lifeaftr | December Intro: Don't Come Home for Christmas

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December Intro: Don't Come Home for Christmas

INTRO LOG: DECEMBER

Who: Everyone!
What: New souls arrive to the archipelago of LifeAftr
When: December 3rd and onward
Where: Monsun
Warnings: Mark as needed!

The Overview: Uncharted Waters
Stay alert, new adventurers; instead of the white-sand beaches of Enso, you will instead be coming to on one of two sides of the relatively uncharted lands of Monsun. Most of the information regarding this peculiar land can be found in the informational post linked, but as a quick-and-dirty rundown: Monsun's western side is a hot wasteland of a desert prone of disasters and mishaps, but will affect your character's emotional and psychological state in a positive sense, while its eastern side is a verdant forest filled with endless resources...as well as a tendency to bring out the absolute worst of your character.

To start with, all new arrivals will be showing up in one of two squares that characters uncovered last month! We are leaving it up to player discretion as to which side of the island your character arrives on, but bear in mind the psychological repercussions!

All new arrivals will additionally awake with knapsacks, their names stitched to the front. The contents of said knapsacks can all be found in your acceptance notices!

Monsun, C4: These Are Your Good Years
You wake to the hot sun steaming overhead, rapidly drying your clothes and belongings, waterlogged from washing upon this desolate shore. The heatwaves shimmer at your vision, distorting your view of the horizon. But if you really squint, it looks like there might be something dark green fringing that pipecleaner skyline, like a lush woodland awaits you on the other side of this desert nightmare. A mirage, maybe?

Whatever it is, you don't get very long to contemplate it. Beneath your feet, the ground has begun to shake as a many-headed horror erupts from the earth. Great streams of pale sand slough from its dry, scaly hide as multiple horned heads unfurl in a hissing inflorescence. The creature's eyes are all pale as grubs; it is quite blind. But that does not mean it cannot smell you.

Boasting both a thick hide and a chitinous coat of sandy-colored scales that blends them perfectly with their surroundings, Sand Hydras sleep several feet under the sand until they sense the vibrations of potential prey aboveground. While they are significantly smaller than their mythological counterparts - they can only span eight to twelve feet in length - Sand Hydras are cunning creatures nonetheless with a number of heads that can vary from one to as high as ten. Their weakness, on the other hand, is simple: water burns them like acid. It seems they may flourish only in any moisture-poor environment.

Assuming your character lasts that long, remember: as physically destructive as Monsun's west may be, your character's most admirable traits will be amplified to their fullest potential by the twenty-four hour mark.

Monsun, D3: Before You Bury Yourself Alive
Those waking on the eastern side of the island, on the other hand, will face a far more pleasing tableau. The temperature is perfect, the sun shines modestly through the canopy of deciduous greenery above your head, and the air is thick and sweet with the smell of fresh fruit.

That's right - within minutes of their arrival, your character will discover several plants laden with fresh wild blackberries.

Should that temptation arrest their attention, should they be vulnerable to the foibles of greed or hoarding or paranoia, your character may very well wish to keep this treat to themself. Or...perhaps not. Perhaps they'd much rather search out a fight, or try to steal someone else's supplies, or embark on a poorly-advised mission to swim out into Monsun's surrounding waters.

For that is, after all, the catch: as physically soothing as Monsun's east may be, your character's most hateful traits will be amplified to their fullest potential by the twenty-four hour mark.

As a final note to those who participated in the Test Drive Meme, bear in mind that those threads, if all parties involved would like, can be game canon in the form of dream-like memories involving a place very much like this one, though the layout is considerably different.

Feeling a tad adrift? Make sure to check the Locations Page, which has details regarding the starting areas and a handy map for those who feel better with a bird's eye view!

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

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“It’s for the best,” he says with an earnestness that is typically rare for someone like him. But it seems that honest concern, as well as genuine cheer and warmth, seem to be in abundance today. “Other side might look nice, but it feels...really wrong.”

He’s not a highly articulate person on a good day, even when it’s the best day possible. They’ll have to pick up his slack in that regard.

“You want some help?” He’s certain they don’t need it, but the company might be almost...appreciated.

A frown. "If something's wrong over there, then other people might be in danger, too. How am I supposed to do anything about that from here?"

It's not a concern they would usually voice- but then, Tim understands, doesn't he? That need to make sure other people don't go through anything remotely close to what you had- a sense that they are, in essence, your responsibility.

That seems slightly more important than a few flowers.

They're right. He does get that, he knows, and they know that he knows, but - how is anyone supposed to help when the other side makes them about as far from helpful as possible? He passes his hand along the ragged scruff at his chin, uneven and patchily trimmed, and breathes out a sigh.

"River's not too deep. Might be a way to get you across, but..." But he'd rather not put them in harm's way, ridiculous as it might seem. Ridiculous, because he knows they're far more capable than he is, when it comes to taking care of themself. "Could head back over there. Make sure no one's stuck."

Tim that does not even remotely fix the problem. If anything, their frown deepens.

"So you can go off and get into trouble, but I can't?" That's a double standard, Tim. They won't stand for it, not at all. "No. We'll simply have to hope they stay safe... and you can help me with these flowers."

It's not the best resolution- later, when Tim is safe and distracted, they'll find their own way across. He can assume they simply went to wander the wasteland, as they're usually want to do.

