The Carnival [November 2017 Human GM Event]

[Grey Weston]

The youth seems pleasantly surprised when the flap of the tent stirs behind him, settling soundlessly into place a moment later. The air eddies within the dim confines of the tent, the draft it causes like a surly, arthritic hound at their heels. The interior of the tent, however, is pleasantly warm. It's difficult to make out any definite details; the blue-tinged smoke that emits from the bronze incense burner hangs over the scene like a gauzy, translucent veil; softening the edges of the darkness, but obscuring anything more concrete than a glimpse or two.

There's the impression of a table. A camping lantern hangs suspended over it, illuminating the honey-pale grain of its wood. Beyond that, there's nothing; not even a chair. It doesn't deter the youth from shrugging out of his ink-dark jacket. Which is when it becomes obvious that the torso underneath it is bare. The swirls of ink, however, are prominent. Dramatic as they sweep across his skin. There's something else, though; a ripple of color, like nebula or strands of Christmas lights. Bioluminescent.

He crooks a finger at Lincoln, beckoning him closer, encouraging touch. If he elects to, he'll find the patterns of the light shift, responding to heat and touch - and then leave his palm slick, absolutely coated in a strange body paint.

"Care for a card?" He asks, producing a single dogeared tarot. Scrawled on the back is a telephone number.

Accept the card? or decline and exit the tent?

[Lincoln King]

It was mesmerising, the way the ink shifted and moved and Lincoln found his eyes tracing the patterns through the gauzey haze of smoke that hung around them. The way they crept over his bare torso seemed to beckon touch, the young man's posture not blocking or hindering it in any way, in fact it was almost as if he was inviting it with that crook of a finger and the look in his eyes. Linc moved closer, warily, studying him quickly for any obvious signs of danger. "Wh..." He cut off his own question, finding that his hand had reached out and fingertips were tracing over a pattern that seemed to shift and change in response to the heat of his hand. In fact his whole body felt warm inside the tent, he tried to tell himself it was the close quarters and incense but the anxiety and excitement of the strange situation were probably the true culprits. When he pulled his hand away it seemed dampened by body paint, one that held an odd texture and shine to it. A trick of the light, perhaps? A strange formula, explainable by science. Had to be.

Then the guy was producing a card, presenting it nonchalantly. Linc wasn't sure he wanted to take it, the whole encounter had been so odd that he kind of just wanted to walk it. Something told him he should, though, that he'd come this far already so might as well commit. "Thanks, I... Why, though?" He asked bashfully, embarrassed really, feeling as if perhaps he should have known and it would be obvious to anyone else.

[Ember March (DELETED 10015)]

The boutonniere was adjusted to sit at a jaunty angle in a bright spray of color against the stoic gray cast of her coat. It was only after her fingers brushed against the delicate petals and reality intrudes with a maddening disquiet that she notices Lincoln.

Her smile matches his own, a quick flash of her teeth and a nod of her head while she's walking away. She doesn't notice the swish of the tent that conceals Lincoln from view as she finds her thoughts dwelling on her recent past and the events that lead her to here.... to this place...

Her shoulders square and the corners of her lips quirk. No. Not tonight. The melancholy was cast aside like a serpent ridding itself of a shedding skin. Her own self-absorption would win the day. It usually did.

Tonight she was a girl at a carnival... and she was about to have a funnel cake. She turns to follow the sugary-sweet scent of the cooking dough toward a vendor.

[Wren (DELETED 9952)]

[ ♫ ♪ mood music ♫ ♪ ]

20/11/17
7:08 PM

WREN ♥ ♥
It was eight minutes past the time Wren had anticipated he'd be ready to go and he was making his way up the steps to the front door of Samael's house. Technically, it was the house he shared with the other man but the setup tonight was different. He'd ducked out two hours beforehand and took the transit to downtown Harper Rock to find a place which carried fresh cut flowers. Not just any fresh cut flowers though; he was looking for a florist that carried the widest variety of roses.

