come_sailaway | JUNE EVENT: CAMP

JUNE EVENT: CAMP

early on June 10th, Friday's morning announcements end with a request for everyone going on the latest excursion to meet her in the atrium. she seems in noticeably better spirits than she had been last time, and she leads them cheerfully to the tender. once they are all aboard, and the door is securely shut, the interior fills with gas, and, perhaps, their last thought before they slip into unconsciousness is "oh shit, not again."

passengers wake up on a rickety old school bus, driving down a dirt road surrounded by woods. what is it that they notice first? that, no matter what they were wearing before, they are now wearing a camp t-shirt and legitimately horrifyingly short shorts? the overstuffed backpack between their knees? the words "take one down and pass it around" dying on their lips? the fact that Friday is absolutely driving the bus?

or, maybe the fact that it's already slowing down, pulling up in front of a massive wooden sign, saying:

CAMP AION

when they get out of the bus, Friday is the one to divide them up into their cabin groups, and she is the one to give the counselors their very official-looking clipboards and whistles. she explains that they are in charge, and that she will be back to pick them up in a week, and... very little else. she responds to nothing outside of whatever is on her unseen little script, and she gets back on the bus shortly after, leaving them there.

welcome to camp. let's make some summer memories!

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Sharky's halfway over to Marc when he gets corrected, but the unfamiliarity doesn't stop him! He also doesn't even consider that it could be Steven playing a prank on him, or something. That could be because Steven doesn't seem to be the type, or it could be because Sharky is kind of oblivious.

"Oh, shit, sorry dude. My bad. I'm Sharky, from his cabin." At least until they get kicked out by their counselor... "And yeah, man, it fucking blows. I'm fifty-four-goddamn-years-old, if I wanna have a beer by the fire, I should be able to." Petulantly, he adds, "They should'a put a warning up, this is totally unhealthy for me."

Friendly guy, isn't he? Marc doesn't seem to mind all that much though... considering the people who seem pissed off, like he's intentionally misleading them by not being his very British, very anxious twin? He'll take it.

"Hey, man." Sharky though? That's. a name. There's the slightest smile that twitches at his lips. "Guess we can go in there and look again? Maybe with two sets of eyes."

But he's not hopeful. Gives them something to do than sit around and itch for a drink though, right?

There's no way that Sharky can do any sort of sitting around, as he'd probably been like, five minutes from trying to get shit together to brew some toilet wine before running into Marc. Also, the ship would always respawn drinks and shit after they left the area -- maybe this is the same thing? Maybe he's got to really want a beer when he goes in to have one appear?

He has no idea. Magic is fuckin' weird, man.

"Better than pacin' around here, stressing myself out. I knew I shoulda been pacing myself, man... I knew it. But there's just... so much free booze!!!" He heaves a weary sigh. "Now I guess I know better..." (No. No, he doesn't.)

... You know, Marc might not be against trying to brew some toilet wine, potential blindness or food poisoning be damned. But he's not sure they've got the time and-- really, it's just a kick to the nuts that they can't give adults some drinks here. What kinda camping trip is it without a few beers?

He huffs out a laugh though, turning to head back into the kitchen. "Yeah, well... that's pretty tempting, yeah? And it's all over the ship. Wonder how they even get a bottomless supply?"

Or maybe it'll dry up one day and that'll be that, but that's a depressing thought, isn't it?

Having the option available is the one thing keeping Sharky sane right now. As far as he's concerned, this is either an 80's coming-of-age comedy or an 80's horror movie, and either way there should be beer involved!

"That's what I've been wondering. Like, all of the food and clothes, too? There's no sign of any kinda hydroponics set-up anywhere, so where are they getting the vegetables? And, like, no textile factory, no import ships coming in..."

Ooooh, right. "It's probably just, like, fuckin' magic food. I guess I shouldn't be complaining, considerin' how nice it is to be able to eat whenever I want again, but, like..." He kicks a chair over, which would probably seem more violent if he weren't pouting petulantly while he was doing it. It's a shitty attempt at relieving his frustration, but at least he's not being destructive. (Yet.)

