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🤡🤡🤡
✖ THE CARNIVAL
Ⅰ. ARRIVAL & THE TEMPLE
You can read all about your character's arrival in the game lore.
You can see the lights of the Ferris wheel from the water, and by the time you pull into port you can smell popcorn, cotton candy, grease, sawdust. Music drifts on the air, interspersed with screams from the rides.
The carnival is in town.
Not just any carnival, either - the carnival. The one to end all others. Every circus you ever read about or saw in a movie, with striped tents filled with acrobats and sideshows, midway games complete with carnival barkers in straw boater hats. But it's also every shitty fair that ever rolled through your hometown, with unreliable looking men with greasy mullets smoking as they jockey the Wild Mouse, the Gravitron, the Zipper, the Corkscrew. There's a constant stream of 80s hair metal playing underneath the roar of the rollercoaster tracks, blending somehow with the traditional piping organ of the carousel.
Experienced Travelers will know by now that every island has its own temple, and this one is no exception. It’s not in the carnival proper, though; if you step away from the lights of the midway and tents, you’ll notice dozens of old wooden circus trailers, arranged in a circle, growing tighter together the closer to the center you walk. The trailers are functional living places, with built in beds - sometimes one, sometimes two - and a small table and an old wood burning stove with a cooking top just big enough to boil a kettle on. There’s a toilet, but if you want a shower you’ll have to go outside and find a tent set up at the outskirts of the makeshift trailer park where there are tent showers set up, locker room style.
The clearing in the middle of the parked caravan is completely empty except for a solitary midway game: a towering high striker. It must be at least twenty feet tall, surmounted by a round, red bell. A wooden mallet is leaned against a sign next to the game that reads, predictably, TEST YOUR STRENGTH.
Step right up.
Ⅱ. HALL OF MIRRORS
When it comes to amusements, the Hall of Mirrors has always been second-fiddle to the Haunted House. But the line for the former was shorter, so here you are. The guy working the door has weasel eyes and is smoking. He gestures for you and whoever is behind you to enter together; "No singles. For safety."
The lights are a dull neon, cycling from deep blue to cyan to purple and back again. You find that your outstretched fingers will bump against smooth, clear glass as often as not. The mirrors reflect the maze back into itself over and over, disorienting and strange.
Some of the mirrors are convex, some concave, and as you pass them your reflection warps and bends alongside that of whoever you're stuck inside the maze with.
At some point you will realise that the reflection looking back at you isn't quite right. It's still you, sure, but it's not how you really look, not on the outside.
Looking back at you from the cold glass is how you perceive yourself. Perhaps that's stronger, perhaps uglier, perhaps as a sniveling child or an ancient hag. And this reflection is going to follow you from mirror to mirror as you desperately try to find your way out.
One of you spots an exit sign, bleeding red light. Only catch is that it's behind a pane of glass. And another. And another. You could break your way through all of them, certainly, but it's not as if there's anything laying around for you to use to do so. Just yourself, which might work in action movies but tends to cause a lot of physical damage in the real world.
Above the glass someone has placed a sticker that reads, “who are you really?” in black sharpie. Answer it, and the glass will swing open. Don't, and well...
Guess you'll have several years worth of bad luck.
Ⅲ. THE CAROUSEL
CW: childhood trauma
Old fashioned organ music and a million flashing lights draws you to the carousel. It's a vintage delight: huge, with ornate animals carved out of wood and lovingly hand painted. There are horses, of course, but also lions and leopards and birds and rabbits and wolves... any animal you could want! In fact, you'll see an animal that looks perfectly YOU. You just have to climb up on it for a ride.
When it stops and you step off, you will be younger. You will in fact be the same age you were when a formative event happened to you.
You're a kid at a carnival! How fun! Well, maybe you're not that young, and it's probably not very fun at all considering that now your trauma is fresh.
The only way to become your proper age again is to get on the carousel and get it to run forward. Depending on your age, you might not be able to figure any of that out, but surely one of the other Travelers can help you. You'll definitely need someone to man the carousel controls. Oh, and be careful not to knock it into overdrive...
