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]

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?