Step Right Up! [Open]

[applesaucemod]

It might be winter in the waking world, but tonight, the dreamers will find themselves wrapped in the warmth of a blazing August afternoon. Here, it is summer - and what's more, the Carnival has come to town!

Whatever the dreamer's tastes, there should be something to amuse them. There are rides that tend towards the rickety, wooden end of the spectrum, a petting zoo occupied - for the most part - by tolerant farm animals, food stalls selling every kind of carnival faire you'd imagine, and an arcade full of rigged games. Inquisitive dreamers might find that some of the wares tend towards the esoteric, and some of the stalls might seem a little out of place, but it's all the sort of thing that might show up in a carnival somewhere. Look, no one's perfect.

Overall, though, it's a modest set-up. The once brightly colored canvas has been faded by the sun, and the paint is peeling in a few places. But the gentle wear lends everything an air of comfort (as opposed to an air of a lawsuit waiting to happen). Whether you're riding the ferris wheel, petting a goat, or trying to win a stuffed animal the size of a small child, the only harm the dreamers can expect is the kind they might dole out themselves.



[OOC: oh, you all know the drill by now.]

Comments

[cheeseburger_backpack]

"You remind me of someone I once knew," Steven says gravely. "My son, Steven Junior."

The goat responds by pulling the hem of Steven's t-shirt into its mouth.

"He was brave and true," Steven continues, petting the goat's neck. "Well, mostly brave. He kinda went off and did his own thing after we got the Heaven Beetle." After a moment's consideration, which comes in the form of an intense, thousand-yard stare, he concludes, "He couldn't be tamed."

The goat tugs on Steven's shirt, and the boy drops his air of dramatic recollection. "Not like you, huh, buddy?" he asks as he scratches behind the goat's ears. "You seem friendly! Do you like it here? Baa once for yes, and twice for no." The goat doesn't baa at all; instead, it leans its forehead against Steven's hip and rubs its head up and down, scratching its horn buds. "That isn't part of the code," Steven objects.

[has_a_horn]

Steven's discussion with the goat draws Gabriel's attention, and he smiles down at the interaction as it progresses. He's not really sure of most of what Steven's talking about, but it does interest him.

"Goats have no respect for conversational guidelines." Gabriel bends and rests his arms against the fence separating the petting zoo from the rest of the fair, then offers forward a carrot to Steven. "He might like this."

[cheeseburger_backpack]

"Oh, hey!" Steven grins up at Gabriel, lurching a little as the goat ups its head-scratching antics. To be fair, Lion isn't always that good at conversing, either. "It's not his fault," Steven says. "He's a goat."

Both he and the goat perk up when the carrot makes its appearance. "Thanks!" Steven says, taking the carrot and offering it to not-Steven-Jr. The goat jerks the treat out of Steven's hand and wanders off to chew on it, leaving Steven free to clamber up the side of the fence next to Gabriel.

"This is a pretty sweet carnival, huh?" It doesn't occur to him that it's the wrong season or the wrong location. This is normal, right? It feels pretty normal.

[has_a_horn]

"It is, yeah." It doesn't occur to him that he might need to tell Steven that this is a dream. It's pleasant and safe, so far. It's only when things get less than idyllic that he might need to say anything. Right now, this reality is as good as any.

"You know what else is pretty sweet?" Gabriel grins and offers a hand to help Steven down from the fence. "Twinkies. Over there they deep fry 'em and you can get syrup and whipped cream if you want. That sound good?" The nice thing about this being a dream is no horrible side effects from questionably prepared carnival food. Gabriel is definitely going to take advantage of neverending snack possibilities.

[wildmage_daine]

It's rather cool in here, isn't it? She'd like to be warmer. A slow, thorough exploration of her enclosure doesn't result in the kind of warmth she's looking for. Clearly, she will need to leave.

