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]

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.]