It’s true that Painter’s planet isn’t among the most cosmopolitan or relevant to the cosmere’s political or economic landscape. I still recommend you visit. Trust a guy who spent a couple years there as a statue. Few can throw a party like a planet confined to an eternal night.
（In his language, by the way, they obviously didn’t use the actual word “carnival.” Like with everything else, these are my words to describe their world. You might be interested to know that the word they do use roughly translates, in your language, to “place of a million lights.” Their term for the workers there? “Light keepers.”）
Painter strolled alongside Yumi, trying to keep from being walked through by members of the crowd, since he found that unnerving. Yumi took in the sights, her eyes reflecting the spinning hion of rides and the twinkling rhythms of the large bulbs on the fronts of stalls—like on a runway, trying to guide a person in to land in their particular trap. Was the gaudy mess nauseating to her?
“It’s wonderful,” she whispered. “It’s like someone broke the sun itself into a million pieces and threw it in the air like confetti. This has been here all along?”
“Well, it usually only runs on festival and rest days,” he said.
“We could have come and seen it? Why don’t you come every time it’s open?”
He shrugged, enjoying her wonder.
“What are all of these?” she asked, pointing to the stalls.
“Games.”
She cocked her head.
“Games?” he said. “You play them?”
“Like an instrument?”
He stopped in place, staring at her. “Your （lowly） life was so ridiculous, Yumi. You’ve never played a game before?”
She shook her head, so he waved for her to walk up to one of the stalls with a line. That way the carnie would be focused on the customers, not a random gawker. Yumi watched with fascination as people tried to knock down boxes by throwing a large ball.
“So…” she said at his explanation, “it’s…a challenge? Like trying to stack a pile higher than you’ve ever done?”
“Yes!” he said, pointing. “Yes, that’s it. Games are fun challenges.”
“These people are having fun?” she asked, as a man at the front of the line cried out after getting all the boxes down but one.
“Well…it’s fun when you win…” Painter said.
Someone in the next stall walked away with a large stuffed creature. Yumi watched that with even more consternation.
“So…” she said, “you knock the boxes down, and you get one of those beasts.”
“Yes.”
“And they’re extremely valuable?”
“Um…well, no. They’re pretty cheap, actually. We could go to a store and buy a dozen of them for the price of a nice pair of shoes.”
“I am so confused.”
“It’s not about the prize,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him as the carnies started eyeing her. “It’s about winning. The prize is proof. A memento? To remember the day? It becomes more valuable because of the good feelings it evokes. Beyond that, people just like to have things sometimes.”
“I think…that might make sense,” she said, strolling alongside him, holding to the strap of his painter’s bag over her shoulder. He’d told her to bring it because sometimes if people knew you were a painter, they treated you with deference. Might convince some carnies to look elsewhere for easy prey.
“I like my clothing,” she said. “The first thing I’ve ever owned. I like having it. The dress reminds me of Akane and that day shopping.”
“See?” he said.
For some reason though, she was growing morose. Was she remembering the things Akane had said about him? With a sudden desperation, he wanted her thinking about anything else. But before he could speak up, she smiled, then spun around, arms extended.
“Your job, Nikaro,” she declared, “is to escort the yoki-hijo on her first—and likely only—trip to a carnival! You must make it an experience!”
“I thought you said,” he told her, ducking around a couple sharing fluff candy, “we weren’t painter or yoki-hijo tonight.”
“Then you escort just the yoki part! The girl at a carnival for her first time! Present it to me, man from another world. Wow my primitive mind with your advanced alien technology and lights!”
“Well, fortunately,” he said, stepping in front of her and gesturing to himself, “you’ve come to the right person. I’ve been visiting carnivals since I was a child, and I can eagerly introduce you to every unique aspect of the phenomenon.”
“Excellent,” she said, strolling forward, Painter walking backward directly in front of her—occasionally passing right through people. If they thought a lone painter talking to herself was odd…well, they thought painters were odd anyway. So who cared?
“Where do we start?” she asked.
“With the food,” he said, dancing to her right and pointing to a stall with fried pop’ems. “It is the most incredible, delectable, amazing food you will ever eat—”
“Wow!”
“—for the first bite.”
She looked at him, frowning.
“Carnival food,” he said, “has this strange property. Each bite you take tastes increasingly artificial, oily, and overly sweet. Until you get done, and （lowly） wonder why you ate all of that. It’s truly magnificent.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Am I?”
Five minutes later—her fingers sticky with the remnants of powdered sugar, an empty bag of pop’ems in her hand—she looked toward him with a nauseated expression. “That was awful,” she said.
“Isn’t it?” He grinned.
“I need another.”
He directed her to get some cheese powder rice puffs, as they tended to last a little longer before the gross part reared its head. Once she was happily chewing on them, he led her toward the center of the festivities.
“I’m modestly impressed,” she said. “But you’re going to have to do better than strange foods, Painter.”
“Well, we also have rides.”
She looked at him, then blushed. “I don’t know what those are either. I’m sorry.”
“They’re…” Huh. How to explain. “Have you ever been in a bus—or a wagon I guess—that was out of control?”
“Once. It was terrifying.”
“It’s like that, but fun.”
“I’m not convinced you have any idea what that word means.”
He grinned. “Remember the flight on the tree?”
Her eyes went wide. “You have flying trees here?”
“Not exactly,” he said. “But things sort of like that. Less magical, maybe, but also safe—so you get the exciting part without the dangerous part. But you get to pretend they’re still dangerous, so you can be afraid. In a fun way!”
“Wonderful food that is also gross,” she said. “Experiences that are at once terrifying and not. Are all of your modern wonders self-contradictory?”