It takes some doing, but she's not short on muscle. She presses her nose against the screened roof and shoves, steady and inexorable, until the fine mesh gives way. There. It takes her another minute to squeeze through the gap and flow down onto the floor, in part because she's moving sluggishly, and in part because there's a lot of her to move. Her head is nearing the door by the time her tail leaves the tank, and she pauses there a moment, tongue flickering as she considers her options. She can feel the thrum of footsteps in her belly, but it doesn't scare her.

Nothing scares her.

She continues forward, towards the warmth outside this dark place ("LIVE REPTILE TENT," if she bothered to look up and read the sign). It's bright outside, and her pupils constrict as she slides out into the sunshine. Much better. Her tongue flicks, and she tastes the dust - animals and two-leggers and other things she can't categorize, but that doesn't concern her. All that concerns her is finding the most comfortable spot to bask.

[ooc: so, Daine's not entirely herself, but if anyone talks to her, she'll probably snap out of it. Otherwise, enjoy the giant snake slithering around the place.]

[spiritofwinter]

If you'd asked Jack before today, he would have told you that this kind of thing wasn't his scene -- sure, carnivals might sound fun, but they come hand in hand with summer heat.

Right now, though? Right now Jack is making up for lost time. One can probably find him laughing with glee and running from one ride to the next.

[cheeseburger_backpack]

"Hey!" Have an excited Crystal Gem waving enthusiastically at you, Jack. Steven's found his way to the rides, and he'd been trying to decide where he wanted to start. It's more fun when you're riding them with someone, though. "Do you want to go on one of the rides with me?" he asks, once he's skidded to a breathless stop next to Jack. He holds up a finger as another thought occurs to him, then amends with playfully exaggerated intensity: "Do you want to go on all the rides with me?"

[spiritofwinter]

"Steven!"

Jack veers off his intended path to meet Steven in the middle, though he doesn't so much come to a stop as keep bouncing in place, looking at all the rides on offer. "I dunno," he says equally playfully, finally focusing back in on Steven. "That roller coaster looks pretty tall. You sure you're up for it?"

[cheeseburger_backpack]

Steven makes a show of sizing up the roller coaster, eyes narrowed. "I think I can handle it," he replies with exaggerated nonchalance. It's taller than the roller coaster at Beach City, but that's a perk, not a problem.

Looking back at Jack and adopting an air of friendly concern, he adds, "But if it's too tall for you, we could find something else. I think I saw a little train ride back that way." A train ride that is probably too small for either of them, actually.

[rae_of_sun]

Sunshine's been enjoying a few weeks sans oppressive, sick-making sunlight deficiency, but December has still been intractably itself, so this is a welcome change of season. She's not so sure about the location - it's all a bit nomad for her tastes. Traveling carnivals are, almost by definition, difficult to ward. But they also tend to be crowded, and there's safety in numbers, and it's daylight, besides. Glorious daylight, and she's soaking in as much of it as she can, wearing screamingly purple shorts and a turquoise top that achieve an acceptable standard of public decency by a slimmer margin than her mother would probably approve of. Whatever. It's hot out, and it's not like everyone else is in long-sleeved formal wear.

She's also managed to find a charm stall, which she's checking out more out of morbid curiosity than anything else. Charms don't tend to travel well, and she's wondering if someone's making them on-site, or if the poor things are half-cracked to begin with. Taking a sip of sweetened iced tea, she ventures to poke at one of the more garish feathered specimens, trying to judge if the spark of response is cheery or just desperate.

[erratic_hematic]

Spike would never deign to wear shorts in public, but in deference to the heat the dream has abandoned his usual jacket and tshirt and given him a loose red tank top instead. He can live with that. What he doesn't like is how bright the sun is beating down, so he seeks out a bit of shade.

The bit of shade he's found happens to be under a vendor stall. He pokes at a couple of the crystals and gewgaws before he catches sight of Sunshine one stall over. She looks good, wearing less than he's seen her wearing in public before now, her hair pulled up and messy and beautiful. He takes a few cautious steps towards her, trying to sneak up on her without her noticing like she usually might. He makes it to her other side before he leans in closer to the feathered thing she was looking at.

