Jonas (darkcarnie_gar) wrote in carnaval_logs, @ 2013-09-03 12:48:00 |
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Current mood: | confused |
Entry tags: | ~carl sinclair (npc), ~jonas winston |
Jonas arrives at Carnaval
WHO: Jonas and Carl
WHERE: The Back Lot
WHEN: Recently
WHAT: Carl has to welcome yet another time traveler.
WARNINGS: None.
STATUS: Closed & Complete
Jonas rolled over in his sleep, and moaned. He was dreaming, dreaming of That Night again. The night when everything had gone wrong, and put him on the run as a wanted man for a murder that was in reality, self defense. He had gone to sleep in the front of his old Ford Truck, on the bench seat covered in blankets and a pillow under his head. when he had rolled over, he first noticed that the seat was hard, like a bench without the padding, and the chilly air of the night was biting at his nose. Jonas rolled onto his back, and blinked a few times to get his eyes to focus. Overhead was the inky blackness of the sky, and stars.
Stars?! Jonas sat up bolt right and looked around in a panic. Where was his truck? What had happened? Then he saw the grounds around him, people were working in the dark setting up what looked like, a Carnival?? “What the Fuck?” he said aloud to himself and looked down. He was covered in an ancient looking wool blanket, and was apparently laid out in the back of a pickup truck, but not his beloved truck. “Where the fuck is my truck?” he yelled and threw off the blanket and got up to his feet. He brushed his hair back from in front of his eyes and looked around in amazed horror. “What the… Hell?” he asked, again to no one, and felt his heart pounding in his chest, his blood flooding with adrenalin. This had to be part of a dream he thought, and slammed his fist down on the cab of the truck to see if it would hurt or not. It did.
“Fuck!” he shouted and rubbed the now throbbing hand in the other as he looked around. He gave a shiver as he had gone to sleep in only a tee shirt and his jeans, which feeling the breeze blowing over his junk reminded him that they were unzipped for sleeping comfort. He was in the process of remedying that when a rough voice called out to him.
“Hey Rube! ……” Someone called out to him in a gruff tone, and Jonas turned in that direction with dread mixing in with the fear churning in his gut presently. At the foot of the truck stood a man staring at him with an even stare. Fantastic, what was this going to be about now?
Given carnival life, and especially life at this carnival, an unzipped fly was the least of either of their worries and Carl took little notice as the man went about righting his situation. As usual, Carl didn't have time for this. There was plenty to set up before anyone would be sleeping and sleeping was probably what the bulk of them would like to be doing. Traveling days took it out of them, which struck him as odd, but he supposed the chance to relax on the road did more harm than good there, and either side of that was controlled chaos for him and his men. Who he assumed this was a new addition to, and now that he had his attention it was Carl's task to get him to realise that.
"I know this is hard to believe," he spoke in an even tone, with a serious look that was almost a permanent feature for Carl. "But I'm sure you've noticed that you're not where you expected yourself to be." He let that sink in for a moment as he searched his person for a small book, which he located in one of the pockets of his denim work pants. They were wide, as was the style at the time, and well worn. Coupled with the old work shirt and cap, he no doubt looked a little old fashioned to the newcomer. "It's 1935, Mr.. Winston," he continued in his businesslike manner, the book open in his hand. Despite using the lingo, Carl had never really succeeded in sounding like a carny. It was a source of amusement to the rest of them. He looked back from the book to this Mr. Winston. There were certainly some odd hairstyles in the future. "You have been brought back by the Management of this carnival. We are not apprised of the reason." He offered what could be considered a small smile and allowed the man some time to mull that over before getting to the matter of what he would be doing here, what he would be wearing and where he would be sleeping. He hoped this one wouldn’t be too much trouble.
Jonas wasn’t done looking over his surroundings and then the man when he finished speaking, and it was certain nuggets of information that further unnerved him. “What? 1935? How the Hell is that even possible and how the Hell do you know my name?” he asked sounding just a bit annoyed. Jonas wasn’t fool enough to start shit with the first person he’d met since waking up, but it was turning out to be one fucked up day, or night so far. Before the other man had a chance to answer his first questions, he was firing off more. “Management? Management of what?!” he shot to the other, and as a nervous reflex ran his hand through his hair, front to back, brushing it out of his face again as a gentle wind had picked up. “Just where the Hell am I? I went to sleep in my truck and now I’m here? Where’s my truck?” he asked of the other, then suddenly feeling a bit more confident, he jumped down from the truck, and his boots hitting the ground sent up a small cloud of dust that blew away to parts unknown.
