whattaprick | IC CONTACT for lostcarnival

[ Lambert pauses, hesitating, then gives Strange a sly look. ]

You can see magic like Rita can, right? You're going to have to look at me when I change.

[ ......why him. Why this.

Strange sighs, and looks slightly irritated and resigned as he does so. ]

In that case, change again. I'll- [ SIIIIIIGH ] -take a good look at the magic.

[ Lambert doesn't bother to hide the snicker. ]

Calm down, seeing my dick isn't going to burn your eyes out.

[ Why is Strange such a prude anyway, he's seen Lambert naked, like, a lot. So much. Lambert naked and variously dry, wet, bloody, muddy, and even dead; the prudishness now seems wildly misplaced, but anyway... time for things to suck again. ]

I'll keep the blanket on to spare you. No promises on the change back, though.

[ Celandine scampers off to the side, Lambert takes a breath -- and shifts, again. It isn't as instantaneous this time, the magic taking more of an effort somehow, a weight of possibility in the air that hangs for a long moment before it expands outward. It's unmistakably fae magic, and it's all colored in the pale gold of Lambert's soul, threading through the spell as it reweaves his body and consciousness in the blink of an eye. Then the dragon's standing in front of Strange again, and Lambert exhales, softly. ]

[ It's not being a prude if you don't want to see your buddy naked! It's common sense!

Still, Strange watches, staring at Lambert rather intently as he shifts from human to dragon. The magic is beautiful (but then again, Strange feels most magic is) and, thankfully for him, intensely easy to piece out. ]

The magic is obviously yours. But it's so overwhelmingly fae. Perhaps if you found a way to make it less fae and more Lambert then the spell would come easier to you. [ There's a pause, before, ] Your magic is a pale yellow, by the way. People's magic occasionally shows up as a different color.

[ Lambert sighs. Because he's a dragon, it comes out as a rather alarmingly vivid plume of flame, the blanket still draped awkwardly over his back. ]

Considering the spell's from the Ringmaster, no shit it's fae. [ What does 'more Lambert' even mean, as far as magic's concerned? It's not like Lambert knows what that means!

Celandine, in her little cape still, pipes up -- her eyes the same vivid color as the magic Strange just saw... ]

Like Lambert's fae marks, you mean?

[ Oh. Celandine's right. It takes the daemon's words for Strange to put together some of the points. It helps that considering how damn naked Lambert is, Strange got a good view of those fae marks just a few moments ago. ]

They're exactly the same color of Lambert's fae marks. And your eyes as well—you can hop on my shoulder if you want, by the way. [ Tiny little polecat in the snow! Might as well offer just to see if Celandine doesn't want to get her tiny little paws wet.

The question of what Strange means by 'more Lambert' is temporarily ignored as he thinks about the implications of the fact that each person's magic seems to be entirely color-coded. ]

[ Tiny polecat pretty deep in the snow, yeah, on account of being tiny. She hesitates a little, remembering the last time he touched her, but Strange is wearing some pretty thick clothing right now, and nobody's drunk, so it should probably be all right. She'll take Strange up on the offer, scrambling up his leg and clothes to perch at a higher vantage point. ]

It wasn't always that color. [ She volunteers, entirely unsolicited. ] The Ringmaster said it must have changed because of Portland.

[ Lambert hisses softly, breath steaming the air in front of him. Chatterbox of a soul. He blames Strange blabbing about souls for that being a topic back at the front of his mind, for all he'd shoved that down and forgotten before. ]

Edited 2018-01-12 05:08 (UTC)

[ See, this is why Strange adores Celandine and makes her tiny capes. Because surprising no one, given Strange's history of bad decisions without having all the information, he's a nosy bastard who loves having all the information at hand. ]

Thank you, Celandine, [ he says, nodding slightly, before turning back to look at Lambert. Well, well. Looks like Childermass and Steven aren't the only ones who's souls got shifted around. ]

It seems Portland changed us all more than we realize. [ Lambert's soul color shifted. Childermass seemed more of a court changeling than the rest. And Strange could view magic now, more surely and definitively than he could ever have dreamed of. But what the hell, if anything, did all of those mean? ] I can only wonder what, if anything, will change us all so drastically next.