He smirks back up at her. "See anything you like?"

[rae_of_sun]

Her little Spike-compass doesn't seem to work in dreams - possibly because, in the real world, he's right next to her more often than not. Whatever said compass tunes in to, she's pretty sure it's more about his physical location and not his... what, psychic one?

Her counter-affinity never accounted for weird shared dreams. Go figure.

But one side-effect of working in the restaurant business, and of being a little too used to being watched - however many months in Manhattan hasn't erased the memories of the months she spent under the careful eye of SOF while they waited for her to do something interesting - is that you notice when someone's focused on you.

And that goes double when the someone is your boyfriend. Even without her personal history, she'd hope she'd notice him sizing her up. She bites back a smirk, more acutely aware than usual of how much skin she's currently showing, and lets him sneak up on her. Once he leans into her sightline, she stops bothering to hide her grin.

"A few things," she replies, reaching out to give his tank top a light, incredulous tug. Look at him, branching out into actual colors. "Nice shirt."

[boneshaker]

Castor could not be happier. He's heard a few stories by now about rift-induced group nightmares, but so far they haven't even been that bad. He's never been to a place like this but it's familiar enough thanks to cultural osmosis. He wonders if this is anything like the fabled State Fair, back before it became a permanent fixture and a major crime den.

There's so much to do, he doesn't know where to start. Rides, dubious-looking foods, vendor stalls bursting with colorful shinies. He's almost too much. On second thought, he's a little overwhelmed.

It's probably inevitable that he starts out by rooting through the garbage. Comfort zones are important. The dumpsters here are overflowing with weird and interesting shit. Will he get to keep the energy he absorbs when he wakes up? Who's to say. It's a fun experiment.

[grimaud]

Lucien has so far only been observing rather than interacting. When he spots this particular young man though, his behaviour strikes him as particularly odd. All these festivities, and this boy is digging through the garbage?

His first guess would be that he's a simple scavenger, something he's intimately familiar himself. But it doesn't seem to be just that he can't afford the carnival activities - he appears to enjoy rooting through the trash. It piques Lucien's curiosity enough to approach.

"Anything of interest?" he asks casually.


[Fair warning, he may look like Seth, but he is not as nice.]

[boneshaker]

Castor looks up and smiles affably at the total stranger. "Only always," he says, holding up a broken shiny green bottle. "If this weren't a dream I could make something outta this, but..." He shrugs and absorbs it, the glass dissipating into the air as he holds it on his open palm.

"Garbage is kinda my specialty," he grins, resuming the search. "I'm Castor."

[singthesong]

"SHOOT TO WIN!"

Needless to say, finding himself in a carnival gives the Balladeer a somewhat unpleasant jolt.

More than that, even - he flings himself sideways into the narrow space between two tents before he even has the chance to think. The nearby barker goes on shouting, heedless. His voice isn't familiar.

Hemmed in by two thick sheets of striped canvas, the heat is stifling. The Balladeer breathes shallow and quiet, leaning back against one of the poles. He's not afraid of home. He lived there far longer than he has in New York. Besides, he can't really afford to be. It would be a weakness if he ever found himself there again - assuming, of course, that he'd be able to feel anything at all. Maybe he'd just vanish, and Oswald would go on and do whatever it is he does. Harassing the new storyteller, perhaps? That's a strange thought.

But even if he remained fully himself, he's just...not sure he could go back to that kind of life now. Not after Manhattan.

Swallowing, he turns back to listen. The sounds here are unfamiliar; the games are beeping and playing little songs like more modern things, and there's faint pop music coming from a tinny speaker somewhere. That man is close, but he can't hear much of anything from him. There's only one reason for a person to be that empty. This is a dream.

