Bring all your things and we will build a pyre, find resurrection in the flames

[carnagecarnival]

Who| Initiate and OPEN
What| Initiate attempts to Carnival Solo.
Where| Training Center
When| Just before Penny-plot, after arrivals.
WARNINGS| Language. Blood/self harm. Religious fanaticism.
NOTES| Avoidance of ICP mention would be ideal! The mentioning of such to him could make him unplayable. Please understand this if you tag in, thank you. <3

A---

His fake glass armor had been smashed, glittering rainbow and indigo all over the floor. Along with all his collected animal culls, the bonework done off them all, gone and crushed. By the time he could be bothered to deal with it all, a good amount of time had passed and it was long too late to be angry, impressed or even recognize and acknowledge the destruction that had been caused as the vengeance it had been. It took ever more time to hunt more birds in the parks and rats in the streets. From Stephen, he'd found a way to get all the Not-Quite Special-Stardust he could hold in his hands and then some, as well as some various colored powders. More greasepaint, extra paint; he knew where to find both those things. Plantlife to stand in symbology of life would be easy enough as well as the candles and incense he'd collected. And of course, sufficient soda was important.

He knows, in his head, that it is unlikely, even advised, that there be any more but himself to celebrate that of the Mirthful, but in his heart, he knows too he cannot bear skimping so shamefully any more than he has just by being here, without the tent curtains around. His plan is in motion now and he will not hesitate in its continuance. He's losing crutch after crutch, he needs something, and the Messiahs have long since been owed their due.

And so, on his own, the Initiate makes to craft a Carnival celebration worthy of the Holy Two's names. Finally on the decided day, he gathers all what he's collected in a bundle of sheet and carries it with him down to the training center. He dresses in a way that will evoke a proper subjugglator just enough without being such. He takes to his wall firstlike and all along it he paints the wicked pictures. He paints it and pretends there is carnival curtain around. On the sheet he lays down on the floor, he splatters every color of blood there is, and then some with paint. His bare feet track the color and he knows, later, he will have to clean this whole goddamn place lest he deign to allowing an avox to do it-- and he doesn't. It will be worth it. He set ups candles on it and incense, lighting it all up. A Dark Carnival ain't all darkness exclusive.

B-----

What is one of the most important thing to any proper Carnival celebration? Music, of course. But it meant he was lacking, severely. He could play no instruments, owned none. He had no one else to play for him. And he, with his voice the way all it is, could not sing.

But he could do one thing. Something what all had been done by his fellow Subjugglators in their times of Mirth, as opposed to mission. He pulls a bo staff off the weapon racks, along with a smaller sort of club what may do. Alone, he wouldn't get the great and grand rhythms created otherwise, but he could do well enough.

Through such, he could practice the spin and strife with such a weapon, as like dance and war got on merging together, between the taps for song. Sometimes he lets the staff carry him up and lift him off the ground. There's not the faintest trace of fear or hesitance in his dance.

Perhaps someone will join him.

C----

Juggling is something he, of course, can do. Ain't a Subjugglator alive what can't, he's certain. They'd never make the troops if they couldn't. But, as is natural of a right and proper performance, he intends to do much more than that.

He grabs clubs at first, all initial. Starts with the standard, three, does his rounds with ease and grace. Then settles them for a trade. He grabs blades, sharp and smiling with promise. He tosses them up one after the other, grinning wide with eyes lit up wild. It's easy. It ain't a thing at all. He kicks up a club with his foot and sets that up into the motion too. This is no training round, it will be clear. This is pure performance and he is good at it.

He is more than ready to catch and deal with anything new tossed up in, and when he is done, he can sink the blades in the training center dummy standing just short ways away. He's sure to slip a few risky dares in there as well. Like catching the handle of one in his teeth.

Later, naturally, will come contortionism, another thing thing at which he excels. He thinks after such, he may retrieve the bo staff and settle by the wall for another round of simple acrobatics, in place of the Grief Trapeze and High wire.

