genessia | Event start!

Event start!

Let the Cirque du Vrai begin!

OOC: The event starts today. It affects Attleton. Players can make their own posts and have fun with it or they can reply to this post with top levels and have fun that way! Up to you! There will be a separate log posted for the Showstopper on the 29th. If you have any questions or would like to sign up for the Showstopper, please check out the event details and remember that sign-ups for the Showstopper close tonight at 11:59pm PST.

Please note that if your character tries to enter the circus without a mask and costume (cannot be something your character already owned because it's not a disguise if it's theirs), they'll be prevented from getting in one way or the other. Don't try to get around it and don't try to be like WELL NO ONE CAN STOP MY CHARACTER!! If your character goes right past them they'll find themselves in the field the next day the second they go past the gates, capiche?? No cheating it's not fun for anyone.

As the sun sets in Attleton, a strange haze seems to glow over the barrier for a few moments before in the distance, a sequence of lights flickers on. The entrance sign first, then tents and merry-go-rounds and booths and all manner of dizzying fun illuminate just as darkness falls. It doesn't take more than a few seconds for the sounds of cheers and fun to fill the Attleton air. It almost seems like it's calling to you, inviting you in. As you approach, a man on stilts greets you. He explains that the flyers that have been floating around town with the wind and on the walls were all for this, the Cirque du Vrai! Become someone else to become yourself, step right up! You don't need to buy a ticket, you just need to buy a costume.

"There's a costume shop right next to the entrance for those who aren't prepared, and a master mask maker who will create any mask you desire, or leave it up to him once he decides what he thinks suits you. If you brought your own, that's fine too! The Cirque is here for days, there's time to spare! Don't let reservations drive you to despair! You'll miss out on fun if you let your life run all over the mystery we've so prestigiously spun. Test your skills, test your wills, find your chills, thrills, and pills. Here it is, the moment you've been waiting for is just beyond the gate! Accept who you are and you'll need none to commiserate!"

The man laughs, leaving before you can ask what that means to invite another in, and the game begins. Welcome to the Cirque du Vrai. Enjoy.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

["Schoolie". Now there's something he hasn't heard in a while. He's cheered by both that and the superlative, which always rings like a compliment to him. He runs up with the hammer, plants the head in the ground, then vaults atop the shaft, bringing the head back and up around again for an earth-shattering, overhead blow.]

Edited 2017-05-08 18:11 (UTC)

[A slight bending of the knees, and Namur's ready. He wasn't kidding when he said to bring it on. Ted moves quick as a current, and that's why Namur's chosen to be a boulder, steadfast and immovable. A current will be forced to split, a wave to break, where a boulder hides submerged. As the hammer's head plummets, Namur takes a deep breath and almost leisurely lifts his hand, striking the thick metal with the heel of his palm. The force of the impact sends out a visible shockwave, and even the ground rumbles and cracks in its wake. If not shattered, the hammer's blow is at the very least blocked, and Namur crosspunches, slamming his other fist into Ted's gut.]

[The hammer breaks apart on Namur's palm, insufficient as a medium of force between these two. Once again, Namur's punch strikes true and sends Ted tumbling away. For all that, he's practiced in the art of ukemi, rolling with the punches to recover again in record time. The strange thing was how willingly he took them. No artful dodging here. What disgusted him so much about the carnival was its luxurious and incessant eagerness to please. The remedy, he figured, was taking bruises and trading blows. Surely the circus wouldn't smile upon that?

Then again, maybe it would. If his madness inclined to masochism, would it not oblige that as willingly as anything else?

He put it out of his mind. Desire, counter-desire. Who can tell? Instead, he refined and focused his will to one very simple goal: knocking the stuffing out of his opponent. No, that's too simple. Something poignant, then. In fact, why not say so? Make a drama. Pair the spectacle with a plot. He chuckled as the hammer was scattered to pieces.]

"Haha, am I to take you apart with my bare gauntlets? That's not quite civilized, but if you insist."

[He cracked his knuckles]

"I will pair justice with mercy, and offer you one chance to retreat. Refuse it, and I will knock you down and strip you of your mask and all the pretension it means. You'll suffer much abuse before I disabuse your entire notion; then you shall know terrible and trembling fear."

