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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Oh, the harp isn't too bad. It's more that it can be difficult to achieve a pleasant sound than, say, the piano. Though it can be technically challenging to play to a high standard.

( She gives a little shrug, not wanting to give herself too much credit. Or seem like she's trying to show off. Any android could do the same with the right programming, after all. )

No, no, I didn't want to spoil hearing you. Though I'd be happy to sing something if you'd like me to?

"At the SHKY!!!!!" It seemed an important distinction. And perhaps it was - you couldn't kill the sky. Normally. This game had some pretty Cthulu undertones, so maybe that was less true here.

Somewhere, the monkey is shrieking in triumph and excitement. The monkey has a gun! The monkey has a gun! But it won't fire, so the monkey pauses and just kind of bashes it on the ground.

"You're jush jealous because I have movies now and you DON'T" He pauses. "Exschept some shtupid Shneider outtake. That's rough, buddy."

"NOT ANYMOOOOOOOOOOOORE," he wails, reminded of the fact that the mask stopped working. "My facsh fell off."

At that moment, the other gangsters start firing at Deadpool. Clearly, his shooting one of them in the head had not been proper incentive to leave him the fuck alone. Or Kyle? Kyle. Leave Kyle the fuck alone. God, but he'd forgotten how hard it was to keep track of things when he was drunk. It really had been a long time.

(Really, only in flashbacks because we didn't exist before we were created as Deadpool.)

"That's too meta." He takes several bullets to the torso and one to his thigh. After all, he might have better aim than he was playing at while drunk, but dodging was still a bitch. "OW!!!! Oh for fuckshake."

Rather than firing at the gangsters in their car, he just stomps forward to their increasing astonishment. They shout, pouring yet more lead into him...or his general direction, since Tommy Guns weren't known for their extreme accuracy, but they just serve to annoy Deadpool more as is body jerks around. He gets to the car, pops the gas tank, produces a ripped hunk of cloth, stuffs it in, and lights it.

"Heh heh heh."

Ignored by Deadpool but still wanting attention, the monkey hems and haws and makes some questioning chirps before ambling over in Kyle's direction.

"Kaboom, motherfuckers."

(You...do realize you forgot to run. This is going to hurt.)

"Aw shi-" And then an incredible, deafening roar fills the street as the car explodes.

Real corpses from unreal people though. That should be a point of concern, I think. Death shouldn't work like that. Neither should necromancy.

[He sighs, deciding he hates these lines. He reaches down, taking the broader one again and scribbling the work out.]

[ Nate and Sam have been here for a little while now — long enough for Nate to have gotten comfortable in his corner of the cell, legs out in front of him, elbow resting on one knee, head in the hand of the other. Considering escape routes, weak points in the cell's structure, ways of tricking the guards into opening one of their doors so at least one of the Drake brothers might get an advantage to help the other one out. You know, the usual stuff.

This is hardly their first rodeo, and Nate had sworn not long ago that he was absolutely done with this life, so it's a little bit of a sick joke that he's back here all over again. Just like old times, right?

Only when the heavy metal door screeches open in protest and there's a chaotic scuffle does Nate look up. And then someone is unceremoniously thrown into his cell, practically at his feet, before the door closes shut again. The guard scoffs something about 'goddamned, funny looking troublemakers' under his breath and then he and his buddy are gone, the echo of their footsteps fading with the length of the hall. Nate immediately notes the long ginger hair, is about to say something profound or clever or hilarious, when from across the way his brother comments on —

Holy shit. ]

Jack Rackham?

[ That's what he'd just said, right? Nate, too, straightens with a start, glances across the way to find the familiar lanky pirate fruitlessly stretching an arm out through the bars. It's honestly kind of a relief to see another familiar face, despite the circumstances.

Which means ...

Yeah. He's got a pretty good idea of the identity of his new cellmate. ]

Hey, you okay?

Well if we ever find a piano or a harp I'd love to hear you play, I've never seen someone play live harp music before.
Are there any instruments you want to learn in the future?

(Carter smiles at how polite and humble she is, she reminds him of...well him sometimes.)

That would be very nice, but only if you are comfortable doing so. I don't want you to feel pressured, I can wait till we find a karaoke bar if that's what you'd like.

. . . Thank you.

I know little of necromancy, but maybe they aren't the corpses of unreal people.

[Don't tell him that's sincerity. It's just words. He nods stiffly.]

I'll leave you to it.

He just laughs and shakes his head, "Okay okay, it's just a bit hard to believe."

He tips his drink back and finishes it in one gulp, savoring the way it warms his throat on the way down. He is about to ask Kyle a question when a woman in a black dress appears and drapes herself across Carter, she smells heavily of gin and some kind of floral perfume.

