lifeaftr | :// makin' bacon pancakes, that's what we're gonna make

Who: Luna, Guzma, and whoever wants to stop by Islet 2!
What: THERE IS SOME COOKING GOING ON AND IT PROBABLY IS DELICIOUS
When: Around the 21st of September!
Where: ISLET 2, THE ONLY ISLET WITH A WOOD STOVE
Warnings: DELICIOUS FOOD AHEAD, PLEASE USE YOUR OWN DISCRETION

If you happen to be in the area of the second Islet, where a make-shift hut has become the home of two local pokemon trainers, you may find yourself smelling something amazing. Well, amazing if you enjoy fish. With their new wood-burning stove, Luna and Guzma's cooking game has upped itself tremendously. Rather, Guzma's cooking game has upped itself. Luna has gained a rank in firestarting and firekeeping. It's amazing, living together with a guy like Guzma-- mainly because Luna would never have thought it could happen. But here he is, standing around and cooking fish like he's been doing it for years...probably. Not that Luna knows. Guzma's a pretty outstanding mystery to her in the first place. Weird, kind of spooky. Pretty negative. But everyone knows him, so he's not shy. His pokemon adore him, so he can't be all bad.

It doesn't stop both her pups from being on high guard. Luna'd be lying if she said that there weren't times she was on guard herself-- but having someone who knows where you come from is something that she's decided to not take for granted. Someone with enough knowledge and history to ground her and remind her that home exists...

....somewhere.

Islet #2's hut is...pretty organized, but definitely split into two sides. With the addition of the wood burning stove, the two have tried to insulate their abode with a large tarp, though they still lack a proper roof. There are two strangely hung hammocks on opposite sides-- one of them has a very impressive looking tigershark-skin blanket draped across it invitingly. They seem to be hung by an insect's silken threads, and are very secured to what little they could be fastened to on the worn-down parts of the hut.

On a side of the hut, seashells hang of all types and sizes. They're pretty to look at. There's a small pile of them on the floor, along with a bag that says 'L U N A' in worn letters. There's fur on it-- perhaps someone sleeps here?

For now, this temporary home is fine.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ No, actually, Finley really doesn't have anything better to do. He spends most of his time these days harassing people. It's not a healthy hobby but it's been doing him good so far. So far. That might be changing rather soon. ]

Uh. I'm gonna' judge the fuck out of anything that eats trash.

[ #facts. And he is definitely judging you, Guzma.

Also, what's a hint. ]

[Not healthy indeed, considering the, uh...types of people here on the island. Never know when you could bite off more than you can chew. Guzma's been relatively patient, up until this point, but his patience has worn thin. He's ready to go, and to hell with anyone trying to stop him this time - no one's around. No one's around to tell him he can't knock this idiot's jaw six feet from where he stands. No one's around to tell him to play nice...to fall in line like everyone else.]

Alright. [He drops his utensils and the remains of his meal next to him and stands, taking a quick step toward Finley as he tightening his fingers into curled fists, glaring down his nose at the mouthy asshole.] You got a bone to pick with me, homie, then I'm right here. Let's go, just you'n me...take a swing, I'll even be gracious to let you go first.

[He removes his sunglasses, folding them neatly and pulling them in his back pocket. He'd like to keep those in tact, if the asshole actually goes for a sucker punch.] Y'all get the right to judge me if you stay conscious.

[ No one's here to tell Finley to behave himself either. And honestly? Even if they were? He's been a little tired of how tame everything was until this point. Perhaps it's the predator in him, something itching for an outlet to all this pent-up aggression as a result of the frustration of being trapped and unable to do anything. ]

Aw, isn't that nice of you, [ he says, giving an amused flash of teeth. ] You're going to regret it. [ Which is all the warning Guzma gets before the shark-man swings hard. A hook with his right fist aimed respectively for his right temple. Hopefully enough to at least stagger him. Finley would be disappointed if he went down from that alone. ]

[The man doesn't so much as flinch when he's stuck. His head snaps to one side, yes, but Guzma remains standing in the same spot he was - give or take perhaps an inch or two. The ache in his skull is swiftly drowned by the growing adrenaline that numbs his senses, and the crazed grin that spreads on his face can only be defined as something not quite...right.]

Finally.

[Finally, someone who can actually throw a decent punch. Finally someone who doesn't shrink back at his challenge. Finally...he can cut loose, let himself give in to his wrath, his fury. He doesn't have to play nice. He doesn't have to keep himself locked up. He can beat someone down the way he knows how.

F I N A L L Y.

Guzma lets out a hysteric laugh as he takes a swing himself, his fist aimed for the other man's gut. And he doesn't stop there, either. If Finley lurches forward from the first strike, Guzma's other arm will meet him half way down, plowing into his jaw. All the while, he looks manic, his face split into the widest grin he can mange. Regret? Oh no...no, no, no! If anything, he should be thanking this stupid, stupid boy.

He's having so much fun.]

:// makin' bacon pancakes, that's what we're gonna make

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