[He gives a hefty half second for Namur to consider before resuming the attack. Fighting Ted is like fighting a double-end bag. Each landed hit would be met immediately with a renewed rebound, swift and sure as plain physics. Each action was paid out with another reaction, equality notwithstanding.

He adopted the old adage: Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. In the case of their insane prowess, one of those chaotic butterflies rumored to stir tornadoes with the flap of their wings. Indeed, Ted endeavored to fight literal circles around Namur, darting in and out and all about him, lashing the rock with swift and multitudinous body blows from all sides. He acted as the surrounding storm, and sought to test the mettle of the eye.]

Edited 2017-05-09 03:58 (UTC)

[The thing about storms is they tend to blow over, eventually. And with the Cirque du Vrai ever so kindly returning Namur to his full strength and ability, it isn't hard for him to see where each blow will land the very moment Ted thinks to throw it. Some, Namur blocks or dodges, others he absorbs, muscles and skin hardened and black with a dull metallic sheen. He makes no unnecessary movement, conserving his energy, waiting for the moment the winds shift in his favor. Eventually, a thought strikes Namur, and it makes him laugh. Ted's appearance means he's constantly underestimated, and his fury at being crossed is, clearly, a destructive force to be reckoned with. He's idealistic, and manic, and selfish, and mixes friendship with a liberal desire to hurt or kill.]

Y'd a made a hell of a pirate, Ted.

[Treachery is the most heinous sin, according to Dante. Not that he really believed Namur was a substantial illusion; it was certainly possible. He wouldn't put it past the carnival to do something like that. But ultimately he still has faith, if only because that error is slighter than the alternative. He started--well, continued; Namur threw the first punch--their fight for one reason in pursuit of a single goal. He had no intention of fighting to exhaustion; indeed, he needed both of them to be at their peak to do the deed: the removal of the masks. It was a question of positioning; all the time he had been thinking of arm lengths, and what distance lent itself to equality. Somehow he needed Namur to act with him in perfect concert; to grasp and unmask at precisely the same time. Through physical effort alone he didn't know how to communicate that intention. He supposed he may simply have to ask.]

[He does laugh at the remark. Ted guesses it's meant to get under his skin and insinuate he's close to being the villains he'd like to foil. But he's always known that; original sin and its looming in every man's heart is practically the cornerstone of his spiritual education. And, funnily enough, considering the source, it came off like praise. Besides, fair's fair. He'd said the same kind of thing.]

"Haha, thank you, Namur. A dear compliment from you, one which I'm compelled to match: you'd make a fine believer. Alas, I neither drink nor curse with any consistency, and would never fit in to that boy's club."

[He's a man of his word; if he says he'll knock Namur down, he had better do it. He always wondered, anatomically, how his proportionally thinner bottom half held up the rest of him. Clearly someone's been skipping leg day. Statistically, most fights do wind up on the ground, in a grapple. It's a wonder how they've managed to stay on their feet so long, jump kicks and Ted's flamboyant gymnastics notwithstanding. The storm channeled its gale force into an act of disruption. He made like Karate Kid, and tried to sweep the leg. If he's successful, he'll take the opportunity to pounce on a prone Namur, and place his hands on his opponent's mask, as promised.]

Edited 2017-05-13 02:06 (UTC)

[Namur really just thought it was funny, considering how opinionated against pirates Ted tends to be, and isn't generally inclined to keep a joke to himself.]

Alas, don't really know much 'bout it other'n yer scared a dyin' an' y' think I oughta be a slave. Sounds like a shit deal t' me!

[Also excuse you he does not skip leg day! He just has very skinny legs in proportion to the rest of him. By and large, it's a trait of his world, so shut up. Jerk.

In accordance with the magic of the circus, Ted gets his wish- as a result of his dramatic sweep, Namur does, at last, become unearthed. What Ted may not have been expecting was for Namur to do so on purpose a scant fraction of a second before Ted's leg brushes past. He had felt it coming, and leapt into a full body twist that'd make a spinner dolphin envious. He lands hands-first and pauses there, his body perfectly balanced in its rotation, and grins like the devil.

He's landed on top of Ted's shoulders, mid-kick.]

[And once again, Ted finds himself spread beneath a large fish. At least he's not being sat on this time. Still, he can't shake the feeling of deja vu. Now seems as good a time as any to make himself clear.]