"Jimmy, there you are!" She says and runs a hand through his hair, "Baby I've been looking all over for you."

Kyle raises his not inconsiderable eyebrows.

"Wow, Jimmy," he deadpans, "way to keep a lady waiting."

Perhaps his eye lingers a little too long - the question is targeted at him, and there's no one else in his cell to imply otherwise. Booker bites back the sigh, pressing his lips together instead.

Well, it might not hurt, to fill the time a bit. He shifts slightly, leaning back against the wall and tucking a leg up against him. The stranger looks worse for wear than Booker is, and he glances for a shadow along the hall before he answers,

"First time." For now. "You good?" he asks, pointing to his own lips to indicate what's brought the question on.

Booker's well and drunk; more drunk than he's used to getting, after what can't be more than half a dozen glasses of hard liquor. And he likely shouldn't slowed down at some point, can feel the alcohol roiling in his stomach, making his mind muzzy and his vision blurred.

It only takes him a second to place her - he might be nondescript compared to the other middle-age white men around, but it was hard to forget those horns. They almost look tamer, with her hair up and fancy. Or maybe he's more used to them now. ( he wasn't that used to them yet, but there's something compelling about it all, and for a moment he wonders about reaching up to touch them - )

he's drunker than he ought to be, and he leans back, his head following a second too late.

"Easier to forget," he answers; well enough she ignores his question, he can't remember asking it anymore. "Some people feel good. Some people cry. Sometimes both. How much have you had?"

[Saxsice thinks it has a charming Disney-esque quality to it. The hamster saves his life and they become friends for life. It's a beautiful story.

Then she squints a little at him, trying to picture a chocobo.] So like...an ostrich? With a cuter name?

Dude, if I know shit I admit to it immediately, I'm already dumb enough. Why would I wanna seem more dumber?

[Flattery will get you anywhere, judging by Saxsice's wide, delighted grin. She lets the strangeness of the previous comments slide in favor of adjusting herself in her chair and preening a little.] Well, ain't you sweet. It's sure different from my normal type'a clothes, but I agree, I think I'm rockin' it.

[Then she shifts her glass to her right hand, offering her left one to shake.] Saxsice King, pleasure's all mine, Chloe.

— I. Carcosa

[Like more than a few of his fellows, Kit becomes a fixture at the library. Any library with a whiff of a history collection, as a matter of fact, from a university campus, meandering through an archives and several eye-catching bookshops, before taking full advantage of the public library with an eclectic and ever expanding reading list that towers on stacks around him. Once he nibbles, it's like a hunger takes over and he gorges. History. Philosophy. Science. Geography. Centuries to try and absorb like a sponge; by the flurry of books entering and leaving his piles that increasingly look more like precarious jenga blocks, it appears he intends to. Promising prospects in anyone else's hands might just warrant a trade, or at least a question or two if it's worth it, tucking the titles away in his memory.

The only section that throws water on his feverish appetite contains the more personal histories. At times his fingers skims the spines in the aisles dedicated to literature, both desirous and fearful of landing on a familiar name.

Carcosa itself is not unlike a text awaiting translating. The circumstances might be drastically different, but this isn't the first new city he's had to invent himself in, and he proceeds from the beginning where he's begun before: by paying attention to what's popular. What matter to the people filling its streets. When not absorbed in a book during meals in the mess hall, he people-watches on walks or from a table at the nearest park with a glass of ale to settle his culture-shocked stomach, entranced by the simplicity of passing traffic. He ends up the culprit leaving pamphlets around the temple from day trips to museums and department stores and all manner of cultural novelties in between.

Given such, it's only a matter of time before he learns the places to be, and how he comes to occupy Curly's during several of its rowdy nights. A packed room with flowing drinks and loose tongues feels timeless, and it might just be a fellow Traveller he drifts past with a comment for the exotic drink menu or an inquiry as to these illicit Prohibition trappings. That there's the occasional ruckus in the streets hardly seems to faze him, and on one such night sensible bystanders see fit to spill out the establishment's exits on the heels of a rather vicious fight between a pair of patrons, he has an eye for the ambiance of the streetlights, and less the wail of a siren in the distance.]

— II. High Temple - cells

[From the outside looking in, taking time to understanding new textiles and fashions over three hundred years off from what he's accustomed to might appear a low priority. It won't provide him answers to what's happening to him, or the why. But it's a necessary education for all of them at some point, unless they care to add to the reasons they stand out, or make do with rough-spun robes.

(Perhaps more importantly, it's something else to put his mind toward that isn't listlessly wondered if the real Matthew has returned by now. If he, in turn, has wondered where Kit's gone.)