"It kinda feels like, uhhh... Conciliatory? Like, 'thanks for murdering each other, here's some complimentary crab rolls.' Or, I guess in this case, 'thanks for, like, making arts and crafts like a bunch of toddlers' or something? I dunno. So I'm like, not gonna look the gift horse in the mouth, but I definitely ain't sure it's safe to ride."

Meaning: he'll eat the free crab legs, but he isn't stupid enough to ignore the huge asterisk next to the word free.

Oh, he's definitely expecting bad 80's horror. They're kinda dressed for it, aren't they? The ridiculous fashion, the secluded camp. There should be more beer involved in all that... it'd take the edge off if the psycho killer shows up for them or whatever.

If Marc is bothered by the outburst, he doesn't show it. He's probably done worse when he's pissed, and this guy just looks more like he's sulking than actually about to start wrecking the place. "You really think it can all be magic? Kinda blows my mind, thinking about that..."

All of them just eating and wearing magic, living magic. It's enough to need a drink.

He snorts at the next remark. "Yeah, you know-- there's a lot of crab and on the ship. Feels like the Captain could give a kosher option or two for the 'Thanks for the entertainment' condolence prize." Not that Marc is more than a minimally practicing Jewish guy, at best, but... still. Some things he tries to observe. At least there's usually no shortage of places to eat or menu options.

Oooooh, man, now that's gotta suck. "Damn, I didn't even think about that. Oh, shit, if everything's made by magic, then can any of the food actually, uh, be kosher?" Because he hasn't seen any food actually being made. He's just eaten what's left out, like a dog with a feeder bowl.

"Like, none of the food today was made in the kitchen. Shit's still clean." Which he proves by slapping a hand down on the pass-through window I assume there is between the kitchen and the dining area proper. "I mean, are we even technically eating real food? It could all be, like, Star Trek tofu shit." Huh. Makes you think... "Same with the alcohol. Maybe I'm not really going through withdrawals, I just think I'm supposed to, so..."

Nope, too much thinking. Ow.

"Youknow-- that's. Probably a good point. I don't think I've ever heard the rules on magically made food." Does it count? And then-- he keeps going on and now he's kinda blowing his damn mind.

Is it even real food?

"I mean, it's gotta be real, right? Or we'd all be wasting away. It's sustaining us. And I gotta say, the whiskey sure seems real from what I drank."

He definitely got drunk. "Unless you're right and it's all just because we know how it's supposed to feel."

"Oh, man, what if it's like Hook rules? Where the food only tastes like food because we think it should taste like food?" Actually, that was the best part of the movie, so???? They would be winning, in that case.

Probably not, though. "I dunno, it's probably just regular food. Maybe there are like, house-elves or some shit down in the lower decks." That's just as likely as magic, right? "I have no idea how any of this shit works, I'm just fuckin' pissed it's not working in my favor right now."

Thinking about it is burning through more energy than he has right now, so he defaults back to a safer thought pattern. "So, like, you're from Earth, right?" Because he figures, you know, better safer to ask around here than assume. "You and Steven, I mean?"

"House elves, huh? Wouldn't surprise me at this point." House elves or something freaking insane like that. "But yeah, I don't know. Feels like they could've cut us a break somewhere. Kept a secret stash of booze."

Or something.

He huffs, nodding distractedly at the question. "Yeah. Chicago. Well-- Steven's... from London." No, he's not gonna explain that one. It'll get real weird and complicated.

"How about you?"

Sharky is a simple man. You tell him you're from Chicago and your brother is from London and he's just like, okay, sure. He's seen The Parent Trap, he knows how it works. It's only a matter of time before Marc is piercing Steven's ear, mixing up a lemon wedge and a potato wedge and causing a huge infection in the process!

"I'm from this place called, uhh, Fall's End? In Montana. Uh, the state formerly known as Montana, anyway. No idea if they're gonna be all new republic about it. I never actually got around to askin' Rush about that before he got murked." Poor motherfucker. Also, poor Sharky. He never thinks about this shit sober if he has to... and now he's being forced to??? Lame. Super lame. "I got a whole like, apocalypse-type world situation. You know how it is."