"We are both slaves in like manner, and both of us must die to end it. Time to put your preaching to practice; will you die for the sake of your ideals? Will you kill? If so, stay where you are and do as I do, exactly when I do it. If not, let us part ways. I will not think any less of you."

Gonna letcha in on a li'l secret. When y' tell me t' do somethin' for the sake a provin' m'self t' y', makes me wanna not do it jus' t' be an ass.

[The circus magic is strange. Namur wants to be an ass, so he feels inclined to do anything else. But he wants to fight against it, to see if he can struggle out and prevail. But that means doing what Ted asks, what Ted wants, and isn't that also what the circus wants him to do?

Shit, he can't think straight upside down.

He pushes off Ted's shoulders, landing squarely in front, hands up in a relaxed but ready stance.]

'Sides. What in the hell y' gonna tell me t' do that's gonna kill me an' get me t' kill for my ideals, huh? Been smokin' a bit a fishweed or somethin'?

[Ted doesn't think they have much time for a calm, reasonable, point-by-point explanation. What he intends is for both of them to inflict nigh-unbearable dread upon the other. He had fought and worked up adrenaline especially to push through it. It was now or never. In a way he almost prefers the mysterious approach: it relies on faith, and this is something that'll take the courage of a leap of faith. With quicksilver speed he rushes up, putting his hand an inch away from Namur's mask.]

"A mutual unmasking; we must act in concert, no matter how dreadful. Make your choice: yes or no!"

Edited 2017-05-16 05:04 (UTC)

[Initially, this idea twists Namur's gut. Hell no, he can't do that! Something terrible will happen! He might... die?

Kill Ted, who asked him to do it?

He's done worse things.

So he laughs, and reaches out to drop his palm onto Ted's helmet.]

Already told y' only one a us's scared a goin' t' hell, an' it ain't me.

[It makes him sick to have his hand out like that. To have Ted's hand so close to removing his own mask. He's going to puke! He can't breathe!

But it's all in his head. Namur takes slow, steady breaths, getting plenty of air. And if he pukes, it's because he did it on purpose, not because of some kneejerk reaction. His smile does fade, though, replaced by grim determination.]

On yer mark, then.

[Ever since Ted set foot in the circus, that same baleful feeling lodged in the back of his mind that if he ever disturbed the masquerade, it'd mean his doom. So long as he distracted himself and enjoyed the festivities, it was easy enough to ignore. Not now; not when their wills had crystallized and brought that fear to the forefront. Like the most potent terrors, its form was ambiguous and ever-shifting. He might die, or be cursed with a fate worse than death. He might follow in Pandora's footsteps, and unleash countless calamities on the world. The world itself might end. Every shade of fear suggested itself and roiled in his brain.

That fear proved overwhelming in his past attempts to unmask on his own. And after all, was it really necessary? Why provoke an unknown fate when one could simply leave? Wasn't this desire to spit in the circus' face a little excessive? Why such defiance? Why this senseless revolt?

Numinous horror and his own second-guessing foiled every attempt. He needed to gather every psychological and spiritual advantage he could if he wanted to overcome. The frenzy of their fight still filled his veins with fire to combat that chilling dread. Now that Namur was here, a sort of suicide pact had been formed, and it would've been shameful to back out after all that dramatic protest.

But more than the stick of disgrace were the noble carrots. Something about this fateful deed was bringing out better things. He'd never felt Namur trusted him all that much. Now, even though Ted had seemingly lost his mind and fought just as madly, Namur was willing to risk everything on this gamble, seemingly just because Ted asked, or dared.

Yet the mutuality helped most of all. Something liked it lied at the heart of Christendom. Bearing one another's burdens. It's always easier to shoulder a burden that isn't yours. What he couldn't do for himself he could, perhaps, do for a friend. Even at his lowest, he couldn't betray that trust. He felt bound by an oath; a bond stronger than any the carnival could make. Besides, what threat could an illusory, phantasmal place really mean?

He took and breath, then broke into a smile. If he's going to die, why wear any other expression?]

"All right. On the count of three. One...two...three!"

[The dread rose to a crescendo as he gripped Namur's mask. He pulled.]

