Carcosa, pt. 2

[polymods]

✖ 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!

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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.

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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.

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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

Comments

[libertalia]

( listen, it's not like sam wants rafe barging in on this discovery, either. he was in a perfectly good mood two seconds ago, thank you very much. which is now very much ruined by that all-too-familiar voice from behind him.

muttered, under his breath: )

Oh, for Christ's sake.

( there's not exactly anywhere else to go but back up the stairs, or stay down here and, what? talk it out with rafe? no thanks. he turns around, makes to move for the stairs but stops in front of one of the paint cans, lifting the brush and gesturing with it as he speaks. )

You know what? It's all yours, Rafe. Nothing down here but paint.

( and just because he's feeling petty, he takes the brush and writes in bold black letters on the wall — SAM WAS HERE :) — before he unceremoniously tosses the brush back into the can. )

[chardismastic]

[ Yeah, the acoustics of this room carry the words loud and clear. Jerk. ​]

Just because you haven't found anything yourself, there's nothing. Yeah. Sure.

[ Him leaving is a double godsend, a chance for Rafe to actively prove him wrong on top of just...not having to deal with being in the same space as Sam. Except then Sam has to (once again) ruin it by being a goddamn immature jackass all over the wall. From a logical, rational standpoint, he really oughtn't be surprised: it's Sam's modus operandi to be a giant jackass and then leave the mess for other people to clean up after him; from a personal, visceral standpoint, Rafe just really want to break his nose again.

But he refrains because really there's nothing he can do right now without sinking to Sam's level, without marking proof positive how much it bugs the living hell out of him and he doesn't want to give Sam the satisfaction. (Sam takes satisfaction enough to start with, he doesn't need more.) Instead he strides forward, focused on how much he's going to ignore that stupid bit of graffiti (he can paint it over later once Sam well and truly fucks off) and where he's going to begin searching for any hidden entrance.

If he happens to kick over one of the aforementioned paint cans and send paint spilling all over Sam's shoes? Well. Oops. ]

[libertalia]

( you know, he would have just shrugged those comments off and left rafe to it, but — well, he probably should have seen some form of retaliation coming. this is just another petty squabble to add to the jar of petty squabbles labeled "can you guess how many?" and if you guess correctly you get absolutely fucking nothing, not even the satisfaction of being right. two years of putting up with rafe was two years too many already so he's not exactly keen to extend that lease, so to speak, but this damn place hasn't given him much of a choice, has it.

it's not even that it's much of a slight, in the grand scheme of things; he can always steal different shoes and it's not like he was particularly attached to these. but there's something about the fact that it's rafe spilling paint all over a perfectly decent pair of boots that sets sam on edge. (as if he hadn't started it with the graffiti on the wall. as if he's not the one who always starts it. personal responsibility? never heard of her.)

so, well. a shoe for a shoe. or, in this case, a shirt for a shoe as sam picks up a half empty can and throws the remaining contents directly at rafe's chest.

civility was never an option. )

Sorry, ( with a completely mirthless smile and an obvious gesture at the ruined shirt. ) Looks like you got a little something there.

[chardismastic]

Jesus!

[ The sheer disproportion of the response leaves Rafe speechless (past the cursing, anyway) for a second, jaw dropped in outrage as paint now drips down his entire front but it's only a second. Once it passes, he stoops down to snatch up a paintbrush and immediately hurl it at Sam's smug face. At this range, he can't possibly miss — Nate's the lucky brother and he's nowhere in sight for Sam to get the rub on.

Is it the mature response? The intelligent one? Not particularly, though Rafe would argue and wholeheartedly believes that such things went out the window when Sam all but dunked the paint can on him and his white shirt, come on. ]

[libertalia]

( if he weren't so busy gloating at the dumbfounded look on rafe's face, he might have literally seen the paintbrush coming. but he didn't exactly expect rafe to throw the whole goddamn thing at his face, so his instinct to squeeze his eyes shut from incoming paint doesn't do much to prevent the handle of the brush smacking him hard right on the edge of his cheekbone, paint splattering across his shoulder. the force of it the impact and the flaring pain makes him take a step back. )

Ow, cazzo Madre di Dio —

( always with the face. sam could have dumped that paint right over rafe's stupid head but he chose not to. only now he's seriously considering it, given the welt already swelling just below his eye. his hand reaches up to poke at it gently, feel how bad it is. it's probably fine, but it still hurts like a son of a bitch. the glare he shoots rafe now is full of daggers. )

Are you trying to put my fucking eye out?

[chardismastic]

[ Sure, he still has paint plastering his shirt to his chest and is going to look like Carcossa's biggest schmuck getting back to the Temple later but. Right now? Rafe feels like it was almost worth it. Key word: almost. Stepping backwards, he now strolls around the edge of the paint he'd kicked over earlier— be stupid as hell to get tagged by his own move —to begin investigating the walls. ]

You can get an eyepatch.

[ Then, almost as an afterthought: ]

Il tuo accento è atroce. Sembri una prostituta portuale.