If only it was the parent trap. It would be so much easier than Steven being his split personality he made up when he was a kid-- and got separated from. You know, might explain the odd codependency they've got going on.

... But man, alright. He's seen apocalyptic movies before. He knows how that goes too. Usually never that great really. "Yeah? That sounds rough."

No wonder the guy wants a drink. "How'd it happen? Don't tell me zombies."

"Nah, no zombies, just regular old nuclear armageddon." Well, regular save for the prophetic cult leader who had terrorized him for the weeks leading up to the end of the world. "We, uhhhh, basically got cut off from the news for a while before it happened, so I'm not sure of, like, the details or whatever, but a fuckton of nuclear warheads were fired and everyone got completely obliterated."

Obviously, not everyone, because Sharky's standing right here. But a lot of them. It's okay, though, because, "Hope County was full of like, total nutjob prepper types though, so there were plenty of bunkers for people to hide out in. That's how me and my cousin made it through."

"That sucks." He doesn't mean to be flippant about it. It really is a shame, you know? Nuclear shit, the world going to hell. Feels like there are too many places people come from where the world is just intent on ending itself...

Or assholes are intent on ending it.

"Did your cousin make it here with you at least?"

Sharky doesn't even bat an eye at the sympathy "that sucks" -- it's not like there are a lot of other things a dude can say about it, right? Even if Marc had experienced the Collapse for himself, he'd probably say the same thing. Just with, like, a little more sympathetic oomph.

The question is a headscratcher. Which he does, openly, like he might have fleas. (He doesn't, he's just really anxious without realizing it.) "Uhh, nah, he didn't come along with me. It's cool, though -- he's got, uhh, y'know, a family. A hot girlfriend and an adorable baby, who's gonna grow up to be the... you know... toughest sonofabitch out there."

He's not getting emotional, there's just. Dust in the air, okay???

"Uh! But right before camp, a... different friend of mine showed up. He's... from a couple of years behind me, and all, but still! It was really good to see him." Especially because he's supposed to be dead!

There's not a lot to say when someone tells you they're from an apocalyptic world, no. He wonders if this guy finds it better here in that case, but-- he's not going to ask personal questions like that. Well, not on the first meeting at least.

"Yeah? Well-- good for him then. Maybe you'll get back to him." Marc can't imagine what it'd be like to be cut off from-- Steven. And he's more or less family. More than his own mom and dad had ever been. He can't imagine it's nice for this guy, considering what's left behind home.

"Well, then... you got somebody to watch your back at least." Which is also a good thing, crazy as this place can apparently be.

"So-- unless you wanna try out vanilla extract, I don't think we're finding booze in here. You hungry instead?"

Sharky doesn't really... uh. Know how he feels about the idea of going back home, and he's not sure he's in any mental space to, like, process the thought to begin with. Which is a bullshit excuse, but he's gonna take it.

"Yeah -- except, uh. Well, he's gonna need someone watching out for him, too. And it's really weird 'cos, like, from when he is, I was only like, thirty-something. Now I'm..." Old, "And he's like..." Young, "And it is so super fuckin' weird, dude!" Weirder still because the age discrepancy comes from Pratt fucking dying 17 years ago, but hey, whatever, that's not his story to share.

With no booze and probably only healthy food around, Sharky comes to the conclusion that he's going to be suffering for another night. "Oh, fuck vanilla extract, I tried that once and it, uhhhh, did not go well. It's like, higher proof than vodka but the rash it gives? Not worth it." He's very close to being that desperate, though. No. No, he'll be strong in the face of another person. "Probably just stuff my face for a minute and then go lie down by the fire." Because he's been kicked out of his cabin. Ava kicked them all out! It's a bonding experience.

"Yeah, this place-- it's kind of a mindfuck, huh?" Imagine your alter self in his own body, running around like it's no big deal, leaving a bunch of empty space in your head and the ability to withdraw when you need it. Like now. He eyes the vanilla extract for a second, but--

He'll take Sharky's advice on that. Leave it. "But-- if you had each others' backs back then, then no reason to not have them here, right?"