He crossed his arms across his chest and stood near the other man, looking down at him and while not trying to look intimidating, he still was glad he was taller than the other if things turned bad, like the cops showed up. Wait, it was 1935? He hadn’t even been born yet. This was like being in a bad B movie. It had to be a dream, a really weird, freaky and way too realistic dream.
Carl had gotten as far as opening his mouth when the next series of questions came. It certainly wasn't unusual for them to be hit with a tirade of questions and Carl would do his best to answer them in turn. He stepped back as the other man jumped down from the back of the truck though, seemingly unperturbed by both the action and the dust it had kicked up.
While Carl wasn't a small man by anyone's estimation, this man was taller. He'd be interested to see how he measured up to their giant. Still, Carl didn't allow himself to be intimidated. He'd stood in this position before, face to face, with ..things that weren't even human. He could handle this. Again, he offered what could be considered a smile. He'd start from the end.
"To my knowledge, your truck is where you left it somewhere in the future. Not everything comes with you," he explained. In terms of waking up here, he sympathised with a nod of his head. "Mmm, sometimes it happens like that. But this.. is not a dream," he assured him - that was what most sleepers thought, he'd found. "You're in the back lot of a carnival," he continued. "Currently in Oklahoma."
“Oklahoma??” Jonas replied then slapped a large palm over his eyes and moaned. “Terrific.” he muttered, and stood there trying to figure out what his next move or question should be. A moment later, he uncovered his face and looked at Carl. “So you said something about Management, I guess that means I am here to work, which is fine with me. I am used to factory, steel working, that sort of shit.” he said with a shrug. “I can tell you right now, I don’t have any Carnival skills. I can’t eat fire or juggle or that sort of stuff. I can build stuff, be a bouncer, run a crew… Stuff like that.” he said making honest suggestions of his abilities to the man. “I put myself in your capable care.” he said with a soft smile, then offered his hand to the man.
“I’m Jonas.” he said, then grinned, but somehow you already know that… What’s next?” He asked the other man as he put his hands into his jean pockets, and rocked slightly on his heels as he gave another survey of the grounds around him. He still hadn’t fully wrapped his head around what had happened, or was happening to him, so he decided rather than obsess on it until he went nuts, he would just roll with it for now, and let the trip unfold. At least he wasn’t back in his time hiding from a murder charge. Here, he was unknown, and he wanted to keep it that way. Perhaps he would stay here and just start a new life? Then something occurred to him. “Hey man, I need to piss. Can we hit the head before the tour starts?”
Carl nodded. “Oklahoma,” he repeated, not sounding entirely pleased about it himself. He wasn't sure of the other man's aversion, but his own largely centered around all the dust. With the exception of finding a lot, it tended to make their jobs more difficult. Carl's expression had fallen back to its normal state of having a slight frown. “Yes, that's about the size of it.” He was impressed that this one was so quick to pick that up. It made this less tiresome for him, that was certain.
As the other man listed his abilities, Carl glanced down at the small book in his hand to double check. Roughy. He looked up as Jonas introduced himself, tucked the book back into his pants pocket and took the man's hand in a firm shake. “Carl Sinclair,” he offered in return. “Management informs myself and one of the other ..employees on who to expect.” It wasn't much of an explanation, but it was about all Jonas was going to get. His hand fell back to his side. Next.
“Next I explain to you what you'll be doing.” Carl looked out at the rest of the lot himself. He had a good feeling about this one, which didn't happen all that often. “Then we find you something to help you blend in.” He still wasn't sure about the hair though. As to the question, the carny nodded. “I can show you to the latrine, or else..” he trailed off indicating the vacant land on the other side of the truck. “There's a fence post over that way,” this time he pointed more specifically to the northwest. “If you wanted something to aim at.” And that was about the extent of Carl's 'humour'. He would explain about the job either on the way, or when Jonas got back, depending on his preference.
