JUNE EVENT: CAMP

[sailmods]

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!

Comments

[latersgators]

"Oh, good," Steven breathes a sigh of relief. He's pretty fit thanks to this being Marc's body but-- well. Marc usually does all the running. He's the one who sits there and reads all the time and doesn't want to be disturbed or dragged outside. "You're a hard man to keep up with, mate. Felt like that went on for miles."

He spots the tree and visibly recoils a bit, eyebrows furrowing.

"Umh... did we pass that tree before?" Trees don't just randomly have burns on them. At least, not the kinds of trees he's used to.

[light_mischief]

This is good, character-building work, then! Skulduggery slows down to match Steven's pace, all the better to pat him firmly on the back. Chin up, man, it's almost over.

"Oh, no. I've been here before, but I've been circling through the woods a few times, now. I didn't actually expect to find myself on the same trajectory so quickly, though! Interesting. I suppose it isn't as big as I originally thought?"

(ZING!)

"The whole walk is about eight kilometers, and I'd say we're coming in at just about an hour, now. Good keeping pace, Steven. I appreciate having some company on these exploratory outings."

[latersgators]

He'll collapse and let his legs turn to jelly later. For now he'll put a brave face on and breathe the encouragement in straight to his chest, let it sit in his stomach for a while and soldier on stumbling forward towards the exit.

"You've been through here a few times already?! Aren't you tired?" Maybe it's all this meat on Steven's bones slowing him down...

"Oh my word. Eight kilometres..." Well, you know what. If Marc can carry a huge duffel bag of equipment and do this easily, while getting shot at and being constantly paranoid about springing traps, he should man up and do the same.

"Well, it's been wonderful meeting and talking to you." A fruitful walk anyway even if Skulduggery might not have learnt anything new.

[light_mischief]

"Not yet. I'll rest tonight, probably by the fire, like a good camper." He thinks he's joking, but that will likely end up being the case. "You'll want water and some food, I think, but you'll find the next time, you'll be less winded. It just takes practice."

The treeline only partially obscures the cabins located opposite the camp from where they entered. Everyone seems to be having a good time, despite the looming possibility of something going catastrophically wrong. Hopefully, all of his paranoia will turn out to be for nothing.

"You take care of yourself this week. Keep a level head and you'll be fine."

[latersgators]

"I'm doing fine," he insists. But his brave face is starting to lose a bit of its confidence, and his footing is even more uneven than before. He'll be glad to just faceplant at-- well. Not his cabin, because he's not allowed back there anymore. Somewhere, anyway. Maybe he'll go for a shower and sit in the mess hall and stare at a cup of tea for a while, or find someone else to pester.

"Thanks. I'll be alright. I think." That should have sounded a lot more confident, but at least it didn't sound too uncertain. He's hardier than he looks and sounds, honestly. He's just not so good at portraying that with any kind of conviction or confidence, but it'll come with time - more time on his own, less reliant on other people.