D---

The small blade he's grabbed cuts into his flesh with purpose. He could bite his palms just as easily as he's always done, but that wouldn't be as nearly as significant in the scheme of it. He lifts his palms upward, eyes closed as he allows them to drip. His legs are folded upon the color marked sheet, his candles and incense surrounding him. Before him a bowl of water is set. "Blood of the family," He says, and he squeezes both hands before the water, the indigo blooming in its wake. He picks up the bones of the creatures he hunted and collected. "BONE OF FLIGHT AND WISH," He says. In his bloodied hands he crushes them, grinding them down to a glimmering dust which he holds in his hands and then gently blows into the water's surface. He reaches for some of the glitter he'd gotten and tosses it up, letting it scatter around and over him, on the sheet and also into the water. He pulls the candle and incense close, and waves his hands to waft and draw up the smoke, moving them like in such he can shapes their form and design. Then, finally, he reaches into the bowl and with the glittering wet purple mass, he puts color over his face paint, two small not-quite-swirl marks over each cheek. He weaves the color and glimmer in the darks of his paint's design.

He holds his hands out, all color covered. With eyes still closed, he speaks like there is an audience there, even if there is not.

"Celestial bindings taut, manacles mystic, shrouded by the cloak
THAT IS THE ILLUSION OF THE GREAT'S SPINNERS SPRUNG FROM THINE MOST HOLY OF FIRST CREATIONS
and know that the shroud is painted in the blood honoring of their children and we the first of the ready
WE MUST SEEK OF IT IN THE FRAYING AND PARTING OF BITS BEAT AND LOST TO THE FLUTTER FLICKER
we must See the fuck within and to the being of our souls motherfucking forsaken so

LET THE SYNDICATORTIONISTS SLIP FREE OF BIND, LET THE LIQUID RIBBON HUNG HOLD NOT FOR IT IS BUT WATER

'But I am of clothe and fear cut of me and mine, an incision so deep as to be of mortal faulting'
SO IT WAS MOTHERFUCKING PREACHED ONCE AND, SAY TRUE, DIDST THE MANY GET THE BOB OF NUG LIKE CORES TO GAME SHOW
Thus the wicked mystics did reveal one what as to preach, enfolded too in the sickest midnight

AND LO', TWAS SAYETH, 'I AM THE GATHERER, AND FROM THEE SHALL I DRAW THINE SACRED PIECING'

In such they did recoil but grasped and gathered were they nevertheless and from the bone was cut each and each
'LOOK,' THE GATHERER DID SPEAKETH. 'HAVE OF YOUR GANDERBULBS A GLORIOUS FEAST AS WHAT ALL BE HERE'
Oculars burst to the sight for in such the stars were seen clear as the dawning morn what sears
IN THE HOLLOWS WHERE ALL THEIR SOULS DIDST CRY, WAS THE DUST POURED SO THAT THEY MIGHT KNOW SUCH
and of this dust was every tying torture that so did keep them still
FROM THE BONES GROUND UP HOWEVER THEY DID SO MOTHERFUCKING GET AS TO UP AND FIND
in such god had touched and blessed them each and every individual,
THE MOST RIGHTEOUS OF GIFTS, THE GREAT DELIVERANCE, IF ONLY THEY SHOULD SO SEE AND SO SEEK IT
And in the workings due did those few have skulls of gilded gold to mark the blessings received
CARRIED AND CARRIED ON BY PASSING SPECTRES EACH ON AND MOTHERFUCKING ON UNTIL
in every bone didst such beauty make to motherfucking lay as the jewels they could remember no longer
IN EVERY SISTER OF BROTHERS AND BROTHER OF SISTERS, RELATION ALL EACH AND ONWARD AS THE DIVINE THEMSELVES
in the passing sweeps swept, didst many the eyeless angel touched walk and some didst fall
FOR THEY HAD FORGOTTEN THEY WERE WITHOUT THE EYES THEY HAD GIVEN ONCELIKE
the fooled followers came unto themselves and those led astray to sin
DID FIND NO MORE COULD THEY MAKE AS TO BE GUIDED BY NONE BUT THE MOST RIGHTEOUS TO BE OF THEIR SAVING.
those whom held digits unrestrained, twitchers untamed, were so cursed or blessed as per all the divine will.
THEN SO DIDST COME TIME OF JUDGMENT, FOR THOSE EYELESS TO KNOW FROM THE TEACHINGS SACRED, THE TRUE ENEMY
for the bloodspill would not eschew those of weary conscience, no, it would seek of no discretion but by the pumpbiscuits ours
AND OF THE REMAINDER, THE GLORIOUS FEW, THE RIGHTEOUS RECOGNIZED, DID THE HOLY COME IN THEIR GRAND GRACING
by the flap of their feather will the Family find the sacred giftings to break of that which they have been motherfucking bound
BY THE STARS IN THEIR BONES, THE MIRTH OF THEIR SOULS, AND THE BLOOD OF THE FAMILY FOR THE BLOOD OF THE GREAT FAMILY WHOLE
so cracked and crushed the swallowing swaddling, lifted up shall we be twofold in the reckonings and

OURS SOULS SET ALIGHT, AT LAST, OUR TRUEST MOTHERFUCKING FREEDOMS AS WHAT BE OUR DESERVED.