Ⅳ. COULROPHOBIA
CW: clowns, suffocation
Who can possibly resist the big top? Not you! You're ushered into the tent and you take a seat in the stands, where you have an excellent view of the huge ring before you. The excitement in the air is palpable, and even if you're the grouchy type you'll find yourself a little bit thrilled.
It's a little surprising when the lights go up to the sound of screaming guitars. Mist belches from hidden foggers, and flames shoot from near the center of the ring. The lights stutter red, blue, green. The whole thing is a lot more rock show than it is Ringling Brother's.
At any rate, even if the ringmaster looks like a reject from a trailer park metal band and the music is liable to burst some eardrums, it's still a circus. There are trained horses and riders, contortionists, and a score of talented trapeze artists. It's all sparkling and impressive and terrific fun.
The trapeze artists take their bows, clearly ready for a break. And if a break is needed at the circus? You know what happens next, don't you?
SEND IN THE CLOWNS!
The clowns spill into the ring, all sorts of them! There's Harlequin and Pierrot, Auguste and Tramp. There's Bozos and Ronalds and Clarabelles and Krustys. Hopefully no Gacys, but there's so many of them that it's hard to know for sure.
One of these clowns - the one you hate the most, of course - approaches you in the stands. With comically exaggerated movements, it leans close to you and whispers...
Well. It whispers horrible things to you, really. It recounts to you some instance in your life where you delighted in the suffering of another, a moment where you really and truly were happy that somebody else was hurt. It's not a moment to be proud of, for sure, but as the clown tells your own secret shameful joy to you, you start to laugh. Really laugh - soon you're bent over double, tears running down your face, absolutely howling with laughter.
Your stomach hurts, and you're running out of breath. Very soon you won't be able to breathe at all.
Eventually, one of your fellow travelers won't be able to resist asking you, "What's so funny?"
The only way to stop laughing is to tell them. Otherwise you're going to pass out right where you sit, a creepy clown leering over you the whole time. Maybe your fellow traveler will be nice enough to drag you out of there if that happens, because if you're left alone? Everybody knows clowns get so much scarier alone in the dark.
It wouldn't be a party without some jams.
You can read all about your character's arrival in the game lore.
You can see the lights of the Ferris wheel from the water, and by the time you pull into port you can smell popcorn, cotton candy, grease, sawdust. Music drifts on the air, interspersed with screams from the rides.
The carnival is in town.
Not just any carnival, either - the carnival. The one to end all others. Every circus you ever read about or saw in a movie, with striped tents filled with acrobats and sideshows, midway games complete with carnival barkers in straw boater hats. But it's also every shitty fair that ever rolled through your hometown, with unreliable looking men with greasy mullets smoking as they jockey the Wild Mouse, the Gravitron, the Zipper, the Corkscrew. There's a constant stream of 80s hair metal playing underneath the roar of the rollercoaster tracks, blending somehow with the traditional piping organ of the carousel.Experienced Travelers will know by now that every island has its own temple, and this one is no exception. It’s not in the carnival proper, though; if you step away from the lights of the midway and tents, you’ll notice dozens of old wooden circus trailers, arranged in a circle, growing tighter together the closer to the center you walk. The trailers are functional living places, with built in beds - sometimes one, sometimes two - and a small table and an old wood burning stove with a cooking top just big enough to boil a kettle on. There’s a toilet, but if you want a shower you’ll have to go outside and find a tent set up at the outskirts of the makeshift trailer park where there are tent showers set up, locker room style.
The clearing in the middle of the parked caravan is completely empty except for a solitary midway game: a towering high striker. It must be at least twenty feet tall, surmounted by a round, red bell. A wooden mallet is leaned against a sign next to the game that reads, predictably, TEST YOUR STRENGTH.
Step right up.
Notes:
1. Please remember to mark threads appropriately with Content Warnings when necessary.
2. These prompts are a jumping off point - how they affect your character and their development is up to you.
3. The island temple is accessible to all. The High Temple is only accessible to new characters this month - it will re-open to all others next month.
4. The Test your Strength game can be played by anyone. How well your character does is entirely up to you, but the game does not necessarily measure physical strength.
