lifeaftr | take a one way ticket to the bacchanal

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take a one way ticket to the bacchanal

Who: Connor and the Jormun and y'all.
What: It's a weed party.
When: Weed Day
Where: The Monkey Compound.
Warnings: I mean. Drugs. There's drugs in this post and a disappointing lack of Alan Cumming dressed as a goat.

Connor kind of only means to invite the Jormun over because it's 4/20. He can't, like, not do anything for 4/20? Then it kind of occurs to him that after the utter disaster of the last island and the, uh. Questionable? Findings? On the new island, people might actually want to have a party.

So he scribbles a invitation somewhere on the rock:

Party on 4/20
Monkey Compound
Be there or be square
The party itself is kind of - there's a fire? And something is roasting over it? There's a couple tables, none of which are remotely the same shape or size because they're all that kind of wooden table. You know, the kind that rich people get to look rustic. There's also some chairs and benches, but let's be real: this was a party put together by a dumpster fire of a human being. Aside from the baskets on the center of each table that contains some fruit and a bunch of assorted bowls made out of coconuts - some of which contain suspiciously blue milk - there's not a whole lot of decoration. It basically looks like the kind of party that might show up if you searched "sad birthday parties" on a stock website.

He tried, okay? There was a serious attempt, given that realistically Connor actually was just gonna hang out with the Jormun and get high until he decided that other people might actually. Want to hang out or whatever?

Besides, we all know you're here for weed jokes anyway so it doesn't really matter what the actual party is like. Pretend like this is playing in the background or something.

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And he appreciates that thimbleful of discretion, he really does, but he's pursing his mouth and looking very put upon and long-suffering anyway. 'Extra' may be their brand but still. Unnecessary, Lup. As usual.

"I can't believe you're gonna just, bully me like this. On my birthday! I wasn't probably born today for this kind of treatment." With a sigh, he wriggles into an even less comfortable looking position, half curled around her instead of a table-claiming sprawl. He can't see the stars, and she can't see his face, which completely belies his entirely manufactured outrage, now.

"I'll have you know I am an Artesian well of positivity, thanks. I'm all about staying posi, shut up, we're starting over. You can say your thing," he allows ever so graciously, "And then I'll say one." Maybe.

The words out of his mouth just, they don't stop coming, do they. The fake outrage is a lot, and so's hers? Why are they like this. Why're they objectively the most amazing actually. He's negotiating for niceness like the total fucking goobus he is and she loses it at around shut up, quiet helpless giggles as she lets her hand drop into his hair. He's so much and she's so lucky.

She's just gonna need a second here to get the giggles under control but then she clears her throat, a profound announcement charging like a Fireball.

"Happy Birthday, Koko."

That's uh, yeah that's it. His whole thing kinda, was way more buildup than this warranted, probably? Then again, nobody's really said it in over a century. And she for sure wasn't around for it the past ten years. So yeah, maybe it is important enough.

Before he knows it, he's holding back sympathetic laughter too, but this is important, he said she could say her thing and he's gonna let her.

"Yeah," he agrees when she does, pleasantly if stonedly, and that isn't the right verbal response to birthday well-wishing but Lup will surely understand. He falls into a brief silence.

"Yeah, it is," he says more forcefully, like this is a dawning revelation for him. This is the first birthday he's celebrated in ages, and nothing terrible is happening currently, and don't tell anyone but he kind of likes some of the people here, even the ones he didn't know before.

"I mean, it could be better. Not gonna, let's not throw a parade. But this, specifically," he gestures in a way that isn't specific at all, but probably means he's happy she's here. Because that didn't have to happen. "Right?"

Shhh, just let him have this. It's probably mostly the ameliorating influence of weed, but he's a little awed by his good luck. "We really should technically get like ten, eleven more days of this though. That's just math."

He agrees and her heart swells, because of course she understands. It's absolutely the right response, as far as Lup's concerned. He's getting it, he's feeling it too, this is-- it's a very good day. And they didn't give it to each other, like, it's the island and its occupants giving it to them? Fucking wild, if you think about it.

And then he's refusing to throw any parades because of course he fuckin does and she snorts gracelessly. It's a bit cut short, though, by what he's not quite saying. He doesn't need to. She's happy she's here, too. She's happy she can feel him wrapped around her side, happy that he's happy and they don't need weed to feel like two parts of a whole but it's certainly not hurting. She can't see his face but she's turning hers towards him anyway and she smiles.

"For once in your life, bro," she muses, "your math is ace. Can't, like. Can't have a debt like that hanging over our heads any longer. Fuckin, unthinkable. Give us two straight weeks of happy birthdays or death. Ren said." No hang on, wasn't that a thought that belonged to earlier? What was it? Hang on. Let her just. Stick out her tongue in thought for a second here.

"Ren said, get ready for this-- She said my birthday should be when the sun is high in the sky, and yours should be when the pretty moon is big."