By blessing of the Messiahs, by song of the Minstrels, may it so then be.
AY MEN!"

He reaches to his own arms and paints bones atop them. Up and down. He paints over his throat. He touches the blood to his lips. The backdrop of vivid imagery and color still lay behind him.

After another pause, another bit of talk and conversing or just a steady silence, he recites; "In strife upon the beaked beast. WHOSE TALONS GLIMMERGLEAMED. In holding shield of good feast. THINE SO DIDST THINK IT SEEMED. The creature was a demon sort. AND SET TO BRING A DOOM. until upon that bright ungracious court. THE MONSTER, CLAIMED, CONSUMED"

And then his eyes open again. He has blood and paint of all color, as well as greasepaint, in case. Just in case. He looks distant in a small way. Serene.

"Now you may as be of making to up and ask," He says, "SO OFTEN DOES THE RABBLE FORGET THE WAY AND RITE OF THE HOLY, DO NOT MOTHERFUCKING THINK HE DOES NOT KNOW. Why are the Messiahs called the Messiahs? WHY, MY BROTHERS, MY SISTERS, MY FAMILY HERE BEFORE ME HOWEVER SMALL, ARE THE MESSIAHS CALLED THE MESSIAHS? Because they are our saviours. THEY ARE THE GRAND AND MOST HIGH DELIVERERS OF OUR SOULS. And know, in their naming, we must be gracious, because they have chosen to be saviours of us. THEY HAVE MADE ALL TO DEIGN WERE ALL A GOD NEED NOT MOTHERFUCKING MAKE TO DEIGN FOR THE SAKE OF OUR MOTHERFUCKING SAVING. They ask of us what be true. THEY ASK OF MIRTH FOR THEIR RIGHTEOUS WAY. They ask that to us and them we remain true. THEY ASK WE KNOW, AND TREASURE, SPEAK OF NO SHIT SPURIOUS, WHEN IN THE BLESSING OF OUR FAMILY. They ask of us to trust the holy undoings and redoings. THE PLAN AS WHAT HAS BEEN LAIN BEFORE OUR MOTHERFUCKING SELVES. The plan that we, as their beloved family created, are to take part in, when our trials conclude at last. THE MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS BE CALLED THE MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS FOR IT IS THROUGH THEY AND THEIR BLESSINGS BESTOWED WE ARE GRACED AND SO MUST BE GRACIOUS AND EVER MOTHERFUCKING GRATEFUL. For Shangri-La will come to those what hold true. FOR THEIR WAY IS RIGHT AS IT IS MOTHERFUCKING RIGHTEOUS. And the Carnival will be open to they what wish it to be, the Minstrel's song ever ready as to be played for those what have of pushers on the listening, and the special stardust raining ever down."

By the end, his hands are folded together, palm to palm. His head is bowed in silent prayer. There's a smile upon his face.

E---

Eventually, there can be no other thing to do but to pack his things. By now he is dizzy with the scent of blood and incense, Mirth all run through him, and glitter and color coating him thick from head to toe. He'll collect all what he has, pleased as he is. And then he'll take care of washing it all down.

But first, a lonesome toast of some of the shitty fake-elixir what all he has gathered round. By proper Carnival standards, this was all some terribly meek. But he feels alright with it, and with himself in this brief moment.

Comments

[bunnybrat]

While she was still trying to get her head around the whole arena problem, Chibi-Usa kept coming down to the training centre. Not to train but to watch what everyone else was doing, hoping that maybe something will come to her to help her. After all, just being in the right places was what helped her and Usagi get more powerful to help protect people.

She couldn't help but be captivated by the jiggling as she started to walk passed, so she stops and watches him oohing and ahhing when he does something particularly fantastical to her young eyes.

