polylogs | Carcosa, pt. 2

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Carcosa, pt. 2

✖ Carcosa

Ⅰ. CARCOSA
You Are Still Here.

Another month, and you’re still in the city of Carcosa! Isn’t that just wonderful?

You still have access to the city’s temple and the High Temple.

The side effects you may have suffered from throughout the month of May are now at an end - if you had a pesky mask glued to your face the whole time it will now fall off. You might need a little moisturizer, but otherwise you’ll be just fine.

You could sit around inside the relative safety of the temples, of course, but why not get out there and explore the city some more? Come on, grumpypants!

Ⅱ. SPEAK EASY
CW: Optional alcohol consumption.

What kind of pet shop is filled with rambunctious yahoos and hot jazz music at 1 AM? That's right - the best damn pet shop in town! Sidle up to the back door of Curly's Pet Shop and a panel will open enough to reveal a pair of eyes. "What's the password?" you'll be asked. Whatever word first comes to your mind, well, that apparently is correct because you're let in at once.

The front of the building definitely does indeed house fish and birds and kittens, but the back room is definitely not a good place to find a new animal companion; you find yourself in a crowded little room with low lighting and a small bar crammed into one corner. There's seats and some tables, and most importantly there's a band playing jazz music across from the bar.

Why not take a seat and have a drink? It's probably not paint thinner. Probably. Maybe you'll spot some of your fellow Travelers and you can sit and have a chat. Make a new friend who can hold your hair back if you party too hard.

And you better hope that the place doesn’t get raided!

Notes:
1. The drinks are all era-appropriate - you’re not getting Redbull with vodka here - and even if your character has non-human physiology they will work the same as they would on a baseline human. That’s right, your magic or your healing-factor or your vampire blood is no match for these Gin Rickeys!

2. If Curly’s does get raided while you’re there, you can run and hide or choose to engage with the police, who are armed and not too shy about opening fire if you go on the offensive. As with the rest of the regular residents of Carcosa, the officers are human and can be killed. Killing them may affect the colour grading of your Scrywatch depending on the situation. (Is it beneficial to personal growth to kill in order to save someone else, for example? You tell me!)

3. Did you want a pet from the front of the building? Well, just remember that baby turtles and alligators might SEEM like a good idea, but they grow up! Also any animal you take will not travel with you to the next island. So sorry.

Ⅲ. EXPRESSIONISM YOURSELF
CW: Optional paranoia, hallucinations.
If you wander the streets at night, you may find yourself getting turned around. You'll find that the streets have lost their many lights, and the beautiful and delicate art deco architecture has given way to something much more stark and heavy. The buildings are block-like, but they curve in exaggerated ways that hurt the eye if looked at too long. All are in blacks and whites and greys. Nothing looks quite real, but you can walk along just fine. Probably better not to go off alone, though.

Periodically you will encounter that pesky sign of some sort painted on the walls. If you follow the sigils, you will eventually be led to a long staircase that winds down and down until it finally terminates in a large white room lit by a few electric lanterns. There's black paint there, with brushes. Maybe you're feeling creative?

Notes:
1. You’re pretty sick of this stupid sigil, aren’t you? In fact, you consider yourself QUITE the detective and have been searching after its meaning! Or maybe you played Call of Cthulhu a lot in college, you nerd!

Painting the sigil on the wall will cause you to feel disoriented and paranoid until you leave the white room. From that point on you can discover a copy of a play entitled The King In Yellow anywhere in the city you choose. Reading the first act of the play has no effect on you, however if you choose to read beyond the first line of the second act you will spend the rest of the month suffering from periodic hallucinations, often of a tall man in a pallid mask.

2. While there is no compulsion to paint, choosing to work out any of your character’s issues through art therapy can be reflected in your Scrywatch colour if it is significant enough.

Ⅳ. AS FAR BACK AS I CAN REMEMBER, I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A GANGSTER
CW: Optional gun violence, injury.
Art? Theatre? Music? BAH! Boring!

