lifeaftr | August Intro: You Think...You Wink...You Do A Double Blink...

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August Intro: You Think...You Wink...You Do A Double Blink...

INTRO LOG: AUGUST

Who: Everyone!
What: New souls arrive to the archipelago of LifeAftr.
When: August 3rd
Where: Ensō
Warnings: Mark as needed!

Part I: Get Wrekt
You rouse to a splash of sea salt drying on your skin. A haze of glass-white sand glitters in your vision, dappled by lush palms and thick, curling foliage that disappears into a jungle of deep jade. From behind, crackling wood and sawing rope groan from a mangled life raft ran ashore. A petering wash of tide over pebbled sand fills your ears as you struggle to gain your bearings in a vast portrait of tropical color…

No...no, no, that’s not precisely how this story starts.

Why don't we start over?

You rouse to a splash of sea salt, spraying across yourself and the wooden floor beneath you as it breaks across the edge of the platform. The light as it dances across the sea is blinding, dappling white spots across your vision as you slowly come back to consciousness and realize that - this is not where you last remember being.

The middle of the ocean is likely not a place most recall being at all. As you struggle to fully comprehend the new scenario in which you have found yourself, three things become quickly apparent. The raft you find yourself upon barely constitutes as something that should float, never mind a boat. In the distance, perhaps a few hours away at most, a large island beckons to you, a wide strip of beach surrounded by cliffs making it very clear where the most fortuitous of directions shall be.

Lastly, of course, you’re not alone. Hopefully your new companion(s) are just as keen to get ashore before nightfall as you, or voyaging together will not be the most positive experience. At your side you will find a knapsack, one to every member of your raft party, and upon inspecting its contents, you will discover any rewards you may have accrued - as well as a few other items to give you a fighting chance.

A note to those who participated in the Test Drive Meme: those threads, if all parties involved would like, can be game canon in the form of dream-like memories involving a place very much like this one, though the layout is considerably different.

Part II: Choose Your Own Adventure

By fortune (or misfortune, as it were), you eventually find your feet meeting sand, blessed shore to stagger upon as you shake off your newly found sea-legs. There are those that may find this place familiar, as though it appeared in a dream, though the expanse of shore certainly seems larger. The beach stretches off into the distance on both sides, curving around sharp ridges and cliffs, mist obscuring the view the farther along it goes.

So here you are. You’ve found land. Company. Supplies. The sun is now beginning to trek rather low upon the horizon…spending the night outside in such an unfamiliar land is unappealing at best and outright dangerous at the worst.

There is one silver lining in the midst of this mess. Directly ahead, the beach curves up a gentle slope until it meets forest, some manner of building visible through the trees. Further exploration of this area will reveal a dilapidated building of sorts; the architecture is indiscernible to even the most skilled eye. Despite looking as if it has seen better days, there are areas that offer some form of shelter...and who knows what else. Just because it appears uninhabited doesn’t mean you won’t wind up pleasantly, or unpleasantly, surprised.

So what shall you do from here, traveller? There is land to be explored, strangers to meet, friends to reunite with. Supplies to inspect and plenty of questions in need of being said aloud. Choose your path, make haste, and above all else: survive. And whatever you will, take heart.

Your story is about to begin anew.

Feeling a tad adrift? Make sure to check the Locations Page, which has details regarding the starting areas and a handy map for those who feel better with a bird's eye view!

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"She's a Cubone. A Pokemon. You'll have to ask an expert on what they are-- I-I've never actually played the games."

Wade stop breaking the fourth wall in front of strangers. He nods toward the little Cubone, who has gotten the red scarf stuck on the snout of her skull and is pulling it away with difficulty. She inches closer, never taking her eyes off of the human (???) standing before her. She's never met a human with blue skin before. Behind her, Wade chuckles warmly.

"C'mon, Tibs. It's rude to stare. Why don't you introduce yourself?"

The little Cubone casts a glance back at Wade, nods, and begins to sign.

Hi, I'm T-I-B-I-A. What's your name?

Most of that goes over their head, unfortunately; they have no metric for what a Pokemon is, or why they would be involved in games. The Drifter's eyes widen subtly at the hand gestures - she knows how to speak without speaking. They've never encountered anyone who could before.

