October Intro: Aftermath Mingle

[lifeaftr_mods]

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.

Comments

[escampist]

[Well, that's not the kinda response he was expecting. And actually... he raises an eyebrow, sitting up slightly. It's like the first time he's actually properly looking up at Tim.]

...Wow, and here I thought I really did just dream up a name that dumb.

Knife kid, right?

[postictal]

[Another hum of something approaching amusement, even if he's not exactly smiling as he does it. But then, Tim seldom does smile.]

[Knife kid.]

That about covers it, yeah. Some people meet in dreams here.

[escampist]

[Well, that's a thing. Because of course it is.]

Guess that just about fits in with the rest of all this insanity. I should really just toss all sense out the window, huh?

[postictal]

I'm guessing you also had a dream that a talking rabbit with a giant book told you how thing work around here.

[Does that answer his question?]

[escampist]

Yep.

Kinda been hoping at some point I wake up and discover this has all just been one long camp-induced psychotic break, but that's looking less and less likely with every minute.

[postictal]

Camp, huh? You a boy scout or something?

[He sure as hell doesn't act or look it, but based on the attitude, he wouldn't guess that he was a willing victim of those indoctrinations either.]

[escampist]

God no. If my parents had tried sending me to the scouts I would've jumped off the bus before I got there and taken my chances in the woods.

This was just "dump your kids here for the summer" camp.

[postictal]

[Can't say he has much experience with parents. But Max's tone doesn't precisely sell him on them.]

Pick up any survival skills?

[escampist]

Well, if we ever need someone to tie a knot, I got that covered.

[One of the few classes he actually got something out of, despite his best efforts to learn nothing.]

[postictal]

We might. You never know.

[Turns out Tim's thrilling skill of making compost actually has some use here now that growing their own food seems like something they'll need to do to keep resources on the island renewable.]

Should probably get a living space squared away too.

[escampist]

Oh, right. That. [The thing he was avoiding because he doesn't really know where the fuck to go.] What's the deal here, anyway? Shitty tents or what?

[postictal]

Close. Broken-down houses whose repairs could be knocked away any minute by the storms this place likes having.

[Hey, Max. Welcome to your new home. It's great.]

[escampist]

Boy oh boy, it's a dream come true.

[postictal]

Yeah. It's real fun for everybody.

[He shades his eyes against the sun, glancing out across the foam-crusted waves.]

Some people take refuge in the temple on the mainland, though.

[escampist]

So still not exactly a five star hotel.

Hm. Guess I'll just dump my stuff wherever and dare whoever has a problem with it to kick out a ten year old.

[A sassy ten year old with a switchblade, but a ten year old nonetheless.]

[postictal]

You might be surprised.

[They live with one surprisingly sassy rabbit. Which is...fun. For just about everybody.]

We're kinda getting an impressive quota of those these days.

[escampist]

What, ten year olds?

[postictal]

Kids in general, yeah.

[With knives, no less.]

I mean, it's not exactly a war zone, but I wouldn't call it kid-friendly, either.

[escampist]

Doesn't really seem people friendly.

Not like most adults are all that impressive.

[postictal]

[Again, he has to bite back the commentary that swells to the tip of his tongue, unbidden. The nihilism, the general disdain, the frank assessment of his own presumably poor mental health - Tim's struck with the somewhat amusing thought that either he and Chara would get on like a house on fire, or that they'd virulently hate each other.]

[Or, more likely, a thorough mix of both.]

You're right. Most of us aren't. [That's almost a vaguely amused cast to the words, but it's just wry enough to pass as merely cynical.] Most of us spend too much time thinking about making decisions without actually making any.

[escampist]

See, that explains so much about the world.

But hey, admitting it is the first step. [He was honestly expecting a counter argument. This is at least a little refreshing.] Step two is deciding to-- Well, fuck. Already hit a wall.

[postictal]

Guess that's why this place needs kids.

[Somewhat morbidly, he can't help but feel that the presence of children makes it that much easier to motivate the adult population into giving a damn when they might not otherwise. That's sure as hell how it worked for him.]

Though I guess there's worse things to be than "motivation."

[escampist]

I hope you're not including me in that, because I've never motivated anyone in my life and absolutely refuse to start.

[postictal]

Well, then I'll say you're gonna fit right in.

[The dryness of the words pulls something answering out of Tim, regardless of intention. That just seems to be how it goes.]

Name's Tim, by the way. Didn't catch yours.

[escampist]

That'd be a first.

[The hell is fitting in, that sounds like a fake thing.]

Max.