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]

Those wings aren't just for show, you know. She may not look like it, but she can fight and kill.

[ Excitable is the very least of it. In Julien's position, Lambert can't honestly say he would have gone to Carly for help either, but there's no point in continuing to beat a very dead horse. He pokes her in the side, idly, and she turns towards the witcher, taking a moment to read his expression before glancing back at Julien. ]

Others got caught at the ball. You saw. [ Rita, Susan, Yugo, and Gon. Though some of those would fight hard against being classified as children, no doubt. It's not that Celandine or Lambert has a particular issue with children getting trouble of their own volition, but ... well. It's a matter of professional pride, in some ways. ]

Have you talked to Sans since then?

[espigeon]

[Julien's not going to argue, but coming in 'fighting and killing' would have been probably the worst possible response in that situation, even worse than ducking in to see. He just nods, tired.]

I saw. [That they were involved doesn't feel like it's as much his fault as the first few people. He's not clear on everything that went down, of course, and if he was he wouldn't feel that Rita's capture had much to do with him at all. Still there'd been a snowball effect and he'd been up there near the start.] And I'm sorry for that, too. I'm just glad they didn't have to be in the underbelly.

[There's that. Only Julien experienced that one particular chain of horror - the underbelly and all that went with it, servitude, transformation, death. Sans had it worse, but this was still bad. All the kids who were involved only experienced one of the two worst parts.]

Not since the ball. He was pretty pissed - and yeah, that's a legit reaction. I haven't seen him around since, but I haven't been looking. [Julien's barely ever talked to Sans. In Portland, briefly in the underbelly, during the ball. He doesn't know how the Warden works at all.]

[whattaprick]

Don't be sorry. Be better. [ Celandine huffs. Nonetheless, Lambert of all people isn't the person to deliver this lecture. So far as he can tell, Julien's already reaped what he sowed, and if Sans is holding any sort of grudge -- unlikely, given the skeleton's personality, but who really knows -- or actually wants to see Julien, he doesn't have a doubt the Warden can find him easily enough. Not Lambert's business.

Having said as much as he cares to on the matter -- and singularly uninterested in further discussion of what Julien is and isn't sorry for or dwelling on ifs -- he shrugs as best as he can lying back as he is, shutting his eyes and running his fingers absently through Celandine's patchy fur while she settles down. ]

Not exactly what you signed up for, is it?

[espigeon]

If I can.

[No one can tell him anything he hasn't told himself. He can take it.

If the grilling is over for now, though, he's going to sit heavily on an unoccupied bed and rub the bridge of his nose, while his palps move to press his forehead above his eyebrows. Julien smiles, lopsided.]

Getting turned into things and dying but surviving it? That's, uh, I've already turned into a bird and learned how to spread myself out, I knew it could happen. If you ever need a warm body to get killed, I've got a spare and I can make more, it's fine.

[It's not fine, but he's good at acting like it's otherwise, and in any case, better him than most people.]

But that did absolutely suck. Fucking Fae royals. What was he the prince of anyway? Slavery? Burning cat shit?