TiK Tok

[ohnehalfte]

Who: Lup (hellawrath), Taako (ohshitsweetflips), Newt (ohnehalfte), and possibly you!
What: Drunken party of drunkenness and shenanigans
When: Nov 17th, mid-day until everyone passes tf out
Where: Islet #2 aka Trash Island, somewhere out in front of cottage 1 and along the beach
Warnings: Drunk people, swearing, ill-advised people hitting each other with sticks, questionable food, drunken cuddles and crying, etc, etc tbc when there's more




Welcome to Islet 2! There are many reasons for you to be here right now. Maybe you live here. Maybe you're visiting someone who lives here. Maybe you've been invited to this sick party by one of the above idiots. Maybe you were just passing by and got dragged into the festivities. Who cares, really? You're here now!

Out in front of Cottage 1 there's the beautiful banner that you see above hanging on the outside, lovingly crafted by one of the twins. The twins have also lovingly crafted some vodka using magic and potatoes. Potato magic. And hey! There's also stuff that the twins cooked! Like potato tornadoes, fried shark genitals and Fantasy Kentucky Fried Pterax! And other food! And there's a fire! And activities! And drinking!

Mainly drinking. In fact, there is a large cooking pot that, at the moment, is full of the most moonshine-iest vodka you have ever had. There are empty halves of coconut shells to serve as cups, as well as some clay cups that may or may not have come from an interesting source. So help yourself! Who knows how long it'll last, considering the amount of guests. Heck! It might even be repurposed later, after all the vodka is gone! So drink up.

Anyway, feel free to join in on the festivities! There will be several threads for activities where people can mingle, or you can start your own. Have a party, chill out, and/or imbibe ill-advised substances to try and forget that you died. Wheeeee!

Comments

[postictal]

Tim flinches despite himself, but eases the automatic hitch of his shoulders down accommodatingly once he gets last the knee jerk panic that always accompanies being brushed up against out of the blue. Still, he manages an uneven lift of one side of his mouth, tipping his cigarette tin in Newt’s direction, in case he feels up to it.

“Been a hell of a few months,” he says honestly. “How ‘bout you? Don’t think I’ve seen you since that shit with those monkey things.”

[ohnehalfte]

If Newt was perhaps less one cup of vodka, he might've noticed the flinch. As is, it flies right over his head--and instead he beams when the cigarettes are offered, reaching out to accept one. "Dude, I feel that. In my soul. Which is, apparently, orange."

He snorts a bit, setting down his cup so he can shift and lean forward, scooping up a spare twig of driftwood and lighting the end of it using the fire. He then wobbles a bit precariously, but manages to plop back down without putting the dang thing out, which is fortunate because he then uses it to light the end of the cigarette. He inhales--a bit too deeply. It's been a good amount of time since he's had a cigarette, seeing that he doesn't indulge in them often--the smoke burns going down and he coughs a bit even as he tosses the twig into the fire. The cough continues until he plucks the cigarette from his mouth and breaths out the rest of the way, some of the last dregs of smoke caught in a laugh.

"Shit, I haven't had one of these in--what? A decade? At least?" He turns his head to grin at Tim again. "They were like prime trading material in the Shatterdome in Hong Kong and nobody liked me enough there to trade me for them." But, that in mind, he'll bring the cigarette back to his mouth and inhale, slower this time, savoring the sensation of the burn this time and taking it slower. That's more than enough to not make him cough, and there's a slump in his shoulders as he breathes out the white-grey smoke.

Right. What he's been up to. "As for the post-monkey business--" He grins a bit at his own joke. "--y'know, got thrown into the cave of wonders with everyone else, ended up contracting the gem-itis and died legit one of my most slowest and most painful deaths to date. So that was cool." There's more than enough sarcasm in his tone to indicate that he is definitely being facetious, and he tilts his head back to the sky, sneering briefly at the stars. "Thanks, EssTee." Anyway--he turns his head back to Tim.

"How about you?"

[postictal]

Orange?

He doesn't strictly mean to dig into the knowledge that he has at his disposal, intentional or not, wanted or not, but it drifts into the corners of his consciousness regardless. Orange. Bravery. It fits him.

Tim is already sparking the lighter in his hand to strike up his own, but watches with a vague, faintly concerned amusement as Newt proceeds to light his own with a flaming stick, no less, and then proceeds to cough up what sounds like a good chunk of a lung.

"You and about a dozen others," Tim adds dryly, with all the glib dismissal utterly painful death allows. "Guess I wasn't so unlucky. I take it you're not in our rabbit overlord's good books."

From the sounds of it, Tim doesn't sound too stoked about them either.

[ohnehalfte]

"Hell if I know." Newt huffs, flicking the cigarette lightly to knock off the ash. "But they know they're not in mine. Though for some reason they're always a dog whenever I see them." He huffs a bit of a laugh. "As far as I'm concerned, they're pretty in the dog house anyway." He can't help but glance at Tim as he grins a bit, cheeky. Look he made a joke. An awful one, but still a joke.

