welcome_rpg | welcome to mayfield: day 3

Entry tags:

!day 3

welcome to mayfield: day 3

[Those who wake up in the town on the third day will soon notice that something's definitely off. The cracks in the sky are appearing more frequently and lasting for minutes at a time, and there's a strange white fog drifting over the clouds.

For those who've just arrived, welcome to our new little town! We're sure you're glad to see your missing friends again; nothing to worry about here, they've just been too busy enjoying the upgraded carnival to go back home. Any bleeding limbs or serious wounds you may spot are obviously just a sign of how much fun they've been having.]

OOC: If your character damages or affects the carnival or town in a noticeable and normally permanent way, please comment here.

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[Panic and screaming. Well. That's hardly out of the ordinary for this place. She was on her way to the fun house so she could go back in, but perhaps she had better see what was causing the screaming first.

It was almost disappointing to see that it was just plain old panic.]

...you. You, too. You've gone and stumbled in...

[This man was Ilsa's, wasn't he? Not that she cares very much, judging by the expression on her face.]

[Tarvek remembers her. She's smart, interesting, and deadly...not that he's seen her in action. But he grew up with "deadly." He knows it when it gives him the icy eyeball.]

Yes. Have you seen Ilsa?

[He's prepared... he's also groping for his amulet from Ilsa, wondering if it does any good here...]

...not since yesterday.

[It was the truth. Not the whole truth and not the entire picture, but still.]

Your Ilsa gives far too much of herself. I can't say for sure, but she may have given too much.

[She turns her head away, but is still regarding him from the edge of her vision. Chances are, he won't like this...]

[No. He's probably not going to like it. But he's a controlled sort. And he's diplomatic, when he's not being a sarcastic twit.]

Where did you see her last?

[He's staying very ready for almost anything.]

One of the houses. As it burned from the inside.

[And now she averts her gaze.]

I couldn't break down the door, and I couldn't face the flames even if I had. I'm sorry.

[While her voice is as cold as ice, the bit of pain on her face makes it plain that she cared, on some level or another.]

[The world stops.]

[He reaches for his amulet. He reaches forlornly for a lost emotional bond.]

I...

See.

[He's shaking, and doesn't even know it--which is almost freakish for him.]

(Very still and very quiet--and intense as swallowing straight sriracha with a tabasco chaser.]

Damn those idiots.

If they do not bring her back, I will burn this place down. Somehow.

[What had she expected from him as a reaction? She wasn't sure. She barely knew the man. Somehow, she had expected a wild emotional outburst... such things were the norm among her usual company back home.

This coldness and quiet said something about the man.]

Strew the streets with their innards. Prolong their torment. Make them feel what they've made you feel. I'll help.

[He's spent much of his life being hauled toward various forms of destruction, willy-nilly. He hates it...and for a second he's ripped between his anger at Mayfield, his grief and rage at Ilsa's death (Black coal and burning, again!) and his anger that Natalie is tempting him to become Siva, God of Destruction. It takes a moment for him to gain any control at all.]

I. Will. Consider it.

If they do not bring Ilsa back.

[More sriracha and tabasco]

Not before then.

But...

I will remember. And I will call on you.

[He offers her a hand. It is a formal acknowledgement of a deal made, and alliance formed, a treaty accepted.]

[She could have almost sworn that this Tarvek had a Beast of his own gnawing at the back of his mind and threatening to take the wheel. But that's impossible. That's simply projection.]

This little pocket of torment doesn't seem to have a place where the dead respawn. So. Maybe she's simply late in coming back. Maybe she's not.

[She steps forward and takes his hand, shaking it firmly. Her touch is like that a of a marble statue, cold and hard.]

When the time comes, I'll be ready.

[And she withdraws her hand.]

For now, you need to ensure your own survival. Avoid drinking the water. Absolutely do not eat the food the carnival gives you. Beware of the rats. Don't ride the rides.

[This is his first real look around.]

Ah. The carnival, but different. I wouldn't trust it anyway, any more than I trusted the first. I am neither stupid nor reckless.

Is there anything safe to drink or eat, that you know of?

How long have you been here? How...

How long was Ilsa here? In my awareness we were only separated minutes ago.

[Minutes that suddenly loom like infinity. The world changed.]

There are a lot of stupid and reckless people here. [Hell, she was one of them. Her hair hadn't been shot through with grey the last time he had seen her... right?]

The rats. The rats are fine to eat. But I'm not aware of a safe source of water, other than what others have brought in with them.

I've been here three days. Ilsa seemed to show up on the second day. [Confronted with more evidence of temporal tomfoolery, she frowns.]

[Rolls eyes.] Stupid and reckless: the definition of your average Mayfield resident.