The realization makes him feel a bit ridiculous. He can't just panic over things like that! He's been so much more jumpy lately than he ever used to be, and it's been months since anyone so much as fired a gun near him. The Balladeer straightens his spine and strides swiftly out, walking past the shooting game without a single acknowledgement. He knows he'll only glare at the man, and it's not really his fault. Those aren't even real guns. He just needs to put it all out of his mind, before someone happens along and he has to try to explain the whole carnival thing. That aspect of his previous existence is something he's never really touched on in any of his explanations. It just seemed like a distracting, yet not really important, facet of things.

He's spent so much time talking about home lately. He doesn't want to do it anymore. And anyway, this dream might be fun if he gives it a chance! The air here smells like sugar and fried dough, and there's a Ferris wheel looming above everything. He's never actually gotten the chance to ride one, and he's always been intrigued by the concept. The Balladeer sets off in that direction, quickly at first, but much more relaxed once he's left the games area. It could definitely be fun - but he's still not comfortable trying his hand at those.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny feels like a huge creep, just watching the Balladeer at an impersonal distance, but he doesn't want to get too close yet. Doesn't want to inflict himself on the poor guy. Despite the setting, which he finds sort of inherently discomfiting, this seems like it might almost be a nice dream for once, and does he really want to go and ruin that?

But, there he is, going from skittish to moderately relaxed, and Johnny feels... what, obligated? inclined to approach. Things have gone from bad to weird to weirder between them, and he's terrible at following up, and now... well, maybe it'll be easier in a dream.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and slinks up after him, dimly aware that he's heading toward the ferris wheel, which would not be his idea of a good first hangout location.

"Uh, hey," he says as he gets within range. "Hi."

He realizes too late that he didn't have anything else planned.

[singthesong]

Ordinarily it would be nearly impossible for Johnny to ever sneak up on the Balladeer. You don't have to be especially vigilant to observe a growing sense of existential dread. But dreams are different, and by the time he notices the muffled sounds of pure horror, Johnny is already close.

"Oh!" The Balladeer turns away from the booth he was inspecting - some kind of fishing game involving rubber ducks. "Ah, hi?" He's obviously uncomfortable, and the Balladeer isn't exactly at his ease either. But dreaming does make it easier to be around Johnny. Maybe this is for the best. He'd really meant to try harder to build bridges there; they don't have to be best friends, but Johnny's done a lot for him and Steven. "You're looking better!" he ventures, smiling uncertainly.

[andhiswife]

Well, this is different. It seems like some sort of fête, though it's not clear what, if anything, is being celebrated. Not that the Rift needs an excuse. She should probably just be grateful that it feels friendly and normal and not like some sort of trick.

Greta's a bit dubious of the games, and more than a bit dubious of the rides (there's quite a bit of screaming, and it sounds more exhilarated than terrified, but still). So she follows her nose to the assorted food stalls, her eyes widening at the variety of what's on offer. Some of this stuff, she thinks, can't possibly be healthy. Of course, it's a dream, which means she could theoretically eat whatever she wanted without getting ill in the waking world. But she might just as easily get ill here, and that doesn't sound like much fun.

[etherthief]

Iman is having a blast, but what good is that with no one to share it with? Greta must be around here somewhere. She moves through tents and stalls, scanning the crowd, waving at people she knows - odd, how these dreams are, just letting them all run amok like this. Has she been a bad scientist for ignoring it, growing used to it? Surely there are experiments she could be running.

But experiments sound so dismal. Greta, meanwhile. Hey, there she is.

"I could get used to these nice dreams," she remarks, sidling up behind Greta and wrapping her arms around her waist. "I get to see you and we can have a weird date while we sleep. You know it's amazing anyone ever feels rested around here, with all we get up to. Working overtime."

She stands on her toes and plants a little kiss on Greta's cheek. "So what should we do first?"

[andhiswife]

Here's something far more certain than her surroundings. Greta leans back into Iman's embrace with a grin, sliding her hands over Iman's arms. "We could stand a date that doesn't end in tragedy," she says drily, fully aware that they can't assume a Rift-made dream won't go terribly wrong, somehow.