5. These residents of the island are normal humans. Killing them is possible and will affect the colour grading of your Scrywatch depending on the situation.
6. Any food found on the midway is safe to eat, and is consumable by non-human entities.
7. Have fun!
Ⅱ. HALL OF MIRRORS
When it comes to amusements, the Hall of Mirrors has always been second-fiddle to the Haunted House. But the line for the former was shorter, so here you are. The guy working the door has weasel eyes and is smoking. He gestures for you and whoever is behind you to enter together; "No singles. For safety."
The lights are a dull neon, cycling from deep blue to cyan to purple and back again. You find that your outstretched fingers will bump against smooth, clear glass as often as not. The mirrors reflect the maze back into itself over and over, disorienting and strange.
Some of the mirrors are convex, some concave, and as you pass them your reflection warps and bends alongside that of whoever you're stuck inside the maze with.At some point you will realise that the reflection looking back at you isn't quite right. It's still you, sure, but it's not how you really look, not on the outside.
Looking back at you from the cold glass is how you perceive yourself. Perhaps that's stronger, perhaps uglier, perhaps as a sniveling child or an ancient hag. And this reflection is going to follow you from mirror to mirror as you desperately try to find your way out.
One of you spots an exit sign, bleeding red light. Only catch is that it's behind a pane of glass. And another. And another. You could break your way through all of them, certainly, but it's not as if there's anything laying around for you to use to do so. Just yourself, which might work in action movies but tends to cause a lot of physical damage in the real world.
Above the glass someone has placed a sticker that reads, “who are you really?” in black sharpie. Answer it, and the glass will swing open. Don't, and well...
Guess you'll have several years worth of bad luck.
Notes:
1. Yes, characters can bash their way out of the maze, but it is real glass and will cut anyone who isn’t invulnerable. There is a first aid station run by extremely unreliable carneys on the premises, so hopefully they can patch themselves up enough there.
Ⅲ. THE CAROUSEL
CW: childhood trauma
Old fashioned organ music and a million flashing lights draws you to the carousel. It's a vintage delight: huge, with ornate animals carved out of wood and lovingly hand painted. There are horses, of course, but also lions and leopards and birds and rabbits and wolves... any animal you could want! In fact, you'll see an animal that looks perfectly YOU. You just have to climb up on it for a ride.
When it stops and you step off, you will be younger. You will in fact be the same age you were when a formative event happened to you.
You're a kid at a carnival! How fun! Well, maybe you're not that young, and it's probably not very fun at all considering that now your trauma is fresh.
The only way to become your proper age again is to get on the carousel and get it to run forward. Depending on your age, you might not be able to figure any of that out, but surely one of the other Travelers can help you. You'll definitely need someone to man the carousel controls. Oh, and be careful not to knock it into overdrive...
Notes:
1. If your character does not get back on the carousel and ride it in reverse, they will revert to their actual ages at the end of the month.
2. Please be especially mindful of content warnings with underage characters. A reminder that the game does not allow explicit sexual content with minors.
3. You do not have to regress your character to childhood - if a very formative event happened at age 20 for example, you can choose that route instead.
4. Speeding up the carousel while it is moving forward will result in, you guessed it, aging your character UP. Obviously you can ride it backwards again to fix this, or again the aging will be reversed at the end of the month.
Ⅳ. COULROPHOBIA
CW: clowns, suffocation
Who can possibly resist the big top? Not you! You're ushered into the tent and you take a seat in the stands, where you have an excellent view of the huge ring before you. The excitement in the air is palpable, and even if you're the grouchy type you'll find yourself a little bit thrilled.
It's a little surprising when the lights go up to the sound of screaming guitars. Mist belches from hidden foggers, and flames shoot from near the center of the ring. The lights stutter red, blue, green. The whole thing is a lot more rock show than it is Ringling Brother's.
At any rate, even if the ringmaster looks like a reject from a trailer park metal band and the music is liable to burst some eardrums, it's still a circus. There are trained horses and riders, contortionists, and a score of talented trapeze artists. It's all sparkling and impressive and terrific fun.