[libertalia]

( ha ha, that's real cute. an eyepatch. he's gonna need stitches he's laughing so hard.

really, what he probably needs is some ice, so why the hell is he still here? he should just fucking leave at this point, but there's some stubborn part of him that refuses to let this go now, because rafe went and made it personal. by throwing a paintbrush at his face. (unjust violence, if you ask him. all he did was paint rafe's shirt black. sam would have thought he'd like that, seeing how all his other shirts are black.)

and maybe if there is something down here besides the paint they've splattered all over each other, maybe sam just doesn't want rafe to find it on his own. his accent may be atrocious, but his personality is worse. )

Yeah? Well, puoi andare a farti fottere. ( he shakes his head at whatever rafe is doing, scoffing lightly. ) You know I already checked the walls.

[chardismastic]

Uh huh. You also checked out the cathedral.

[ And they both know how well that worked out until the actually useful Drake got on the scene.

Also Rafe is just going to ignore that high school level comeback, super mature there, Samuel, good job. Just like he'll ignore the very unpleasant goopy sensation of paint sloshing everywhere as he drips black wherever he goes like a Sherman-Williams raincloud. He has an undershirt beneath this, yeah, but he can tell it's already soaked right through. Ugh. But nope, ignoring! Not letting Sam have the satisfaction of knowing how uncomfortable this is. Piss off. ]

[libertalia]

( funny, he seems to recall the "useful" drake didn't find shit either until they both got their hands on that second cross. but sure. he huffs a dry laugh. )

So did you. ( as if he was gonna let that go. ) For what was it? Thirteen years?

( don't even @ him bro. he's just gonna lean against the opposite wall, staring judgmentally at rafe's every move, and fish a cigarette out of his pocket to light up. with a vague gesture to the space around them: )

Could always start blowing things up to speed things along.

[chardismastic]

[ So you do admit there's a useful Drake and you're not it. Your honor, let the record show— ]

Eleven, [ he shoots back immediately. ] For two years it was me and your brother.

[ If Sam chooses not to let it go, then is it really Rafe's fault for going below the belt? Rafe certainly doesn't think so. Make stupid jabs, get stupid prizes about your brother's past unromantic entanglements.

Even as he resolves that yes, really, now he's going to start ignoring Sam and all his bullshit, it's easy to tell that one stings. A man can't spend some kind of time somewhere without beginning to care about the place, and Rafe had sunk nearly half his life into the cathedral and the hills around it. He'd learned every cliff and dale on that island, thought he'd turned over every stone, could likely draw the place from nothing but memory — and now, between Shoreline, and two bastard brothers, memory is all he has left of the place and it's not nearly enough to ease the ache of what was. ]

You know the dynamite wasn't my idea.

[ Nadine had joined the effort before Sam fucked off to New Orleans, and her frustrations with the search had not been well-concealed. ]

[libertalia]

( excuse you they're both equally useless until they're put together, thank you. )

Oh, right, I forgot. ( dryly, with a roll of his eyes. ) Nathan thinks I'm dead, does a two year stint with you. Surprise, I'm alive, now I get to do a two year stint with you. ( he takes a drag, shrugging. ) Seems like two years is the natural expiration on Drake quality time, huh.

( only, well, sam has no idea the depths of the "quality time" rafe and his brother were spending together over those two years. he assumes, naturally, that it must have been similar to the way the past two years have gone with him and rafe: constant bickering, frustration over no leads, plotting the days until he could well and truly fuck off. which is ultimately why he'd rather stay blissfully unaware of the actual details and nature of their two year relationship or else his scrywatch might not be very happy with him for all the murder he'd be attempting.

but, yeah. the dynamite was all shoreline. he knows. and, for an odd moment, he feels the sting of that loss, too. military thugs have never given a shit about historical sites and they never will — but even for all the shit he and nathan will inevitably break in pursuit of glory, there's a respect and an admiration (an awe) for the history of it all that simply doesn't exist in the minds of nadine's men.

still, sam's not about to have a moment with rafe, even if he does get it, to some extent. )

And yet you hired them. Accountability, Rafe.

[chardismastic]

[ Right, it's not like one had a whole franchise before the other one was ever mentioned. ]

More like the natural expiration of my patience.

[ That makes two of them— Much as Rafe is enjoying the secrets that Sam now knows that he knows compared to what Nate doesn't know, the particulars of his partnership with the latter will remain between himself and the latter. Though the thought of Sam gagging and squirming has a hell of an appeal, and Rafe knows he could twist that knife to its best effect... No.

For a second, that sentiment is almost tangible because Scotland mattered as much to Sam as it did to Rafe — fifteen years of obsession leaving the same mark on them both no matter how little they can stand each other now. But it's only a second and it passes like any other as he prickles, continues searching along the walls for hidden seams. ]

We hired them. [ True, it was Rafe signing the checks and footing the bills, but they were partners. Even if Sam chose to throw it all away for spite. ] Don't act like I went riding roughshod over your conscientious objections, buddy.