+ Somewhere a Grandiose Carnival Was Going on in the Sky +

[vitaelamorte]

Who: Everyone!
Where: The grounds of the Mansion
When: March 9-16
Rating: PG-13 (warn if you go higher)
Summary: The Red Queen has thrown a carnival for everyone!
The Story:


From Friday, March 9, through Friday, March 16, the gardens and grounds of the Mansion will be a sprawling a carnival. The masked, unspeaking vendors will be selling trinkets and running free game booths. Carnival rides, exhibits, and foods represent all of the various cultures of those currently residing in the Mansion.


Of particular note, and perhaps incongruously, everything is decorated with red hearts.

Use this log for any and all of your carnival needs!

Comments

[spycurious]

[He notices the offer and then noticeably hesitates, then decides to go for it and plucks a piece from the main part.]

I'd like to think you're right, but I know that I've never experienced firsthand a hot, southern climate.

[Ben tries the morsel, chews on it thoughtfully for a few moments before his expression shows he deems it acceptable.]

[mucked]

They say it makes a difference when it's a dry heat. [ californians do, at least. ] You shouldn't believe them. Lies, all of it.

[ give her rainy london or mercurial new york or anywhere but los angeles.

but peggy smiles over another bite of funnel cake, prompting him: ] Delicious, isn't it?

[spycurious]

[He laughs and, when the silent vendor offers him a carton, he elects to take it.] Enough for me to keep eating it.

I'd hate to see what battles are like down in places like Virginia, or further south. The heat of summer is stifling enough in New England, much less elsewhere. It was summer when I was home last--well and truly home. [He pries a piece of that fried goodness off his own.]

I disobeyed orders and took men back to Setauket. They'd arrested the peaceful Patriots still remaining, including my father and Caleb's uncle. I expect I'll be soundly disciplined when I leave this place, but it saved their lives. All but one. [He sighs and still tries to smile, not having intended to let the conversation wander into heavier territory.]

[mucked]

Some orders are fit to be disobeyed.

[ some. she can't help herself, really, if a bit of her admiration for american rebellion even comes with its own sons defying its own army's orders. she thinks through that proclivity of hers while she takes another bite of funnel cake.

and, eventually: ]

Some, but not all. The difference -- and dignity, I suppose -- is in discerning which risks are worth it. Was yours?

[spycurious]

[His eyebrows are raised ever so slightly in curiosity while they both have another bite of their food. She didn't seem the type to approve, but he realizes it was a misjudgment on his part. She seems to be, in her words, more discerning than that. And he likes her a little bit more for it.]

It was. Caleb and I could not abandon our remaining friends and family to the gallows. I was unable to help my little brother, Samuel. He was a captain--captured and sent to the HMS Jersey where he died. Such is war, I suppose. [He doesn't believe that. Not for a damn minute.]

...Townsfolk who never raised a hand to anyone being sentenced to death because they signed a petition is enough reason to break the chain of command. I believe if a tragedy can be prevented, it should be.

[mucked]

I don't disagree, Major.

[ if a tragedy can be prevented, it should be. but that's a tricky line to draw in anyone's sand, isn't it? peggy might find herself nodding along to ben's best instinct -- but a steady voice in the back of her thoughts can already form a handful of cogent arguments.

and none of them have anything to do with how well she already understands the truth that ben's talking around: her countrymen, of a sort, were the ones doing the sentencing. but she won't be the one to ask him just how far he's gotten in his studies -- whether he's figured out, yet, the darker parts of the war she'd just finished fighting in her decade. of too many tragedies that weren't prevented sooner. ]

I am sorry, however. About your brother.

[ lovely talk for a carnival, isn't it? ]

[spycurious]

[The gravity of the direction the conversation went (where he steered it, even) contrasted with their jovial surroundings finally reaches him. He blinks as though coming to his senses and realizes he may have gone too far. Though he might be inclined to push the subject out of sheer stubbornness and sensing minor disagreement, he would have no rational ground to do so.

Ben bites his tongue. There is a time and a place.

He smiles apologetically.]

... And I apologize for bringing up such a heavy subject. Wonderland has allowed me time when I had little before, and with time comes ample opportunity to overthink things that are usually best left alone.

Do you attend festivals like these often? You seem somewhat familiar.

[mucked]

[ she gladly allows him the grace of his redirection. ben's right, after all. it's a heavy subject. one she wears heavily, herself, but feel only rarely inclined to discuss. and while she might ordinarily want to pick and pry at the man's record -- his reasons and rationals -- she lets it slide because he, in effect, lets it slide first.

but her smile is a touch rueful, all the same. ]

Oh, no, I wouldn't say often. A Saturday trip to the aforementioned Coney Island aside, what I know best are the street fairs from back home. [ a beat. ] London, that is. Shell games and hand pies.

[ she tilts her head toward the ferris wheel. ] There used to be one of those in Earl's Court, I think, but they dismantled it before I was born.

[spycurious]

[Ben's smile is rueful too. He continues picking at the dough, listening quietly.]

We would have some festivities in Setauket. I envied the adults, as a child, with the rare celebration of Christmas. My favorite though was Bonfire Night. [Something Americans stopped celebrating in an effort to distance themselves from British customs, but that's after his time.]

It's grim, I know, but I enjoyed the cool of the night and the warmth of the bonfire. Mother would bake and I could smell all the good food, and the wind off the sea.

[mucked]

-- Bonfire Night, oh God. [ it's been a while, hasn't it? peggy smiles. ] In Hampstead it was all very tidy and proper. Well-supervised. But once I started lodging at school, deeper in the city, I saw some wild ones.

[ the guy was always more thrillingly grotesque the further one got into the city. sneaking out on a november night -- a gaggle of school girls venturing to the other side of the thames just to peep at how the kids in the rougher boroughs managed.

a long long time ago. ]

But coronations were always the big events, for us. [ a sly glance. ] No surprise there.

[spycurious]

[The mention of coronations doesn't earn any scorn, and his amusement at her description of holiday revelry diminishes none.]

Now that reminds me of celebrating it at Yale. [There's a little twinkle in his eye, but he won't elaborate further. Instead:] You know, I've always wanted to see firsthand what a coronation was like. I'll see a handful of presidential inaugurations in my future, which I greatly anticipate, but I'm sure they're not nearly the same.

[mucked]

It's a lot of bunting.

[ she starts in sarcastic -- but, as the words progress, her earnest affection for her countrymen bleeds through. ]

The whole street assembles. Flags and decorations and everyone's pulled out these long tables down the road, setting them end-to-end and filling them with food. That is, I've certainly never been in to see the ceremony itself. [ a hitch of her smile. ] But the boroughs buzz with it.

[spycurious]

[The look of imagination is written on his features as he tries his hardest to imagine this far off time and place. A sense of nostalgia for a where and when he's never been warms him considerably.

Ben suddenly, inexplicably feels as though this isn't something she's told everyone; nor does it seem like a particular secret. She seems amicably tight-lipped and well put together, and both qualities are the kind he admires.]

The job may never be done, but here's to peace and festivities here and at home. [He raises another piece of dough in lieu of a drink.] For all that they're worth.