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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.
no subject
Kyle rolls his eyes extravagantly. "Manipulative dickhead," he says fondly.
"The Cola Wars," he repeats. His tone is patient, like he knows Quentin KNOWS what he's talking about. "In Canada? It devastated the country pretty badly, I guess. Anyway, my folks adopted him so he has dual citizenship. He's knighted there, which is sort of cool I guess."
no subject
"Hey, I'm just playing to my strengths," he says.
This explanation offers precious little more than he'd already gleaned and Quentin sits up enough to take Kyle's face in his hands and look him in the eye. "Nope. That's not something. I need you to know that that is not something. At least not anywhere except where you're from. Which is fucking bonkers really, so please explain it to me like I'm five so I can tell you how completely ridiculous your whole dimension is."
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Kyle blinks. "Really? Huh. Well, to be honest I don't know as much about it as I should, because Canadian history is hard to find information on unless you're actually in the country.
"So, uhm, where I'm from Canada is a titular monarchy. When Ike was like, five the Princess of Canada was kidnapped. He opened his, uh, what do they call it... faith box, yeah. Every Canadian has one. And it gave him instructions and so he went to Canada and rescued her. So he got knighted!" Kyle is obviously very proud of his younger brother. "He got to attend the royal wedding. Which was a lot more violent than I expected, but Canadian traditions are odd."
"Ike's a great kid, I think you'd like him."
no subject
This alternate history of Canada leaves Quentin blinking a moment before he cracks up and buries his face against Kyle's chest. "Kyle. Babe. I need you to say all of that to Wolverine's stupid fucking face sometime. And I need to be there to watch his brain short circuit," he says wild-eyed and grinning.
"Heh. That's code for you better be nice to him. Don't worry. If he's your brother I'm sure he's pretty cool. Just warning you, I don't go great with kids though. How old is he?"
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Kyle watches Quentin laugh with a confused little smile. "Okay," he days, because he's not certain WHY Wolverine would take issue with his country's history. "I bet he has a faith box and you just don't know it."
He snorts. "No, that's code for I think you'd get along. Now my MOTHER, her you better be nice to. Ike is nineteen."
no subject
"Oh, so he's not like a baby. That helps." It's not lost on him that they're talking about Kyle's family like there's an honest to God chance he might meet them, despite where they are and how far away these people might be. "Based on what you've told me I'm not sure anyone has the balls to not be nice to your mom."
no subject
"Heh, no, sorry. To me he'll always be my baby brother, even if I can't punt him through a window anymore." Kyle, no. "Mm, yeah." He himself knows logically that the chances of Quentin ever meeting them are slim to none, but he can't help but imagine just a little. It's the optimist in him. Still, dwelling too long will only hurt.
"So. You wanna show me this rowing game? Or try to make out before Roxy shows up and totally cockblocks me?"
no subject
"Oh yeah the— no wait. I almost forgot about this girl with the UGGs. Who the hell is she? What year is she from that she still wears UGGs and why is she crashing here. I probably don't care I just wanna know how this happened. And like what's going to happen if she comes home while we're mid-blow job? What's the sock-on-door-knob equivalent in caravan life?"
no subject
Kyle cackles. "Don't judge her too hard for the UGGs - they're from this like, pumpkin spice island. Although I think she does like them. She's sort of basic like that, it's cute. Uhm, yeah, we're friends. She's like you, all superpowered and shit, although not form your reality it sounds like. I dunno, she's fucking hilarious."
Kyle considers this. "...maybe just actually a sock on the doorknob? That seems universal. I can put one on there, if you're frisky. Or we can like, do it later."
no subject
"Pumpkin spice island? I think it's pronounced Vermont," he blathers, but soon enough his whole apathetic, flippant shtick evaporates. "Fucking hilarious and like me, huh? Lucky you. Sounds like you've got a solid back up plan," he mutters.
"Later," he says. "The guy at the rowing machine game said if I won he'd give me my weight in Redvines. I intend to hold him to that."
no subject
Kyle rolls his eyes, but then he scrutinizes Quentin very carefully. Suddenly his eyebrows shoot up. "Oh my god, are you jealous?!" he asks.
"Okay, we'll make out later. I'll do filthy things to you when you're too full of fucking redvines to move."
no subject
Rolling himself over to get up and find his shoes again he gives Kyle some mad side-eye on the way. "Yes," he said plainly, "but not in the way I suspect you're using that word." Because everything has a technicality with this guy. "I don't care if you think she's hot, or wanna date her, or sleep with her. But there's nobody like me. I'm literally a statistical anomaly."
"How high do you think my blood sugar has to be before your skinny, diabetic butt needs to be careful about swallowing?" he teases.
no subject
Kyle sits up and then snortlaughs. "Oh my god... No, she's not LIKE like you, I meant she was a superhero! Oh my god, Q." He gets up and puts on his shoes, pausing to lean down and kiss Quentin's head. "I know you're the only you, don't worry. And for the record, I don't wanna date her or sleep with her, either. Not that you were worried."
