Devil's Carnival! [ Court of Fools Open ]

[daemoniumexmachina]

Warning(s): unreality, gaslighting, identity crisis, amnesia



With their master’s machinations on the horizon, Mendel’s Court of Fools takes to the town to prime their audience. They can be found in remote shadows and dark corners, but it’s so important to get the crowd in the right mood for a show, wouldn’t you agree?

-Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss-
[Blanche, the Baroness of Blank]

Sometime nearing or after dark, if you’re still wandering the streets, there are a number of things that can still find you even when you stick to the paths of lit lanterns.

“You’re missing something, aren’t you?” The jolly voice comes from behind you. Should you turn, you’ll see a woman dressed almost entirely in white aside from thin red lips and thin red pinstripes. Her eyes are even white, including her pupils, so that they very nearly blend into the rest of her face if not for her big, white lashes creating a bit of depth. She smiles, revealing perfectly white teeth all in straight rows. She hangs upside down--- from a rafter, a shop sign, a tree branch, or nothing all.

Climbing down and righting herself with acrobatic ease, she continues to wear that cheshire smile. “I can always tell when someone is missing something. Or needs to lose something. Perhaps that sounds more like you. If you’d like, I can find it for you. Or unfind it. Your choice.”

- Damn, that's a really creepy doll-
[Seemingly, the Thane of the Capricious]

There is an alleyway in town, hidden behind the Oak & Iron. It is rarely used except by stray cats. Hidden there, among the garbage, you will find what looks to be a pile of broken gears and metal junk, entwined with bits of fabric. Four masks lay strewn about. But upon inspection, the gears creak to life suddenly, and an automaton begins to build itself quickly with the pleasant clinking of small metal pieces against one another, and in moments, there is a figure before you that tips its hat before placing it on its head. The masks are seated in a circle around what would be its head, and the one in front is an expressionless mask with a large, golden crack down the center.

It whispers to you sharply. “What are you?”

[ Seemingly has four masks that each have their own personalities, voices, and even pronouns. They are as follows:

Hollow - it/its - a white mask with gold flourishes and a golden forehead gem, and a blank expression which speaks in a harsh whisper. Its intent is to be threatening and cut to the heart of you. It was broken once, and now bears a striking crack filled with gold.
Glee - he/him - a white mask with golden clown paint on the eyes and a wicked, twisted grin, along with a prominent nose. He is sinister and jolly and speaks with a masculine falsetto.
Wrath - they/them - a pure gold mask with black flourishes that looks enraged. They speak in a distorted voice, as if through a tube, that sounds androgynous.
Twist - she/her - a half gold, half white mask with a slight smile, which speaks in a deep and sonorous feminine voice. She is patient and scheming. ]

-Some kind of fucking spooksperson-
[Smiling Jack, Mendel’s Infernal Servant]

If you walk past Infernal Arms and Armor at midday, you may hear the clinking of glass on glass at one of the soot-covered windows. A whisper can be heard.

“Hey! Hey, over here!”

There is a bottle of orange goop with a jack-o-lantern face crudely floating in it. Are these… pumpkin guts?

“Hey, c’mere! I just wanna talk. God I’m so lonely. How’s it goin’?”

Comments

Manipulate, Mansplain, Malewife

[xiaoxiuya]

Shen Qingqiu sighs. He'd been half-expecting this, ever since he came out the other side of the plague with his symptoms slightly relieved, his cultivation freed up a little for other things -- but only slightly. Only a little. He's still being crushed under the heavy weight of those visions Nyarlathotep planted in his head, it still hurts and he still can't see them clearly. Like a thick block of granite it looms there in his mind and he hasn't yet found the tools to crack it open. And he's heard how these demons work, how they prey on the desperate.

Shen Qingqiu does not get desperate. He is cool, he is collected, and he is in control. He is absolutely not lying to himself.

"Begone, foul thing," he says firmly, and makes to keep walking, unconcerned about showing the clown demon (why) his back. "You have no business here."

[daemoniumexmachina]

She cartwheels after him. "Oh I have no business at all! I'm all fun and games. And a few card tricks as well. Oh--- I know what you need to lose. It's those headaches of yours!"

[xiaoxiuya]

He winces as, like an actor hearing his cue, a bolt of pain lashes his left temple. "That would be nice," he concedes, "But I hardly see why I should seek your help with it. Forgive my saying so but you hardly look like a qualified medical professional."

A Particularly Creepy Doll

[gruesomegourmand]

As far as Laios can tell, at first glance, there's just some unusual trash outside to navigate around while he goes through the closing checklist for his rare night shift. He hefts the trash bin into the larger one out in the alley, dumping it out with care not to spill it... only to be made to jump and drop it by those quiet, metallic sounds breaking the relatively peaceful silence of the night.

When he's met with that cracked, masked face, he's frozen where he stands, unable to do anything but gawk.

"I... um." He mumbles, not able to get much louder than that quiet confusion. "I'm... Laios."

