IC CONTACT for lostcarnival

[whattaprick]

✆CHANNEL FREQUENCY: 843.77425 (personal);
DESCRIPTION: Half the time he forgets this thing even exists, or how to turn it on and off.

✉MAIL BOX LOCATION: Next to trailer steps.
DESCRIPTION: The concept of a mailbox is rather foreign to Lambert, who's not exactly what you'd call big on personal correspondence. But there's a wooden crate you can probably drop shit into ???

BUG LAMBERT TO MAKE YOU SHIT: Given time and the right ingredients (which he'll usually ask people to provide) he can make potions (with potential side effects), oils, and bombs. You can bother him more about that in person.

Comments

[whattaprick]

[ Why does everything Foster do have to have this weird build-up? ]

I'll be the judge of that.

[ He says it testily, short on patience. The message from that 'Guardian' and the number of people who willingly signed up to help something they don't really understand annoys him. ]

Tell me.

[criticallyfucked]

You heard her, right? The visitor we had to the Carnival--I know you listen to the radio.

[Is that admiration for Lambert's dedication or disdain for how much time he deigns to spend on something Foster dislikes?]

There is something very powerful here.

[whattaprick]

Yeah, I heard her.

[ He also heard about all the people playing hero. Whoop-de-fucking-doo. ]

Is this 'information' you have related to that?

[ Please let it be something like 'actually this bitch is crazy and everyone should immediately stay away.' ]

[criticallyfucked]

It is.

[Oh, Lambert.

The only time Foster's input doesn't come with that weird build-up is when he gets to call someone else wrong.]

I don't know why, but she's underselling the importance of this world's existence.

[whattaprick]

Quit the cryptic crap and get to the point.

[criticallyfucked]

How close were you listening?

She admits it--this world is a Pillar of Creation. You can feel it, right? The power of it... the power of Creation itself intensified.

But there is no--no physical... pillar formation. The world itself, its very continued existence, that is a pillar, a... a vertebrae in the spine of Creation.

That's why.

[whattaprick]

So what your big reveal ... is that this pillar thing isn't literal?

[ His tone makes it pretty clear that duh, Foster, he'd figured out as much on his own and if this is all Foster has to tell him he's seriously unimpressed. However. Lambert will give him credit that he isn't that inane, so he'll go on: ]

Yeah, I can feel it. Don't know that I believe all the rest of it, but the Ringmaster did listen to her, so maybe that says enough. She doesn't seem all that worried about it, though.

[criticallyfucked]

Mmmm. She should be.

Pillars... they are called Pillars for a reason. Reality--life--Creation is supported by their very existence. Do you understand?

They are... load-bearing worlds. Like a... like a pillar.

[He talks in circles, hoping that eventually he will find clarity in repetition.]

They are also finite. Limited.

The multiverse... the multiverse is Creation.

Every one that falls is... hahaha, is...!

[He is so excited by this that it's interfering with his ability to talk about it.]

....is one step closer to death.

Now do you understand?

[whattaprick]

[ He gets it, kind of. It sounds like a mage sort of problem to deal with. However, there's something else Lambert's curious about: ]

Why do you sound so sure about this? You've heard of them before?

[criticallyfucked]

[There is a long... long silence on Foster's end.

He is hesitant to reveal his secret(s) to Lambert for several reasons.]

I suspected before she came on the network.

[That's all he says--flat, cold, and bare.]

[whattaprick]

[ And that silence is long enough to prick Lambert's ire, so he sounds noticeably sharp when he responds. ]

That's not an answer.

Where'd you get you suspicions?

[criticallyfucked]

[Foster holds in his resentment, naturally. If Lambert decides not to take him seriously, or worse simply demands his book--

He will of course accept that as right, and in the latter case, will hand it over happily. He should be glad to provide even that much!]

When we gained access to the Prince's study, we had a look around before taking his chambers. And I had occasion to look over his bookshelf.

[whattaprick]

You took a book from the Prince's study and you kept it to yourself?

[ Predictably, Lambert sounds excoriating, but he can't fault the logic there. Revealing you'd taken an item from a fae enemy would possibly be a bad idea if the fae in question weren't already dead ... nonetheless, for once he's more interested in information than pissing on Foster (metaphorically) so he'll push that aside for now. ]

A book about these Pillars of Creation. Did it actually say anything else that helps us right now?

5 AM with no sleep? Great time to tag!

[criticallyfucked]

I did.

[He sounds more pleased than anything. No offence, Lambert, but even if it hadn't been a book purloined from the personal study of a powerful fae, Foster doesn't actually trust anyone here.

In fact, Strange is the only other person who knows he has the book and wasn't there to see him steal it--though he might have told Strange a slightly misleading fact about what the book contains.]

And I'd prefer it not get around.

[But.]

Anyway, I can't help because don't understand what she expects of you to begin with. The book isn't--the book isn't about the pillars. It's more... mmmm. The Pillars are part of what its about. The Source. Creation--and Void. Do you understand? There is no useless information.

But helpful?

[He just laughs.]

[whattaprick]

It isn't exactly useful either, and you said it might be something I could use.

[ At least not the way Foster is talking about it, which is making Lambert's head ache. Which is par for the course dealing with Foster, really. ]

I want to see the damn book.