[ Don't forget about the coffee making and the bike riding, Strange. Slearly those are the most important carryovers from Portland -- even if Lambert himself isn't exactly aware of them yet. ]

You wonder? Doesn't it bother you?

[ Lambert asks that directly, cocking his great reptilian head, instead of letting Celandine ask it for him, just a touch of weary cynicism in his voice. ]

I get the feeling these changes aren't going to fade.

And so what if they don't? [ Strange muses, with a little frown. ] We managed to leave Portland and leave it alive. The fact that we could do so at all is a miracle unto itself.

[ With like four different factions playing keep-away with four different people, one necklace, and one spirit, the fact that everybody managed to get out in (relatively) one piece is a bit of a surprise. ]

I don't mind my magic shifting or becoming more of a changeling myself as long as it helps keep me safe.

We don't mind the changes as much as we mind not having a choice. [ Celandine's voice is soft, for Strange's ears alone, but the flick of an ear and Lambert tossing his head and looking away suggests he can hear anyway. Nonetheless, she'll keep up the pretense of privacy as she continues -- ]

If Lambert had known what would happen ... [ She pauses. ] It wouldn't have changed much, I suppose. It was the only way he could think of to help.

Edited 2018-01-12 17:10 (UTC)

A valid point, [ Strange can't help but concede. And really, that's probably a lot of people's problems with the changes. Not that it happened to begin with, but the lack of choice in the matter. ]

I appreciate what you did, by the way, [ Strange murmurs, knowing full well that as soon as Lambert calls Celandine back, he'll know what he said. ] I might not have seen what happened when you were possessed but you helped save Childermass and get us home.

[ Its a good thing polecats can't blush, but Celandine sounds embarrassed anyway. ]

We didn't do that much. It was mostly lucky Yuya was there.

[ Lambert sighs, a great puff of steam rising from his mouth. ]

Seen what you needed to see? I'm changing back now.

You did more than most people did, [ Strange muses. More than he did, at least.

Strange nods at Lambert's question. He watches Lambert change back with as much intensity as he did before, though Strange starts talking in the middle of it. ]

I've a theory. We already know that different worlds and realms have different types of magic. I could never summon a daemon in England, for example, just as nothing in your world could perform some of the magic we've seen the fae use. And yet, due to our travels between worlds, we're able to pick up on that magic and replicate those spells in places where they normally couldn't be cast. But as long as you simply replicate it, it will never be yours and you'll never fully push past the boundaries you've been given.

[ He's not doing that good a job explaining it. Strange frowns for a moment, thinking it over, before he plows into a question. ]

This might help. How much do you know about music?

[ As the dragon's form collapses and dissipates, like a thread coming unraveled, it leaves Lambert back in the blanket again, teeth gritting against the cold against his feet. Unfortunately, that question earns Strange a bit of a blank look. Yeah, most of what he just said went riiight over his head. ]

What's music got to do with magic?

[ Yeah, Strange had a feeling it did. Hopefully this analogy will make it better (though he has a feeling it's only going to cause Lambert to give him all the more questions). ]

Music's written note for note, tone for tone. [ And Strange hums a few bars of some sort of old folk song. He hums them in a very measured fashion, like he's reading the notes directly off a sheet of paper. Thankfully, he stays on key, but it's obvious just from the humming that Strange isn't going to win any awards for his singing. ] But nobody performs music like that. You put yourself in the song and change it up a bit. [ And so, Strange hums the same few bars again, but the tempo's changed a little, a few of the notes are longer and shorter, it's Strange having a bit more fun with the piece and humming it like people might actually sing it. ]

That's what you need to do with your magic. It seems a bit too straightforward. I know you'll say that witchers aren't meant for this or whatever excuse you've used before, but at least try to explore it a little.