The trapeze artists take their bows, clearly ready for a break. And if a break is needed at the circus? You know what happens next, don't you?
SEND IN THE CLOWNS!
The clowns spill into the ring, all sorts of them! There's Harlequin and Pierrot, Auguste and Tramp. There's Bozos and Ronalds and Clarabelles and Krustys. Hopefully no Gacys, but there's so many of them that it's hard to know for sure.
One of these clowns - the one you hate the most, of course - approaches you in the stands. With comically exaggerated movements, it leans close to you and whispers...Well. It whispers horrible things to you, really. It recounts to you some instance in your life where you delighted in the suffering of another, a moment where you really and truly were happy that somebody else was hurt. It's not a moment to be proud of, for sure, but as the clown tells your own secret shameful joy to you, you start to laugh. Really laugh - soon you're bent over double, tears running down your face, absolutely howling with laughter.
Your stomach hurts, and you're running out of breath. Very soon you won't be able to breathe at all.
Eventually, one of your fellow travelers won't be able to resist asking you, "What's so funny?"
The only way to stop laughing is to tell them. Otherwise you're going to pass out right where you sit, a creepy clown leering over you the whole time. Maybe your fellow traveler will be nice enough to drag you out of there if that happens, because if you're left alone? Everybody knows clowns get so much scarier alone in the dark.
Notes:
1. What happens if you really do get ditched with the clowns? Great question. Maybe they make you one of them. Maybe they eat you. Maybe you just wake up in the Big Top dressing room and see all the clowns smoking cigars and taking their floppy shoes off to film Clown Foot Erotica.
Hawks | BNHA | OTA
2; HALL OF MIRRORS
WILDCARD
1
"Is that how it works?" Anders asks, amused, as he eyes the machine again. This one doesn't look too complicated, after all.
"All right; I'll give it a go."
And maybe he could use the company, as well. For as fun as this particular island seems, he's having a rather daunting time trying to find someone to properly enjoy it with him. Maybe finding another familiar face will be the key.
no subject
"Pretty sure that's how it goes," he says. "You got some height on me, but I'm stronger than I look."
He steps to the side to give Anders room to swing a mallet.
"Age before beauty," he says, because he likes to push buttons. He has absolutely no idea how old Anders is, but he's pretty sure the mage is older than 23. And if not, so what? Running his mouth needlessly is one of Hawks's talents.
no subject
He snorts at that offer, shaking his head. "Fine. But I'm going to insist on having a look at your head, after. It must be some kind of fracture you're sporting, to have you thinking you're the pretty one."
A title which obviously belongs to Anders. (In all situations. Nothing personal, of course.)
Making his way around the, upon closer inspection, rather straightforward game, Anders picks up the mallet and gives it a once-over. Not exactly his weapon of choice, either, but it shouldn't make a difference if he uses enough force. Magic, that is. He really doesn't stand to make much of a dent, otherwise. Lining himself up, he takes a swing - and on impact, flattens a burst of magic between the mallet and the target. It should be enough to easily knock a man off his feet— But the result is resoundingly underwhelming.
"Uh... I guess it's harder than it looks." He sounds a tad dumbfounded, as he turns the mallet over again. There's a fresh indent in the wood beneath the target, a few splinters cast off from the blow, but it seems to have made no difference.
no subject
"I didn't mean you aren't pretty," he says through that grin, gold eyes twinkling. But he's not about to apologise for it, either. So far, he hasn't met too many people that have enough sense of humour to go for this back and forth kind of thing with him.
He watches Anders have a go at the game. He's expecting it to be straightforward, but he's not expecting that power thing. He knows Anders was locked up in a tower for something, but the particulars? He hadn't gotten those. He doesn't think of this as magic exactly, because people can do such wild shit in his world that he doesn't register abilities like that as magic. So while it's a surprise, sure, he's way more surprised by the fact that the thing doesn't seem to have moved.
"Whoa! After all of that, it didn't go anywhere at all? The hell, man, this game is rigged. Seriously rigged!"
