The Ink Blooded Boy & The Paper Knight [Seridano & phanto]
 

"A Carnival?" Suspicion colored Jem's tone, even as his eyes peeked over the arm of the couch, lit with interest. He'd always had a thing for carnivals, but he knew better than to jump on the assignment. The last time they'd said carnival they'd meant half-bit caravan run by an overly aggressive huckster in some Gods forsaken town on the edge of the map. That's what Goran had called it, at any rate, and Jem hadn't really been able to disagree. The place had reminded him of a bowl filled with dust and loose screws, and he'd come back looking much the same, coated with a thick layer of ashy crap that he swore took almost a full week to shake, in spite of numerous washings. Jem hated dust.

The time before that, they'd called the mission in question a party. Infiltrate the party they'd said. Jem had been expecting a lavish ball, had decked himself out in his very best: freed his hair, found some silks that shifted hues as he moved and clung to him like a second skin besides, and found out somewhat belatedly that they'd meant some brat kid's birthday party, and that had been that. He'd been over-dressed and out of place.

He swore they kept him out of the loop on purpose. That the others found it amusing, a small bit of payback for the troubles that he'd caused since they'd taken him in. He didn't mean to trouble them, of course, but more often than not, it couldn't be helped. What the ink demanded of him was nothing so trivial that it could be ignored, and there are some things that a man can only go through a handful of times before he snaps. Oh, those two things weren't connected of course, the ink never demanded of him more than he could handle, more than any art would demand - just his soul, such a simple thing. The demands of those around him were another matter...

"Define Carnival."

"Well, I guess it's actually more a festival."

"Go on."