May Adventure: I Want to Go Where Everyone Goes

[lifeaftr_mods]

NEW ISLAND: IO

Who: Everyone!
What: Io appears!
When: May 10th and onward
Where: Io
Warnings: The possibility of drug use and alcohol may come up. Otherwise, tag as you go!

Things Are Shaping Up to Be Pretty Odd
As of May 10th, the mana pools on Ensō and its islets will now allow for travel to Io. Though you could always opt for sailing, if you wanted. As we mentioned on the island's introductory post, no exploration is necessary! The island is small enough and easily traversed, and with a minimum of dangers, you have plenty of time to visit each of Io's six draws.

The temple is the easiest place to get in touch with the local avatar, though you can contact them just as easily by striking up a conversation with just about any honeybee you see in the vicinity. The lazy drone of them can be heard all over the island, though they're quite complacent, and not at all prone to disturbing adventurers. The temple itself is twined with grapevines and smothered with inlays of rubies, proud and sparkling. Inside, it smells of honey and wine, and seems to exhibit a naturally contented glow. Just outside, numerous fruit trees sprout all about the temple's courtyard, to be sampled at your leisure.

The bathhouses are located just south of the temple, and are prime locations for some rest and relaxation. Bathe, swim, take a spa day! There are innumerable rooms to do exactly that, and more space than be reasonably filled by some sixty-or-seventy people. Or maybe you're interested in getting absolutely sloshed instead. The vineyard is perfect for that, located to Io's northeast on one of its long, tapering peninsulas. Rows upon rows of grapevines lead up to the crown jewel of the region: a proud winery with enough goods to satisfy even the most parched.

For those less keen on mind-altering substances, the tea gardens are a far safer bet. They practically emanate tranquility, with their soft paper lanterns, thickets of tea trees, and a tea room with a seemingly endless supply of every supplement to your drink that you could ask for. And if none of the teabags or tea leaves in there suit your preference, you're free to wander about the gardens yourself and sample whatever you like.

The Honeycomb at the island's heart is much more akin to a play structure or jungle gym than anything else, but its interlocking passageways and erratic, hexagonal architecture aren't for nothing. It's an ideal spot for play or exercise, if you're into that kind of thing - or for getting positively sick on honey sticks.

The campsites ensure that you don't truly have to depart from Io, if you don't want to. Tents full of chairs and cushions and blankets make it a wonderful place to spend the night if you're so inclined, and the lockers full of food and drink are assurances that you won't go hungry. And with all these massive bonfires and firework cannons, why would you ever want to leave?

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Welcome to the island of Io! Please, enjoy your stay and make full use of this island's many faculties! For further information in regards to the island, or plotting, the following links may prove handy:

[ ♆ ] OOC info and introductory post
[ ♆ ] Io on the Locations page

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LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

[yourattention]

I don't know! I left the stupid thing for accountability or whatever? And they they just adopted him, 'cause fuckin. He's cute and he's got anxiety or whatever but he's not fucking crazy.

[Also he's like 85% sure Evan's dating? His sister? 100% he doesn't want to think about it. That's just fucked up.]

So you know. Replacement son, put my fucking name on something so they look like good parents, whatever. Just . . . dead and done.

[postictal]

[There's not much to say to that. He knows already that Connor's parents were pretty objectively shitty people, and this is just icing on the cake.]

What the fuck. [He doesn't sound surprised. Just - disgusted. His brow crimps downward into a scowl, setting his teeth.]

And people let them do it?

[Who's he kidding? Of course they let them.]

[yourattention]

We're rich white folk. We can do whatever we want.

[The thing about Connor is he remembers what it's like to be . . . not poor, exactly. They always had food and he doesn't think they were ever in danger of losing the house. But he does remember being not-rich. He remembers wearing thrift store clothes and eating box mac and cheese because that's what they could afford. He remembers the cats under the porch and not always getting everything he wanted, but feeling like he had a family.

The new money look doesn't sit well on Connor like it does on the rest of his family. Maybe it would've eventually, if he hadn't gotten himself kicked out of Hanover, but he doubts it.]

You can get away with anything, as long as you have enough money to pay for it.

[postictal]

[Tim, who grew up in Alabama, who never left Alabama until another force beyond his control up and whisked him to another dimension entirely, snorts. Rich white people. Yeah. That makes sense.]

Sometimes I'm happy not to be in the States anymore.

[He's actually usually happy to not be in the States anymore, for one reason or another.]

At least here, there's none of that bullshit.

[yourattention]

Yeah. That's how I learned you can be a fuckin immortal or whatever and not have basic skills like cooking.

[He's marginally aware he does have a subsection of actual specialized skills like sailing and wilderness survival or whatever but cooking feels like an everybody skill. At least pasta. One thing. Everybody should be able to cook one thing.]

[postictal]

To be fair, you've got plenty of skills I wouldn't exactly call basic, buddy. You're pretty much the handiest person here sometimes.

[Basket-weaving. Sailing. Climbing trees. At this point, he's not entirely sure what Connor has up his sleeve, because he always seems to have some kind of skill that he hasn't told anyone about.]

[yourattention]

I have to make up for being a filthy Muggle somehow.

[That's pretty much how he thinks of it: he's extremely, incredibly average and normal. He has no combat skills, there's no such thing as magic where he's from, he has no experience with the supernatural - anything he contributes has to be weirdly specialized and specific, otherwise what's the point?]

How else am I supposed to be a contributing member of society?

[postictal]

A what?

[He never read Harry Potter, Connor, sorry. He missed a lot of key fiction in his formative years that every kid should know.]

Look, you can sail, you can weave baskets - you were helping me out when we were both kids, and I'm pretty sure all I could reliably do at that point was start crying on command.

[yourattention]

Normal. I can't do magic, I can't fight for shit, I don't have special abilities.

[He shrugs. It's not a huge deal to him, now. It used to burn like failure, but he's realized there's more than one way to be useful.]

All I have is the fucks I don't give about anything.

[postictal]

Neither can I.

[Well. He does have an ability. Kind of. It's certainly not normal, but he's not going to put it in the pros column. No goddamn way.]

I'd say you're contributing a whole hell of a lot, is all.