PUBLIC CHANNEL - DAY 157

[whattaprick]

Nightrider Lambert here. In case you haven't heard by now: the things on Kerner Island eat settled daemons. So find somewhere else to take a daytrip. If you go anyway, do me a favor and keep your radio on you. That way we can all hear what it sounds like when a soul gets eaten.

[ He's about to leave it on that cheerfully sarcastic note, but then the faint sound of a female voice chimes in, scolding. For those who've met her, they'll recognize it as Lambert's daemon, the golden-eyed polecat that wears a hawk's shape outside the carnival. ]

Lambert! You didn't have to say it like that!

[ It doesn't seem to shame him one bit, though, since Lambert's going to keep right on talking: ]

For those of you whose daemon hasn't settled yet, that doesn't mean you get to be an idiot about going out there. Slipping and breaking your neck would be a stupid way to die. That said, if you're interested in doing some nightrunner work--

Come find us! [ The daemon interrupts again, louder this time, and there's a brief sound of a scuffle before her voice finally comes through loud and clear. Now it's Lambert who sounds more distant (and distinctly annoyed), though she talks right over him. ] We've got a map and other things you can use!

[ ooc: Lambert and his daemon will both be replying to his post (and probably fighting over the radio button, honestly). For ease of clarity, her responses will be in italics! ]

Comments

[whattaprick]

[ Ugh. His daemon can fly, too ... but the issue is, it's not too far. ]

So you're thinking of having it stay up there like ... what, a kite?

[chronosynthesis]

With less string. [But basically, yes.] I'm sure it knows not to get itself killed.

[Just talking about his daemon like it isn't even here, because that's coping.]

[whattaprick]

[ Someone who isn't immediately all cuddles with their soul torn out of their body? Now that's a new one. ]

You should hope so.

[chronosynthesis]

[Syrlya is about to respond with some sort of acknowledgement and farewell--but it's cut off with the sound of beating wings and what becomes distant hollering from Syrlya.

The radio clatters against something solid for a moment before it stops and a lower voice comes through instead.]

Don't worry. I don't have a death wish.

[whattaprick]

[ And surprising no one, it's Lambert's daemon that pipes up in return, apparently super pleased to hear another daemon giving their human shit-- ]

Good! I don't think we'd like losing another nightrunner over something stupid like getting themselves eaten.

[chronosynthesis]

Another? What did the first-- [This time it's the owl squawking indignantly as Syrlya tries to shove it away.]

Stupid bird--speak up without grabbing it!

[A pause.] I have no intention of adding to our mortality numbers... but I hope given our numbers they are not high to begin with.

[whattaprick]

Surprisingly, we haven't had any casualties yet. Though people have left before.

The last Nightrider got turned into a vampire and decided to start her own army. Or something like that.

[chronosynthesis]

She... hm. [That's not what he expected to hear.] I suppose that is where you stepped in?

[whattaprick]

Not immediately after, but yeah. I'd only been in the Carnival for a few weeks when the Ringmaster asked me if I'd take up the job.

[ Does that sound bad? Prrrobably. ]

[chronosynthesis]

[Syrlya went through a similarly sudden rise of power, so he can't say much there. Hopefully Lambert's up to the task--it's probably less arduous than an actual army.]

Do you care for it? Being the Nightrider.

[whattaprick]

What's not to like? I've got my own trailer and I don't have to stand hip-deep in mud waiting for monsters to come out ... most of the time.

[ Low standards, thy name is Lambert. ]