Who: Marcellus and Carter What: Misconceptions and theoretical poker games. Where: Out and around the grounds. When: After carnival hours. Rating: Low Status: Complete
Carter was in charge of the wreckage. Broken wood, damaged property-- they were her responsibility to dispose of. She was small, young and didn’t look like the other roustabouts, who were mostly men, large and burly. Her hair was long, black and worn in pigtails. Her coveralls were a size too big as were her gloves. She kept mostly to herself.
No one gave her a hard time. Not the rousties, at least. Dale was oddly respectful of her. Most the other carnival employees who’d worked there were wary. Carter chewed thoughtfully on a piece of jerky as she worked.
When she realized Marc’s close proximity as she worked, she looked up and gave a polite nod of acknowledgement. “How many months have you been with us now?”
It was small talk.
Marcellus grunted softly as he hefted a sackful of the more standard smelly detritus that followed carnival patrons around- half-eaten food, wrappers, beer cans and so forth. Burdened by bags of trash or no, though, he always had time to spare a friendly smile at those nearby, including the (apparently) young, cute female that was such an anomaly among the cleanup sorts. “Hey, Carter. And... hm.” He rummaged in his head for a moment- no watch or palm pilot or whatever to cheat with. “Four moons... yeah, about four months, give or take?” he opined, cocking his head with a playful grin as he looked back at his companion, pale grey eyes gleaming with good humor as he set down his trashbag. “What, getting sick of me already?”
“Four moons? I didn’t realize-- well. It doesn’t matter.” Carter had a wheelbarrow filled with the bigger pieces of trash. If she struggled at all, for her lack of size, she didn’t say anything or give any sort of suggestion. “You fit in. I hope you stay. We get a lot of people that come and go. Just the nature of the work, I guess. Sanctuary or no.”
The tall human blinked at Carter’s comment, surprised and oddly a little charmed by the mention of fitting in. It’d been hard to wrap his head around he, in all his genial, vanilla normality, being the odd duck in a group. Yet in the company of vampires, sirens and who knows what else... “Appreciate it.” he answered with another of his quick, honest smiles. “And yeah, I keep hearing that. Certainly hope it’s the case.” Marc continued, glancing away for a moment as he thought of Steve and busied himself double-bagging a particularly bulging sack. “Yeah, I hear you on that.”
“So. What do you do when it isn’t that time of the month?”
She thought it was funny, but then she’d misunderstood his earlier comment about the full moon.
That earned a nonplussed blink and tilt of the head from the tall drifter. “Time of the...come again?” He ran a finger along the stubble on his jawline. “I haven’t been mistaken for female since I was sixteen, or were you meanin’ something else?” the human inquired with an amused chuckle. It’s a little late, or he would have picked up the connection more immediately. Poor, semi-sleepy Marc.
“Wait. What?”
Now it was Carter’s turn to look confused.
“You’ve been mistaken for female?” That was the most surprising bit of conversation she latched onto at first. “No-- I meant, I asked you how long and you said four moons and I thought you meant moons like--”
Carter extended the imaginary claws of her fingers in a feral motion, “Rarrrr.”
She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t come out and said werewolf. It just didn’t seem polite to say out loud where they could be overheard.
“Actually, I lied, I haven’t been mistaken for female since I was sixteen, except for when the other person was really, really high or- oh.” There was almost an audible click as Marc finally put the pieces together. “Oh! No, no.” he quickly replied, laughing. “I see how you got that. No, I’m human. As far as I know, anyways?” He eyed his own hands suspiciously as if they might suddenly sprout fur. “The moon thing, that was because I hung out with a... yknow. For a year or so, up until two months back. Learned to track the moon phases pretty closely, for obvious reasons, yeah?” A shrug. “And as you can see, never got out of the habit yet.”
“I see, I see.” Carter tried to keep a straight face, but it cracked into a smug smirk after seconds. “Yanno, we could always use a bearded lady.”
The noise that followed should have been a giggle, it was meant to be a giggle, but it was far too strange and didn’t fit her at all. It was feral for one, and overly maniacal for another. Carter quickly cut herself off and blushed. “Sorry. It wasn’t that funny.”
She grinned.
“Well, maybe a little.” She put an inch between her thumb and forefinger. “This much.”
Marcellus chuckled. “You sure we don’t already have one?” he inquired, only half joking. Much to his consternation, he didn’t really know everyone yet, despite the passage of four months. Part of it had to do with his being a little uncharacteristically reclusive early on, but that was still little excuse for a guy as observant and social as the lanky human. “I suppose if we got the audience really drunk...” he mused. Wasn’t that much of a stretch- half the patrons seemed to show up pre-medicated before the shows even started.
“Nah, you’re not nearly pretty enough,” she teased again. If he kept opening himself up, she couldn’t not tease him. All in good fun. Even if it was a bit at his expense. Circling back to their earlier conversation: “Okay, so what do you do for fun when some drunk asshole doesn’t think you’re a woman?”
The lanky man sighed sadly. “Oh, for my teenage years.” he stated mournfully. “No stardom for Marc. Oh well.” He smiled as he considered Carter’s question. “Well, given the chance, and materials I can turn into a drunk who thinks men are women, but I try to avoid the ‘asshole’ bit.” the human joked. “Other than that... nothing much special.” He cocked his head as a thought occurred while he was thinking of pastimes. “Huh. Maybe us employees should get some sort of poker game going certain nights.” Sure, Marc, absolutely nothing could go wrong with THAT.
Carter steepled her fingers mischievously. “Yes. I agree that something should be arranged. Though there are those with sticky fingers that should be avoided. That’s an excellent idea.”
At least, if it went badly, she’d be able to say that it was Marc’s fault.
Marcellus blinked, not at all sure if Carter’s approval meant it was a good idea- or indeed, quite the opposite. “I was really just thinking out loud.” he demurred, running a hand through his wavy hair. “I used to play a lot in bars. ...I dunno, it seems like one of those sorts of things that sounds good, but then...” The tall man shrugged a little helplessly, thinking.
“You’re worried about strip poker. I can see it in your eyes,” she said, too solemn to be serious. “Listen. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. Even if you don’t have a washboard stomach, it isn’t even a beer gut. You’ll be fine.”
The human nearly choked laughing. “Do I... want to know how much thought you’ve devoted to my gut?” he inquired, chuckling. “I wasn’t actually thinking about strip poker, but now that you mention it, it sounds both awesome and somewhat terrifying.” Because yknow, there were a lot of very pretty carnies around... but then there were others too. “I was more thinking about the logistics. I mean, in bars all you need to worry about are marked decks and trick shufflers. Here... I’m kinda afraid to let my imagination go rampant.”
“Bah. We can scrounge some honest players. You don’t--” Now she was getting crass. Or nearly. Carter decided to skip the saying relating to food and deification. “--I mean, we’re not marks. We’re not customers. The rules are different. You may not feel like it now, but work here long enough and you’ll know it’s like a family-- an incestuous, drama-filled, family-- but you could do worse. I wouldn’t worry about finding people to play with.”
Marc raised his hands slightly in surrender, smiling a little. “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend.” he was quick to assure, opting not to elaborate on what he’d really been thinking about. Which wasn’t necessarily more offensive, just... typical Marcellus indecisiveness. “All right, if you honestly think it’d be fun... I dunno, why the hell not? Start with a player or two and hole up after the show’s out in someones’ trailer or some tent?”
“None taken. I like this plan. Prepare to lose your shirt,” she smirked.
“Oh, great. I regret this already, just for the record.” Marcellus informed Carter with a crooked grin as he returned to work.