“I don’t risk drowning if I cross the river,” he points out, not unkindly but - matter-of-fact. He knows better than to take unnecessary risks. He might not be fond of water or highly capable of swimming, but he can at least stay afloat. “Current isn’t that strong.”

That won’t make them any less likely to go off on their own, he knows. But he also knows better than to attempt to sway them. How can he, when he knows exactly how it feels, the hatred of your own helplessness?

“What kind you got?” He’ll focus on something nice. He can allow himself that.

He wouldn't be able to protect himself half as well as they would on the other side, though. Chara chews the inside of their cheek, rather than say that aloud; there's no point to continuing the argument.

He's here now. That's enough. It's rare... that they get to spend such time together without some horror receding from the horizon.

"What else?" Their smile is quick to return as they gesture down to the flowers, expression... fond. "Gold flowers- you remember them, don't you? From my memories."

He remembers a lot of things from their memories. Most of them aren’t as pleasant as this moment, sand and sun and flowers and a smile on their face that is so genuine, so unlike the blazing red-steel weapon they favor, that his heart can’t help but break in the seeing of it. It happens so rarely and not nearly enough - and if he might be the one to bring it out of them, that would be enough.

He isn’t a praying man. He has no god, no deity he can turn to. But he can send out a silent hope that, should he lose memory after memory, hollowed from his skull, let him at least keep this precious one of a child that is unafraid to smile.

“Of course I do.” The flowers they so loved. And continue to love. “Are you going to carpet the islands in them?”

"That is precisely what I'm doing!" Laughter, light and quick to come. Are they really that easy to see through? Maybe not to everyone, but to him, it shouldn't be so surprising. Maybe that's why it's so easy to laugh at- the reminder of just how well he truly understands them.

One of the very few who ever has.

"Alright Tim, 1,000,000 dollar question. Why am I doing it?"

"Because they're pretty." It's a prompt answer, and worked out with just enough of a nascent grin to indicate that it's almost like a joke. But it isn't, really - the golden flowers they so loved, that was an integral part of the old tale.

Things that maybe bode thinking about, but don't bode mentioning. Too somber a topic for a day like today. Despite the heat, despite the danger, it's hard to be anything but quietly pleased that, for once, the world is treating Chara favorably. That's always worth some celebration, in his book.

Another bark of laughter- the corners of their eyes crinkle with mirth, face splitting into a wide grin. They know he knows, but the answer- clear avoidance that's almost too amusing. As you wish, Tim. A change of topic is in order.

"They're also hardy. So long as I can monitor them for a few days, they'll take to anywhere."

"So that's your cunning plan. Cover every island with as many flowers as possible." It's...

Okay, well, it it funny. For all their decisions to try and be uninvolved, to keep away from the attachments they're making despite themself, their insistence on preparing for another ending around the corner, it's a little curious that they're so intent on leaving pieces of themself behind everywhere. That muddies the likelihood of a clean break like nothing else will.

Like leaving a YouTube channel up and exposed for everyone to see.

He wasn't around, when they succeeded. It's one of the reasons their narrative didn't pull the memory of their life from his skull in a blur-muddled, CORE-addled mess.

He wasn't around to see just how many pieces of themself they left behind the first time, either.

It's not as impactful as the last time, they think.

Chara doesn't own the flowers. Chara has no control over what happens to them, after they leave, nor does anyone else. They'll remain or they won't, spread and thrive or die out, and the only ruler of that is time itself.

If they'd ever had the chance, for a life, that's how they'd want to be. Uncontrolled, free, and on an unknown timer.

"You have to admit, it would be an improvement." In comparison to the barren grounds currently wounding their eyes.

Tim barks a laugh at that, short and sharp but nonetheless genuine. Stripped of the deadpan, of the wry, of the biting, it's unabashedly amused and unashamedly delighted.

"No argument there." If they can take to the sands here, maybe they might even...spread, given enough time. "You want some help?"

He's certain they don't necessarily need the help - they're more than capable of doing nearly everything that they do on their own. But if they don't mind the company, he certainly isn't one to mind theirs.

He hasn't even finished his question before they're shifting over to give him room, pointing at the newly freed space beside them.

"Park a squat." You ready, Tim? It's flower time.

Tim settles down accordingly, almost eagerly. All his knowledge of flowers and gardening is of a borrowed variant; it seems discourteous, all things considered, to claim that to be knowledge at all. It's high time he actually learned a thing or two on his own time, isn't it?

"All I really know about gardening is that you dig holes and put seeds in them," he says, half-sheepish and half-amused. "Good, right?"

"Amazing," Chara deadpans, replicating one of Frisk's better, lined faced expressions. "I am so surprised. This is my surprised face, Tim."

He laughs. He laughs at that one, even if it's a little staggered and breathless, too dry and out of practice to be the rich, liquid sound most laughs should be.

"All right, wise-ass. What else is there to it?"

That is a sound they have never heard before. Wracking their memories (wracking his), Chara can't seem to locate a single instance of it; something that should be a pity, but instead fills them with a pleasing sense of pride that has the child sitting up straighter smile bright and true.

It may be the first time he's made that sound. They simply need to ensure it isn't the last.

"That is precisely what I'm about to show you, Sherlock. So the very first thing to understand is the soil itself..."

If he lets them, they'll spend the rest of the afternoon like this, teaching him how to plant golden flowers in this bright, sunny place.

And it'll be good.

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December Intro: Don't Come Home for Christmas

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