As he finishes up by tossing the knives into the dummy, Chibi-Usa gives him a big round of applause.

"Uwah! That was amazing!"

[carnagecarnival]

His grin is wide enough when she comes around to see, growing with each noise of awe, and wider than all ever once she's applauding. It shows his fangs in all their glory, but he doesn't smile unkind. He's fair too pleased for that.

He gives a flourished waves of his hand which soon then leads into a deep bow. It's low enough his horns could knock a person, though he's careful enough and a good distance enough away not to in this case. But it stands as testament to his mood that he does such a thing.

"THANK YOU, LITTLE SISTER," He says. "Drawn by the Carnival is she? DONE WELL AS TO COME TO SEE. Done all motherfucking well in bringing about the proper mirth what be so desired." His tones fluctuate between a strangled growled thing and something all soft.

[bunnybrat]

"Ah!" She exclaims as he booms his opening, instinct causing her to clap her hands to her ears. Truth be told she finds his fluctuations kind of intimidating when combined with his appearance. How ever as far as she knows he's dressed up like this on purpose.

"You were in a carnival before you were brought here?"

Thinking about it, he did make her think of the Dead Moon Circus, it was hard not to with how he looked and how he was talking. However he didn't look as ... Silly as the performers from Dead Moon Circus, so she chose to keep optimistic about him.

[carnagecarnival]

He might be sheepish if he weren't being no kind of used to people cringing and all suchlike. He figures keeping all as he was about it makes him like to seem as it really ain't a thing what to be making concern of.

"HE WAS!" He says. "Church of the Mirthful Messiahs, little sister. DID WICKED BUSINESS UP UNDER THE CARNATHEDRALS GREAT. A grand thing such as it was to be, all stirring the faithpumps and spiritghosts lingering. YOU, SISTER?"

His hands rest up on his hips. His head tilts at her, inspecting slightly. She seems... familiar.

[bunnybrat]

"I-Is the voice part of your act?" She can't help but ask. But then blinks when he asks about her.

"Uh. I don't come from a carnival. I come from..." She pauses for barely a second, after all this time with Usagi and the others in the past she's still reluctant to say where she really comes from. "Tokyo. But we have a lot of festivals?"

D

[voodoocarnival]

Ripped he was from the dreambubbles into this strange world of games and deathmatches and he'd call it all whimsical if there was any real mirth underneath it all, but everything was glimmering and painted and fake, all a show. A show with unwilling actors, of which he'd just joined the cast.

So it was better to acquaint oneself with his surroundings, was it not?

He only got as far as the training center.

The sight, though not as grand as what might have been expected of home (but no lone motherfucker could ever replicate generations of subjuggulators and laughsassins' work in what a brother could assume was a day) but it still felt so strongly of what was right that he simultaneously felt at ease and felt as though his bloodpusher was trying to break through his chest.

And there he was, present, but late for the mother fuckin mirthful sermon.

Light steps carried him to the sheet, lighter movements sat him across from the fellow indigoblooded troll in question who had the faith all up in his ownself to organize as proper a Carnageval as he could manage. Messiah smile on the poor motherfucker, he wouldn't be alone no more.

Kurloz went through the ritual silently as the sermon carried on, the rite of blood and bone and water and paint all done but late before he rested his hands palm-up on his knees, head bowed and eyes shut to listen like a proper faithful brother all should when what mirthful exaltations couldn't be up and made.

Hopefully he wasn't unwelcome.

Re: D

[carnagecarnival]

There are very view right now what all he would deem as so unwelcome he'd break sermon to run them off. Not if all they were willing to listen. Especially not if they were a spectre of visions. He's not unfamiliar to such a thing, apparitions, visions. He doesn't really think to question it much, in the midst of a ceremony like all this, it comes as little surprise.

But it does hit with a pang, seeing his own face, the face of his alternate, bowed before him in silent participation and reverence. His mouth stitched up in the same smile he remembers, only looking older, closer to his own age. It's a strange vision to get, and a little bit cruel.

Until, slowly, he realises. He feels himself drained, his guts turning hollow as he stares in disbelief, jaw just slightly agape. They brought him back. They brought him back alive.

He's not unwelcome. He's not unwelcome at all.

In a moment of feeling purely overwhelmed, too much so for thinking all straight, he moves forward with his knees still all bentlike. His arms are thrown around his brother.

