and we can never come back to earth [open]

[postictal]

Who: Tim Wright (postictal) and yOUUU
What: Tim does some rebuilding, some farming, and some not-drinking
When: 11/17 - 11/22
Where: Islets, the Monkey Compound, the Storyteller's Temple, and Ensō E6
Warnings: It's Tim so...general Tim warnings.



11/17 - 11/18; E6; and we're the dirtiest of the dirt

The soil is loose and crumbling beneath his fingertips. He doesn't know a whole damn lot about farming, it's true, but Alabama had its own latent ag culture, even if he never paid much heed to it. The sight of the land, the furrows running in vertical striations over the ground, conjures a whole mess of memories he can't easily define, or perhaps simply doesn't want to. Most of them involve himself perched on a tractor with a cigarette stuck in his mouth while Alex told - or to be more specific, ordered - Seth to keep the camera running as the sun slipped lower across the horizon, all while Tim wondered how the fuck Brian had managed to convince him to agree to this.

He wrenches himself out of the memory with a brief, lateral jerk, a short shake of his head, and starts to pace the length of the land. He'll have to ask around for people with seeds and the equipment to truly get the place going, but for now...for now, he can work the earth and drain it of the remaining water left over from the Storyteller's little tantrum there, and start making the place fit for others to grow shit on. Maybe build some sort of weatherproofing in case the land floods again.

Most of the crops have been picked clean by now, but Tim sets to work digging up weeds and grass, extending the plot of land into something a little wider. He works slowly, obviously unused to this kind of preparation, but nonetheless committed to making it workable.

It's not like they have a lot of choice here.

11/19 - 11/21; islets and monkey compound; every time we fall to pieces we build something new out of the hurt

[The wood's less waterlogged down that it's had some time to dry, and the crumbling palisade from the monkey compound has plenty of lumber when it comes to building materials. It takes some time, but he has enough rope and creativity to design a crude sledge to haul wood to the mana pool and, from there, across the various islet houses. Given that he can only pile a limited amount of timber onto the thing before it simply gets too heavy to drag along, it's slow going. It's not like he needs a lot, either; there's plenty to share.]

[What else is he gonna do with himself?]

[The hatchet's gotten more use as an impromptu weapon than a means of cutting wood. It's long overdue to get a little mileage out of its intended use. The ringing, wooden tone of someone splitting logs echoes out across the waves as they ease against the rounded silhouettes of the quintet of islets.]

[He starts with the shack he shares with the kids, but that's only one house of many. Eventually, he moves on. Armed with nails and more lumber than one man can reasonably be expected to do anything with, he sets about repairing what he can for the dilapidated shacks and cottages, just for the simple act of giving his hands something to do. Walls are easiest, but given enough time, he'll start laying boards down across roofs as well.]

11/22; temple; the brightest things fade the fastest

So Tim has a bottle of moonshine.

He has a bottle of moonshine that he can't drink because alcohol doesn't mesh real well with anticonvulsants, wonder of all wonders, and while he could suffer to use it as discount gasoline, he suspects there are far too many people here who would gladly accept it in exchange for something a little more up his alley.

That doesn't mean he can't, or shouldn't get the maximum amount of mileage available out of something like that. He doesn't question the source of that thought. Going down that rabbit hole is a dangerous and twisting thing, and he's learned. He's learned.

Instead, you'll probably see him carefully aliquoting the contents of the fat, dark brown bottle in his hands into coconut halves. Tim's Cave Moonshine, now available wherever Storyteller temples can be found. Just be sure to bring something worth trading.

wildcard; are you living your life or just waiting to die

[If you want a closed starter or have an idea for something else, just let me know over here or at arrpee. I'll match prose or brackets in any of the prompts above!]

Comments

[souris_keteer]

Making all kinds of new friends!

[Smiiiile.]

[postictal]

[...]



[...]

Uh-huh.

[HE HAS NO IDEA WHAT THE HELL ELSE TO SAY TO THAT.]

Circumstances of meeting those friends doesn't seem to matter to you, huh?

[souris_keteer]

[SCORE ONE FOR THE MOUSE]

Nope, 'cause a good friend can make any situation better!

[postictal]

Even - [even dying horribly by crystal-borne illness?]

[No. God no. He's not that much of a dick. Surely the little guy is more than scarred enough by that shit. Hastily, he tries to shift the subject.]

What, uh...what else have you been doing?

[souris_keteer]

I've been trying to improve my magic. It's kind of hard, but I'm not giving up.

[postictal]

You know magic?

[He knows plenty of people who do and plenty more who've learned that they have a knack for that sort of thing. It's always good to know who can do what; the limits of this place still aren't altogether clear to him.]

[souris_keteer]

Just two spells - a little bit of healing, and a little bit of fire.

[postictal]

Is this just something you've always done, or...?

[souris_keteer]

No, I only learned it when I came here! Back home, magic is somethin' you only read about in fairy tales.

[postictal]

[Can anyone learn magic here? Is that a thing he could...try, potentially? That's a horrible idea. That's like arming himself with a weapon one can't easily disarm. But it pays to know, doesn't it? It - yeah. It pays to know.]

[He keeps his tone deceptively even as he lines up the next board to hammer it into place.]

You think...anyone could?

[souris_keteer]

[He smiles, as bright and cheerful as ever. Optimism is currently at 100%]

I think if I can, than absolutely anyone can!

[postictal]

[Huh. Bad idea for himself, but for others...]

We talking dangerous amounts of fire here? Something that might burn a tree or two down?

[souris_keteer]

Aw, no, I can just make a camp-fire, that's about it right now.

[postictal]

That’s good. We don’t want things catching on fire. Especially if we’re going to all this trouble to work with wood.

[souris_keteer]

Oh sure, it's good now. But I'd like to make bigger fire in the future! Like, maybe if somethin' happened to my sword, I could use magic to stop a bad guy!

[postictal]

[It seems impolite to remark upon the fact that Mickey seems incapable of recognizing when someone might be a bad guy. But also...]

And you're gonna decide who counts as a bad guy too, huh?

[souris_keteer]

[It's sadly true.]

Well, that's part of my duty back home!

[postictal]

[Oh boy.]

And how was that working out for you?

[souris_keteer]

[Pause.]

... We got a little over-eager initially, but now we're good at it!

[Ehhhh.]

[postictal]

[Tim sighs.]

Things aren't usually as clear-cut here, buddy.

[There are people who might count as "bad" guys in the conventional sense, but what's the point in setting them on fire when they'll weasel their way back out of the woodwork soon after - if not even death holds any weight for them?]

[souris_keteer]

Well sure, a'course things are different here. Lots of things are. But I'd like to think I can still tell what's wrong and right.

[postictal]

“Wrong” and “right” are kinda, y’know. Subjective.

[Sweet baby Christ why is he the one who has to do this. Why is he the one that had to explain moral ambiguity to Mickey Mouse.]

[souris_keteer]

[Mickey just blinks.]

How so?

[is this really the day you want to have tim]

[postictal]

[No!!!!!! It’s not!!!!!!!]

Do you...seriously have no experience with the concept of shades of gray?

[souris_keteer]

[More blinking.]

What do colors have to do with it?