lifeaftr | October Intro: Aftermath Mingle

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October Intro: Aftermath Mingle

Who: All!
What: Now that you've all committed monkey genocide, it's time to clean up and go home.
When: Evening of the intro log- and onwards!
Where: The Monkey Compound, Islets, etc.
Warnings: Mark as you go!

Congratulations on effectively reversing the tables, adventurers. As the hunted become the hunters, the remaining simians begin to retreat into the jungle, disappearing from sight as the drumming dies down, before extinguishing entirely.

It appears that you have won.

Now it's time to clean up.

Those still in the Monkey Compound may wish to begin scavenging what they can, from multiple coconut guns to rudimentary spears. There's a flock of Bludroc happy to be herded to a new home, several stashes of fresh fruit to be found... and a rather large iron pot, for the particularly bold.

Others may be more concerned with returning to the islets and securing the personal belongings that were left behind. There are new people to settle in, as well; and undoubtedly, a few injuries yet to be healed.

Reunite, rejoice, recover. And perhaps, should you see the Storyteller about- ask a few questions.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Chip's heart feels like it's about to beat right out of their chest, but they see him drop the axe, and--he's a human in the Wild. What did they expect? This place isn't kind, no one ever pretended it was. Ashamed and embarrassed, their arms lower slowly to hold onto the backpack straps again.]

O...okay. I'm--

[What are they sorry for? There's no demons here, nothing that they could have caused to bring this about.]

I'm...I just wanna go home.

[Shouldn't jump to conclusions, Chip. There are demons here. And most of them are inescapable.]

[But - oh, hell. This is just a kid. Not one hardened to shit that's happened to them, not one who can compress everything down to a single point, hairpin lock against their soul. They look about ready to burst into tears. And they certainly deserve something more than a ragged, frayed, red-stained thing like him.]

[He kneels slowly, so he's at their level.]

...I'm sorry. ["Sorry" is stupid. It doesn't solve anything. And it just transfers guilt from one set of shoulders to another.]

Did they...were you in there? With those monkey...things?

[They swallow and nod, eyes flicking back up to his face for a moment.]

I was...we got out, but everything was so...

[It was insane. Swords and magic and animal screams that almost didn't seem like it would ever stop. It was all they could do to run and hide as best they could.]

I know.

[He was in the thick of it. He remembers. And carnage like that - it's no place for a goddamn kid to be, no matter how well Frisk and Chara allegedly handle it. They're tired. They're two kids who are so damned tired that it's extraordinary that they're still going the way they are at all.]

[He folds on knee beneath his weight, draping the hand across the kneecap. Look as nonthreatening as possible.]

You hurt at all?

[Even tense and suspicious as they are, Chip can't help but respond a little to those small gestures. Their shoulders start to lower from hovering up around their ears, and their nervously darting gaze finally stills upon his face. Tension ebbs out of them slowly, but it clings in the way they seem ready to run at a moment's notice, the way they try to keep themself as small as possible.]

I got bit...

[Reluctantly Chip lifts their right sleeve to show the wound on their bicep more clearly--it's not horribly deep, probably delivered by one of the smaller apes, but it definitely needs to be cleaned and bandaged.]

[Goddamn. He hisses between his teeth quietly. He doesn't have bandages, but he does have something he traded from Muffet. He lifts a finger in a wait gesture as he digs in the contents of his knapsack. Keeping his movements slow and careful and easy, never moving too abruptly.]

[(But keeping his eye, always, on the axe in the corner of his vision.)]

[He finally reclaims the jug of rubbing alcohol that sloshes thickly in its bottle - unbroken, thank god.]

It's not perfect, but it'll clean the worst of it. [He almost makes to uncork the bottle - and stops. And holds it out to them instead.]

[A clear choice.]

[Chip hesitates for a moment, looking from Tim to the bottle warily, but they take it from him and pour it onto their wound. The moment it makes contact they yelp and flinch, splashing more out of the bottle, but they're quick to hold it back upright and grit their teeth through the stinging. It hurts, but he said it will help, so...]

[They don't cry out. Kid either has some self-control, or they've learned that crying out isn't what the adults like to hear. While they're at it, he sets to work cutting away a strip of cloth from the blanket he has packed in his knapsack. It's not perfect and he can't clean it as much as he wishes he could, but hopefully it'll mean something.]

[He offers it out, ragged-edged but whole.]

I'm Tim.

[Chip looks up at the offered scrap, hesitating for a moment before they stopper up the bottle and hand it back to exchange for the make-shift bandage. They pull their sleeve up again from where it fell back down, and starts trying to tie it on over the bite.]

...'m Chip.

Kind of a weird place to be meeting somebody, but - hey. Nice to meet you.