A beat. That's not what it asked.

"And I'm a... tallman?"

[daemoniumexmachina]

The thing stares at him for a long moment, and then its head turns, putting a different mask in his direction. A smiling mask with gold over the eyes. A deep-voiced woman now speaks.

"But that is not the core of you, dearest," she says slowly. "No, certainly not. You are so much more than a species. What are you? What is a Laios?"

[gruesomegourmand]

Huh. That's a hell of a question. Does he even know that answer? His frightened expression melts, slowly; he's clearly still nervous, but a thoughtful frown rises over it.

"I'm... an adventurer, and a warrior. Or... I used to be. Now I'm a cook." But is just job the core of what he is? When he was adventuring, it felt like it. Now that he's not, he isn't so sure. He wracks his mind for a moment, and it's difficult to find just how hard it is to cement what the core of him could be. "But... I think I'm mostly someone who's still trying to figure out what I am."

Even with how odd this is, and how his better judgement beckons him to hurry back inside, to find his sword, he can't help but look more deeply.

"...What are you?"

creepy doll.

[abhorrently]

It wouldn't be her usual place to check, but she could have sworn she heard Chills and their little shriek somewhere around here, and if they've gotten into some trouble, she feels duty bound to check. But there's nothing back here but trash and oddities - perhaps something worth salvaging. Yet before Fever can try to pick up a mask, the automaton jerks to life, and she falls back into a more guarded stance, already knowing that it takes but a word and a gesture to start fighting.

"What are you?"

It may have asked first, but oddly personal questions being asked in the trash alley is more of a familiar acquaintance territory and not a first meeting sentiment.

[daemoniumexmachina]

"I am the Wearer of Masks, the Thane of the Capricious, the Juggling Doll," it hisses back, taking a sharp, jolting bow. "You may call me Seemingly."

The mask switches, taking the form of Wrath--- a golden mask with a stern expression, speaking no longer in a whisper, but in a mechanical, low-quality voice with no discernable way of gendering it. They enunciate every word. "Now, I ask again. What. Are. You."

[abhorrently]

She could answer reasonably, rationally. Could give evasive answers. But she doesn't have anyone around to temper her impulses, and with such a lofty title given, she feels it's only fair to respond in kind, letting her tongue move as it would. It's been a while since she voiced those thoughts, after all, and with how strange this creature feels...backsliding a little might be forgiven.

"I am a soul far flung from the coast of her birth, set upon a new course. I am the indomitable prophet of the damned, the herald of ruin. What do you want?"

None of this is a name. But this Seemingly can earn it, if they want it.

gaslight gatekeep girlboss

[incomingchoppers]

It's kind of a surprise he didn't put the pieces together before now.

Okay, so there wasn't a lot to put together at first. Miss Leeds sending him home early some nights, then gossip the next day about another Pine Devil attack? Maybe she just knew it was gonna happen because she grew up here, and wanted Radar to get home safe in time. But ever since Radar came up to the estate one morning and spent half the day squeaking in outrage about how half his paperwork got burned, now he's gotta redo a bunch of orders for the party next month, what happened!!! -- yeah, Miss Leeds explained a candle fell over and apologized a whole lot, but she also seemed... preoccupied. Calm as ever on the outside, but noise pinging around her head louder than usual.

Loud enough that tonight, Radar heard something he definitely, definitely shouldn't've heard.

(Dahlia. Dolly. It's so obvious he'd kick himself if he wasn't so busy freaking out.)

He faked a stomachache, which honestly he didn't have to fake too hard, and started the walk home as fast as he could. Radar's barely paying attention to his surroundings. And he's wound up so tight that when someone speaks up behind him, he jumps about a foot and yelps as he whirls around.

"Jeez, don't sneak up on a guy like that!" he squawks. "I coulda had a heart attack!"

...Wait, did he forget his keys in his rush to get home? Is that what she's talking about? Still scowling, Radar pats down his pockets, quickly locating both his sending stone and his keys with no trouble. "No, I got everything I need, ma'am, I didn't drop anything."

[daemoniumexmachina]

Blanche lets out a tittering laugh that's far too long, climbing down from whatever she's draped herself from in a spider-like somersault of limbs. "You're very cute," she remarks, her wide eyes hard to see but clearly watching him acutely. "You did leave something very important behind in that house. Something everyone underestimates the value of. I can get it back for you."

[incomingchoppers]

The thing Radar's always hated about being called cute by strangers: he's never sure if they mean it in a good way, or a I'm-about-to-pinch-the-cheeks-of-my-eight-year-old-nephew way. The scowl deepens.

"Yeah, well, if it's the, the -- " He sizes up her outfit for a second, trying to figure out exactly who she is and why she's bugging him. "The ice cream order for the party, that's one of the ones that caught on fire. You're gonna have to wait a few days."