Kyle nearly trips exiting the caravan at that. "Quentin! Jesus. ...I don't know. And there's only one way to find out."
no subject
He scowls when Kyle laughs at him and waits with his arms folded for the other man to catch up. There's a difference though between his grumpy face and his angry face. This falls well towards the more innocuous of the two.
"I'm not a super hero," he has to point out even if most of his sulking as subsided. "I'm a mutant. A lot of mutants are superheroes, but most of us aren't. More than not, superheroes are actually aliens, or science experiments, or bored rich guys, or just a cosmic mistake. Is she a mutant?"
no subject
Kyle thinks Quentin's grumpy have is adorable, so he kisses his head before they go outside.
"I thought you and David had the whole spandex thing happening? My bad. And no she's a government experiment, I think."
He links his arm with Quentin's as they head toward the mideay.
"Q? I know nobody is like you. You're like, my one of a kind collector's edition."
no subject
For a guy purporting to be irritated he doesn't exactly put up any kind of fight about being doted on. In fact, it wouldn't be a stretch to think the only sort of fighting he's doing is with the urge to wallow in Kyle's kisses and attention.
"David's X-Factor. They're like mutant CSI. I'm X-Force. That's like mutant CIA. Superheroing is some X-Men-slash-Avengers-slash-Defenders-slash-Fantastic Four shit." He says all of this like there's a very important distinction to be found here as tucks in against Kyle as they walk through the caravan village arm in arm. They're easily not the weirdest pair out here amongst the carnies, but still some how they manage to stand out together.
That pointed use of his name brings his eyes up to Kyle's and his serious little face melts slowly into an impish smile. "Hell yes I am," he says squeezing Kyle against him.
no subject
Kyle squeezes back, delighted to be where he is right now.
no subject
"Yeah, I'm basically black ops. Licensed to kill. The whole bit," and clearly delighted by that. "Wolverine ran the X-Force show for a long time. But since he's stupidly trying to like embrace pacifism or something right now it's pretty much just me I guess."
He squeezes Kyle's arm and drags him down enough that Quentin doesn't have to reach up to kiss him. "You're kind of a rare find too. Especially for a human. Plus you're a lot more likeable than me so I won't be surprised or jealous or anything when you have a lot of people being all like we love Kyle."
no subject
A snort. "Because you've gone around murdering SO many people since I've met you. But that's pretty cool, Black Ops. Do you wear a uniform or is that like, too video game-y?"
"They don't love me like that," he assures him, smiling dopily.
no subject
"I've got all kinds of uniforms. Tactical. Formal. Ceremonial. But mostly I just do my suit— it's not exactllly a uniform because it's not all matchy matchy."
It's not a stretch to believe Kyle when he says he doesn't mind listening to that stuff. He's a curious sort of guy and strikes Quentin as genuinely interested in other people— a trait Quentin has never really practiced.
It's enough to make him wonder if Kyle himself is a part of this whole experience. As if they could have possibly been nudged together by the powers the be because someone things Quentin's got something to learn from him. It's the first time the idea has crossed Quentin's mind, and he pushes it away quickly before it stokes the flames of his natural paranoia.
"I bet some of them do," he smirks. Kyle is lovable. There's no denying that.
no subject
He snugs Quentin a bit closer for a moment. "I bet you look hot in a suit."
Kyle of course is oblivious to such paranoid thoughts, and likely wouldn't be as bothered by the idea anyway.
"No, that's not how it works." Said with perfect assurance. "Not that it matters. I got you."
no subject
"I do," he agrees, and smiles up at kyle. "I bet you would too. A nice Ludlow kind of cut. Your legs would look bangin'." The way his eyes sparkle at the thought Quentin would not be opposed to playing dress up with Kyle as his mannequin.
"What do you mean? That's not how what works?"
no subject
He smiles, pink cheeked. "I dunno what that is," he confesses.
"Oh, people don't like me romantically. I'm the friend guy. See, more proof you're weird."
no subject
"Aw. Of course you don't," he puts on a doting pout and runs a hand down Kyle's back. "It's a sleek tailored suit with a skinny tie inspired by the long line styles of the 50's and 60's. They look extra good on anyone who's tall and and skinny."
"The friend guy?" he supposes he understands the sentiment but without seeing Kyle in that light himself it still doesn't feel fitting. Sure Kyle is friendly but he's also always been combative in a way that makes Quentin's heart flutter. "I like being weird. And I like people who are weird," he assures and stops on his heel to lean up on his toes and peck Kyle's lips. "Better weird than boring."
"Look, that thing—" he points out that rowing game with a gangly carnie goading passers by into playing. "Hey! Gummy Joe! I'm here for the Redvines!" he barks.
no subject
Kyle nods, smiling. "Lucky me. And you're sure not boring, no."
Gummy Joe. It might actually be his name. Kyle grins and heads over with Quentin. "We better win, dude." He intends to: he's competitive.
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