Maybe your tastes are a little more on the dangerous side? Whatever this island may be, it seems to offer plenty of opportunities to get into the seedy underbelly. Maybe you feel the need to steal a car, rob a bank, transport some illegal hooch for a smiling fellow in a yellow fedora. Grab your tommy guns, kids, it's time to outrun the Feds!

Naturally, you could wind up injured having all of this fun, but surely you could get some help from your fellow Travelers, either directly or by having them haul you to some sort of underground doctor. These doctors do exist, although it might take a while to get referred to one by a local.

You might also find yourself under arrest and stuck in an old-timey jail cell for a month. What fun!

Notes:
1. As was stated in the first prompt, the regular residents of Carcosa are normal humans. Killing them is possible and may affect the colour grading of your Scrywatch depending on the situation. Any weapons you find are era-appropriate.

2. You can break out of jail if you’re resourceful enough.

3. The underground doctors aren’t working in a real hospital for a reason. In fact, some of them might be less doctors and more, well. Vets.

You still jamming to that Carcosa playlist?

Network · Logs · OOC · Memes · Plurk

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(He blushes and smiles.)

Thank you, it's been a while since I got to sing for someone so thank you for the opportunity.

(His smile grows and he nods enthusiastically.)

Yes! Exactly, there has to be soul and passion to it. Do you play any instruments?

"It was the first thing that popped into my head."

His eyebrow goes up further, "Dude shut up. No way. You are bullshitting me."

You’re very welcome to sing for me any time you wish to. I’m very generous like that.

( She gives an oh so serious nod followed by a soft laugh. )

It really does make the difference, doesn’t it? It amazes me, the connection you can feel to a song or a piece of music… But yes, I do. Piano, mostly. And I like the harp, too. And to sing.

"Huh. Guess they're not that worried about being raided."

Kyle nods, one hundred percent serious. "Dude, for seriously. They're deadly, but kept at bay by Peruvian flute bands."

𝙏𝙀𝙈𝙋𝙇𝙀 + 𝙊𝙐𝙏 & 𝘼𝘽𝙊𝙐𝙏

It's easier getting around now that the damned mask has come off; turns out it's rather conspicuous having a steampunk skull plastered to your face. Means it's less of a hassle to walk the streets of Carcossa (or climb up around them, if anyone happens to glance up rather than around) and scout out what supplies aren't offered at the temples. Of particular note: weapons. While the guardians have seen fit to provide nearly everything else, Rafe hasn't yet seen anything worthwhile for self-defense and after the giant fuck-off fish and the goddamn zombies... Yeah. No. This is necessary. He's become quick to recognize other Travelers, a glance at the wrist for the telltale Scrywatch there, and if faced with one at the stalls as he checks the barrel, he offers a simple shrug before sliding the cartridge in place with a click.

Otherwise he can be found at the High Temple rather than the local installation. Because while the High Temple has that uncomfortable lingering prickling sensation of being watched, of scrutiny, an air of expectation (just like home sweet home)... It also has much better baths than anything provided by the faceless fauns of Carcossa. And while a long soak doesn't fully wash away the strung out tension in his shoulders that comes from living under a glass, it sure as shit helps.

𝙎𝙊𝙐𝙉𝘿 𝙊𝙁𝙁 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙎𝙄𝙍𝙀𝙉𝙎

This is hardly Rafe's first time at a venue of questionable legality, though most others he's been to over the years had a tighter grip on security than waving through every Tom, Dick, and Gatsby that has the knuckles to knock. Maybe if they were a little more discreet, a little more discerning, it wouldn't be packed in like a tin of gin-soaked sardines. The crowd is the only reason Rafe stays, caught in the currents and at the mercy of the crowd around him. Which means it's only the barest stroke of luck that he's close to a wall when he hears the whistles blow, shrill even in the distance but getting louder every second as the patrons begin to panic.

Stepping back against the rush of bodies, his heel knocks against a panel and he can hear the hollowness on the other side. A critical eye and a sure hand soon find a catch for a backup exit tucked away behind an oversized potted fern. He has no idea where the passageway leads but one thing's for damned sure — it's gotta be better than here.

The door starts to swing shut behind him when he catches you nearby and he arches an eyebrow, impatient and expectant.