He moves closer and leans down to inspect it, but nothing seems particularly off that he can see. He has no magical senses or anything, but he has incredibly good eyesight. Still, there's just nothing to see.
"Try again?" he suggests, stepping back again so he's not in the way of the next spell if it comes, looking back at Anders.
no subject
"I'm not sure if I want to," he replies, an uncertain glance flicking between the mallet in his hands and the machine again, as he puts on a less convincing smile.
Still, he does it anyway - no magic, this time, just a regular blow. He may not have the upper body strength of a warrior naturally, but he does know how to swing a staff (with a heavy end, for cracking skulls). Still— Next to nothing. The plunger hits the little round target, but it only bounces it up an inch or two, despite his best efforts.
"Eh... Maybe I'm just not very good at this." He's more than ready to hand off the mallet, though, shaking out his hands as he does.
no subject
So maybe he's going to embarrass himself instead, but at least they'll be on even ground.
"Nah, man, I don't think it's you," Hawks says, genuinely reassuring. He's real suspicious about this game now, and who wouldn't be?
He reaches for the mallet anyway. He doesn't much feel like playing, but he's not an asshole who's going to leave Anders hanging in defeat alone. The very least he can do is give it a go. They can have a laugh about shitty carnival games after it's over.
He stands in front of the game, wings spread for leverage (like that's a thing. Is that a thing? A guy has to try something, right?) and raises the mallet. He brings it down as hard as he can, wings flapping once for emphasis, because it's not like he's going to just wimp out, even knowing the game is rigged.
Hawks is physically strong enough, but he's built for speed much more than strength. That's his whole thing. So he's not expecting much of anything to happen. To his surprise, the little indicator does rise, though. It doesn't get near the target, but it moves up the slider, lighting up some of the lights on the side, some cheery sounds playing as it goes, before it falls again.
He narrows his eyes at it.
"So it's just quirk resistant?" He asks, still suspicious. It doesn't feel like an accomplishment. It feels like random chance more than anything.
He looks back at Anders.
"This game is wack."
no subject
He lets out a huff of breath when the little metal bit does lift off, this time, uncertain if he's annoyed or unnerved. "Well, I loosened it up for you."
He doesn't believe that, looking at the strength tester with renewed unease after a quick glance back at Hawks, his mask of annoyance slipping.
"What's a quirk?"
no subject
"It's a power. Like my wings are my quirk. Where I come from, people have all kinds of stuff they can do, like, you know. Light on fire, turn invisible, superhuman strength." He shrugs. It's commonplace to him. "I know what you do isn't like that, 'cause you're from a different world. I just forgot to call it what it is."
no subject
And he generally prefers to do it to other, less pleasant things than himself, just on principle.
"For the record, though, that was magic."
no subject
Hawks, biased about Endeavor being awesome? Surely not.
"Magic. Well, that seems pretty cool, too, even if people where you're from don't think so." Hawks remembers their talk from before, but he's not going to dwell on it. Instead, he turns his charm back on. They've had enough bullshit for one day.
"But this game was wack. You wanna get some terrible fried food? They got funnel cake where you're from? If not, you gotta try it. It's delicious. Awful for you, but who cares!"
no subject
It's a feeling he's more than willing to roll with, giving the strength tester a last, briefly lingering look before nodding agreeably.
"Awful for you, but too good to pass up - they'll have to engrave that on my headstone. What is a funnel cake?" Because he's already picturing a cake shaped like a funnel, and trying to decide what one might put through a funnel made of cake, and all sorts of other indicators that this is probably shaping up to be a wholly salvageable evening, after all.
arrival
Nope, she's not a fan of all the fried food here, sorry.
no subject
"Yo, I had no idea anyone would even fry a Snickers," he says with a grin, though he hasn't actually ordered one yet. He's not not going to get one, though.