Now normally Jonas would have just whipped it out and pissed on the tire of the truck, but he figured he was still in the bubble of making a first impression and now was not the time to be a dick and act like he was marking territory that wasn’t his to claim. He did glance at the pole and smile, thinking it was kind of Carl to at least give him the option of one or the other. He looked back to the other man and made a sweeping motion with his hand. “I’ll take the latrine if that’s OK. Not that I’m shy or anything but I figure I need to learn where everything is anyway, and that’s going to be an important location at some point or another so I might as well be introduced to it now.” he said and waited for Carl to lead on. As before, the questions came to him and he asked away knowing that Carl was going to probably be his best source of straight information for a while. He wondered when he would be meeting this Management, and finding out why he’d been brought here, and for how long. It was clear from what Carl had said so far about them, they were not dispensing much information at this time.
“Blend in how…..?” Jonas asked cautiously as he reached up to ruffle his hair back into a mane with his hands. “You guys have blow dryers, right?” he asked and sounded more than a little hopeful. His trademark hairstyle required lots of heat and air to wake up in the mornings, or afternoon if it had been a late night. The fear of suddenly being taken to some sort of military style barber and having his head shaved terrified him. “Wait. I don’t have to get my hair cut, right?!” he asked and there was clearly some worry in his tone of voice now. He was no metrosexual, but he did love his hair long. Fear of losing his hair now had sidetracked the need to piss.
Carl nodded. It was generally one of the places he showed people for that very reason. They'd need it sooner or later. As for blending in, the answer was quite simple. "We provide you with clothes more suitable to this time," he explained. "Blow dryers exist." That was about the extent of his knowledge. He didn't think anyone here owned one. Marcie would probably know though. Carl considered the man's question about his hair. He wasn't going to be on show, he supposed. "It could be a gypsy look, I suppose." He certainly seemed to care a lot about it. Maybe they'd see what he looked like with the clothes they had for him. In the meantime, it was time to get moving.
"All right," he smiled that small smile of his. "If you'd like to follow me." The pit for the latrine was dug a distance away from the camp. The reason for that being that if the wind blew in the wrong direction, especially on a warm day, well the smell wasn't exactly pleasant. Thankfully, they were more-or-less on the right side for it. He led the other man around another truck and by the empty lion-turned-storage cage and the kangaroo cage. "That's Boxer," he said with respect the animal. It was hardly and inventive name. "What you were saying before," Carl began as he took them closer to the edge of the lot. "About the type of work you can do. I think you were well matched. You're to be what's called a roughy."
“Gypsy huh?” Jonas mused as he rubbed at the patch of hair on his chin. He thought about that briefly as he followed Carl to the Latrine. It was a no frills, wooden two seated affair that had the worn in look and smell of a porta potty. “How rustic.” he thought as he went inside, did his thing, and glanced at the catalogs there for toilet paper and had to laugh. He’d always heard that story but never thought it was true. He now knew different. Jonas returned to Carl and followed him to the next stop on the tour. He was given a set of work clothing, not terribly unlike what he had worn when working in the steel factory, a shaving kit, and a few other personal items. He thought about how much it all seemed like being sent to prison, and getting your standard issues.
Then he thought for a moment, maybe this WAS prison. Maybe he’d been spirited away to this time and place cutting him off from his former life, and that would be his punishment for killing that bastard? Or had he been brought here to escape what would be a life in prison for a justified killing? Maybe he’d died in his sleep and this was… Purgatory? He didn’t realize he had gotten so deep in thought that he’d gone silent, and stopped walking until he caught sight of Carl giving him a strange look. Jonas shook his head as if to snap himself out of the fugue, and looked at Carl.
“Did I die or something and this is Purgatory? Punishment? Salvation? What?” he asked the other, and as soon as he had asked it, he realized that perhaps he didn’t want to know the answer after all. The potential answer could be devastating. “Wait….” he said holding up his hand. “Don’t tell me, I don’t think I want to know of that’s the answer, how about you please tell me just what a Roughy is… I’ve heard some Carny talk and I know what a Roustie is, but I’ve never heard the term Roughy.” he asked the other, thinking that would be a much safer, and less soul breaking topic for the time being.
