[It would be hard to say anybody waking up a cage is having a good time, but there is a certain man who is definitely having a worse time.
The cage itself isn't any higher than most, really—four stories up, bolted into the side of a brick building. The door is on the opposite side from the wall, though, which isn't great. That's not the real cause of the bad time, though. No, what's more immediately obviously a problem is that this particular man's front and hands are covered in blood. He's also clearly tense, shoulders set in a defensive posture as he hurriedly glances about, one hand gripped tightly around a bar to help keep his balance.
The combination of the blood and the fact he's dressed like a typical businessman (minus jacket) might make one reasonably assume he's not prepared to climb out of and around a precariously positioned cage forty-plus feet off the ground—but he reaches through the wide opening of the bars for the latch anyway.
There's plenty of people around, but he's not shouting for help or attention or anything. How strange...]
⬬ How do I work this? | games & booths
[The situation has only marginally improved.
The presence of a carnival of all things seems so stupidly mundane given the rest of the situation—somehow in an unknown city, potentially an unknown world in another realm, or a simulation—that even as sharp as he usually is, he struggles to make sense of it. People simply appearing in the midst of whatever constitutes normal life for this place, and it's apparently treated as a nuisance at worst to those already here. It's remarkable what one can get used to... or it would be if he wasn't so wound up about it.
Either way, he needs information, and he hates standing out, so he manages to find somewhere to wash his hands and ends up trading his blood-soaked clothing for a stereotypical vampire costume. (The fangs are tossed away. There's only so much he can take.)
He can be found around the carnival, the serious expression on his face clearly marking him as not here for the fun of it. He thinks he can be forgiven. This is also currently the best place for him to avoid... suspicion? Disdain? At least the carnival workers don't seem like they're ready to shove him into another cage—not that he'd allow himself to remain in one, but there are too many unknowns to risk it. His magic doesn't seem to be working properly.
So he's working on solving those unknowns. He browses the games and booths without engaging with them, more interested in the people, so anyone might find a tall man in a cape and high collar approaching subtly, waiting for the right moment to ask:]
Have you been here long?
[... it barely sounds like a question, but that might be blamed on the fact that this man looks utterly exhausted, even if he's managing to keep his posture upright. He's also still managing to sound halfway casual, which is probably an accomplishment given how shaken he still is internally.]
⬬ Am I right? Am I wrong? | fortune teller
[At some point, he found himself aggressively encouraged by a carnival worker to go see the fortune teller—it'll help his mood improve, surely, or at least give him some clarity, right? Now that he's away from it, on the edge of the carnival grounds, he doesn't like that he can barely remember it. It's worse than unsettling, knowing his mind can be tampered with even further. So much for clarity.
By this point, he's at least managed to get dressed in something less ridiculous; a small point of normalcy in this utterly abnormal situation. He's still not convinced this isn't some sort of elaborate hallucination or illusion. The latter surely wouldn't be terribly difficult for his enemies to set up if they had a mind to do it, as much as he hates to admit it. The former—
The blood is gone but he still sees red.
Bringing a hand over his face doesn't help, nor does closing his eyes. The anchor of certainty that's kept him going all this time has come loose. Seeing his ward in front of him, still physically whole, might have been enough—but he can't even have that. Between that, these people torn between treating him like a guest or an invader, knowing the possibility of Chaos's borrowed magic corrupting his mind, that accusatory scrap of paper—
He laughs, shaky and unrestrained, heedless of anyone else who might be there to hear it. It's not pleasant to listen to, but it might fit in with the unsettling atmosphere of the season.]
⬬ My God! What have I done? | wildcard
[Any other ideas? Hit me up here or over here or PM! As a note: Zekarion cannot be sensed supernaturally, and any abilities trying to do so will react as if he doesn't exist. The more characters that notice this being Weird As Hell, the more fun I have. You can find more info on my profile page here!]