He had a vision in mind that he'd wanted to breathe life into the idea the second he and Sam had agreed to go to the carnival together. Unfortunately for him, Harper Rock was a small town and not everything was as expansive as he was accustomed to. He'd spent a good long while circling the little flower boutique after finding out they didn't carry any Rainbow Vendelas. But he'd finally settled on the suggestion the junior florist had been offering to him for nearly three quarters of an hour. The woman flashed him an aggravated look before wrapping up the single rose for him to take with him.

Wren knocked on the front door before taking a step back, idly cradling his camera in his free hand and the rose in the other. He was picking up his date. Because that was what was supposed to happen on first dates, wasn't it?


SAMAEL ♠
It had taken some coaxing on Wren’s part. His skepticism wavered at the third day mark, withering in the face of Wren’s enthusiasm and the sleek, laminated flyer that dutifully dogged his heels from one living space to the next. Samael's had never been to a carnival. The closest point of reference was a faded memory, hazy with the years. A sepia toned polaroid, once pristine white edges cracked and yellowed, rested in the bottom of a storage chest meant for winter clothing.

In it, a young Sam posed alongside a taller, lankier youth, the latter sporting a pair of hand me down overalls and a white dress shirt two sizes too large, whose sleeves threatened to swallow the boy’s hands. By contrast, the older boy at his side wore stonewashed jeans and a navy button down, complete with a stiff denim jacket. Their arms were raised, the pair flexing inside of a game booth, an oversized stuffed dalmatian at their feet.

It had been his first state fair. He'd spent the better part of the evening in a trance-like state, awed by the bright colors and dizzying sweetness of autumn leaves and funnel cakes, and the sharper, saltier smell of wet earth that perfumed the night. His jaw was perpetually slack, a fact his older siblings teased him relentlessly about as they trooped home. Sam has been allowed a bag of kettle corn, drizzled with warm caramel, savoring the contrast of salt and a sweetness that made his teeth ache.

He shook free of the memory at the knock, rising from the couch and crossing into the short foyer. He slid the deadbolt back, the chain clattering as it swung on its weighted hook, followed by the deadbolt, before grabbing the knob and twisting. He studied Wren for a moment, lips drawing back in the barest flash of a grin. “The boyscouts are campaigning early this year,” he remarked, leaning a hip against the doorframe. “Hi.”


WREN ♥ ♥
Colours shifted over the sky, vibrant shades of peach, blush and lavender spreading across the cerulean with the sinking sun filtering through the crevices in between the wisps of cream-coloured clouds, setting their edges alight with gilt. Dusk was passing by quickly, like it was eager to make an entrance for the inky darkness of nightfall. Wren glanced up towards the sky. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the stars since he'd come to Harper Rock. It wasn't like the city was a large metropolis, homing millions of people with their various living quarters. It wasn't like back in Los Angeles, when the blinds came down on Santa Monica, and the entire strip lit up with such panache that from up in the air, it looked like a swarm of fireflies had flocked, thus blotting out the light from the stars in the sky. No, there was something different about Harper Rock, like it was dipped in constant darkness. Like even the brightest of summer days had a trickle of unease that followed it like a sentient, hateful shadow.

"Nervous?"

Wren started, nearly dropping his camera and the rose as he whipped around to find Cassie leaned against the railing, his brows raised. "Jesus Chr-- Cas, what the ****, man?" His pulse was racing now like that of a cornered rabbit's, demeanour just as leery. He hung his camera around his neck so that his butterfingers didn't drop it to its doom. "No... maybe. A little." he admitted, his dark brows pulling together as he eyed the flower, wrapped in delicate tissue and cardboard, held together with a grey, silk ribbon. "Please don't **** this up." he sighed and glanced at Cas from the corner of his eyes, unclear whether he was speaking to the man or to himself. He was given a small knowing smile in return and then he was gone. Just in time, too. The door swung open and there he was. Denim-clad Adonis with hair like a tangible halo around his crown.

Samael.

