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 Posted: Mon Oct 28, 2019 6:00 am
Quote: In a time of darkness, sometimes it's the little things that make a difference. Destiny City has its fair share of tragedies, not the least of which was the Carnival Fire of 1942. The story of a distant memory that claimed the lives of over a hundred people and injured many more recently resurfaced after an estate sale revealed the only surviving relics of the massive fire: a set of old carousel horses. A local philanthropist and historian acquired the set, some of which were badly burned, and set about restoring them. It took several months, but the project was completed and the Carousel was resurrected in memory of those who lost their life on the very grounds they lost. It stands now, open to the public, a tribute of Destiny's City past and its perseverance. The Carousel operates as to be expected, with antique horses that are perhaps a bit more frightening than need be and a tune that is almost as eerie as it is cheery. Some even say they hear distant voices, and screams, mixed into the music; others have said that as the Carousel moves the shadows of people fleeing distracts them. It's probably just a ghost story, though. Are you brave enough to find out?
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Posted: Mon Oct 28, 2019 6:58 am
He had only seen a carousel on the TV screen in his room and at the faire with him and Marissa. His reach to experiences to the outside world were limited in many ways but it meant new experiences. It had been a fun time and so his feelings when seeing the carousel, closed for the night, was rather of find memories. There were things that he could reflect on and find a sense of joy and a reminder that he wasn't fully a youma yet to feel these things. It didn't compare to the more viseral joys he felt from fighting, but it was a softer, more buffered feeling.
Hoping over the fence with ease, he stepped upon the platform and let his finger graze the backs of floral-decorated stallions and prancing, pastel-polished mares. The entire heard was corraled behind black fenching under a sky of painted cherubs and flowers and large carnival bulbs. The sheer size if them was minute to actual horses but large compared to a person and high upon their skewering poles. As much as they ran with one another, they never got anywhere. Such a shame.
He moved to the controllers which needed a key and ran his fingers over it, with a shock of electricity through his system and a flare of hear that seared his palm, the carnival lights and music jerked and started in a loud, booming chorus. His heart leapt up to his throat as his ears shot back. The assault if nosie and light hurt his keen youma senses as he stepped back into the wrought-iron fencing. It took him a moment to adjust and as he peeled his eyes open to adjust to the light, he saw the horse dancing about their stage.
The music was meant to be merry with a jumping calliope tune and dings and bells that came from the heart of the machine. Moving closer, he stepped up and was whisked in the spinning circle. Here he moved between the wide-mouthed equines and as he sank into the shine if the warm lights, it was as if he could feel the twitching, restrained muscle under course fur and the worn-leather of their harnesses. The touch of wet, flared nostrils and the hot breath as they whinnied and screamed.
As the world spinner outside of the turning ballroom they spun about, his brow started to sweat as his uniform cling to his back. It felt harder to breath and he leaned against the back of a mare. With a sudden lurch and a clack of hooves hitting polished wood, he felt himself bucked and thrown to the ground, hitting his head against the golden wood. As the animals bobbed around him in a sea of slender legs and rounded bellies, his eyes flickered to a dark set of legs further off. Rising up, he looked around for the people who were there, but saw no one. Woozy, he touched his brow where he felt a stinging welt and dragged off the platform
The moment he stepped off, the cool chill welcomed him. The song ended. The machine powered down. Old machined had a funny history of turning on and off and if it was over 70 years old then he chalked it up to the kinks of a bygone age.
Wiping the swear from his face, he looked at the horses, ghostly bright in the dark, and hopped back over the fence. He felt too nauseous for a patrol now.
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