Zekarion Altius | OC | TDM
[It would be hard to say anybody waking up a cage is having a good time, but there is a certain man who is definitely having a worse time.
The cage itself isn't any higher than most, really—four stories up, bolted into the side of a brick building. The door is on the opposite side from the wall, though, which isn't great. That's not the real cause of the bad time, though. No, what's more immediately obviously a problem is that this particular man's front and hands are covered in blood. He's also clearly tense, shoulders set in a defensive posture as he hurriedly glances about, one hand gripped tightly around a bar to help keep his balance.
The combination of the blood and the fact he's dressed like a typical businessman (minus jacket) might make one reasonably assume he's not prepared to climb out of and around a precariously positioned cage forty-plus feet off the ground—but he reaches through the wide opening of the bars for the latch anyway.
There's plenty of people around, but he's not shouting for help or attention or anything. How strange...]
⬬ How do I work this? | games & booths
[The situation has only marginally improved.
The presence of a carnival of all things seems so stupidly mundane given the rest of the situation—somehow in an unknown city, potentially an unknown world in another realm, or a simulation—that even as sharp as he usually is, he struggles to make sense of it. People simply appearing in the midst of whatever constitutes normal life for this place, and it's apparently treated as a nuisance at worst to those already here. It's remarkable what one can get used to... or it would be if he wasn't so wound up about it.
Either way, he needs information, and he hates standing out, so he manages to find somewhere to wash his hands and ends up trading his blood-soaked clothing for a stereotypical vampire costume. (The fangs are tossed away. There's only so much he can take.)
He can be found around the carnival, the serious expression on his face clearly marking him as not here for the fun of it. He thinks he can be forgiven. This is also currently the best place for him to avoid... suspicion? Disdain? At least the carnival workers don't seem like they're ready to shove him into another cage—not that he'd allow himself to remain in one, but there are too many unknowns to risk it. His magic doesn't seem to be working properly.
So he's working on solving those unknowns. He browses the games and booths without engaging with them, more interested in the people, so anyone might find a tall man in a cape and high collar approaching subtly, waiting for the right moment to ask:]
Have you been here long?
[... it barely sounds like a question, but that might be blamed on the fact that this man looks utterly exhausted, even if he's managing to keep his posture upright. He's also still managing to sound halfway casual, which is probably an accomplishment given how shaken he still is internally.]
⬬ Am I right? Am I wrong? | fortune teller
[At some point, he found himself aggressively encouraged by a carnival worker to go see the fortune teller—it'll help his mood improve, surely, or at least give him some clarity, right? Now that he's away from it, on the edge of the carnival grounds, he doesn't like that he can barely remember it. It's worse than unsettling, knowing his mind can be tampered with even further. So much for clarity.
By this point, he's at least managed to get dressed in something less ridiculous; a small point of normalcy in this utterly abnormal situation. He's still not convinced this isn't some sort of elaborate hallucination or illusion. The latter surely wouldn't be terribly difficult for his enemies to set up if they had a mind to do it, as much as he hates to admit it. The former—
The blood is gone but he still sees red.
Bringing a hand over his face doesn't help, nor does closing his eyes. The anchor of certainty that's kept him going all this time has come loose. Seeing his ward in front of him, still physically whole, might have been enough—but he can't even have that. Between that, these people torn between treating him like a guest or an invader, knowing the possibility of Chaos's borrowed magic corrupting his mind, that accusatory scrap of paper—
He laughs, shaky and unrestrained, heedless of anyone else who might be there to hear it. It's not pleasant to listen to, but it might fit in with the unsettling atmosphere of the season.]
⬬ My God! What have I done? | wildcard
[Any other ideas? Hit me up here or over here or PM! As a note: Zekarion cannot be sensed supernaturally, and any abilities trying to do so will react as if he doesn't exist. The more characters that notice this being Weird As Hell, the more fun I have. You can find more info on my profile page here!]