[postictal]

Tim does snort at that, wry and vaguely amused in the only way he knows how.

"I don't talk with them. Not outside the, uh...necessities." He turns his cigarette between his fingertips with a slightly guilty glance at the tin in his pocket. Ever since his discussion with the cowboy guy, robot arm and all, he can't quite shake the feeling that the things they keep asking for might be coming out of someone else's pocket.

[ohnehalfte]

"I thought...maybe if I could get more information out of them, I could figure this place out. But at the end of the day, who the hell knows if they're even telling the truth." Honestly? They don't. And that's the long and short of it. Newt takes a drag off the cigarette, then, and this one goes much easier.

[postictal]

"Guess you've gotta point. Not like we've got any alternatives here." He glances away from the tin-shaped bulge in his pocket, and keeps burning the cigarette away at its end, breathing in the smoke and the bracing pull of nicotine.

"Whatever they've got in store for us next, I just hope this time they leave the kids out of it."

[ohnehalfte]

"Yeah. That'd be nice." There's a tiredness that's starting to creep in at the edges. Happy-drunk!Newt is starting to be replaced by melancholy!Newt. "I mean. Definitely not holding my breath. But it'd be nice."

[postictal]

“Not like the kids aren’t competent,” he adds wryly. “I’m pretty sure I’m the one being looked after rather than the other way around, at this point.” Not really so much anymore, considering. The medication was the cessation of that guarantee, that Chara be responsible for him, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still there.

[ohnehalfte]

"I mean, yeah. If they chose to go, I'm not gonna stop 'em, y'know? Because it's their choice, and I've definitely met some kids that are, like, waaaaaay better than fighting than I am." He is more than willing to ceed that, tbh. He's been saved by superkids more times than he can count.

[postictal]

No arguments there. Tim's managed to get himself shanked in the soul by a kid with an enchanted knife, and was kind enough to thank them afterwards. But that's not really "drunk at a party" material in terms of storytelling. Hell, it's not even "campfire tales you tell during the wind-down period" material. It's just plain not something you bring up in casual conversation.

So he does the simple thing. He changes the subject.

"You're gonna wake up with a hell of a hangover, buddy."

[ohnehalfte]

That makes Newt cackle, tilting his head so he can eye Tim with a Very Sloshed grin. "Oh, dude. Toooooootally."

And then he just

waggles his eyebrows up and down

like the fucking nerd he is.

[postictal]

Oh, jesus. Tim tries to hold a straight face at that, and mostly fails, his expression crumbling into an amused snort. He's so far gone. He's so fucking far gone that he's probably only going to remember something like fifty percent of this conversation.

"Too bad there's nothing 'round here for a little drunk science, huh?"

[ohnehalfte]

HE LAUGHED!!! NEWT SAW IT!!!! His grin widens, beaming, absolutely pleased that he accomplished this--and he barks out a laugh in response. "Tell me about it!" He throws an arm in the air for emphasis, specifically the one without the hand holding the cigarette. "This is prime drunk science time! And I'm not in the Shatterdome so I'm not banned from doing it like last time!"

[postictal]

He has no idea what a Shatterdome is, but Newt's easy elation is damn near infectious. He can't help but being charmed at the sheer deviation of the whole thing from the norm. It's so bitterly human, this need to scrape something halfway enjoyable out of all the shit, and the bottom line is that it's working.

"You got banned from doing drunk science?" Somehow? He can believe it.

[ohnehalfte]

"Yeaaaaaaaah I may've exploded a couple'a bunsen burners last time." He doesn't look ashamed about this at all--in fact, it's almost smug. "And gotten kaiju guts all over Hermann's chalkboards. And his side of the lab. Wooooo he was NOT happy about that!" This, especially, is said with an extreme amount of glee. "He screeched at me for HOURS until Pentecost came down and made me clean it up. While still drunk, I might add."

[postictal]

“God, you’re a menace.” Tim sounds pretty amused about that, to be fair. The guy almost reminds him of -

He derails the thought before it boards the station. Doesn’t matter who he reminds him of. Doesn’t matter for a second, because people who are long gone in more than aysthsn one can’t be reclaimed. That’s all there is to it.

“Well, who knows. Maybe you can do a little drunk coconut shooting.”

[ohnehalfte]

"I'm Dennis the fuckin' Menace, man, that's for sure." He hums a bit, in response. "Maybe I could! I've got a coconut gun 'n everything. Though I'd kinda be afraid of shooting someone at this point."

[postictal]

“So take potshots at birds. Try to knock shit off the Storyteller’s temple or something.”

This is very probably a bad idea, given that the god seems rather protective of that space, but Newt is drunk and Tim is enabling some poor choices, so why not?