He's still working through the idea of two weeks of birthday, and the concept of his math being Good, Actually, when his brain receives Lup's warning. Incoming Ren nonsense. There's no way he could ever be ready.

And he isn't; he contorts himself to stare at Lup owlishly, and fails to parse it. "What the fuck does that even mean," he whispers, sounding awed, before bursting into giggles. He flops back, covers his eyes with one hand like he's wishing for a fainting couch instead of a rustic table.

"How's she just say stuff like that. It's like, wild, right? Did I say stuff like that?"

It is so wild and the giggles bubble up in her in unison as he's completely fucking blown away by it. That's such a mood, and isn't it always, when it comes to Ren? All that awe and that delight they both have for her, it's a warmth that fills her up to her toes, or maybe that's the weed? Whatever, she almost can't stop laughing, nor does she want to. But she is forced to interrupt herself with another horrible snort at his question.

"Are you asking me if you were a fuckin, a whimsical as fuck delightful lil goblet?"

He uncovers his eyes to give her the most offended look he can muster, like a cat that's being jostled but not quite enough to actually get up. It's a reasonable question, Lup, damn. You know his memory isn't the greatest.

"Hey who the fuck are you calling a goblet? Nice try, idiot, that's not even a word. And I was the best damn whimsical goblet, thank you very much." Any venom in his tone is belied by his burrowing against her, for all the world like he means to weed nap. He doesn't, though, because that would mean shutting up, which obviously isn't happening. "Was I though?"

Shut up, it's not even the memory thing, it's just. He's asking her like, like how he was as a kid... had any bearing on what Ren is like now? Like they're related? It's cute as shit! She's never gonna get over it!

"It's such a word, dipshit! Like, read a book!" There's a commendable amount of offended protest in her voice despite the terminal giggles, even as she curls around him, tucking her head against his. This is serious though and she does her best to cast back her mind to whatever pockets of precious time when they might have had reason to just be, delightful.

And then gasps softly as an absolutely shocking realization hits her. "Shit! You were! Lil Taquito, who'd go up to fucking, complete strangers and ask 'em how big an omelette you can make outta the moon? And, and then you fuckin stole their fries."

He just meant in general, Lup, shut up. Obviously there's no real bearing on how Ren is, but it would be hard to deny a shared tendency towards what can be politely termed whimsy. Or, less politely, total bullshit that is somehow still very endearing.

"It was a reasonable question," he says, somehow both petulant and proud. Damn right, his gobletry was top tier, and she better not forget it. "And someone had to get those fries. Wasn't gonna be you, you were being a little baby about it!" He sounds like that's as much a revelation as the one she just experienced. Shy tiny Lup, honestly what the fuck, is the only feeling that concept can inspire here on the other side of adulthood.

"Guess that kinda worked sometimes too, though," he relents, with nostalgia and affection in his voice.

It's always such a thing, a good, warm thing, when he recalls something of their childhood with ease, totally unprompted. Being high just makes that feeling stronger, like a physical object they're wrapped up in, like the fuzzy blanket on their aunt's sofa. Mmm, a blanket would be dope right now.

This comfort blanket for the soul is even just about enough to let her overlook the total fucking slander happening here. Listen, she was tiny and adults were up to some shit, she had her reasons! She just grins somewhere into his hair, recalling her brother, three feet of pure confidence and bullshit.

"Yeah, I mean, somebody had to look out for your rowdy ass."

Yeah, adults were up to some shit, including having fries and jewelry and alllll kinds of things that you could absolutely get just by being cute and over-familiar. But that wasn't the point he was making, as glad as he is that someone did indeed turn out to have looked out for his rowdy ass all along.

"No, no no, I mean." He squints. He's really gotta nail this, for some reason. "I mean, sometimes your whole, your shrinking violet, wallflower act, whathaveyou, that was a good strategy too." He knows it wasn't so much a strategy, but whatever, he's giving her this for her birthday. And the lack of premeditation hadn't ever made it less effective, so who cares.

"You told some fool you liked her bracelet, I'm surprised she even heard you, and she just gave it to you." People with things are idiots, and that's why their things often become the twins' things. That's just math. Unfortunately, that particular gambit requires a much less urchinly look than they tended towards as time went on, but oh well.

"It was garbage anyway. We pried the stones out and said they were magic." Said, pretended, same thing. Not like they could both wear it anyway.

Lup is absolutely hanging on his every word, even if that's maybe not immediately obvious, because she's got her eyes closed. This shit is like a bedtime story, only with more amazement and adoration.

"I don't even--" she laughs at last, startled and delighted, she doesn't even remember this stuff, where is he getting this, holy shit. She loves it?? She loves him. She tugs at his ear for calling her a shrinking violet, but like in a fond way. "Absolutely, that was the cunning work of a, of a criminal mastermind, didn't even have to ask for shit." It's all bullshit, she knows it and he knows it and that makes it mean something else, one of the many things just for the two of them.