The HUD hovers where it is, evidently abandoned, while the Drifter signs in return:

I am the Drifter.

She's met people who could understand her sign language and respond to it, but she's met very few people-- Wade included-- who could sign to her in kind. Tibia immediately grows animated, drawing her hands to her mouth with a trill of excitement before tugging on Wade's shirt sleeve to make sure that he saw it too. He gives her an indulgent chuckle, rubbing her skull roughly with the heel of his palm.

"I see it, baby girl. I see it. Our friend here's quite the jack of all trades, seems like."

The sign language must be a backup for when that strange contraption by their shoulder doesn't work. Or maybe they had picked up the signing first and the gizmo came later. Wade supposes it doesn't matter. Tibia inches closer to her new friend, gazing up at them in rapt attention. Her claws move again, rapidly signing out an assessment of this newcomer:

I like you.

They are not good at much, but silent communication became something of a necessity. The illness claimed their vocal cords first; ravaged them with hoarse coughs and the burning pink-black of their own blood, and left them stooped and gagging. They had learned to key the words to their sprite, eventually, but until then they would have to make do with the language of hands and, for those uneducated in that manner of communication, scrawling in the sand with a pointed stick.

The only difficulty is in expressing what they then have to direct to their sprite - just to make things clear for both of them:

c:

A smile is a universal language.

Thank you.

I have not yet met someone else who could speak with hands.

Well. This is quite possibly the cutest exchange Wade's ever been witness to since coming to this island. Almost feels like he needs to punch a tree to death or something just to regain a bit of his manhood. Tibia seems to think so too, judging by the way she claps her hands together with a trill of delight.

Wade steps in to explain on Tibia's behalf, his fingers working as he silently relays his message to his guest.

Yeah, I've been teaching her all I know. She's a smart girl-- picked up on it pretty quickly. I've been trying to teach her how to speak, but for some reason sign language comes easier for her.

Tibia, who is watching this exchange carefully, makes her feelings on Wade's assessment of her language skills known by giving him a mock angry shove. Wade grins down at her, tapping the crown of her skull with his fingers.

"Didn't mean anything by it, baby girl. You're already doin' a lot better than most kids your age." He aims his grin at the Drifter.

"You can see who wears the pants in this family, huh. Figuratively speaking, of course."

And the man in the red seems to understand the language too - far, far more people than the Drifter has come to expect would have a familiarity with that sort of language. Their dark eyes squint into pleased half-moons once more; they are not the most effective at expressing those fluxes in their emotion, but their delight should come through strongly enough.

She is very precise.

A compliment. Perhaps the very first they've given in this place.

You are a good teacher.

"Precise" is probably not the sort of compliment a lady would want to receive, but Tibia finds herself flattered by it nonetheless. They are praising her intelligence, after all. She smiles at them, a mere lifting of her eyes under the skull, and touches her chin with the flat of one claw to say thank you.

Wade shyly scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed by the Drifter's sincere praise. "Yeah, well... I had to teach her somethin', y'know? Kinda hard to figure out what she wants when you can't understand what she's sayin'. I'm just lucky she's a smart kid, that's all."

Edited 2017-09-16 22:31 (UTC)

She would be a child, then? They're not familiar with the species, but assuming the colloquialism to be a good deal more literal than might be typical would be the sort of error that gets them in trouble down the road.

They'd prefer that it not come to that. But there is no truly polite way to ask the species of another - they should know.

Full well.

So they'll settle with something that they assume most would ask parents of young children.

How old is she?

"About a year and a half. Hatched her myself. Not sure how old that is in Cubone years, but..." A shrug. "Mentally I'd say she's about the same age as a nine or ten year old kid. Human kid, I mean."

Again, he's not sure if that's typical of her species, or if he's just landed a really smart cookie. He likes to think it's the latter-- something about raising another little prodigy does wonders for his pride.

He will not think about Clementine. Too dangerous; too much risk of bringing the mood down. The Drifter doesn't need to be an audience to his problems, not when they've only just met him.

They really don't understand the minutiae of pokemon aging. Even with Guzma's assistance, they know very little about the creatures other than the fact that they're sentient, and should be cared for. Not pets, not companion sprites that bob harmlessly about, but friends. Friends, and protectorates.