For now, though, she's cautiously optimistic. The weather is lovely. The setting is a little inexplicable, but not as far removed from her own universe as Manhattan. Iman is here. Even if things do go wrong, it's just a dream - and they've weathered bad dreams before.

"I'm not sure what all there is to do," she admits, turning to face Iman and looping her arms around her neck. "This is bigger than anything we had back home." Not that she's complaining. She leans forward to give Iman a little kiss on the nose. "Nothing that involves screaming," she decides.

welp

[grimaud]

Lucien looks quite out of place here, 17th century clothing clashing against the more modern if faded carnival. He feels out of place too, though probably not as much as he should. This is almost all unknown to him, yet he's not as bothered as he should be. The concept of the place does not escape him. Besides, he's got three different weapons on him. While he may feel a little unsettled by the unfamiliarity, he is not one to scare easily.

Still, he mostly keeps to the shadows. Or the sidelines, anyway. The sun seems to reach everywhere, though he is no stranger to heat. He keeps his hood up to shield him from the bright light, mostly watching the other guests as opposed to partaking himself. This isn't the sort of thing he would usually describe as fun.

so, this asshole

[hot2trot]

Carnivals are well known to be safe havens for the criminal and those estranged from society as a whole. The fact that this one seems to be staffed entirely by well meaning and well-vetted individuals is a little disappointing for Mick. A fair should hide hidden grotty depths not...a storeroom filled with stuffed animals and goat pellets.

He knocks the door closed to the room he'd been investigating, then returns to stalking the stalls.

He pulls to a stop when he sees a line of air rifles laid out along a booth under a freshly painted wooden sign that says SHOOT THE STAR in bold red capital letters.

"Ah, this is more like it!" He slaps some money down on the counter and waits impatiently while the attendant sets up the gun and explains that the goal is to completely obliterate the red star on the paper at the other end of the range. "No problem. Come on, give me that." The attendant seems more than willing to give him the gun and flee to the other side of the booth.

asshole dream date

[ice2meetu]

Len saunters through the untidy layout of booths and stalls, looking for anything of interest, finding little. This place is too tame, everything running a little too smoothly, and it sets him a little at edge. He's not entirely certain how he got here, but that's a question that crouches at the corners of his mind, not something he's ready to latch onto just yet. He maintains his cool, he always does, edge showing itself as little more than swagger and narrowed eyes.

His relief to see his partner fixing to shoot up a piece of paper is similarly subdued. He takes his time strolling over, leans against the counter beside the big man with his fingers laced together.

"Mick," he drawls by way of greeting. He nods toward the star, intuiting the game's object with a glance. This is going to be a hot mess, pun absolutely intended. "Never taken you for a sharpshooter."

well that escalated quickly

[hot2trot]

"Pick out a prize, Snart." He doesn't move from his position, bent over, one eye closed and the other squinted down the crooked sight. It won't take a sharpshooter to hit the star- it's not even ten feet away. All he has to do is use a hundred shots to blast it from the paper. "Easy peasy."

He sizes up the target and squeezes the trigger. In less than ten seconds, he's lost all of his ammunition and half of the star is still hanging from the goddamn paper. He straightens up and chucks the air rifle back down on the table while the attendant comes over.

"You didn't give me enough bullets."

The guy laughs off the comment nervously and offers Mick another go at the game. Something changes in Mick's posture as he pulls out a couple more bills. He straightens up, and grins. "All I gotta do is get rid of the star?"

The attendant, glad to have a answer that he can pull from a script, goes through the same explanation again while he sets up the air rifle. Only, when he steps away again, Mick reaches for the gun at his hip instead of the one on the table. A bright streak of fire pushes its way across the booth, completely disintegrating the star, the piece of paper, and a significant portion of the booth behind it.

He turns to Len, grinning. "I think I got it, don't you?" The attendant curses and runs off, no doubt for some sort of fire extinguisher.

"Did ya pick out a prize?" The fire is spreading, and he turns back to admire it. "Better get it quick."