Carl offered a slight shrug. People seemed to expect people like that at a carnival and they did have sets of clothes for some of the acts that covered that ..style. If Jonas could manage to make it work with his work wear then Carl would leave it. Otherwise, well, he seemed to be compliant enough. Carl waited for the other man to relieve himself before they headed back to the camp. On the way to one of the supply trucks, Carl pointed out some locations of importance to Jonas. The cook house, the noticeboard and both Art and Carl's tents if he found he needed anything.
The carnival provided new arrivals with a set of clothing and items that would assist them in both blending in with the period and doing their job. He explained this again as he handed these over to Jonas, but he was met with silence. He waited for a response and offered a slightly puzzled look when the silence continued. All was explained, though, by what he came out with in the end. Carl offered him a small smile, intent on letting the other man know that he was not dead, but whether this was punishment or salvation seemed entirely dependent on the person. (And probably their outlook, but he didn’t want to admit that himself.) He left that alone, though, at Jonas' behest.
"At the present time there's little distinction between the two," he admitted with respect to roughies and rousties. "We don't have a lot of men to go around, especially not on the setup and maintenance side of the operation. But normally a roughy is a.. Jack of all trades. It's my title as well," he explained. "We enforce carnival rules, collect the evenings takings, fill in for game and ride operators or vendors when required. We make sure everything runs smoothly," Carl summarised. "But we also do the work of the roustabout. I hope you're used to hard work, Mr. Winston."
He moved them back away from the trucks a short distance so that they had a better view of the line. "Trailers, tents.. they're a bit of a commodity. One of the first things you asked me was where was your truck." Carl indicated the line. If he’d had a truck in the future Carl was confident he'd be able to drive and take care of one of these. "Take your pick."
Jonas looked over the well worn fleet of trucks, all ranging from the late twenties or so to reasonably new. He knew little about the old trucks except compared to modern ones, they were a breeze to work on and keep running. He was already thinking ahead of where he would end up living since it sounded like he would be camping outside unless fortune and someone with a trailer or tent smiled upon him. “I’ll take the stake bed.” he said and pointed to the 1932 Chevy. “Once I get the means, can I build a camper on the back to live in? We can still tow trailers and whatever if I build something in the bed if that’s OK.” he asked Carl as he noticed the heavy duty hitch attached to the back of the truck.
He would prefer a camper sort of unit anyway, a rustic sort of sleeper, or vardo if he could manage it. “I know no one has stuff to spare and I will have to scrounge build it.” he added, then looked over at Carl directly. “I used to work with steel in the shipyards for the Navy, I know all about hard work.” he said in answer to the other man’s question. “All I need to know is where I eat, clean up, and what you want me to start working on.” he said with a bit of a weary sigh. He was surprised at himself how well he was taking this news, but he supposed it was far better than a life on the run, as weird and rough as it looked like it was going to turn out to be.
Carl nodded his assent. "Good," he smiled. They'd gotten through this process faster than was usual and that pleased him. As had Jonas, which certainly helped Carl to be more agreeable towards his request. "As long as she still does what she needs to do that shouldn't be a problem. You're welcome to use what tools you need in your leisure time, but please leave a note stating what you have taken and where in case they're needed for something more pressing." The amount of times people had ignored his request and he'd had to search the lot for missing tools was more than he could count.
It seemed, for once, that Management had sent him someone perfectly capable of doing his job and he couldn't help but look pleased. "I think you'll do well here then, Mr. Winston."
Food wasn't a bad thought though. The cookhouse was the first thing to go up and one of the last to come down. Their timing here wasn't bad. "We'll get a bite to eat and go over your options," Carl said with respect to the work. That way Jonas would know where the cookhouse was as well. He waited for the other man to stash what belongings he wanted to in the truck, then led the way…
“That sounds good to me Carl.” Jonas said as he took a quick look inside of the truck and after checking the two most obvious hiding places, he found the keys, and slipped them into his pocket. “I feel more at home already just knowing I have a job, and a truck. Thanks man.” he said as he clapped Carl on the shoulder and followed him toward the canteen tent. Now that the first moment nerves were starting to wane, his hunger was coming on like a freight train. Life was about to start over, and he knew it. This time, he wasn’t going to screw it up.