[He keeps his tone light, practically conversational, as he continues digging through his pack.]

You hungry?

[They nod shortly, more focused on trying to get the bandage on--it's tricky, and they finally twist their wounded arm up to at least be able to hold one side of the scrap and secure it on. Their eyes flick up to Tim again, and they shrug.]

Not...really. [You're supposed to be careful about food in the Wild, they remember that much.]

[He considers pushing, but this isn't the time or place for that. The priority is injury, and he watches their handling of said injury carefully. It's a little clumsy, but he doesn't dare try to take over without explicit permission to do so.]

You're doing good. Real good. You got it?

[Chip finally manages to get the bandage in place, and nods with a small duck of their head.]

Do you...do you know know where they are right now? The... [Chip swallows and looks around nervously, not sure if they're about to stick their foot in it or not.] The good folk.

Good folk?

[...yeah, that's not a concept he's familiar with. There's the idea that maybe they think this is - hell, or something akin to that, and he wouldn't exactly blame them for thinking it, but given that the suffering here isn't streamlined into something so direct?]

[Well, who's he to say.]

Gonna have to explain that one to me, kid.

[How...can this guy not know what that means?]

The...the gentry? The green kings?

[Chip mimes a pair of elf-like ears and gets up on tip toes--come on, man, don't make them have to say a 'rude' name out loud!]

This is their realm, isn't it?

You kinda lost me there, kid. Sorry.

[He can do little besides shrug helplessly, shoulders lifting to his ears briefly in apparent perplexity.]

I dunno what kinda world you came from, but this...isn't the same one. It's a whole different place here.

[Chip's hands lower slowly, and a heavy feeling sinks into their gut.]

What're you talking about?

This...place? This island? It's like its own thing. Its own little world, pretty much.

[God, it's not like he particularly understands the science of it. How's someone like him supposed to be capable of explaining it to a kid?] And people get pulled in from...all over.

It's not...it's not a realm?

[If nothing Else, Chip had hope before that they could get home. Just find their way back, and pray time hadn't marched on without them. Maybe if they were quick, only a month would have passed and they could get home again to Grant and the comfortable dustiness of the shop. But if this place is completely separate...]

How--how do we get back?!

['Course he's the guy who has to break the rotten news to them. Of course that'd be the duty that falls to him, because why the hell wouldn't it be him. That's what he's real goddamn good at, isn't it? Breaking the shitty news to people.]

[And he should quit - quit making this about him. It isn't.]

[He blows out the quiet, resigned puff of a sigh, and his eyes shutter closed.]

I'm sorry, kid.

There's no way back. Nothing consistent.

[No. No no no no no.]

You...you're lying. You're lying!

[They can't be alone, they can't have lost that so soon. They'd just started to hope--!]

I've gotta get home, I have to get home!

[Suddenly Chip lunges forward, pounding their fists against Tim with a panicked fury that still can't quite mask the despairing fear cracking their voice. He's lying, lying, lying, has to be lying, they can't--!]

Tell me, tell me!! Where is it?!

[He jerks back in shock at the fierceness, abrupt and immediate. Tiny fists slam up against his chest in a frantic tattoo that isn't painful so much as it is startling, at first. It's the accusation that burns in his throat the most. You're lying. You're lying. You're lying.]

[You're a liar, Jay rasps out, thin shoulders hitched up awkwardly beneath the pressure of his plastic restraints.]

[He lifts both hands, palms out. Wincing, occasionally, but - ]

[He's lived through worse.]

I can't - I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just...I need you to listen, okay?

No, tell me! Tell me, tell me, tell me!!

[They pound and punch and kick, tears pricking at blackened eyes and a sick pressure building in the back of their mind. If he won't tell them they'll MAKE him tell them, rip the secrets out of his skull--take what they want from him by whatever means they have.]

I'll--I'll kill you! Tell me or I'll take your soul!

[Yep. Kid's panicking.]

[The bruises he'll walk away with are secondary to what he's hearing now. There's enough desperation there, enough strength behind a few well-placed blows, to provoke a pained wince.]

[He manages to get one hand to their shoulder. His tone, when he speaks, is tired.]

You're a little too late on that one, kid.

[YOUR FACE IS PANICKING!]

[They still almost as soon as his hand touches their shoulder, frozen in place and breathing heavily, eyes wide and blank even without a lack of pupils. He says something, but they can't quite parse it past the blood roaring in their ears and the pounding in their skull. But his hand doesn't clamp down in a painful vice, doesn't shove them to the dirt or drag them off to some other punishment.]

Why...?

October Intro: Aftermath Mingle

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i'm losing my shit over his icon rn flkjsdal;kfj;a

he's doing fine!!!!!!!

SUPER GREAT!!!

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