This is your blind spot, blind spot; it should be obvious, but it's not. [Semi-locked?]
[OOC: Mostly here for plot purposes, though anyone who wants to can tag. I just may be a little slow in responding because of Teh Epick Brinzdeth.]
There is one person who is not, has not been, and will not be at the Carnival. Arlin doesn't do Carnivals unless he's there for business or is dragged there against his will. There could be an argument made to say that Arlin doesn't do fun. He would probably not try to debunk this argument.
Currently, he happens to be in the gunshop, which has had next to no customers all day. He's not banished the kid working the register, because he doesn't particularly feel like doing any of the piddly little crap that goes into running a shop but he doesn't mind helping whoever does come in pick out what exactly they need. He's lounging at one end of the long counter that runs down one side of the shop, boots resting on the top of the case, reading and flicking one of the ever-growing number of balsawood machines so it rocks back and forth a few inches on its feet. The noise is comforting. It's driving the cashier kid a little batty and she's been giving him surreptitious deathglares for awhile, but if Arlin notices this, he doesn't care.
Right now, he's just relaxing, albeit with one eye on the door, just out of habit.
There is one person who is not, has not been, and will not be at the Carnival. Arlin doesn't do Carnivals unless he's there for business or is dragged there against his will. There could be an argument made to say that Arlin doesn't do fun. He would probably not try to debunk this argument.
Currently, he happens to be in the gunshop, which has had next to no customers all day. He's not banished the kid working the register, because he doesn't particularly feel like doing any of the piddly little crap that goes into running a shop but he doesn't mind helping whoever does come in pick out what exactly they need. He's lounging at one end of the long counter that runs down one side of the shop, boots resting on the top of the case, reading and flicking one of the ever-growing number of balsawood machines so it rocks back and forth a few inches on its feet. The noise is comforting. It's driving the cashier kid a little batty and she's been giving him surreptitious deathglares for awhile, but if Arlin notices this, he doesn't care.
Right now, he's just relaxing, albeit with one eye on the door, just out of habit.