B1, Day 2 [public channel]

[whattaprick]

[ There are a lot of things people need to do right now: help the Prince's servants get resettled, get started on figuring out who can work on a cure for the petrification, deal with the trauma of dying in a hopefully healthy and non-self-destructive way, show the new people the ropes of what the Carnival has to work with.

Instead, in the morning of the second day since the Prince was defeated, anyone on the radio gets this: ]

So, I've been wondering.

[ The Nightrider's voice, for those who recognize it, has definitely been better. It's a low, hoarse rasp, and the pause at the end is not just for effect, but to actually catch his breath. ]

Just how old is everyone here, anyway? Here, I'll start. I'm ... pretty sure I'm almost sixty. [ A beat. ] ... Maybe.

[ Why did anyone let this man have his radio back again? ]

[ ooc; Lambert's flat on his back in the medical tent for this, feel free to bug him in person and threadjack each other at will. ]

Comments

[whattaprick]

I'm making sure he is. [ Celandine answers, helpfully. At the question, though, she has to mull it over... ]

Here in the Carnival, or back home?

[stillwinningthehardway]

Good. You tell me if you need that block reinforced, too. [To herself:] I don't think there are long term consequences.

Both, I guess? I was raised on three hundred sixty eight days to a year.

[whattaprick]

That's about the same, for us. Here, I don't know. Maybe the Ringmaster could tell you.

[ And there's quiet, for a few moments, because it's a point where they have to decide if Lambert says it, or if Celandine must. In the end, it's Lambert who says quietly: ]

I want you to take it off.

[stillwinningthehardway]

I heard it once, I remember my contract didn't take quite as long last time as I expected. It's pretty close though. Either way I'm probably eighteen by now.

[She makes a little hmm noise.]

You sure? Is it the cold? [Scout's control of nerves is imprecise, so the pain might be gone but there's often some weird sensation of temperature or tingling, something somewhat unpleasant.]

[whattaprick]

[ It's not something Lambert or Celandine cares to explain over the radio, at least not in so many words. He was trapped in a wall. Unlike other people, it was with the awareness that a fair amount of him was stone, meaning he couldn't feel it. The ache in his body was his only reassurance he had that he wasn't, gradually, turning completely into stone. The tingling feels too much like that. ]

I'm sure. [ Is all he says, finally, unwilling to say more. Celandine picks up the thread. ]

Happy birthday, then. Maybe everyone who thinks they had a birthday should just decide a day and do something together.

[stillwinningthehardway]

Well, all right. In an hour or so, then, unless it's urgent. I know Zecora left some medicines for pain, too, if you're not just playing tough.

[they might even have narcotic effects, won't that be fun.]

Thanks...? I guess that could be fun? [If she was a proper Padawan with a Master she'd expect something, if she was still an unchosen apprentice something else. Scout's in limbo, and a date is just a date.] It doesn't have to be a big deal for me. Maybe an indulgent meal.

[whattaprick]

It's not urgent. The next time you come by is fine.

Food's always nice. [ With a touch of longing. Guess what, it's hard to eat with a sore throat. ]

[stillwinningthehardway]

All right.

[There's a pause, and only audible to people with dæmons, Tràkata's soft, low voice making a suggestion.]

Chew something with flavor when he's swallowing.

[whattaprick]

[ Oh hey, it's Trakata! Oblivious to knowing she and Lambert and anyone else with their daemon out are the only ones who can hear, Celandine is just going to prattle on: ]

Will that really work?

[stillwinningthehardway]

Perhaps. How much sensation do you share? Regardless, you can eat, even if it doesn't do you any good.

[And, disgruntled:]

I can't.

[whattaprick]

Only a little. [ Mostly it comes to touch and emotion, feeling each other's distress and joys as close as if they were their own. ]

I'll eat. He can remember that when I go back again.

Why can't you?

[stillwinningthehardway]

Good.

[A dæmon can eat enough to start feeling unwell, their bodies aren't built to process food, but Scout elects not to say so.]

Scout's not very good at the spell for keeping me here.

[You can hear her snort.]

[whattaprick]

I guess she doesn't get much time to practice.

[ This isn't going to make any sense to anyone who can't hear the daemon, like only hearing half of a conversation... ]

[stillwinningthehardway]

[A restrained sigh.]

She likes that when I am here most people can't discover anything about her through me. I know you've seen that she can't bluff.

I can bluff. What do you call that whole thing with the spaceport and the Reasonable Doubt? Or getting those Feds to chase Ventress's ship?

Relying on Whie to mind trick people? We were barely even acting.

[yeah this is just going to sound like nonsense spaced out with pauses.]

[whattaprick]

You can't bluff. [ Celandine and Lambert agree in unison, though in Lambert's case it's mostly to give Scout shit and in Celandine's case it's because she's agreeing whole heartedly with the other daemon. ]

Hiding you is pretty sneaky for her, though. Well, since I can still talk to you, I don't mind.

[stillwinningthehardway]

Aaaaugh! [Scout huffs.] All of you are so wrong! I can bluff when it's important enough. Kyrimorut!

Keeping your head down and not arguing with dangerous idiots isn't bluffing. It's cowardice.

[Scout makes a derisive noise and there's a clatter as the radio's turned off so she can argue with herself by herself.]