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙈.𝘾. 𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙕𝙊𝙉𝙀

Whether it's after losing the cherry-tops on his tail or on another late-night excursion, Rafe ends up... Not lost. He certainly isn't that because he's been scoping the city out for over a month already and it's not that large a place. But still he turns one corner and then another and another and leads him deeper and deeper into what can only be called some truly freaky shit. The few streetlamps still lit throw warped shadows that flicker in and out to true darkness, that throw the buildings looming up into stark and unsettling and non-Euclidean relief, that make the whole thing more of a headache than an acid-assisted Rorschach test.

He should play this smart. Should trace back his steps or climb up for a better vantage to get the hell out of here, but... But. The sigils keep cropping up — cornerstones, under an eave, slapped right up against a door — and Rafe can't not try and follow them along. They're clues to this whole place, he knows that much by now, and he knows better than anyone how rare it is for such things to just be dropped in your lap.

So he continues on, deeper and deeper, until he rounds another corner and walks straight into you. One hand goes to the pistol at his waist before he thinks better of it, the other smoothing back his hair with a sharp exhale.

𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍❜𝙎 𝘾𝙃𝙊𝙄𝘾𝙀

Speakeasies are nice little diversions, but they're the equivalent of tourist traps — just enough crime to thrill and chill before going back home and gossiping about how naughty a night was had. A bare scratch at the surface and Rafe's never been content with half-measures. So when a yellow fedora offers an invite to something a little deeper, a little darker, of course he's going to take them up on it.

"It" is a floating casino, a basement larger than Curly's by far with flashy would-be-gilt decorations to cover the haphazard nature of a setup that'll vanish like smoke in a week's time. Rafe scopes out the room from the corner bar, weaves through the tables and observes until a seat opens up at a corner card game. Poker seems to be poker everywhere from what play he's already seen, and the seeming proves true after a few hands and Rafe has the count securely ticked off in his head.

Which means he's soon pulling in more pots than he's leaving on the table, a benign plastic smile on his face as he stacks his winnings a little more neatly in front of him.

But the key part of luck, the most important part, is knowing when the ride's over and it's time to stop pressing. Which here? Is as the sore loser grumbles grow silent and the silence grows heavy with frustration and that itch to do something about it.

So Rafe chooses to fold and gather up what he's earned this evening, bundling it away in his jacket pocket after leaving something for the dealer. Time to beat a very tactical retreat...or at least shift the scene to somewhere a little more defensible if that resentment does boil over. Just one last drink for the road, his elbow knocking yours as he settles at the bar.

His chin tips up, indicating the one he'd just left.

𝙒𝙄𝙇𝘿 𝘾𝘼𝙍𝘿

interested in an angle I haven't covered? feel free to shoot me a line here or on plurk and we can hash out a separate prompt!

Edited 2021-06-12 00:29 (UTC)

[ Before the shit hits the fan but after more than enough of playing a human plinko, whatever mad gods of chaos look over Curly's bar see fit to shove Rafe past an empty booth and as any sailor will say, "any port in a storm". He pulls himself out of the tide of bodies and slides into the seat, a quiet sigh of relief to be off his feet and out of that mess. Of course he'd rather be out of this place entirely at this point but. One step at a time.

A cigar girl sweeps by (and she's got to be some kind of ghost the way she just floats through and around the other patrons, how in the actual hell—) and drops a round of drinks with a beaming smile. She whirls off again before Rafe can point out he hasn't ordered anything and he knows without even trying that he won't get anywhere trying to shout over the crowd to draw her back. ...Well. It's less of a port this time than gin but the sidecars (the sticky sweet smell of citrus gives it away) look all right enough.

He's taking an investigatory sip when the booth gets another occupant in what looks like the same manner Rafe did: dropped by a tornado dressed in shimmy beads and overlong tux tails. But said occupant is...certainly familiar. He's already seen Nate and Sam ~~(seen way too much of Sam)~~ but it truly looks like the Ancient's made this a full family affair.

