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]

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.

[postictal]

Don't sell yourself short. You're already at cynicism levels on par with most of the adult population here. Keep it up, and you might even surpass the nihilist child population.

[Which, yes, they have. A little too much of one, in fact.]

[escampist]

Wow, I've got competition? Now that's new. Guess I have to not care even more now.

[postictal]

Except making the effort to not care kinda means you care more. Just about not caring.

[Check and MATE.]

[escampist]

Well. I don't care enough to defend myself.

[Look at him stepping up his game by not stepping up anything at all!]

[postictal]

I hope you don't mean that in the physical sense. [He shoots Max's drawing a meaningful nod.] Lotta dangerous shit out there.

[escampist]

Oh, no. I'm ready to stab the shit out of anything that tries to get me.

[More like he'll run away if there's any actual danger but that doesn't sound as good.]

[postictal]

Good.

[That's sure as hell something he wouldn't be saying a year ago - not nearly as firmly, nor as quietly relieved, as he does now.]

I'm guessing that means you have something on you. Even if it's small, it's better than nothing.

[escampist]

[Max just shrugs and takes his switchblade out of his pocket.]

It's sharp, pretty sure that's the important part.

[postictal]

[Switchblade. Not what he'd call an adequate defense but - hey. He's the guy that showed up in a foreign environment with nothing more than a flip-knife and a busted GoPro.]

Not a lotta reach, though.