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and we can never come back to earth [open]
Who: Tim Wright (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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
11/19 - 11/21; islets and monkey compound; every time we fall to pieces we build something new out of the hurt
11/22; temple; the brightest things fade the fastest
wildcard; are you living your life or just waiting to die
postictal) and yOUUUWhat: 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 atarrpee. I'll match prose or brackets in any of the prompts above!]
no subject
Do you know what caused his... condition? Was it just using too much energy, or was something else at work?
no subject
[There were a lot of things he didn't think to do, back in Sol.]
I'm not actually sure. I think he overtaxed himself doing...something. [His memory's not exactly the greatest on a good day.] Probably be the wrong guy to ask. Wasn't there for real long.
no subject
Fair enough. Hopefully the fact our deals with the Storyteller tend to be mutual trades instead of gifts goes some way towards avoiding a similar situation here, but a little more self-sufficiency likely won't hurt either way. I know people are working on herding animals, too, although I haven't done much of that personally.
[Mostly her focus had been on plant life- although maybe she should look into that kind of thing more, now that she knows she can summon Ramequin here safely. They'd likely make an excellent substitute for a sheepdog.]
no subject
[Self-sufficiency isn't necessarily easily possible in a place like this in the short-term, but in the long-term? Maybe. Assuming the long-term doesn't screw them over in the process, of course.]
What, uh...kind of animals?
no subject
[She briefly tries to come up with a more dignified way to describe the bludrocs than 'fluffy rainbow chickens' and fails.]
...fluffy rainbow chickens, or about as close to a chicken as I've seen on this island thus far. Eggs are always useful.
no subject
'Long as they're actually, y'know. Edible.
no subject
They certainly seem to be. I've even managed to bake with them.
[Now she's only limited to making about sixty percent Goddamn Vegan Coconut Nonsense instead of one hundred percent. This is clearly the most important thing.]
no subject
[God, who'd she have to convince to run a test run? Another monster? Can monsters get sick?]
no subject
None at all that I've noticed. They're not exactly the same as chicken eggs, but they honestly seem more similar to them than duck or quail eggs do.
[If Muffet knew what Tim was thinking, she'd be mildly offended at the idea that she'd make anyone else try food she hadn't tasted herself at least once, to ensure the quality. Even if she wasn't much less likely to get sick than a human was, her pride would demand it.]
no subject
[Tim brushes crumbs of soil from his jeans as he rocks back on his heels. Most of the weeds look to be cleared by now, which means they've just got to ensure the soil is loose enough to be plantable.]
Hopefully nothing here tries to eat them too.
no subject
Oh, I'm sure something does, seeing as how the island hasn't been overrun by colorful little balls of fluff by now. But hopefully whatever their natural predators are will catch on to us being too much trouble to be worth dealing with relatively quickly, and stick to going after the wild flocks instead of the ones we domesticate.
[She pauses thoughtfully, then adds:]
To be honest, I'm not entirely certain that these birds weren't already domesticated at one point. They seem surprisingly docile and unbothered by people, and I know we've seen old farmland around this place. It wouldn't surprise me at all if whoever left those ruins used to farm them, and then they got out into the wild and started breeding once... well, once whatever happened to those people happened.
no subject
[from the disparaging grumble, it’s probably safe to assume that he’s not one of those that gets along with the Storyteller. Not that he makes a habit of talking to them. He has enough esoteric bullshit going on in his life as it is.]
But, hey. If the chickens survive I guess that makes it all fine, right?
no subject
[Muffet may not be very familiar with the details of human religion, but she definitely has deadpan sarcasm down to an art form.]
no subject
[His expression twists at that, something subtle and compressed and quickly gone away again. The clenching of a jaw, the glint of a flinted look, the sharp exhalation through nostrils. The meek shall inherit, huh?]
We don't all subscribe to that.
[As far as he's concerned, as far as anyone with remotely religious proclivities is concerned? He doesn't count.]
no subject
Honestly, I'd be a little concerned if you all did- there are seven-odd billion humans on the planet, and I've never met one of you that wasn't terribly stubborn. If there's anything that can get literally all of you to agree on something, it's probably a sign the world is ending.
[She says this with a surprising amount of warmth and fondness. Muffet considers stubbornness to be a very underrated positive quality.]
no subject
[It's said wryly enough to count as something lighter than his earlier twinge of utter and unshakable guilt. Still, he wouldn't go so far as to call it fond.]
You say that like it's a good thing.
no subject
[She shrugs, the gesture relaxed and casual.]
When it comes down to it, most strengths and weaknesses are a matter of being in the right situation for the tools one has. But we all have a favorite or two, practical sense aside.
no subject
[That's the word monsters have for it. That goes unvoiced; if he implies that he knows more about her world than she's explicitly said, she'll want to know how - and it's not like Sans is what you'd call the most communicative guy out there.]
[He's getting better and better at keeping his mouth shut these days.]
And that's yours?
no subject
[Muffet is only vaguely familiar with capital-D Determination in any case. Oh, she's met the Amalgamates more than once since Alphys revealed the truth of their survival- she can fondly remember once making Lemon Bread laugh by giving them a discount on the pastry that matched their collective nickname. But in the end, the True Lab and the truths it contained were something she only knew of in an abstract, secondhand sense when she knew of them at all.]
[There are a lot of questions she would ask, if only she knew that she should be looking for those answers in the first place.]
no subject
[It leaves them with inexpertly tilled soil in hopes that something kind might grow here, in hopes that they might last long enough to see roots flower out into that which can be converted to sustenance. Or maybe they'll see enough of them poke out from the dirt, just in time for the next calamity to leave the fresh buds for the next beleaguered troupe of travelers, assuming there is one.]
How 'bout adaptability?
no subject
[If they succeed, then that's all to the good. And if not... then at least they can leave something behind to make it easier on the ones who come after, however small a thing it is.]
no subject
[He stands, rolling his shoulders.]
I'd better start asking around if anybody has seeds. I guess I could always try our resident Elf-Mart.
We can probably wrap this soon, if you want?
Feel free to stop by and let me know what they have- that way I offer cuttings of things they aren't already growing, so we get as much variety as possible.
sure thing
[It's not much, but it's a start, so that counts for something.]
Thanks for the help.
Wrapped unless you've got more to add.
[Everything has to start somewhere, no matter how small. After all, that's how growing works, whether you're dealing with plants or with people.]