Edited 2017-05-18 04:12 (UTC)

[Some of Namur's grimness is due to concentration. That is quite a getup Ted has on, and Namur thinks if he just grabs and yanks he might also wrench Ted's head off his shoulders even without some strange curse. Instead, he focuses on the metal, the strange unconscious Will it has to remain shaped and solid, the way whoever smithed it intended for it to be. He squeezes the faceplate, putting his own haki into the pressure, until precisely on the count of three, the thing shatters like opaque glass in his hand, and falls away. A few pieces remain in the palm of his hand, caught there as his fingers closed in to a fist once there was no longer resistance keeping them open, and he grinds them into dust that he lets stream out the bottom of his fist and blow away, as ephemeral as the circus itself, it looks like.

Namur blinks at the empty lot. That isn't as disturbing to him as it once might have been. CERES had been fond of the sudden change in scenery routine. But the lack of people milling about, lost in the illusion- that does startle him a little. Had they all been fake the entire time? That's some damn strong magic, then, because he'd tasted them and felt their Wills plenty while moving around.

But Ted is still there.

Namur snorts and half grins, offhandedly shoving Ted in the gut just to make him move; a friendly gesture, if one can look past the violence.]

Knew y'd jump at the chance t' try an' off me if y' had it. Now we made it clear it goes both ways.

[He winks, and turns toward the gate to Genessia, somewhere off in the distance.]

Looks like for the most part, folk's gotta get theirselves out on their own. We broke the shitty spell, an' I doubt whatever cast it's gonna be too pleased if we ask 'em t' try fixin' it up 'gain jus' so we can go in an' break it more. Doin' okay over there?

[And it was such a nice costume, too. For one horrible second, he seethed with fear, then all was calm. The jarring change of scenery stunned him into silence. He scarcely breathed until Namur jostled him out of his stupor. Bells jingled as he went to the ground.

Even then, Namur's mask absent-mindedly in hand, he still looked dazed. So much happened in so little time, and Namur was saying things he hardly heard. He was talking of...the future? Ted hadn't processed their present. It was as if they occupied two different streams of time. He needed some moments to get to grips with reality, smell the flowers, and realize the enormity of what transpired.

He got up and put his arms forward, feeling for something. Perhaps the carnival simply went invisible, and he'd bump into a tent or stall. Maybe, if he listened closely, he'd hear a faint scream of delight or the sound of a roller coaster. But nothing. No sense received anything but the ordinary sounds of a decent spring evening. Once he'd satisfied himself that the carnival was no more, he sat down, and started to chuckle.]

"Ahaha...we've done it. We've won. Ahaha-ah! Ah..."

[Now that the trouble was finally at an end, the bruises and beatings he'd suffered were reasserting themselves. It hurt to laugh, yet he continued to make small noises of humored contentment. If every rib he had was broken, he doubted he could help it.

Gradually, irresistibly, his heart swelled with love and gratitude. Victory! He pulled out the tooth Namur had given, and was gladdened again to see it still there. He turned it in his fingers, admiring the symbolism. A base red with blood, then shining, sharp white rising so much higher. A little bit of pain, then ascendant glory. What a perfect parallel to their finite trial and seemingly infinite fortune!

He loved the crisp and clean air filling his nostrils and tussling his now exposed hair. He loved the intermittent sounds of birds and insects; that rhythm of silence and music instead of the carnival's constant noise. He loved the plain and featureless ground they enjoyed, which seemed like smooth skin after looking so long at a cancerous tumor. To think, in a more prosaic state of mind, he'd have dared to call this place dull! Now he knew it for utmost tranquility after riotous chaos. He could even love the papers and trash drifting throughout, as little reminders of the foe they vanquished. Without that visor, his eyes were well and truly open. He even remembered to love God--always near the end--for showing all this to him, and leading him back to the truth.

Last but not least, he loved Namur, the instrument of his salvation, however clumsily wielded. The poetry of that finally broke his silent reverie. He spoke out of a deep and almost trembling joy.]

"We happy anarchists, who broke the only law in a lawless land, and won freedom thereby. Who loved each other and truth so severely, we'd take fighting by torments than flying by peace. We are dead to the masquerade, and it to us."

[He turned towards Namur, so fiercely happy he was on the verge of tears.]

"It's so obvious I nearly missed it. Suffering in hell with iron in my soul, who should restore liberty but the self-styled abolitionist himself?"

[His smile grew deeper as he got to his feet, laying Namur's mask down.]

"You speak too well. The spell is indeed broken, and aren't you just the one to break it? Now, perhaps, I can speak your name without reservation. It is good to see your full face, Magician. I think I will kiss it."