And so it happens one morning finds him deciphering the appropriate way to layer a dress shirt in a soft striped lilac (purple, such a beautiful and strangely casual color on Carcosa). He stops the first person around the temple's living quarters who looks like they may have a notion of proper post-16th century dress.]

[He lifts a herringbone grey vest. Then he holds up a lighter-colored pullover in his other hand.]

— III. High Temple - bath

[Of the temple's sparse, spartan amenities, he will say this: the consistently hot water at hand is as luxurious as a hot spring bath.

He keeps odd hours, schedules and routines a distant memory, but no matter what time of day he ventures to it he's privately impressed to find it freshly prepared each visit. Rosemary and lavender, orange and marjoram turn the steam fragrant, and though muscle tension feels like a permanent accessory he brings with him on each pass, closing his eyes and inhaling the herbal mix offers has him the closest to relaxing in all of this.

When he opens them again, it's to fix on the copy of Giordano Bruno, On the Infinite Universe and Worlds, propped on the ledge in front of him. A recent purchase--another indulgence, really, but timely to revisit in a new light. To think he'd been on the side of arguing its daemonic author had dipped into one of his mad phases when they'd sat around Matthew's fireplace reading it.

Besides soaking and reading, the bathing pool also offers the opportunity to observe others as they come and go. The next time company arrives, he spares any undressing and overexposure his gaze, but he's obvious in his studying every other chance, mindful of what color obsidian discs flash. His own reveals a murky orange where it's hidden by the profile of his body.]

— IV. Wildcard

[Want to mess around with sigils? Spitball the creepy play? Get in some trouble and shoot the shit in lockup? If you're into something different outside the first all that and the kitchen sink prompt, just throw me a starter. c:]

"Feel free to keep shooting at the sky then!" He really doesn't want any sort of movie involving him and now he's wondering if anyone tried making one about the League. Sometimes he's glad he doesn't spend too much time on Earth.

The monkey bashing the gun on the ground seems to unjam it somehow and a few shots are sent their way as it bashes the gun. Hal hasn't moved from where he's been taking shelter so any that comes his way is mercifully blocked. He wouldn't be able to live it down if he had to explain he got shot by a monkey.

--Hm. [Alucard finally looks up from his work, tilting his head slightly at the other man.] Go on.

[Well, Disney has been into villain movies lately......

More dumber? Oh, that's painful. He actually winces slightly.]

...I've never heard of an ostrich. You ride them?

[The stroke order was all wrong, but he's now got a big messy 神 on the wall. He glances at the other man.]

...they could be past "Travellers," perhaps. Or people who used to inhabit this place, before it became what it is now.

( Chloe takes her hand to give it a perfectly polite shake. ) Delighted to meet you, Saxcise. What a very pretty name.

( Despite her own comment about frowning, that’s exactly the expression Chloe’s features fall into. )

I’m sorry if I’m being too… enthusiastic. It’s probably time to slow down on this already.

( She raises her glass on ‘this’ to demonstrate, and to make a bit of fun at her own expense. At least she currently has the self-awareness to see that she might be veering out of the being friendly vibe and into ‘I’ve barely left my house in ten years, please let me talk to people’ territory. )

Of course. I'd be very glad to. Maybe we'll find a guitar too. It could be fun to even have a little jam session. As for other instruments... I haven't tried my hand at the violin yet so I think that's one I'd like to explore. What about you?

( Chloe shakes her head with a smile. )

Oh no, I don't mind. And you were kind enough to sing for me.

( She gives herself a moment to settle on a song, also from the Twenties. Her voice is surprisingly strong, though she makes sure to not be too loud. )

[The mark is wholly unfamiliar, which means Alucard's eyes aren't moving away.]

Perhaps. They're not articulate enough to ask directly though, of that I am very sure.

Violin would be awesome to learn, so would banjo. I think I'm a fan of instruments you don't need amplifiers for.

(He leans back against the wall, smiling, as she starts to sing. Her voice is beautiful and it feels nice to be able to share something like this with someone, the last month has been wild and this feels like a small pocket of tranquility. The calm before another storm.
When she is done the song he gives her a small round of applause, making sure to keep it quiet as to not scare the rabbit she is holding.)

That was lovely! You have a beautiful voice.

There is a sort of purity to them. Though saying that, I do like the electric violins. When you have your music studio, you'll be able to fill it with all kinds of instruments.

( Said with a smile and as though it's a given that one day his dreams will come true. She is aware it's not guaranteed, of course, but she hopes that it will be.

The applause has her duck her head, mainly to disguise a blush that is distinctly blue rather than a rosy hue. Only when she's sure it's gone does she look back up at him. )

Thank you. You're very sweet. If we do find that karaoke bar, I hope you know that I will try to coax you into a duet.

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Carcosa, pt. 2

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