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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.

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.

Settled on your mount, the ride begins to move. To your surprise, it begins to move backwards. You can't seem to ungrip the pole you're hanging on to, so you're helpless to escape as the ride spins again and again.

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.

It wouldn't be a party without some jams.

Network · Logs · OOC · Memes · Plurk

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"Wanna bet? I'll bet you anything he has no idea what you're talking about AND that he's a little offended by it. If I'm right I get to cut your hair. Something high and tight. Maybe a nice fade with a good amount of pomp on top. If you win... I dunno what do you want from me?"

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.

Kyle hums thoughtfully, like maybe he can come up with something truly devious. "Okay, and if he's NOT offended and not all that confused - obviously he will be a bit, since YOU don't know any of this and you're from the same dimension - you have to answer, 'yes, Kyle, you're right' to everything I ask you to for twenty-four hours."

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."

"I feel like that has considerable potential to backfire on you, but yes. Sure, fine. You got it. Look this is me practicing right now," he says flippantly and with very little concern that he's going to lose this one.

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?"

"You say it so naturally."

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."

"I know, I'm an incredible liar."

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.

"Sorry. It all sounds the same to me." He is actually a little sorry for not understanding the finer details. "So you're in on top secret stuff?"

Kyle squeezes back, delighted to be where he is right now.

"It's ok," he shrugs. "I know you don't need to know so much about mutant politics. Especially when there's like 5 of us here. I've just never been a big fan of anyone who goes around billing themselves as a hero. Not my steeze," he assures. Spandex or no, he'll call himself a villain before he'll cop to being a super hero.

"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."

Edited 2021-10-04 04:30 (UTC)

"No, I guess it really isn't," Kyle says, amused. "But you can explain mutant politics to me all day, if you want. I do like learning, even if it's not much use here."

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.

"There's a lot of infighting. I won't bore you with the details. Just know that sooner or later all of them are either fucking or fighting."

"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.

"That stacks up with what I've heard David say," Kyle says, nodding. "It all sounds a bit high school to me."

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."

"It definitely is. If you take a bunch of highly-powered people with more trauma than personality, tell them they're a community and stuff them into one place together — shocker — you don't get a functioning society out of it. At least not within one generation."

"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?"

He cackles. "More trauma than personality. Wow. That's a good one, I'm stealing that."

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."

He cops a smug look over Kyle's laughter. Who's the funny one now Broflovski?

"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.

"Yeah? Even walking disasters like me, huh? I've only ever worn a suit like, to funerals and prom and my bar mitzvah."

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.

"Especially disasters like you," he promises. "God, I wanna see you in that bar mitzvah suit though. I bet you were swimming in it."

"We will. We have to," he grabs a fistful of Kyle's shirt and drags him close for some kind of weird, hyper-competitive game-face talk. "I already got into it with him because he told me I couldn't use my powers to play. I told him that was discriminatory. He said he didn't know what that word meant. I told him it meant he was a dick. He told me to fuck off and stop wasting his time. I said if I come back and win without any powers he owes me my weight in Redvines. He said fine. We have to crush him."

"My mom said I looked very handsome," Kyle says seriously before cracking up.

As Quentin talks, Kyle's grin widens and his eyes narrow. "Oh, we'll crush him," he promises. He glances over at Gummy Joe, marking him as the enemy. He looks back and kisses Quentin hard. "Promise."

Gummy Joe is grinning maliciously just to see Quentin return with a vengence. The very analog game is simple. Sit in the little box painted up to look like a boat and row as fast or as far as you can before the timer runs out— with the added irritation of weighted oars spaced just far enough apart to be almost impossible to stroke on one's own.

Quentin plunks himself down on the bench and scoots over to make room for Kyle. "Start loading up the Redvines, you stupid carnie. I warned you I'd be back for them."

Gummy Joe just laughs. "You couple'o toothpicks won't get far enough to win."

Kyle scowls at Gummy Joe. "If you're not running a crooked game I think you'll be surprised," he says. He flexes his hands and takes hold of his oar. He'll just pretend he has to row for his life, he figures. He's done that before.

"Ready when you are, dude."

"The fucking readiest," he grumbles. A countdown light on the side of the booth illuminates, blinking them through red. Yellow. Green. The big digital clock face starts running and a counter pinging with every completed stroke.

Kyle it turns out, definitely has more shoulder strength than he does, and Quentin has to haul a lot harder than he was expecting just to keep up.

"Come on!" Kyle shouts. He's enjoying himself immensely. "Come on, Q, we got it!"

Eyes on the timer, he pulls faster. He's going to be sore later.

The desire to use his powers just a little is potent. Just enough to give his delts a little help. It's been a long time since he's broken a sweat over exercise but somehow the participation of his boyfriend makes him want to prove something here. If only to himself in the long run.

His arms burn in such a way that he has to actively tell himself not to look at the timer, or the strokes they've racked up just to be able to keep going. What inspires him though is the way that stupid carnie's face falls in disappointment.

By then, when the buzzer sounds, he doesn't care nearly so much about the candy as whatever he can lord over their naysayer.

"HA!" he barks when he drops the oar. "SUCK IT YOU TOOTHLESS HILLBILLY."

Kyle tips his head back and cackles. He played sports throughout his entire childhood, and then in his teen years he added debate. Why? Kyle really likes winning.

"Think you owe us some redvines, dude," he says as he stands and helps Quentin out of their fake boat.

Athletics were never Quentin's forte, but he too has a competitive streak a mile wide and will thoroughly relish any win he gets.

Kyle's own satisfaction just fuels that fire, but it's different than usual he thinks. It's a rare thing that he's go someone celebrating with him and the feeling of having someone in your corner, someone to revel in spiteful satisfaction with is a whole new kind of victory.

The grizzled carnie drops a tub of Redvines on the counter at his booth.

"You said MY BODY WEIGHT." Quentin scowls. "Cough it up. All one-hundred-and-fifty-two pounds of it."

"One-fifty, really?" Kyle asks smiling. Quentin really isn't big, especially for a superpowered Black Ops guy. It's charming.

"Come on, dude, a deal's a deal." Kyle leans on the counter. "Look, if you don't have that much, just give us all you have. It's only fair. And then my boyfriend won't lobotomize you with his brain powers and I won't whup your ass with my Jersey rage. C'mon."

He gives Kyle a perturbed look. "One fifty two" he points out. Unaware or unconcern that it comes off like I'm twelve-and-a-half energy.

He gestures impatiently at Kyle until their new nomadic friend rolls his eyes and starts stacking a few more buckets of licorice on the counter. "Fine. If it'll shut up yall up."

"It will," Quentin agrees triumphantly. Tearing into one of the packages and chomping down on the first sweet bites of his winnings.

When his arms are full of Redvines and there's still a couple more packages yet, he loads them into a little pink wagon that he thinks into existence just for this.

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