The glimmer of recognition only lasts a moment before Rafe casually slides over one of the cocktails to his new buddy over here. ]

Unless you're looking to part the Red Deco Sea out there... [ One eyebrow lofts over the rim of his drink. ] I'd suggest getting comfortable.

[ When Rafe finally reaches the stairs, he takes them two at a time and all but flies down them, sure in his gut that he's finally found the end of it or answers or something worthwhile, thank god, it's about goddamned time—!

So of course Sam's already there ahead of him, that motherfucker.

It's impossible to miss him, tall and lanky and the only spot in the room that isn't white and bright enough to hurt his eyes, squinting and blinking after too long spent stumbling through the dark outside. The paint cans are irrelevant, an afterthought, supremely minor compared to the bubbling frustration that has nowhere else to go until he blurts out: ]

Are you serious right now?

[ Just! Can he have this one thing! For once! Can he find something on his own! God! ]

[ wings and horns. loki's eyes flicker towards them briefly. he finds himself missing his own helmet resting upon his brow. this place had taken his usual clothes from him and it was too much magic to spend on appearance.

he gives a polite bow. always best to be polite to the fae, which she clearly was. ]

My mistake then. And who might you be?

He already had it. But I have a terrible habit of returning from the dead. He might seek to rectify that.

[ maybe. loki doesn't know for sure. thanos doesn't hold a grudge, but loki knows too much and can use the infinity stones with no cost to himself. a wildcard that thanos would despise leaving alive. ]

[Hm. No more resurrections.

Let's try this again.]

Does it make sense to you that he would track you to a dimension where you are, for now, trapped, if he believed you to be dead?

[ loki frowns, shaking his head as if to shake off the paranoia and the illusions. ]

I — I'm not sure.

And is it like him to play at hide-and-seek? If he is so powerful, would he not have found you by now?

[ loki hisses. ]

I saw him!

[ didn't he? did he? his mind has always been so fragile. so susceptible. had something overcome his safeguards once more? he clutches his head, trying to shake off the illusions. ]

Something is there. I know it.

Oh. [ she takes a moment to look at the damage and then back to him, shrugging. ] Well. In that case, I'd have totally blasted him, too.

[ no judgement here. ]

[Is it so hard, for a man who supposedly works illusions himself, to shake this one? Or is it harder because of that? Overconfident and unused to being on the receiving end? It's... pitiable to watch, either way.]

...

I saw a dead man, last month. A trick, brought on by a mask. It wasn't real.

[ the casual way she delivers that statement catches him off-guard. perhaps this isn't quite real. perhaps this situation is in his head. which doesn't help much. loki's head is gnarled and twisted. ]

I thought I saw him.

[ that feels like a tangible fact. loki latches onto it. ]

How did you banish it?

...I remembered that one can't speak to the dead.

[That might be less helpful here, if this Titan isn't dead. But there must be something.]

[ loki has to smile at that. because that is true but it also isn't. loki is dead but he's here. he wants to laugh again. the world's best joke. it does jar the impression of hallucinations loose a little. ]

No. I suppose not.

[A wry twist of his mouth.]

Human deaths tend to be a bit more permanent, I suppose.

But I expect... you aren't about to be killed here.

[ loki sighs, rubbing his forehead. he can still see a shadow when he blinks, but has finally come to the conclusion that his mind is playing tricks on him. the irony is not lost on him either. ]

I am very tired of dying.

I never imagined it was pleasant.

[He studies Loki.]

...is it gone?

No.

[ he manages a faint, wry smile. ]

But I can manage it for now.

[Sephiroth nods.]

Perhaps with awareness, you could study it.

[ Information, Anders feels like he's been chasing his tail for an age already just trying to find some single, useful scrap of it. Maybe trying something absurd isn't such a bad idea. ]

I'm listening.

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Page 17 of 42

Carcosa, pt. 2

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rafe adler | uncharted | ota (+ closed prompts)

𝘾𝙇𝙊𝙎𝙀𝘿 𝙏𝙊 𝙀𝙇𝙀𝙉𝘼

𝘾𝙇𝙊𝙎𝙀𝘿 𝙏𝙊 𝙎𝘼𝙈

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