Hopefully. Even with the weird age difference...

He huffs out a chuckle and nods his head. "Yeah, that sounds like a plan."

Marc pauses. "You said you're with Steven, right? Sharing the cabin?"

It's true; even if they've got the whole different timeline thing going on, Sharky's still glad to see Pratt again. Have him around, that kind of shit. Even if it's more likely that Sharky is gonna have to throw down with the guy than throw down for him. "Yeaaah, he's cool, for a cop. Well, ex-cop. Whatever, it's complicated."

He's going to come into the kitchen to look for the worst bagged chips possible for him. He has to destroy his body somehow, apparently. "Yeah, I'm in his cabin. Our counselor sorta... kicked us all out, though? Mostly because she was the only chick and we were a bunch of weird strange guys, which is like, totally understandable -- uhhh. He, uh, didn't mention how I was gonna like, bear attack him, did he?"

Well, if he didn't, Sharky just did!

"Wow, a cop, huh? You didn't strike me as the type who'd hang out with cops." More like the guy cops'd chase, no offense though.

"She did what?" That's-- not actually okay with him. That means Steven's gonna be by himself, locked out of his cabin in a precarious situation. He hadn't been told about that bit.

"He-- said something about that, yeah." He shakes his head. It was really fucking weird if he's honest.

"A drill if a bear attacked the cabin or something?"

"Oh, yeah, nah, he definitely used to roll me all the time, but now he's cool. Or, well, now there's nobody to snitch on me to, so..." Ugh. "Cops fuckin' suck as a rule, though, for sure."

Ahhh, shit, he shouldn't have said anything because Marc sounds kinda mad. Well, man, he can just have his brother sleep in his cabin, if it's a big deal... "Ahhh, you know, it's not like there's anything out there to eat us or nothin'. And it was... definitely a drill to handle bear attacks." He definitely didn't offer to do it just to cheer up a hot chick. Nope, that's not him, officer.

"He's just-- never been camping before. And he's stressed out." He's not-- mad at this guy. He's just irritated that he thought Steven might be safe without him keeping an eye on him for a little bit, not get himself into trouble. Apparently that's not possible for him though.

He'll find him later and figure something out for him, even if that means toughing it outside with him.

The bear drill still gets a huff out of him, a wry smile. "Not sure you look like a very convincing bear, buddy..."

"Yeah, my cousin Hurk is definitely more of a bear than me," not elaborating on how he means that. "But uh, it's cool, the other dude totally got in the way. He was way bigger which is why I, uhhh..." targeted Steven, it's fine, "Anyway, Ginko totally saved his ass and I'm not plannin' on like. Grizzly attacking him again."

You know, in case that comes up.

Oooh, hey, chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. Don't miiiiind if he does. "And if he doesn't already know where he's gonna sleep, I'm posted up by the fire. He can totally camp out there."

"That's-- appreciated because Steven's kinda easy to stress out." He's sure he's noticed. But on the other hand, maybe it's good for him to figure out his way to deal with other people, on his own terms, without Marc there to step in like an overprotective big brother.

Even if it drives Marc kind of insane, not doing so.

"Yeah? I'll let him know. Otherwise, I guess I'm shoving him in my bed and taking the floor."

Not that he'd mind, but...

"Yeah, definitely kinda squirrely, but that's cool. There's always gotta be a few nerds at camp, right?" This is said with the utmost respect, obviously. Nerds are part of the natural ecosystem, after all. Even after the Collapse, there were fucking nerds around. It's just how it goes.

"It ain't so bad outside. Nicer than back home, at least. Safer, anyway. Kinda like a themed hotel stay or something, like a really weird Air BnB."

He's going to eat all of these cookies and get sick before he goes to sleep. Sugar is still better than nothing.

"Still, yeah, I guess it sucks that you're gettin' fucked over because of Ava. But I cannot stress this enough, dude, she is a total hottie, and she deserves like, the utmost respect. I think she's going through some serious shit, or something." Thinking, crazily enough, with his heart and not his dick. Mostly. Like, 70/30.

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