"Sounds like us though," she adds softly. "Always making the best of garbage. Like, uhhh..." Press button, receive memory?

Even as he's kicking at her lightly in retaliation, flicking his ear violently out of her reach, there's some of that same delight and fondness on his face. Criminal mastermind, pfffft. They were cunning, and criminals too, particularly as time went on, and that's Not Good, and he knows it, but. It's them. It's real, it happened, and they sure made the best of it, like any other garbage.

"Like literal fucking garbage, Lup, like trash, do you remember...? The, the--" What had he called them, his garbage displays? There'd been a word for it, and he's choosing to blame the weed for the way it won't come to mind. "Every fucking-- like all the hair thingies, marbles, broken glass, anything colorful off the ground. Right in a jar. I figured-- I just felt like, if there was enough of it, that kind of outweighed the fact that it was absolutely worthless bullshit-- It's the. It was just. It made sense at the time."

He sniffs with nostalgic disdain and fidgets an earring back into place, where it won't dig in despite the ridiculous way he's laying. Sure, it's just Lup, but scrounging around his childhood like this makes him feel vulnerable, like either his memory or his self risks being snatched up if he lingers. "It all got thrown away anyway. Someone said I was gonna catch lice. As if." He scoffs, but it'd been a risk he took dead seriously at the time; better to lose a hoard of colorful trash than invite any threat to his hair. "It was in a jar! It was fine!"

Fuckin' score. She totally does remember his dumb magpie trash hoard, now that he's reminding her, and oh the good times she had ragging on him for it. What was he even gonna do with some shit in a jar? Making mud castles and then smushing them into the ground was where it's at. Even as he maybe had the occasional marble or shiny dead bug in there that she coveted for sure.

She remembers, too, the urge to hold onto whatever little thing they could somehow call their own, still hoping that maybe they'd get to keep it next time they had to move. His brief uncertain fidgeting registers more like instinct than anything, under the warming joy of this nostalgia sesh, and she somehow solves this fucking elven tetris puzzle to start twisting a strand of his hair between her fingers without even really thinking about it.

Only for her to stop and gasp softly as he recalls the jar's untimely end, and-- "I just remembered something truly terrible," she announces, sounding dead serious and afraid for her life. "Now Taako, don't-- uhm, don't get mad, okay? But I think I, like... I might have-- after they threw it out, I maybe went dumpster diving to rescue your--" She wheezes, "Your treasures," shit, goblins is the same, "And, so, good news? It was totally fine and I hid it for you in that, d'you remember that crawl space under the porch in that one place? Now, bad news, I kinda? Forgot? About it?" And then they got kicked out again and now the whole fucking plane's gone but in the meantime it probably made some raccoon very happy!

Far from being angry (seriously, Lup, it's not like he has any kind of tendency to fly off the handle about things, c'mon) it's Taako's turn to hang on her every word in stoned suspense. When the nature of her confession becomes clear, he can only laugh, bright and tinged with incredulity. All that garbage tucked away until the goddamn world ended, now there's a legacy.

"Wh-- What was even the point of that, how did you-- Now who's got a shitty memory? You got in the garbage for nothing!" That's more than enough to qualify as an honorary goblin. Crowing mockery notwithstanding, he still gives her a rare, furtive hug, like it's part of the process of resettling himself. What an image, tiny determined Lup hanging out of a dumpster on behalf of some shit only he could have cared about in the first place.

"At least my treasures were in good company. I'd already put all kinds of stuff under there. Though I guess I did break a lot of it first. You know, in hindsight that probably wasn't nearly as much of a mystery as I was hoping." Confidence and outgoingness aren't the only traits they swapped growing up, though the destructive tendencies, whether vindictive or scientific, tend to be a little more spontaneous in her possession. "Probably a good thing we left or whatever."

It was one time! One time she forgot a thing! But, yes, she super got in the garbage for nothing, that's fair and she probably deserves all his bright laughter and delighted mockery and his-- his hug. Actually, she done did the best and no one can criticize her.

It's no surprise to hear he was using the porch as a secret trash hoard same as her. Is it a kid thing to hide away every weird rock and fake sword and shitty puppet you found in the gutter, or just goblins? Who knows. "Yeah," she snorts, like there was anything deliberate about leaving that 'home' or most of the others. "Sure would've hated to see their faces if that house had like, floated away on a pile of shiny garbage and torn up toys eventually. Oh nooo, our ancestral home," she mock-wails and resumes playing with his hair. "Five generations of stuck up, too-good-for-junk-jars assholes lived here before us, and now it's all gone. Damn those twins!"

Weird, though, how that applies to most of their lives, if you think about it? Good thing they left that and all the other places, good thing they left the whole ass plane when they did, and all the other planes they had to run from. There's something heavy to it that she's almost too stoned to grapple with. But only almost. "We're gonna stop leaving places soon," she says, suddenly wistful or reassuring or... something.

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take a one way ticket to the bacchanal

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