So this was the Carnival, this overwhelming inundation of all things cheerful and fun. The atmosphere should've brought a tentative smile to his face, the place bright and bustling compared to the wicked twist and turn of crowded trees from which he'd been delivered from. The promise of warm food, if he ever wished some, should've set his stomach arumbling. Instead the scent of both the sweet and savory that crept into nostrils as he lingered at the very entrance of this unfamiliar territory caused bile to rise at the back of his throat.

Fahl swallowed, the sole nervous action he allowed himself in others' presence, and muttered a mantra that'd persisted in his thoughts throughout the expedition: "Aw, shit."

Carnival hadn't been in his vocabulary, so how could he have known what they would blunder into. But witnessing the sight before him made the iguana regret not predicting the sort of area that a being like Nemean would frequent.

Strange creatures milled about, yet the set-up was reminiscent of the single festival he'd attended. Stalls, considerably better-stocked and built than an amateur's first attempt. Attractions, many more than he'd seen before. Unfamiliar clashed with the familiar here like a memory had been stolen from him, tampered with, and then discreetly returned. Despite the changes, it did not prevent peals of mocking laughter from emerging out of the past to take residence within his skull or cold to stab through him. He stood still, but feet remembered a time that they had run and run while some unknown beast had chased behind.

He still didn't know if every Gembound that'd entered that tunnel had made it to the other side. The challenge must not have been too great, else how had his inexperienced self survived unharmed? However, this was Nemean—cruel, sadistic. Who's to say that he'd been lucky, or that she hadn't worsened the odds for her own amusement later?

"Imp, you okay. Still with me?" he called over his shoulder. And did he continue to be with himself, in full possession of his senses?

Much as he wanted to, they couldn't charge full bore at Nemean and hope to drag her kicking and screaming back to Cetus where she might be flung face-first into the muck for Artio. Subterfuge had been advised, and unfortunately he agreed with that assessment, even going so far as to emphasize its use during discussions on the way to their destination.

"Lure her maybe," had been his suggestion among those the rest might have offered. "Then, with Artio... make her submit."

But what could she want that here didn't have? He had no key to her black heart, so no way to see or understand its awful pulse.

And those working at the Carnival? What were they? Lackeys or neutral?

Fahl tried to avoid resting his eyes on any one in particular, lest he risk attracting their attention. There might be more to be concerned about than Nemean should she have backup of her own. More to avoid suspicion or resistance from if this operation was to be executed without snags.

"Think they're friendly," he whispered out of the side of his mouth. The question was ripe for misinterpretation, its sound so muted that all inflection had failed to be expressed. Standard complications for someone who had to force every little syllable past his gemstone-embedded tongue.

Although he should've known better, Fahl shook his head in response to Imp's eager pleas to jump straight to well-deserved murder. "Not yet. Don't trust this place. We've got to get her out of here first. Then we can—"

Whatever loose outline of a plan he wished to say would unfortunately not come to light, the very sound of Nemean's voice directed toward them enough to clamp his jaw shut. Teeth clacked together so fast that they almost bit the tip of his tongue off. Every scale blanched to startling white for the briefest instant before settling into dull mottled bronze and black.

Speak of the enemy and she would make her presence known.

Her laughter, no longer memory but current reality, sent him spiraling. Once he realized it was all for his teacher, the situation was made no better. A string of cusses gathered at the back of his throat, waiting to be loosed upon this awful being before him, yet sense held them there. He choked on all the hate he wanted to spew, tears pricking eyes. The insult—the audacity—and still not the time for immensely overdue payback.

Damned Masters. As much as their aid would help, if only this small band of Gembound could do the deed entirely themselves. He much rather would immolate her where she hovered for the disrespect she showed.

Under the spotlight's warmth and enflamed by rage, bronze intensified to scarlet. Fahl squinted through its blinding influence, trying to maintain sight of Nemean. At most he picked out her silhouette through the harshness flooding his vision.

Who was he? Perhaps not her magical superior, but certainly her moral better. Not that she would likely give a shit about such a thing. No, he needed to introduce himself in a way that wouldn't have him smote on the spot. Something simple but not boring. Something that would make her want to know more. Something like—

That.

The pig hadn't been expected. Fahl certainly didn't recognize him, and he sure didn't have any desire to be anywhere close to him, especially not after the unruly fellow's charge nearly trampled him, hooves missing the rest of his body for the thinnest ends of his long tailfins. However, the new unknowing addition to their ranks was a welcome distraction for him to play off of.

"Er, yes," he said. Despite how little he felt like doing so, the newcomer's hulking shadow provided reprieve from the bright light. Fahl sidled into it a slight amount so that he might better observe Nemean, then stood as high as he could on stubby legs with chest pridefully puffed in an attempt to keep some measure of attention on him. "Winners. We're here... to win this entire Car... Carnival."

"I'm Fahl the... Magnificent and Many-colored. And I bet that I and those with me can best every game here."

Scarlet and black to white and orange to arctic blue and gold to green and tan. This was the first time he ever tried to actively change his appearance, and the effort put into it gave him a splitting headache.