[ Yeah, Lambert's going to give Strange a long look for that analogy, because frankly, he can't carry a tune himself (or so he's told, he can't tell) and so it's largely lost on him. Still, he recognizes that Strange is trying to help how he can; it's just hard to explain his limitations to Strange, who assumes so easily that magic should come to everyone like it does to him. ]

It's not an excuse. [ He snaps testily, almost a snarl, while Celandine puffs up a little in distress on Strange's shoulder. ] It's a fact, one I grew up being reminded of every day we trained, that every bit of magic a witcher could scrape together a real sorcerer could do better. That the signs we use barely count as spells at all, and that copying what we were taught is the best we'd ever be able to manage. So no, I don't know where to begin to explore magic, because I never could.

Edited 2018-01-14 08:19 (UTC)

[ Strange is trying his hardest. But it's equally hard for him to accept that someone has limitations on magic in the first place and even harder for him to accept that someone just accepts those limitations. But how to explore magic, he might be able to explain that. ]

You explore it by trying to change your spells. Try to make Igni burn a little bigger. Remain a dragon a little bit longer every time you shift. That...that whatever the hell you did when you cast Yrden when we all were drunk? Try to do it again but every time we cast it.

I am trying. What do you think I learned this for to start with? [ Lambert grates out. He'd come out here in a pretty good mood, but as always, encountering something that frustrates him summons the familiar defensiveness.

The shift in mood has Celandine scrambling down off Strange's shoulder, scuttling over to Lambert across the snow to chide her other half before he says something he'll regret. ]

[ Strange bites his lip before saying what's on his mind (well you're obviously not trying hard enough, are you) but his annoyance of the whole situation is palpable as well. This should be easy for Lambert. Why isn't it? ]

I just don't understand why it's not as easy for you as it should be. We're in faerie, for heaven's sake! This place bleeds magic.

We don't know. [ Celandine says plaintively. It's not hard to feel they're letting Strange down somehow, even when it isn't even their fault. It's not, and the mulish, stubborn set of Lambert's jaw looks like he's ramping up to yell, but Celandine is there by then, pressing against his ankle in that stupid little cape Strange made for her, and that stormy expression softens a little.

He doesn't have to actually spend all his time yelling at the people he likes. ]

I'm not like you. [ Is what he has to offer, finally, looking up at him. ] It's like ... it's like you and exercise. I have to work for it. [ He scowls, reflexively. ]

And we only care about working on magic if it will keep us and the people we care about alive. [ Celandine says, despite being a testament to not being a spell not at all that related to survival. Well, unless mental wellness counts. ] You live for magic. We just use it. You're right -- this place bleeds magic. And there's so little we were taught against that.

Edited 2018-01-17 04:46 (UTC)

[ What's a nice way to call bullshit. Because Strange knows that Lambert's got magic that has nothing to do with keeping himself alive. There's Celandine. And then there's the fact that he turns into a goddamn dragon, something which could keep people alive, but something that Strange is entirely certain Lambert chose because it's fun.

A brief period of mulling things over tells Strange that the nicest way to call bullshit is to just not call it out at all. ]

If you say so, [ Strange simply responds, though it's obvious he's not convinced about the matter. ] If you ever change your mind, though.... [ Strange trails off, but it's obvious what he's leaving unspoken: if Lambert ever changes his mind, then go bother Strange. ]

[ Lambert relaxes, fractionally, as Strange doesn't call him on bullshit, and Celandine sighs, pressing against him. He has his reasons, but he doesn't care to be pressed about them. And if Strange will leave it alone, then he doesn't have to get defensive about them. It doesn't matter that Strange isn't convinced; what matters is that he doesn't say it. ]

Thanks. [ He says, quietly. And then -- ] I'm staying out here a while longer. You can stay or head back to the Carnival if you want.

I think I might head back, [ Strange admits, shivering slightly. It's cold! ] You do have your radio on you, don't you? Call me if you need a lift or want me to bring you anything.

[ One of the joys of dumb teleport spammy magic. ]

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