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.
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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.