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The Park, Most of Sunday

Had the carnival changed? Retreated? No, but perhaps it had filled up even worse over the past twenty-four hours or so.

The look on that mustached man's face certainly exuded a certain amount of triumph as the lights went on again early on Sunday morning. He stabbed the ground with his cane and watched; if experience counted for anything, then there would be yet more pouring into his carnival today.

The feeding was good, here.

That scent of cotton candy rolled over the island once more, and the carnival's music touched what it could not.

It's a new day, Fandom. Come, enjoy it.

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They won't hurt you... probably.

Kenzi was there. She'd been down with the flu for a day or so, and mad at missing the carnival. Not so much now.

Also, y'all are very photogenic, and this is going on Youtube.

One hug had been enough for Roland. He wandered to the fringes, still hugging his guitar case, to find somewhere to sit and quietly indulge in his panic.

"Having fun?"

"Is it creepy if I say yes?" Kenzi wondered, then snapped a photo of Roland. "I'm glad it's not me, and I'm glad it's over. How're you doing? Do you want some bactine? I could go pick some up."

"Probably just need some ice," Roland said. He sat down next to Kenzi, still hugging the slightly scorched case. "I'm just glad it didn't get through the vinyl."

"Hang on, dude."

Kenzi ducked to one of the booths and grabbed some ice without asking (that was probably going to bite her later) and came back with it in a paper cup. "Here. Is that guy you were hugging all better now?"

She'd hug Bo, if she saw her. Or maaaybe a couple other people. But she was kinda hoping she wouldn't have to after that, 'cause holy crap.

"Seemed like. He apologized for throwing fireballs at me."

"Apologies for craziness; always a good sign." Kenzi winced and asked, "How bad are you burned?" She looked around, biting her lip. "Eating the cotton candy would be a mistake, hunh." Even if it smelled so goooood.

"Yes, Kenzi," Roland said, clutching the cup of ice in both hands. "It would be a pretty big mistake." He looked down at his hands. "I tossed it away pretty quick. Might have to take a day off playing."

Which was going to suck almost as much as the burns did.

"I should find you a ... something to put that ice in, to hold on those," Kenzi said, looking worried. She squinted around and then said, "So, on a scale of 1 to permanent trauma, how's this one rate, you think?"

"There were no decaying bodies trying to talk to me," Roland said, "and I didn't have to consider sacrificing myself to an enormous dragon. So I'm going to call it a four."

"Cool. A four calls for ice cream and rest, playing with cats. For about four days." Kenzi had this whole scale worked out now. "Possibly really good pizza and pasta."

"Does it have to involve cats?" Sorry, Zenkie. "Pizza would be good. And alcohol. A four definitely calls for alcohol."

"Fine, I'll hug the cat for you." The things she did. "Yeah, I think we can call it a booze-worthy weekend. I do love working the bar on Mondays, sometimes. People take so much comfort from it, ya know?"

"You work at the zombie bar."

Zombies weren't comforting!

"They're harmless! And they really like their calypso."

She might get them to do 'Shake Shake Shake, Senora' tomorrow.

"C'mon. Someone'll have a party somewhere. Let's go find it. And everyone else who needs more hugs."

"I think I'm done hugging today," Roland said. "It's remarkably painful."

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The Park, Most of Sunday

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