carnivale NOCTURNE, threading and logs

Who: Lettie & OPEN
What: At the animal show
When: June 8, 2011
Where: Under the big top
Rating: Low
Status: In Progress

Tobias had been right. The old black bear was getting on in years, and wasn't up to the same kinds of tricks as the big cats or the horses. Fortunately, he was still a freaking bear, and even with a crowd full of thrill seekers, supernatural enthusiasts, and skeptics, that continued to count for something. With Lettie, whose hands were still warm with the memory of his fur and his wet, snuffling nose, it counted for even more, and she gripped her knees tightly as she leaned forward in her back row, nosebleed seat, silently cheering him on.

"Scuze me," came a gruff, greasy voice from somewhere out of the folds of fat on her left. Startled, she jumped and drew back immediately, making room for the man who'd been sitting beside her to get up and lumber past, presumably in pursuit of more salted peanuts (though he'd been through two boxes and a giant soda already). It wasn't quite enough room, and Lettie shuddered at the sticky feeling of sweaty, doughy skin dragging across her clothes. She wished he'd find somewhere else to sit; she'd have preferred the company of someone she could talk to, maybe someone who worked at the fair. But then, she thought, most of them were working at that very moment, performing for the crowds, changing for their next act, or cleaning up the mess on the midway. Most of the employees weren't useless layabout artists like her.

Feeling suddenly glum, she adjusted her goggles and refocused her attention on Ophelia, commanding and beautiful as ever in the center of the ring.

Who: Lettie & Bettenby
What: In which Lettie plays with makeup, and hopes for a human canvas.
When: Before curtain up
Where: Outside the makeup trailers

As a rule, Lettie wasn't usually a smoker. It wasn't that she had a problem with cigarettes, but she'd never really enjoyed them either, and so she didn't much see the point of spending what little money she had on them, or inflicting the resulting damage on her lungs. If she could damage her lungs; she wasn't really sure how things like that worked. There was so much she didn't know about what she was, and there was no one to tell her. No one she wanted to talk to, anyway. It was that precise train of thought that had led her to dig out an old, battered pack of Newports and light one, holding it firmly between her lips--painted white blue today, the color of cold corpse flesh--and sucking down lungfuls of thick, acrid smoke, as if the harsh burn might strip away the dissatisfaction and uncertainty she was wrestling with.

Rather than grounding her, however, all smoking seemed to be doing was ruining the sketch she was working on. She'd been drawing out new makeup ideas for almost an hour, sitting on the steps of the trailer and waiting to see if anyone would avail themselves of her services, and she could almost measure the passage of time in the amount of ash streaked across her work. "Bugger," she cursed, and tried again, in vain, to shake it off.

WHO: Gar and Collette
WHERE: The Carnivale Mess Tent
WHAT: Gar is eating before hitting the Midway for the evening.
WHEN: Present
WARNINGS: None
STATUS: Closed and Complete.

After rising mid afternoon, and taking out aggression then having his way with Sioux, Gar had left the trailer to stalk around the Carnivale grounds before they opened for the nightly run. She'd offered to cook something for dinner, but he hadn't been interested in what there was in the trailer currently. Leaving was his way of giving her some time to herself without his oppressive presence looming over her. There would be time for the usual routine of sex and battery later, after the show closed. As he walked across the grounds, glances both curious, and fearful were shot his way, and a few braver souls offered a greeting. Gar would give a sort of barking growl in response, hence the nickname he went by. He wound his way through the tents, took a pass by his booth to find it ready, and fully stocked for the evening, then decided to finally head to the Mess tent for supper.

When he arrived inside, he found the tray and table ware station and picked up the needed tools for eating, then made his way down the line. He was taller than most of the people in the line, especially the midget barker that was directly in front of him. The diminutive man seemed to sense the heavy stare of the giant behind him, and slowly turned around, then looked up at Gar. "Gar..." he said plainly, and Gar gave a grunt of a laugh in return. The rest of the trip through the chow line was uneventful, and after gathering something to drink, Gar moved to sit by himself at a table in the farthest, darkest corner of the tent. He hadn't dressed for the evening yet, but with the stained stripes covering his body, he looked like he was already dressed for a shift in the Haunted House. He had never worked in there, but he'd thought about it. Perhaps he would ask Arkady about that someday.

Who: Lettie and Angel
What: Sweet dreams and beautiful nightmares
When: 4 AM
Where: Lettie's Room
Rating: Mild, for gorey imagery

( now you're frozen there in your human shell; it's a nightmare )

Who: Lettie & OPEN
What: Where there's smoke, there's fire.
When: 4 AM
Where: The Dumpsters
Rating: Mild for blood

( you left me alone with bedroom photos / left to cure the cuts )

Who: Judas and OPEN
What: Judas wants to make friends
Where: The fairgrounds/in front of Jiayi's trailer
When: Mid afternoon/Early Evening
Rating: TBD

( I'll give you the moon on a string, if you'll like me )

Who: Lettie & Arkady
What: Wherein Dutch metal, watercolor painting, and dinner collide.
When: 8 PM on May 9th
Where: Lettie's Trailer
Rating. Moderate, for mild gore and self mutilation in the name of art.

( cause you're losing your mind and you're sleeping with wide open eyes )