[criticallyfucked]

[That gets a reaction--one that totally contradicts everything he's said so far.]

It won't help you.

[Foster snaps, then immediately regrets it; his entire upper, human body is hot, then nauseous--the pit is in both stomachs, which is frankly the only clue to him he has two.]

Where are you?

[whattaprick]

Get your ass to the training yard or I'll set you and that book on fire.

[ It's no idle threat, either. Hopefully, his tone conveys that. ]

[criticallyfucked]

[Unsurprisingly, Foster takes it seriously.

Hopefully Lambert's seen Foster's less... nightmarish new form around by now, though, or he's going to be in for a shock.

He's standing restlessly by the training dummies--pacing back and forth by them, then stopping, then cocking a back leg, and so on.

And it might be hard to tell, but he's holding a hefty tome in his furry bear paws.]

[whattaprick]

[ Lambert has more or less managed to pretend Foster's shitty horse form was a fever dream brought on by faerie weed. He's seen Foster around, but without any report of progress to offer on the task he charged him with all those weeks ago. Nevertheless, he doesn't seem surprised or put out by Fosters new (perhaps arguably improved?) appearance and strides over to him as soon as he catches sight of him, holding a hand out imperiously when he draws near. He may no longer be able to hold himself over Foster, but he manages to look down on him anyway, scowling. ]

Give it here. [ He snaps, testily. ] So does anyone else know you have this?

[ How he kept it on him through being trapped in a wall is beyond Lambert, but whatever. He ain't interested in that story. ]

[criticallyfucked]

[Whatever fear Foster had been feeling is replaced with... well, not anger, exactly. He has no right to anger. This book was never his to begin with, was it? He was never meant to have it. He was only meant to--to deliver it to proper hands. He won't retain what's in it anyway. Not without it there to refresh him. His faulty memory, his feeble mind--he was the perfect vessel for such a task. And now--

It doesn't matter how he feels.

He passes it over without a word, his feelings about this (or lack thereof, maybe) masked in all ways except the action of his tail.]

Taako.

[Taako is actually how the book got out of the manor.]

And.... Strange.

[Somewhere between reluctance and... smugness, actually.]

Sort of.

[He pauses.]

....anyway, Childermass was there at the time I took it. So was Lapis. And the nymph man.

[Is that sufficient, Lambert?]

[whattaprick]

All right. [ Childermass probably had other things on his mind, Lambert suspects, and he doesn't know if Lapis sufficiently cares enough to notice shit about fuck that Foster does. Anyway, it's more a surprise that Strange let him hang on to a book this long without demanding to read it.

He plucks it from Foster's claws, turning it around in his hands, feeling for any tell tale him from his medallion that might tell him if this has magical properties. He glances around, frowns, and then steps towards one of the low benches, dismissing Foster with a wave of his hand, but not banishing him. ]

Sit tight. I'll have questions. [ He orders, already flicking through the pages. He's not going to be able to read something this dense, obviously, but he's looking at page headings and any illustrations, sections where there might be emphasis over others. Obviously, he also checks out the actual information on title and author, if there's any. All in all, he's doing a relatively thorough skimming, and unless Foster interrupts? He'll be doing that for the next ten or fifteen minutes. ]

[criticallyfucked]

[The book is no more magical than any other random tome pilfered from a true fae.

It's really no random tome, though--there's a reason Foster was inspired enough to swipe it, paranoia or not.

Of Many Worlds: the Legacy of the Source is the title, but it has no clear author. Its contents are printed in a tiny font on filament-fine pages; it's a pretty thorough dissertation about the realities of the multiverse and theories pertaining to the nature of something called 'The Source.' There's a fair bit about the fae and their courts, as well as demons and angels.

There are very few illustrations, if any.

Lambert doesn't get fifteen minutes with it, though. He doesn't even get ten. Foster can hardly manage a conversation that moves off a topic he cares about; standing and waiting while someone else reads a book is not within his capabilities.

Besides which, he's fairly certain that Lambert is keeping the book, which means he's just detritus. He shifts his weight impatiently only a minute or two into Lambert's perusal, sand crunching under his hooves.]

Are we done here?

[whattaprick]

We're not done until I say we're done.

[ Lambert's answer is largely automatic. A couple of minutes isn't time enough to understand the contents of the book, which is surprisingly legible to him (he half expected it to be all runes and esoteric mumbo jumbo -- it's certainly the latter, but that he can read it at all is a surprise). It's also a surprise to him that the book is fairly free from marks of wear and tear; with claws like Foster's, one would expect it to show a little more signs of rough use. Even Lambert is having a hard time making sure his claws don't rip the pages.

Still, it's fairly evident Foster isn't going to leave him in peace if he doesn't at least acknowledge his presence, so-- ]

You've read the whole thing?

[criticallyfucked]

[Foster blinks in faint confusion; he would have stayed absolutely put (and silent) with just those first eight words. The question catches him a bit off guard--and he's careful about his response.]

I had plenty of time.

[It's mostly a reference to those weeks on the moon. But it's also not like his job keeps him terribly busy in his off hours, or like he has any friends, or hobbies besides providing research specimens for Herbert.]

[whattaprick]

How well do you know what's in it? There's a lot more than what you just told me.

[ A hell of a lot more. Lambert looks up, his tail flicking behind him. ]