It was the name of an aingeal as far as Wren knew and he only really knew because he had googled it. He'd thought at first that maybe he had heard wrong, just as the barista had the day they had met at Lucile's, or maybe the man had a speech impediment. It was certainly not a common name by anyone's standards. Except Sam's family apparently. Either way, from what Wren gathered, Samael was said to be one of the angels and he thought it was oddly fitting. Not because he saw the man as some kind of an ethereal being that disembodied voices sang choruses around but because angels were said to be toughened warriors. Scrappy fuckers. Not at all like the depictions of the kind-eyed, glowing, sweet-natured androgynes that often completed a scene in a child's religious picture book, the kinds that Wren himself was used to growing up in his household. Not that his family was ever fundamentally religious. (They weren't a regular Catholic family, they were a cool Catholic family.)

Still. Samael had that glow about him. Or maybe it was the way his gilded hair caught the light.

"The boy scouts are campaigning early this year."

"Thanks, you clean up nicely too." Wren flashed the man a crooked grin, sheepish in nature, rubbing the back of his neck as it heated up. "Heh, hey." he then grinned a little wider, less embarrassed. He took a step forward and set a hand lightly on Sam's side before tipping his head up to brush his lips against his cheek. "This is yours." he held up the rose for him.


SAMAEL ♠
Samael’s family were best described, if one felt generous, as fanatics. For the less generously inclined, the term ‘zealots,’ among less flattering descriptors, was closer to the mark. His mother prized her faith above all else, so it stood to reason that she named her children to reflect her passions. Her sons carried the names of angels, her eldest two named for both a messenger and the bearer of scales. Her daughters were named after saints, reflecting virtues held closer than a rosary to her side. . Then there was Samael; named for a creature of radiance and vengeance; the odd man out in her carefully crafted theme. But in that moment, at least, she seemed wide of her mark.

His gaze softened at the crooked grin that Wren flashed, the corners of his lips quirking into a fond, mildly self conscious grin in reply. It was new for him, this unguarded honesty. It was uncomfortable at times, chafing against his better judgment, but not entirely unpleasant. The kiss was met with a hushed, contented sound, the note trailing into a rumbling one of question. He accepted the rose, one brow arching. ”Thank you. Save some moves for me, Casanova.” He could count the number of times he'd received a gift from anyone outside of immediate family, much less flowers of any kind.

Still, he knew enough to know it'd suffer from a lack of water after a handful of hours and so he moved inside, gesturing Wren over the threshold. ”Help me find something to put this in. Then we can leave.”

[Samael De Armas (DELETED 8006)]

WREN ♥ ♥
Sam smelled pleasantly of leather and tobacco. The first time Wren had gotten close enough to the other man, he'd picked up on the scent lingering on him and since then it had become a familiar smell. But recently there was also a shift in it, just a hint of something different, something that balanced that deepness with a hint of floral sweetness. Nearly imperceptible even unless Wren was standing a hair's breadth away from the other man. This scent was familiar to him, too, but in a different way and it wafted on top of the ingrained notes like it was simply dancing across Sam's sun-kissed skin.

His nose brushed lightly over the height of the blonde's cheek and he inhaled lightly before pulling back with a cheeky grin. "I'd save moves for you if you actually had any." he taunted good-naturedly, winking at the man before following him inside the house. "I have a sort of empty glass jar?" he offered, heading straight for the kitchen. "Don't ask what's in it… okay, you caught me. It's edibles." he answered before he could be questioned and grabbed the mason jar from on top of the fridge, popping the lid open. "There are six brownie bits left… you want some?" he asked, muffled as he shoved three in his mouth at the same time, chewing around them to speak. He held the jar with the last three two-bite brownies out for Sam, giving it a little shake. "If you don't eat them, I will." he gave the man a friendly reminder of the last time he'd gotten too… not-sober.

Granted, the last time they were not edibles and really, how was he supposed to know that he only needed three g's of shrooms would be enough? Okay, so he could have asked Samael but it was still so little. At least they'd managed to find their way out of the corn maze and return their neighbours' sailfin lizard before they realized he was gone. To this day, Wren still missed Henry.