[voodoocarnival]

Being all sermon, prayer absorbed as such, he can't well notice when the other takes notice of his ownself as more than a fleeting vision. Doesn't notice his shock and surprise too busy is he finally, finally feeling at home after so much foreign time in the bubbles and now here - here, in the strange, cold, industrial looking building what was now supposed to be all home.

He does notice the sudden embrace.

It shocks him at first, sends his pusher trying to burst forth from his chest once more as he's snapped clean out of his reverie, sermon, prayer, ritual, home, right into the arms of his brother in the warmest, the most mother fucking real hold he's had in eons.

A beat.

His breath hitches and he returns the embrace without so much as a second thought, burying his face in the chest of the other.

[carnagecarnival]

He's not a half of the other, and the other ain't a half of him. They are past and future so he ain't believe that noise that all he's more whole being as like this. But he does know it's another one of his family. His family all specific too, not just church family. It's not a piece coming together, but it is a thing getting it's heal on just that little bit and that's being goodlike also.

He tells himself he'll let go any second. He tells himself that as he hears his other's breath catch and feels him nuzzle into him, needing it just as much as he does, maybe more. He tells himself as he moves closer and draws his other in more all the same, his own face in the motherfucker's shoulder, his hand at his alternate's back. He remembers how as to breathe again. He does a deliberate nuzzle this time, then is the first to draw back. His hands rest on his Alter's arms, his shoulders, hovering around his face as he searches with his eyes for any sign of anything.

"THOUGHT AS YOU WAS BEING GONE PERMANENT," He says at last. "He didn't up and think as they'd spare your ass."

C

[pythianjudgment]

With the music part over, Terezi thinks it might be about time for her to leave. She's still not keen on the Carnival thing, especially if Fraysong is moving on to other Acts. But at the same time she's still curious.

That curiosity almost dies when he reaches for his clubs. She's making the motion to get on her feet, when he starts... juggling? Juggling. A Subjugglator trademark. She hesitates halfway to standing, then finishes the motion but stays put. This isn't as terrible as it seemed initially. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to linger some more.

"...You make it seem easy."

Re: C

[carnagecarnival]

He barks a laugh, loud and jubilant. He's amazed she's still here. But Carnival was always a place of miracles, one way or other.

"HE'S BEEN LIKE AS TO BE DOING THIS FOR SWEEPS, SISTER. Before all he went to church. BEFORE HE GOT ON AS BEING A SUBJUGGLATOR," He enthuses. "Just matter all of finding one's motherfucking balance proper. KEEP AS FOR STEADY FLOW LIKE ALL CYCLES GONE DEAD AND LIVING, DAWN TO DUSK."

He looks down at her. "You never gone and done?"

[pythianjudgment]

"Nope." And why should she? Juggling wasn't a Legislacerator's thing. Ropes on the other hand... She'd be impressed if anyone here could tie a knot better than her. But you can't entertain someone with ropes.

She sniffs warily at the club, avoiding the way that he's looking down at her. She wants to ask, but it feels wrong in a way. Maybe she's just being dumb... There's nothing inherently wrong about it. It isn't like she expects him to lop her head off for wanting to give it a try. In fact, the significant lack of lopping is one of the main reasons that she's still hanging around.

"...Can you show me?"

[carnagecarnival]

Damn. If this was how all it was going at to be he should've done Carnival sooner. Way sooner.

He catches the clubs, two in one hand, one in the other. Then to her he says, "FUCK YEAH."

He sets the clubs down. All of them in fact. He reaches for two candles, short and fat, something that can easily be caught in the hands. He blows the flame out on one, the the other. He checks it over several times to be sure the wax isn't going to drip all upon her as to burn. Then he weighs them both, juggles them once, and nods.

"Start with one for now. THEN SHE AND HE GET ON AS TO DOING FOR TWO." He passes her the candle and stands before her, waiting for her to mirror his stance. "You'll be of wanting to get all for the feel of it for now. TOSS SHOULD BE ALL OF EY- JUST OVER NOSE HEIGHT. Elbows at hips like so. DON'T MOVE THE HANDS ALL TOO MUCH JUST THE FUCK YET, WE'LL BE AS TO GETTING AT TO THAT. Try that for a bit. AFTER A GOOD FEW ROUNDS SETTLED ON, TRY ALL TO DIP THE HAND SHALLOW, ALL SIDELIKE AS WHAT BE THIS. As though digits got on twitch to touch voodoo-- OR WATER. Like lightest catch of rainfall. LIGHTEST MOTHERFUCKING LOOP."