She is young. Practically a child, both physically and mentally.

Keep her safe.

Both a suggestion and, on their end, a solemn promise. Children should be protected. Children such as Ren, and the child that sat in their boat as they rowed in tandem with a blind man.

The Drifter might not know it, but their thoughts on Pokemon are similar to Wade's. There had been a sort of paternal feeling right when she'd first hatched, but it wasn't until he'd first caught her crying for her mother that Wade realized that there was more to her than just a simple animal. By the time they'd had that important conversation one night, when he'd attempted to comfort her with stories of his daughters and she'd responded with her first signed word-- thank you-- he'd stopped thinking of her as a pet and more like a child. His child.

This sentiment is what stops him from spoiling the suddenly somber mood with a joke, the way he would have done in the past. He merely nods, placing an affectionate hand on Tibia's skull and rubbing the heel of his palm across her snout in that special way she liked.

"That's the plan, pal. The poor kiddo's been through enough already."

That makes two of them, he supposes. He needs her just as much as she needs him.

That lifts their chin with a faint gleam of something buried in those pitch-dark eyes. A glint of something they do not think to name in the moment, but may be recognizable as concern. A child should be protected, and yet...this one has been through enough.

They are finding this to be disconcertingly true of other children as well.

Hurt?

Their motions are slower, more uncertain. Filled, as it seems, with trepidation.

It's the inevitable question they would have asked, and Wade feels a twinge of regret-- he should have known that this would come up sooner or later. He glances uncertainly at Tibia, silently asking her a question, which she just as silently answers in the affirmative before paying suspiciously close attention to her claws. No tears, which only stands as a testament to how strong this kid actually is.

Wade sighs and clears his throat.

"She, uh... she lost her mom a short while ago. It's still a pretty sore point with her. I've been taking care of her best I can but... y'know. It's really hard to lose someone close to you like that when you're that young."

He would know.

Ah. So not a physical hurt, then. It's a hurt that cannot be so easily mended. It will gnaw at you, possibly forever, because that is how such hurts are. They fester interminably, because there is no balm to soothe them away.

They experienced such loss only once. And it had been so near to the finality of their confrontation with the Immortal Cell as it blistered its pink toxins in a crackling net across the shell of the world that they'd not been granted the luxury of allowing themself the time to process it. And when one is so very young...

A soft, dragging sound escapes their throat. Voiceless, almost akin to a cough-sigh. The only true form of distressed sympathy they can communicate without words.

I am sorry for the intrusion.

It does still hurt, and probably will keep on hurting for as long as she lives-- a scar seared upon her tiny Cubone heart. The pain will ebb, as most emotional pains do, but it will never fully be healed. Not that she's old enough to know this yet. All she knows is the here and now-- her mother is gone, gone to the place all Cubones go when their lives are over, and she will never see her again. She's just a child, but she knows that much.

And she knows when someone's trying to make her feel better. Tibia doesn't have the words to tell the Drifter that things are okay, but she leans across the threshold to give them a few warm pats on their knee.

Everything's okay, friend. No hard feelings.

The contact is abrupt and unexpected, though not entirely unwelcome. They've not come to expect that manner of contact - not from anyone, much less a child of a creature they don't entirely recognize. A couple pats of a small, gentle paw, and that is all she seems to be able to issue.

That's all right.

Thank you. The words are fluid as their push upright with the air of someone effecting a restart. A polite inclination of their head in direction of both man and child. I should return to charting the new land.

Tibia blinks; lifts her eyes up and up as the Drifter suddenly grows much taller. Her eyes soften in disappointment, and she reaches over to tug at Wade's leg. She doesn't want them to leave. They're the first person she's seen in a long time who can sign the way she can-- apart from Wade, that is-- and she's quite taken with their blue skin and otherworldly clothing. Wade sees in her eyes the message she means to convey, and he glances up at his visitor.

"Sure you won't stay for a little while? We've got some fish if you're hungry, and the fire's nice and warm."

Next to him, Tibia has gotten to her feet, clasping her claws together beseechingly. You're so cool, Drifter. Please stay.

