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

[postictal]

"First of all, I don't see any demons around here." Small children proclaim themselves demons is nothing new, sure, but regardless of what they might think, it's hardly as though Chip has made an effort to back up those claims with anything truly malicious.

"Second of all, I'm pretty sure that's stereotyping. Demons could be real useful members of society. Why paint them all with a bad brush? You never know, right?"

It's said with the air of a joke, but that doesn't mean there's not a foundation of underlying truth. Or at least, something they can take away for the better.