Oh, jeez. Was it even a candle? Can Dahlia breathe fire? His boss, his boss eats people, and she's not just his boss anymore she's his friend too and maybe Radar's even gotten butterflies sometimes that he's kinda tried to ignore because, you know, she's his boss and now she's eaten people too on top of that --

some kind of fucking spooksperson

[theydrewfirstblood]

John visits Infernal Arms fairly regularly. He's noted everything in there, including the bottle--he's just never paid any attention to it. It's not like his station is ever over that way when River's working with him anyhow...

But today he's setting up another little nail shrine when he hears it. He looks around, confused--and the voice draws his gaze to the bottle in question.

Abandoning his half-finished prank, he crosses over and squints into...yeah, that's pumpkin innards, and a face in them.

"...uh...hi?"

God and Serranai, please don't let this be the moment he's officially losing his damn mind...

[daemoniumexmachina]

"Hey! Oh thank the damn gods." Jack seems to sigh with relief. "Listen, man, can you just open the window? I really need some air. It's been a long week and it's hot in here. Help a guy out?"

spoooooooksperson

[cacophonish]

Jeff's got no business at a blacksmith's, but in an act of kismet, he happens to be passing by at juuuuust the right time, at the right day.

Pumpkin guts are talking to him. Jeff doesn't even blink. He just leans in, sooooo close to the window, and exhales, fogging up the glass. Then, he draws a smiley face on it.

"Hey, man. It's going good, I mean, I can't complain. Totally copacetic here." He tilts his head curiously. Loneliness is certainly a feeling he's well acquainted with. "Are you the only talking bottle of goo in there? Or are the others just, like, dicks."

[daemoniumexmachina]

"Nice, nice. Yeah, no, I'm the only one. This crazy lady put me in here and now she keeps me as a weird pet," Jack gripes. "She doesn't even hang out with me. Guess she doesn't have the guts to face me, heh heh."

Gatelight, Girlkeep, Gasboss

[lasthumanvoice]

"Well, that's an interesting offer. How thick and how sharp are the strings attached? That's not an offer that anyone would just make."

He knows it's a trap, it has to be a trap. It's definitely a trap.

your mind a dusty surface, so easily blown clean

It doesn't hurt to ask.

[daemoniumexmachina]

Blanche's legs fold up under her as if she's taking a seat on something, and she floats in midair, giggling at the question. "Oh, I'm a clown, not a puppeteer! You're thinking of Seemingly. Now let's see here----"

A little notepad appears in her hand in a puff of red smoke, along with a cartoonishly large pair of glasses, which she dons, pretending to struggle with reading as she flicks through several sheets. "Oh, goodness me." She tuts repeatedly, shaking her head. "You're missing a lot of things, aren't you? We'll have to narrow it down. If I gave you all these things back, you probably wouldn't even be you anymore!"

Creepy Doll

[redlightgreenlight]

Though she often patrols at night, being one of a few who doesn't mind what she may encounter, this is the first time she's been tempted down this alley. The darkness seeping from it might have better been left alone, but Valdis has never shied away from such things. Especially not here.

Still, the whirring and the doll coming to life is unsettling. The question it asks causes a shift from curiosity to a sort of dark confidence.

"I am Death."

[daemoniumexmachina]

At the remark, there is a pause, before the mask shifts with a series of clicks, the thing's "head" spinning in place to put a pure gold mask with an irritated expression. They no longer whisper now, but speak with a distorted voice as if echoing from down a long hallway.

"Confident. But dull." They stand with an unnerving stiffness as their hollow eyes meet hers. "What kind of Death, then?"

Some kind of fucking spooksperson

[lordoftheozarks]

Erik lets out a derisive snort and arches one thin brow at the bottle. He knows full well why it's here and who is inside, his girlfriend is the one who did it after all. But, fuck it. This conversation might be good for a laugh.

"What could you possibly want to talk about?"

[daemoniumexmachina]

"Anything!" Jack insists, the bottle hopping a half-inch in the air and landing with a clink. "C'mon, Erik, she doesn't even hang out with me anymore! I can't take it! Can't you take me for a walk at least? I got cabin fever and there's not even any teenagers getting stabbed."

Where does he learn these references?

Creepy Doll

[glassaxolotl]

“What I am is leaving,” Dedue responds flatly to the question. He has no idea why he even decided to examine a creepy alleyway in the first place. Last time he gets lost in his own thoughts.

Regardless, he has seen enough scary nonsense in his life to know it when he sees it, and he wants no part in whatever this is. He turns to go.

[daemoniumexmachina]

The puppet clicks and whirs, mask switching to a strong-nosed masculine face with a wicked smile and golden clown paint. The voice he now speaks in is high pitched but masculine, like a man speaking in a falsetto voice.

"Oh, I see! I know what you are, then. A coward."

A Creepy Doll

[blindwatchersees]

The cat jumps back from the heap, bristling. The pile of gears had smelled delightful at first, steeped in madness, but now that it's stirring, there's something sour about its whole aroma.

After a pause, he answers, uncharacteristically guarded.

"Three faces. Three. All of them fused to the head."