[Without further ado, he rushed to tackle Namur and plant one on his cheek.]

Edited 2017-05-19 01:35 (UTC)

[Namur, for his part, can only blink in bewilderment, and then roll his eyes. He hardly budges when Ted crashes into him, but he's not as rough as he might have been when he elbows Ted off him.]

Aw, shit. Knew y' was gonna try kissin' me sooner or later.

[AND HE'S DEFINITELY NOT BLUSHING SHUT UP.]

Why the hell y' callin' me a magician? Only ever learned para-magic, or how t' use enchanted shit designed t' work for any ol' dumbass with half a mind t' make somethin' happen. An' the para-magic don't even work since I lost the Guardians in the jump from Tellus. 'S jus' a bigass enchantment spell, an' we wormed our way out. Big whoop. Don't take a magician t' do that.

[All that passion had to go somewhere, though flustering Namur was another good reason for it. He laughed in response.]

"Haha. I'd exhort not to be vulgar, but I know 'twould be in vain. Do you always bandy compliments so humbly?"

[Ted got a firsthand experience of what it's like to listen to himself as he vaguely followed along with Namur's rambling. So many proper nouns, so little time.]

"Hah, well if you like that, why do you call me 'schoolie'? After all, I have no gills or fins, and swim only on occasion. Goodness, one might suppose they're figurative! But then, I suppose you aren't used to them; your own christenings are comic and usually mean less than their host; mine mean more. Something to grow into."

Y'... want me t' be a magician?

[He scratches the back of his head, entire face screwed up in bewilderment.]

In one world I lived in, 's only women can do that. In 'nother, y' gotta be able t' sing good. An' do complicated shit like rip people's beatin' hearts out their chests without spillin' blood, an' shit like that. Like we caught that damn necromancer doin' t' the pups. Thought y' hated that kinda shit.

[It's a good thing Ted's in such high spirits, else reminding him of a top contender for worst day of his life would've surely sunk his spirits.]

"Yes, and no. Goodness, Namur! Figurative! Metaphorcial! Ectype and archtype! You call me 'schoolie' not for any aquatic attributes, but because I presumably go mad when without the fellow-minded. Very well. How about Magicians, then? Have you never been to one of their entertaining shows? What do they do?"

[He wastes no time answering his own rhetorical question, since he knows Namur doesn't appreciate the Socratic method.]

Have you ever seen one pull a rabbit out of a hat? Taken on its face, that's nothing short of spontaneous generation. Something out of nothing; creation before the void. Very well; that carnival was nothing. We can see clearly that it was all smoke and mirrors. And this!

[He raps on the ground.]

This is something. Haha, you see the trick! It's a very good one; you have my eternal gratitude for it.

Oh, speaking of eternity, Magicians mean that too. Here.

[He reached out to poke Namur's neck.]

There's the symbol of eternity right there; you see how the line keeps going without end? Well, yours is a little fractured. Suppose you don't mean all of it, just yet. On your own you never will. But it's a handsomely good start!

I also recall one account of how you kept dying over and over, and kept coming back. Another magician's trick! You always seem to be popping up again like a whack-a-mole. One wonders if the universe will ever see the end of you. And didn't the unmasking feel like a kind of death? Yet here we are. Eternity marches on.

[Namur leans his head to the side when Ted goes to poke him, then rubs his hand over the tattoo thoughtfully. It used to be for his Division- and still is, in spite of its modifications. But now it also stands for two worlds coming together. Marco asked him to be the bridge if they ever found any of their brothers, with one foot still firmly planted on the rail of the Whitebeard Pirates, and the other on the rail of the Phoenix Pirates. One age gone, burnt and bullet-scarred by both the enemy they knew to hate, and the enemy they loved as one of their own; one age new and uncertain, taking flight in the midst of a terrible squall that separated them all through the cosmos. That's what it means. Something impermanent redefining itself and finding new strength. A new cycle of Life, rolling forward, multiplying even as it rushes toward another death, where someone new will lift their banner, and bridge the space between what was and what will be, forever.

Shit, Ted might be on to something.

Namur doesn't even know what that something might be, but he immediately wants to run from it. But if that means running from the promise he'd already made...

Hell no.

