chance, even if he was leaving us in danger. He would have left us in Polaris."

He doesn't say that he'd never abandon Strange to suffer just to get home faster, but it's probably expected from too tender hearted Yuya. "And... it's like nothing I say matters to him."

The more Yuya talks, the more Lambert’s brow furrows. Arguing with Lambert or Childermass, who both have their own offenses against Strange, is one thing. He can’t think of a single time Yuya might have done anything to Strange that deserves him sitting here and sounding this ... well, heartbroken, for lack of a better word. The witcher’s quiet for a moment or two, considering how to respond, and — for once — gauging how much frankness is really necessary. How to offer an explanation for Strange’s actions without condoning them, while giving Yuya the room to decide how much he does or doesn’t want to forgive.

It’s probably difficult enough for Yuya to understand why anyone would do something like this.

“Strange is scared.” There, that’s probably the simplest way to put it. “And being scared ... has a way of bringing out what’s true. Feelings. Wishes. Flaws.”

Edited 2018-12-31 04:17 (UTC)

He bites his lip just short of breaking the skin, then shakes his head. "It's--I know how much he loves Miss Arabella. I know what that's like, but I thought..."

He groans, dropping his forehead against his knees. "I thought he cared more. He says he does, but I can't see how you can really care about someone if you'd be able to leave them suffering! When they need you there."

He lifts his head, staring miserably. "I really wanted him to know how special he was to me, because he seemed lonely when he told me how he wanted to be someone's priority. I thought he cared, and just didn't see how much he was cared about too, but..."

But when he could coolly admit later how easily he'd clean his hands of them, Yuya's sure he was wrong. Misunderstood, but it caught him by surprise and left him confused and it's still hard to navigate the pain when he doesn't totally understand where he'd missed the signs. He's sure he must have.

Not having an immediately intelligent answer for that, Lambert settles for putting a hand on Yuya’s shoulder, less for comfort and more to indicate solidarity.

“Sometimes the people we care about can be real assholes,” he says, simply. “Sorry this was how you found out.”