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

[andhiswife]

She notes the hesitation, but isn't sure what to make of it. She'd managed to get through the mess with Mr. Fring without anyone actually pointing a gun at her, and Rita's formidable body armor had been such a far cry from the pellet guns at the booth that it doesn't even occur to Greta to compare the two.

It does occur to her - for a brief, shameful moment, like a bad habit she hasn't quite managed to break - that Iman might just be questioning her ability to even handle the device in the first place. But that's not fair. Iman's been nothing but encouraging when it comes to her capabilities. Besides, if they're relying on her Rift Enchantment to do most of the work for them, it hardly matters whether she's an accomplished markswoman. It'll work itself out.

She must be missing something. She can't guess what, but she's certain she doesn't want to do this if it's going to bother her girlfriend - not when there are probably other rigged games they could best. Her brow furrows at Iman's belated agreement, and she touches her arm lightly. "Are you sure? We could find something else."

[etherthief]

"No! This is fine." Iman smiles, trying to allay the obvious uncertainty she's fed into the situation. Great going, Asadi. "It's fine. You'll kick ass. I just, um, didn't think you'd be interested in..."

She's being ridiculous, as she often is, and there's really no good reason not to be honest about this. What is Greta going to do, judge her? She presses a hand to her face, laughing softly at her own nonsense before looking back up.

"This might sound weird," she says, "or stupid. I'm gonna have trouble explaining the logic behind it. But... I've always kind of... had a thing for women with guns." Oh good lord it sounds terrible when she puts it like that. "Just like," she flounders, "guns are sexy. Sometimes. When in the right hands. I'm... I just didn't think I'd ever get to see you being a badass gunslinger." She grins sheepishly. "I'm looking forward to it."

[andhiswife]

"Oh," Greta says, managing to pack a fair variety of inflection into that one syllable (which is really closer to three or four syllables by the time she's finished with it). "I see." Well, to a point - the guns at the booth look like the toys they are, and it's hard to imagine herself looking 'badass' while wielding one. But there's nothing weird about the general idea, and she reaches down to give Iman's hand a reassuring squeeze.

"It doesn't sound so different from how dashing you looked when you had a sword," she points out, smiling fondly at her. Guns do seem to be the modern-day equivalent, as far as she can tell. Her smile broadens into a grin at the thought of doing Iman the same sort of service, and she adds, "This is going to be fun."

Once the current player has vacated the booth - a rather small stuffed octopus in hand - Greta sidles up to the counter, her absurd unicorn still propped up on her hip. The man across the counter gives her an assessing but rather bored look, as if his shift has already lasted longer than he'd like. "Gonna give it a shot?" he asks, inclining his head towards the row of ducks.

He's not as engaging as the last one, but that might be just as well. A more attentive employee might not let them get away with what she has planned. "I think so," Greta says, letting herself look flustered as she sets down the unicorn and picks up one of the pellet guns. She doesn't even have to feign awkwardness. "This might sound unbelievable," she confides to the booth minder, "but I've never actually, er... held any kind of gun before." The man's sigh is only just this side of exasperated, but before he can muster up an unenthusiastic offer of assistance, Greta's looking back over her shoulder.

"Could you show me?" she asks Iman, the picture of sheepish innocence.