Whatever Ted's on about, he'll either live up to it, or he won't. If Ted wants to see something more in him, that's on Ted. And while it does kind of make Namur happy inside, there's a pang of darkness that strikes through any true joy. Of all sixteen hundred of his damn brothers, why is Teach the one Ted has to remind him of the most?

He huffs out a breath through his nose, and part grabs Ted by the head to turn him, part smacks him.]

Heat's gettin' t' y' under all that armor. Let's go find some water, an' somewhere t' dump this ridiculous shit we're wearin', huh?

[It must be because this Teach person is so handsome, intelligent, well-spoken, and moral. What other explanation could there be?

Namur seemed to reflect on the christening a little too long for the slapstick to convince Ted of a complete dismissal. His hand shot to his head.]

"Ah, ow! Hey! Haha."

[Hitting his head went out of his mind as he lightly took abuse. Still, he wondered whether Namur liked the name. It had advantages over the original in that it definitely meant something. Though, owing to Ted's optimism, obliviousness, or both, he had only shared the sunny side. It was the better and therefore the fuller meaning, but there was another which, hinting slightly at the periphery of Ted's mind, suggested itself.

The Magician could be a fraud.

A highly entertaining performer who, much like the circus, makes everyone smile just until the curtains close. One whose act was pleasing because it looked so genuine. How did he do that? What's the trick?

Such a question betrayed: it is a trick. There is no magic, and once the show's over, everything goes on the way it did before. The marvelous and the miraculous is but a disguised mundane. One brilliant farce of life, then back to death.

Ted didn't dwell on that darkness much. There was something extremely poetic about Namur's actions today. They were miraculous because they restored the mundane from demonic marvels; almost the opposite of a Magician. Like a drowning man, head swimming with mania being brought back, spluttering, to a sane shore. An easy rescue for a fishman, no doubt. Magicians always did make things look easy.

Ted wanted Namur to be that kind. Someone who really meant utmost life. But then, "All that is not God is death." He wanted Namur to really mean liberty, but "everyone who sins is a slave of sin". Would he be true Magician, or an entertaining transient? As always, hope constituted his chief happiness, and its disappointment his chief misery, and it was so trying to be patient and wait for either.

Ted's spacing out again; another thump on the head might be necessary.]

"Oh! Um, yes. One moment; you said people were left to their own devices in there. I wonder about that; perhaps there's a little more spell-breaking one can do. Just, ah, look the other way for a while."

[With a groan and ring of bells, Ted stood up and went a few steps away. He was inspired to silent prayer, for the fate of both Namur and the ones still in the carnival's clutches. The latter is a new petition, and the former a very, very old repetition. Like Jacob, Ted wrestled with God because He's a strange deity who, apparently, likes it when you ask unceasingly. If he had ever made a count of the request, he's sure he would have lost it. Maybe the thousandth time's the charm? He was grateful for his liberation. Might the Lord be kind enough to extend that mercy to the others? He was pleased Namur had shown a divine spark. Might He immortalize that into an eternal flame?

It would be such a heartbreaking waste for Namur to die.

After a minute or two, Ted returned and retrieved Namur's mask from the ground, dusting it off.]

"Goodness, we may have done too well. But then, suppose it'd be treacherous to want privacy after wanting the other thing so much more. May I keep your mask anyway? As a souvenir. In addition to those future six teeth, of course."

Edited 2017-05-30 05:17 (UTC)

[Namur watched a few moments, fingers still tracing over the lines of his tattoo, as Ted knelt to pray. It was such a quiet gesture, especially for Ted, and Namur wasn't sure what to think of it. Maybe there was more to Ted's beliefs than bluster and self-righteousness. So Namur leaves him to it. He'd asked for a bit of privacy after all, and honestly it's boring as hell just looking at a kelpy dude hunched over, talking to a god that may or may not actually hear him in this entirely different dimension of existence. But faithful people come from all walks of life, and he's dealt with plenty of pious pirates. It seems they usually randomly need a few minutes here and there and then they're right back in the thick of it, so it's no skin off of his fin to find something else to do.

Too bad the place is so completely deserted. There's nothing to look at, nothing to listen to, nothing to taste. But he can feel that his body has weakened again, now that the effects of the circus have worn off. So what the hell? He'll join Ted there on the ground, but instead of praying, Namur does pushups. He hops to his feet as Ted rises, and shrugs indifferently with regards to the mask.]