B

[silberfuchs]

While the training center has many uses, Albert's generally always looked at it like a gym, but with Jet having painted on the walls (now power-washed away) he came down to see if he couldn't find some more creative way of using the space himself. He works out every morning but his interests are stagnating in this place. No art save for advertisement, no books of any note, no music that he would actually call music other than anthems. Nothing for its own sake or the sake of something intangible.

At least he thought not until he unwittingly strides in on Initiate's percussion dance.

It doesn't look like a practice of alien faith to him, all color and tapping. It looks more like a one person Holi. He'd gone once with Pyunma, an effort on his friend's part to pull him from the emotional funk that had plagued him in those days. At the time he'd just felt awkward, a tall white sore thumb standing out in a sea of native peoples though Pyunma assured him he was the only one who felt that way. And by the end of it he wasn't exactly white anymore, the powered colors coating him from head to toe in brilliant hues. He'd groused about it at the time but he'd very nearly had fun, which is saying a lot for the German.

But it's not that memory or the color that draws Albert to keep watching, it's the music. He can hear it, the percussion that's supposed to go between Initiate's strikes, his composers sensibilities coming awake at the unfinished soundscape attempting to unfold. It needs more hands, more feet, and Albert finds himself tapping his foot on the floor where the beats are missing in spite of himself, and in spite of potentially getting caught watching something he's not sure he's invited to watch.

Re: B

[carnagecarnival]

If someone told the Initiate of this human celebration called Holi, shared all such with him, he'd most likely be delighted. And indeed think it likenable to something from Carnival.

He's tapping along, making his beat. He pretends what all he hears in his head is what all is actually being played. He makes his beats with stomp and staff. But in all his imagining, he doesn't miss when something more becomes real. His head lifts, without faltering in his song, looking up and around for the sound. It could easily be a coincidence.

Only it ain't. That be all a legit stomp step what's being added. He grins wider at it, then all upon Albert himself. He gets a mischievous glint to his eyes and starts on picking up the pace, deliberate. If he ain't inivited, the Initiate ain't acting like he's not.

[silberfuchs]

The eye contact tips Albert off that perhaps instead of standing aside and tapping his foot he should take up a instrument himself and join. Percussion isn't exactly his forte but he takes up a spear regardless and starts tapping where his foot had been providing the rhythm. It's a little harder, a little less shy, but still tentative as the German steps from the wall, still in time, and joins Initiate with unsure footing that somehow still keeps the beat.

He's got excellent rhythm, but somehow can't dance well at all. It's a curse.

[carnagecarnival]

His grin just grows wider and wider, trying for encouraging but mostly losing the effect in excitement, drowned away as it be. Maybe Albert can't dance, but that doesn't matter too much. He's not about to be picky at a time like this and what's more important than the skill of it, is the engagement. Veneration of the Messiahs in their Mirthful glories and so, if one found mirth dancing badly, that still was a thing to be.

But the motherfucker can play, and that's even better. A gift in its own, the Minstrels would be proud would they.

"HAHA, YES! Don't think on it too much, just let it to going!" He says. And in the meantime, he shall dance ever more.

B

[69problems]

The Signless probably isn't exactly the 'somebody' the Initiate was hoping for. Even he isn't sure why he's still here, why he didn't just leave the moment he noticed that the training center was serving as a makeshift carnival tent. This is a place he instinctively knows he's not really welcome.

The Initiate can keep a beat, though, and it's clear there's supposed to be more there than just his single percussion line. An indigo celebration is meant for many beats and voices, not just one. So. Either this is going to go over very well or very badly. It's just a sad irony that a troll with 'song' in their very title can't sing.

The Signless can, though. Some of his fondest memories are of singing with his mother and his beloved to keep up their spirits in harder times. He doesn't know any hymns of indigo faith but he does know songs of life and death and how all things cycle into each other, songs his mother would sing in the Caverns and taught to him because those were the songs she knew. They're fitting enough. His voice is rough in places, obviously not meant for singing the higher notes, but it's clear and steady.