"Hey, Sam… can we get a Phillipine sailfin lizard?" he asked, leaning back against the kitchen counter, words still muffled by the incredulous amount of food currently occupying his mouth.


SAMAEL ♠
”Edibles, he repeated. There was a low, subtle flatness to the repetition. It was borderline incredulous, slightly dull with resignation. He’d trailed him into the kitchen, his gaze almost wary as it took in the room, alighting on the counters - once pleasingly minimalist - with something approaching the stifled disbelief of a condemned man before a noose. The counters were laden with an assortment of packaging, the contents ranging from full to mostly empty beyond a handful of half-eaten goods verging on staleness and a dusting of crumbs lining the bottom of their respective containers. It was a concession he’d made only grudgingly, and only then to spare the pantry the same fate. ”No, thank you,” he managed, nose wrinkling slightly as Wren crammed three of the brownies into his mouth at once. ”Jesus, that’s horrifying,” he muttered. ”Or impressive. I can’t de--” He began, pausing long enough to pluck the container from his hands.

He turned to the sink, twisting on the tap a moment later. He upended the remaining brownies into the rounded cap of the jar, setting them aside on the edge of the counter, before running the jar beneath the steady stream of water. ”Like the one you stole?” He asked dryly a moment later, glancing over his shoulder at the other man. [color]]”Those things are huge, and they **** everywhere. Besides,” he concluded, twisting off the tap, before gingerly setting the jar onto the countertop, ”I have my hands full feeding one black hole.” He took a moment to gently place the rose in the jar. ”Shall we?”


WREN ♥ ♥
"It's impressive." he decided for the blonde before swallowing. Once the brownies were set aside, he discreetly pocketed them into the big pocket of his shirt. As he was accused of theft, he sputtered. "Hey! I resent that statement. I returned him. And he was bored so. I did a good thing." he defended before pushing off of the counter and dusting his hands off. His nose crinkled as bits of the chocolate still coated his fingers and he twisted to wash off properly. "You should be flattered I like your cooking so much." he scoffed, wiping his hands off on the kitchen towel before heading out of the kitchen and towards the door. "Are we taking your steel metal death trap?" he called out behind him as he stepped out of the house and onto the porch.


SAMAEL ♠
”Whatever you say, Harry Potter,” Sam countered dryly, in the face of Wren’s indignation. He snorted a second later, reaching over the sink, fingertips grazing the dimmer switch. There was a flicker - a tremor, like heat lightning glimpsed from a distance - before the narrow fluorescent strip just above the sink flared to life, bathing the countertops in a soft halo of hazy golden light. ”We’d need to call poison control if I let you cook for us consistently,” he returned mildly, before exiting the kitchen as well, pausing long enough to grab his wallet from the hallway table. He tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans, arching a brow at the question. ”We’re taking it,” he grunted. He paused, as if reminded of something, before turning to open the hallway closet. He reached inside, fingers closing around the helmet that rested mid-shelf, neatly retrieving it, tucking it under his arm. color=#8080FF]”Ah. Right. Almost forgot…”[/color] For a moment, the only sound was a dull, rasping scrape, and the tumultuous rattle of a hoarder’s closet as it settled. He withdrew a moment later, sporting a second helmet; compact and silver, bedecked in a holographic glitter. He tossed it at Wren’s chest a moment later. ”Come on, princess. Your chariot is waiting.”


WREN ♥ ♥
Wren was already outside when Sam stepped out, carrying under his arm what looked to be a miniature disco ball. "What… is that?" His brows furrowed before his hands shot out to catch the helmet. He blinked slowly, lifting it to examine it before tossing his head back with a bark of laughter. "Wow, you know me." he snorted, tone sardonic. The thought behind the gesture wasn't amiss though and he put the helmet on, strapping it in place. "How do you even see in these things? ...where is the ******* bike..?" he asked, speaking mostly to himself as he tried to get to the driveway, only to trip over a strap brick lining the front yard and go tumbling into Sam's motorcycle. "Nevermind."