"Were you at the last island? That place was all, like, edible flowers. Personally, I think this is an upgrade," he continues. At least he has enough manners not to talk with his mouthful. For now, anyway.
no subject
"And I'm new here. I'm Chloe."
no subject
"I'm Hawks," he says. "Looks like whenever we switch islands, we get some new faces. Makes sense they'd pick up more people when they shuffle us around. You sure you don't wanna try something fried? This chicken is pretty good for sketchy fair food."
no subject
She doesn't bother asking the obvious and how the Hell do we get back home, because that seems to be a question without an answer.
no subject
"I dunno. A month or so? Maybe a little more? We don't seem to stay all that long on these islands, but I'm not sure what the catalyst for moving on is. Might be there's a totally set time more than there is an event that gets us goin'. I wanna say we do something that makes them take us somewhere, but that's probably just the hero in me wanting to feel like we're making progress."
He holds out his wrist with the ScryWatch on it, yellow like his eyes. He's not embarrassed about it, but even if he were, it's not like the thing is all that easy to hide or get away from.
"This thing hasn't changed colour the whole time I've been away from my own world though, so I got my doubts about what kind of so-called progress we're really making."
He looks back at Chloe with an apologetic smile.
"Sorry, that's probably not the answer you wanted, huh? I'd hate to lie to you right off the bat or something. I'd hate to lie to you at all."
He's actually very good at lying, but he's telling her the truth now: he hates actually doing so.
no subject
"I only ever want the truth," she says simply. "I can handle it. What I can't handle is being lied to. So thanks for the honesty."
She glances around, frowning. "Do you know of anyone who has made progress, in this system they've set up? It might be helpful to discuss what's even considered 'progress'."
no subject
He pops more chicken in his mouth. He has enough manners not to talk with his mouth full (this time).
"I don't really like lying," he says with a shrug. The motion moves his wings along with his shoulders.
"Dunno. I know a few people who seem to have disappeared between islands, though. I don't know if they won the game or lost it, though. Not like that boat guy answers questions. I'll ask on the network, yeah? Stay tuned."
He shifts his greasy food around so he can do just that, but he's used to cell phones and whatever so he can multitask about this. He's still paying attention to her. Phones are easier, though. Video functionality when, ScryWatch?
no subject
"So," she says, tilting her head at him curiously. "Mind if I ask - uh, what you are? Is that rude?" She indicates her own back, where she clearly does not have wings. "Are you an angel?"
That is clearly not a euphemism, or a flirtation. She is seriously asking him if he's an angel, and wanting a serious answer.
no subject
It's exhausting sometimes, but it is what it is. It's better than the life he could have had growing up on the streets starving.
He looks surprised at her question, but then just laughs.
"Well, that's the first time I've gotten that question," he says. If only she knew what I've had to do in my life, he thinks. He's not a bad person at all, not really, but he's a spy. Not by choice, but by necessity. Of course he can't say that, and he's not a spy here. He's not a hero here either, though.
"I'm a human being. But I'm guessing people don't have wings where you come from. Actually, they don't really get wings where I'm from either. I mean, some of us do, I guess. Where I'm from, people have what we call quirks. It's like a mutation. Some people don't get anything very obvious like me. The number one hero in Japan, Endeavor, he can light his whole body on fire! He can throw fire, control fire, it's incredible."
Is Hawks an Endeavor stan? Yes, absolutely, and he's not at all ashamed of that.
"But there's loads. I had an apprentice recently who has a bird's head. He has this pretty cool shadow ability that's like almost separate from himself. I know people who can create explosions, one kid can do this thing that makes people float, manipulating sound waves. Goes on and on. I like being able to fly, but on the other hand, it makes it pretty obvious to anyone I'm up against that hey, here's my quirk, you know?"
Once Hawks gets talking, he can talk for a minute. Though it's a little misleading, too; his quirk isn't just that he has wings and can fly. He can do a lot more than simply fly, but it hasn't been terribly relevant on these islands yet, other than the time he fought the mantis-type people on the last island.
no subject
"Sounds like superheroes. We don't have those in my world, but they exist in fiction," she says with a faint smile. So she's at least familiar with the concept. "Where I come from, humans don't have wings. Angels do. So, that's why I asked."
no subject
"Yeah, superheroes," he says, but he mostly just throws that away because, "Hold up. You have literal angels in your world? Like come from heaven angels or am I missing a meaning here?"
no subject
She thinks it's probably a toss-up.
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