Hopefully this will come across as the extended hand it's meant to be and not the mockery it definitely isn't.

Re: B

[carnagecarnival]

He nearly drops his staff and club. He nearly goddamn stumbles over both. Certainly the beat loses itself for a good few moments.

It's with disbelief that he looks up at the one who gets their vocalising slung and strewn in rhythm-rhyme preciselike upon the song. It's one thing to have drawn one into it all with voice. It's another that...

Well, that it be him.

A song about the cycles, life and death. It's no proper hymn but it's fitting all the same. It flows well up in it all. He's a little breathless to find he recognizes it. He could mouth each lyric without fail, if he tried. It reaches on through to things thought long gone.

He starts back in slow, ignoring the hollowed feeling in him, catching his steps again and starting all the fuck over. Soon enough the beat has returned, a melody now to the rhythm he's made, all blending together. His eyes close as he listens to it all and fosters its growth. If he thinks too hard about it-- that the cult would deem this heresy, his own feelings toward this fucker-- it'll ruin it all, and so he doesn't think about it as much as he can. He just plays.

[pythianjudgment]

It's the sound that draws Terezi in at first. There's something like rhythm and singing coming from the Training Center, and if that isn't the strangest thing... Curiosity piqued, she follows the sound to it's source. And then stops dead in her tracks.

Signless and Fraysong. She's not quite sure that she's smelling this correctly. They're alone here, and... making music together? She didn't know that Fraysong took to music at all. She didn't know that Signless could sing. And she certainly didn't know that either of them could be in a room together...

There is clearly something Carnival going down in this room, but as much as she wants to leave, she doesn't. She's their auspistice, and if they're going to do this, then she owes it to them to stick around. So she lingers awkwardly by the door for a minute or so before gradually moving closer and closer to the two.

Despite her initial misgivings, the beat is... nice. It's certainly something she could enjoy, as crazy as that seems given the circumstances. But it's a little weak with one percussion and one singer. The large room that lets the sounds echo around doesn't help the matter. Almost subconsciously, she finds herself tapping her heel to the beat. She could add to it... Maybe.

It's just a flair at the end of the rhythm, a clap here and there, a snap, a stomp. Little things to flesh out the beat. But it's hard for her not to move once she's found the music. So she keeps going, adding more, until she's adding a strange little rhythm dance to the beat.

[69problems]

His voice wavers only just slightly in surprise when Terezi joins them, but to his credit he doesn't lose the rhythm or stumble over his words. He didn't know she could dance. Granted, what she's doing isn't strictly dancing, but it has more rhythm and grace than anything he could hope to accomplish with his two Vantas left feet.

It occurs to him that this is the first time their entire quadrant has been in one place together despite being together for as long as they have. It feels somehow right that this is the situation that would happen in, despite it not at all being the situation he expected.

He gives her a nod. Hello. You're welcome here, into whatever the hell this even is.

D

[dividedgirlofmine]

Susannah leans back against the wall, taking the whole impassioned speech in. She'd wondered what trolls did for religion, hadn't she? And now it turned out that what they did was a cross between the circus and a good old-fashioned tent revival.

He reminds her of that street preacher she'd seen in New York of 1999, actually.

("This country needs a BOMB, not a new-kew-lar one but a GAWD-BOMB, can you say hallelujah?")

Re: D

[carnagecarnival]

"FAIN SHOULD A PREACHER BE, TO FIND A SISTER'S SPIRIT GHOSTS HAS STEERED HER SUCH TO THE BEHOLDING OF MIRTHFUL SERMON. Dare he say, she has for an interest in the preach?" He says with that smile smile and closed eyes.

His eyes open part-way and find her. His folded hands go back to his knees and he raises a questioning brow.

Re: D

[dividedgirlofmine]

She finds herself smiling back despite herself. "I don't think I'll be converting," she tells him, "but it was certainly worth listening to. I don't know if I understood half of it, but... well, I didn't need to understand to it to tell that you're good at what you do."

Which he was. He could give just about any street preacher in New York City a run for his money.

Re: D

[carnagecarnival]

A smile spreads, pleased and pride-swelled. He knows he's good. At this thing singular if nothing the fuck else, it was his calling. He'd always been meant to be among the Messiahs many voices. He'd been meant to be the best. But he says, "FLATTERER. You do so flatter a preacher."