Don't matter t' me, but the teeth's gonna take a bit a time. Usually don't notice when I shed 'em so I might skip a few 'fore I 'member t' pull 'em 'gain. Better not be doin' nothin' weird with 'em, though, or I'll whoop yer ass as far out t' sea as we can go, then I'll drag y' under 'til y' pop like a shitty balloon, got it?

[When Ted opens his eyes, he's a little disappointed to not see any others appear. He'd have loved to greet them as fellow escapees. Seems they were alone in their liberty. It wouldn't be the first time he wished for speedier answers to prayer. Yet God was not uncharitable, and replaced one expected pleasure for another. When he caught Namur finishing his exercise, he burst into laughter.

The Magician. The one who symbolized Divine Unity, with one hand pointing up and another down. It was the kind of comedy that comes from seeing something so obvious, so boldly and plainly stereotypical, you'd swear it was too on the nose if it weren't so genuine. He laughed so hard it hurt; his bruises might have something to do with that.]

"Ahahaha! Ah...really, Namur, I'm glad you're taking such a shine to it, but you needn't aspire all that fast. Goodness, there I was, appealing to Heaven, only to find you pressing your face into the ground. 'As above, so below'. The unity and analogy of the Magician. So infectious you've got me meaning it! I'm stirred to jealousy."

[Symbolism so rich and fecund he couldn't help himself. Contented, he puts the mask into his bag as he peals out the last of his laughter, wiping away a tear.]

"Will I ever know why you think I'm the perverted one? That shoe fits finned feet better."

[He couldn't help but wonder what "weird" things Namur had in mind. The strangest--or most romantic--thing Ted could think was somehow forging them into a blade, an idea that charmed him from inception. If Namur really is a Magician, they're bound to have enchanted properties. Then again, he is getting the discarded ones. Had they lost their sharpness? He removed a gauntlet, produced the tooth, then idly tapped the tip with his finger to see if it could draw blood.]

"Well, I'll be looking forward to the rest. Thank you, Namur..."

[Ted paused, contemplating just how fortunate he is to have such a strange friend. Weren't pirates the type to plunder riches, not dole them out? If he was more mountebank than Magician, Ted didn't feel swindled. He hopes he can return it with the one gift that puts the rest to shame. He finishes with a slightly more profound tone, limned with deep joy.]

"...for everything."

[Namur frowns, knowing that yet again he'll probably never understand what Ted is going on about. At least the gratitude is legit, he can smell that much.]

Uh.

[He's not even really sure what he did! But what the hell, this one's easy enough to play off. Namur shrugs casually. Whatever it was, no big deal. Does it every day! Or something.]

No problem! Any time, man. Now let's get outta here, gettin' bored as hell.

By all means.

[He stood, stretched, then walked with Namur wherever he wished to go, feeling their procession very lovely, almost sublime. The Fool and the Magician; canvas and paint. The void and the creative power that went right along with it.

The carnival was an arrant nightmare, and now it was no more. Ted had moved to the blank canvas in the empty fairgrounds, and loved them for their silence after noise. Now he or they were moving again, but this time into something more material: music. After the nightmare came the plain waking, and then the sweet dream. From Hell to Purgatory to Heaven, all in the space of an hour. Such a swift movement!

But not just any movement; Ted felt that, somehow, he had always known Namur, or someone very much like him. As though they had destroyed their respective masks not out of hatred for masks, but so that they could wear the right ones. Taken up into a pattern; some cosmic dance that had always been going on and would always go on, forever and ever. Ted lost himself in that dreamy dance, straddling the strange and the familiar. New actors for an old play; indeed, something so strikingly new because it was so anciently, magically old. Novelty married nostalgia, and both embellished the other.

A subsuming, omnipotent romance that worked backward and wrought good from evil. He could forgive, even celebrate the misery of the last masquerade for providing the supreme pleasure of this one. "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players." Merely? Extremely. Who could ask for a better part? Such a wonderful play was before them, and Ted almost knew it. So absorbed in the part, Ted lost track of nearly everything. His only regret is that, like all good things, it must end. A dream that only sleeping could finish.

But for now, at least, pure and innocent enjoyment could be had. Ted hardly had the capacity to do anything more than bear that crushing happiness.]

Edited 2017-06-11 16:22 (UTC)

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