❧

The trip over to the docks had been short from the home the men shared together, especially with the way Samael drove. The entire time, Wren's arms locked around the others middle, praying to whichever deity that was listening that they arrive at the carnival in one piece. By the time they'd arrived, Wren had gone through God, Allah, Yahweh, Shiva and Buddha. The second Sam parked, he scrambled off of the bike on shaky legs, ripping the helmet off of his head. "I will never understand the appeal." he breathed out, mostly to himself, doubling over to grasp his knees before he glanced over at the bike and Samael. Well, at least he looked good riding it.

[Grey Weston]

The youth's gaze holds steadily with Lincoln's own. There is a flicker of amusement in his gaze - but warmth, as well. The smile that he flashes Lincoln is at once coy and somehow shy as well. He shrugs lightly, as if not entirely certain how to address his questions. "You're generous. It's time someone gave back. See you around?" He draws closer, offering a brief squeeze to his shoulder in passing, before he exits the tent. There is a rush of endorphins - a sudden fierce, natural high that passes in that skin to skin contact.

Should Lincoln look for him, however, it will be find he's melded with the crowd.

[Congratulations! Please contact me via PM for more information regarding the card and the associated plot attached.]



There is a veritable feast crowding the streets, each food stall or cart more enticing than the last. The food steams in the autumn air, perfuming the night with the curious mixture of spun sugar and embers. One particular vendor seems to notice Ember's deliberation, and lifts their voice above the rest. They are selling rolled ice cream - creamy confections in nearly every flavor imaginable, twisted into fantastical shapes. In this case? Green tea and strawberry ice cream, arranged to resemble long stemmed roses. They garnish funnel cake 'cones.'

Sample the wares of this stall? or Move on to another?


"Care to try your luck?" The voice rises like the mist at Wren's feet, as bright and bold as the neon lights that whirl and scatter across the ground like scattered, multicolored flower petals. The speaker stands near two hastily erected wooden posts, strung with tasteful fairy lights that cast a warm, honey gold glow across the dark, slightly damp grain of the wood. A canvas tarp stretches between them on heavy ropes. 'Corn maze' is emblazoned across it in bold lettering. "There's a prize in it, if you manage to find each other again."

[Lincoln King]

He wasn't unused to the thrill of an eye, natural or otherwise. Lincoln was an endorphins junkie, he kept himself on the move for the sake of fitness and his mood, using the adrenaline and endorphins produced from his free running and scaling the cities landscape to fuel his motivation for day to day tasks. It served as distraction, it gave him purpose and direction because without it Linc might just give in to all the things he tried to pretend weren't trying to weigh him down. His doubts and fears, those old hurts he carried felt like weights chained around his ankles when he dwelled on them and made each step he took heavier. For now they felt lifted, as if someone had taken pity on him and broken the locks. The other man's touch passed a drug-like rush through his system and he felt like he could float, the sudden urge to laugh or to throw his arms around someone, to press them close and cover their skin in soft kisses of affection bubbled up inside him. Lincoln wanted to dance, he wanted to strut and sing.

Generous, he'd said. Was this a gift? Some kind of gratitude? Lincoln wasn't even worried about the implications, couldn't dwell on the what-if's.

The man had left and Lincoln stood there dumbly, grinning. He felt confident for once, genuinely confident and not the fake kind he put up as a facade, the kind everyone who met him bought into almost instantly. It spurred him on, it made him turn to follow, wanting to at least find out his name. The card was safely pocketed at the inside of his coat, a memento he'd keep hold of. Someone had noticed, and someone had given back. Where had that someone gone? Linc peered out of the tent, breathing in the cooler air, letting it fill his lungs as those clear green eyes searched the area. He was gone. It was a disappointing, but not so much that it could crush his spirit or deny his good mood. A timely rumble of his stomach reminded him of his original goal and so he let himself be lead once more delicious smells.

He found the food stalls again, spotting the redhead with the flowers in her buttonhole, finding himself walking towards her. She looked friendly, and he was in the mood to be friendly. "Hi." The tall man shot her a quick smile, "What looks good?"