[He's muttering as he reckons necessary water intake.]

Half-gallon a day. Have to squeeze a lot of rats to come up with two quarts.

Has anyone attempted filtration? Distillation?

[He flinches. In this realty "his" Ilsa was dead a full day. In his reality it's been seconds since he shouted to her on the stairs of the Fun House, and saw her fly from his view.]

[It was quickly becoming apparent that there was more to this Tarvek than just the foppish coat and gentlemanly airs. Interesting. She watches him closely as he ponders.]

Yes, the rats don't have a lot of blood in them. Not much meat, either. But they're something. Distilation? If someone's working on that, I haven't heard about the results.

You may want to consult people other than me. And you may want somewhere safe to stay overnight. I'd go to the church. Ciel has the place warded, for whatever that's worth.

[Sighs] Why do I suspect that no one's tried? Or if they have they haven't started organizing and preparing?

No. Don't answer. "Mayfield residents." All the answer I need.

[Ilsa has not told him anything about Natalie. But the boy grew up in Transylvania/Carpathian/Romanian Europa. He knows from wampyrs.]

If it's warded can you go in? And if you can't, are you safe?

I believe several have tried. We've got clever ones in here. But they're not working with much material. The houses aren't furnished.

You seem to have little faith in everyone's ability to cope...

[She quirks her head at him, huffs lightly, and then shrugs.]

I have my own places to retreat to.

[Eyes her sourly.]

There are intelligent people here. But, please! It was people of Mayfield who blew up the resurrection machine--the one device that made this all endurable and even somewhat frivolous--with no idea what it was, because, well, better to blow things up.

Just *how* intelligent am I supposed to think they are, mademoiselle?

[Sighs, and wilts...]

My pardons. I am...

[He's nearly inside out over Ilsa, fearing for her life. And he's angry, and tired, and giving more and more thought to ways to break through and communicate with the Powers of Mayfield...]

Pardon. My temper betrays me.

I'm glad you have refuge, mademoiselle. If you need me, I am going to try to find Ilsa. Failing that I'll be at the church.

Du-te cu fulgere, doamnă.

"People of Mayfield" is hardly an all-inclusive category. It was likely a small selection of idiots that blew... whatever it was up.

[She turns away from him. Really, the way he's going on, he might as well be including her with the morons and fools.]

Do what you need to do. Go, go on. I have my own matters under control.

[He's a chivalrous fool. It's inbred and it's personal. He almost stomps off....but...]

Tcheh.

Do you wish for company?

[It's a gentle offer...]

Not particularly. It's in your best interest to keep your distance. I'm getting hungry.

[She shoots him a look from over her shoulder that's full of anger and hunger and a bit (just a bit) of regret.]

You'll do more good if you find other people. Go do some good.

[Not quite ready to leave--instead very dry, professional, and "doctory".]

Are you able to control your attack and break off? Do your victims always die? Do they always transform?

[Yes. He's weighing the odds. He's here, he's stuck regardless, and she's starving... He might gamble to save her life. Maybe.]

[Oh. The basic vampire interrogation. She turns around, rolling her eyes dramatically when she's finally facing him again.]

Yes, assuming I'm not starving, I can make myself stop. If I take enough blood, the obvious happens. If I leave them enough, they're fine. They do not transform.

[And like hell this guy is getting further elaboration on that last one.]

[He nods. He's learned what he needed to learn. Rather than speak, he nods again, and gently, gently opens his arms slightly, inviting her into his embrace. He meets her eyes.]

Hunger is not necessary,doamnă.

What I give, I give freely.

...oh.

[She would call him an idiot, mock him for his willingness to give himself over to a monster, but... blood. Blood without effort, human blood. This was a gift that she shouldn't refuse.

Her expression becomes milder and she approaches him... and takes his left arm.]

That's very kind of you. Let's not make too big a scene, though. A vein's a vein's a vein...

[And she'll be rolling up that sleeve of his, if he doesn't protest.]

[He's a bit bashful, a bit flustered, but entirely cooperative. His arm offers no resistance.]

[Softly...]

You're welcome, doamnă .

[She makes a little sound of confirmation, and then sinks her fangs into a soft spot on his forearm. There's pain, a moment of intense someone-just-bit-me-and-broke-the-flesh pain, which is quickly smothered by an astonishingly pleasant sensation. A pleasantness that's marred by her unpleasant scent and the general wrongness of her... but a pleasantness that would give him little reason to pull away or fight it.

Several long, wonderful mouthfuls of blood later and she pulls away. She licks her lips, then licks the wound, which closes it up neatly.]

Aaaaaaaah...

[And she looks just a bit better already. Less cold, less brittle.]

welcome to mayfield: day 3

FUNHOUSE A

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