They shouldn't hesitate. They are efficient, capable, unilateral - cutting through what needs cutting through, accomplishing what needs to be accomplished, performing feats of an improbable nature. Charting an island. Preparing for the inevitable break and swell of whatever threats linger of the horizon. Whatever there may be that they did solemnly promise to guard against. Where did either of them go - the child, the blind man?

Already, they've done a poor job of fulfilling that obligation. They've done a poor job of almost everything. Including interacting with a child who seems, incredibly, disappointed at the possibility that they might soon be on their way. Their presence is seldom anything better than an irritant, a harassment, a cruel reminder of things they cannot smooth over.

The promise of food, warmth, companionship; they've been offered such things a mere scattered handful of times in their shortened lifespan. And the last who put forth those offerings, they -

They cannot fix that they never repaid them for it. Any of it.

But they can assure themself that they will not make the same mistake again.

Cost?

It's not the first time Wade's been asked something like that before, though he can't remember ever being asked the cost of the pleasure of his company. The thought makes him laugh aloud; makes him slap his knee in an exaggerated show of delight. Really, it is quite funny when you really think about it. Someone is actually willing to pay to listen to him yammer on all night. What a world.

"Heh. Not really sure my company's worth all that much, champ. I mean, not exactly Mr. Personality or nothin'. So I've been told, anyway. But if you're serious on compensating me for my time, let's say... just keep my little gal happy an' we'll be square. Deal?"

That's not a reaction they've come to expect. Not when the spectrum of responses varies from shocked to dismissive. The price he offers is far more reminiscent of what they've come to anticipate - company, as though that is quantitative enough to cover an offering of food and warmth.

But in the end, how is one meant to refuse? Particularly to a child?

Another hesitation, but at last - they answer.

Yes.

"Good! That settles it, then."

Tibia claps her claws together in a surfeit of delight, and Wade can't help but smile at her antics. Reaching down, he picks up one of the sticks stuck into the sandy ground around the fire, where a fragrant fillet of fish has been roasting.

"Here. You hungry? Can't promise it's Bonefish Grill quality, but it'll fill you up."

They've not eaten this sort of food before, they know. And it feels decidedly and completely at odds with what they ought to be doing, with how they ought to be viewing this manner of exchange, of transaction. And yet, this is their payment, even if the trade feels unfair, one-sided.

But the child is happy. And surely, that is the important thing.

After a moment's contemplation, they accept the meat steaming on its pointed stick and turn it this way and that, inspecting it. Then, swiftly, one hand ducks beneath the drape of their mantle and hooks the cloth up as their head bows, and the meat enters whatever they possess that counts for a mouth without ever once revealing it.

Another moment of thoughtful chewing and swallowing, and the Drifter's eyes pinch together into pleased, dark crescents.

Very good.

"Glad to hear it. Maybe someday I can jerry-rig some kinda griddle. Cook it properly. Pretty sure Gilligan did that once."

It's not surprise Wade feels when he sees the Drifter take measures to hide their face-- only a passing curiosity. After all, he's currently wearing an image inducer to hide his own horrible disfigurements. It would be hypocritical of him to call attention to the Drifter's attempts at hiding... whatever they've got hidden under there. More hypocritical than he'd be comfortable with, anyway.

Still, never let it be said that Wade Wilson wasn't lacking in tact.

"Got some righteous scars under there or somethin', pal?"

Edited 2017-11-15 03:01 (UTC)

They have no idea what or who Gilligan is, but it feels like a low-priority enough remark that they can abstain from commenting upon it until a more convenient time. They take careful note, however. Gilligan. A definition may be required further down the line.

The cloth is carefully replaced before they issue their text-based answer.

drifter custom

Among...other things. They assume that must be obvious, however. The tint of their skin does happen to stand out, doesn't it?

Wade offers a shrug, leaning forward to pick up another fish-kabob. He's not sure what sort of custom would require one to hide their face-- barring some customs on his planet that he's fairly sure the Drifter's not a part of-- but he's fairly sure it goes a little deeper than that.

"Hey, no skin off my ass. You probably noticed that I wear a mask too, didn'cha? It ain't just for show, either. So trust me, I get it. Kindred spirits, bud."

He raps on his chest with a fist before offering the Drifter a fingergun with a clicking sound, a symbol of camaraderie between two bros who knew what was up. If the Drifter is even a bro-- it's kinda hard to tell with that getup.

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