Hiatus not-fic.
It's another sunshiney day at campfuckudie. Children are frolicking through the snow, toucans are singing off-key holiday songs, and the gorillas may or may not be sledding down the volcano. Absent from this scene, however, are nine individuals: a mountie, a hermaphrodite, a novelist, a trap, a pyrokinetic, a green girl, a druggie, a failrider, and a killer robot. Where are they? Locked in the arts and crafts hut, for a group therapy session. Coffee and donuts on the table along the far wall and chairs in a circle, the group is expected to talk about their lives, their problems, their feelings. It is not going well.
"Must you smoke in here?"
"Must you breathe in here?"
"Eiri."
"Pell."
"...give me one?"
"Pellaz, not you as well."
"Good Sir, please put out the cigarette."
"No."
"Aaahh... w-why are we here?"
"We're supposed to talk about our issues."
"Issues? Like comic books?"
"...oh god we're going to be here forever."
"We should get started~"
"I'll go first! Been to plenty of these."
"I'm not surprised."
"Shhh, Mr Cranky, they have donuts."
"What's a donut?"
"I'm going to go beat my head against the wall now."
"Do enjoy yourself."
"ANYWAY. I'm Mason, and I'm your addictions counselor. So if that's anyone's issue, I can help."
"Hello, Mason~"
"Hello, lovely."
"...Mason?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you drunk?"
"Maybe just a little bit."
"...I think someone else should lead."
"As seniormost counselor, I'll take the reigns, so to speak! Now. Does anyone have anything they'd like to talk about? Something bothering you, perhaps? A reason you'd be referred to therapy."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"I-I kissed my brother."
"...ah. Er. I see. Anyone else?"
"If I start on things that are bothering me, we'll really never get out of here."
"Join the club."
"I think this is the club."
"Well I'm perfectly happy~"
"...I do not believe I belong here."
And so it continued, with much dotting and little progress, until the novelist uttered, 'screw this,' and made a beeline for the refreshments table, picking up a donut, and all the others followed suit. Except for the killer robot, who remained sitting, pondering why he'd been thrown in with such a lot, and if there was anything he could do to help, a way to get his new acquaintances to open up and discuss things in the manner which they were meant.
"I might have an idea..."
And then they all turned into pocket pals.
Except the killer robot. Because he didn't eat a donut. He did, however, scoop them all up carefully and laser-cut out the door of the arts and crafts hut, to escape.
And so begins this post.
((bonus points for anyone who figures out who's talking where))
"Must you smoke in here?"
"Must you breathe in here?"
"Eiri."
"Pell."
"...give me one?"
"Pellaz, not you as well."
"Good Sir, please put out the cigarette."
"No."
"Aaahh... w-why are we here?"
"We're supposed to talk about our issues."
"Issues? Like comic books?"
"...oh god we're going to be here forever."
"We should get started~"
"I'll go first! Been to plenty of these."
"I'm not surprised."
"Shhh, Mr Cranky, they have donuts."
"What's a donut?"
"I'm going to go beat my head against the wall now."
"Do enjoy yourself."
"ANYWAY. I'm Mason, and I'm your addictions counselor. So if that's anyone's issue, I can help."
"Hello, Mason~"
"Hello, lovely."
"...Mason?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you drunk?"
"Maybe just a little bit."
"...I think someone else should lead."
"As seniormost counselor, I'll take the reigns, so to speak! Now. Does anyone have anything they'd like to talk about? Something bothering you, perhaps? A reason you'd be referred to therapy."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"I-I kissed my brother."
"...ah. Er. I see. Anyone else?"
"If I start on things that are bothering me, we'll really never get out of here."
"Join the club."
"I think this is the club."
"Well I'm perfectly happy~"
"...I do not believe I belong here."
And so it continued, with much dotting and little progress, until the novelist uttered, 'screw this,' and made a beeline for the refreshments table, picking up a donut, and all the others followed suit. Except for the killer robot, who remained sitting, pondering why he'd been thrown in with such a lot, and if there was anything he could do to help, a way to get his new acquaintances to open up and discuss things in the manner which they were meant.
"I might have an idea..."
And then they all turned into pocket pals.
Except the killer robot. Because he didn't eat a donut. He did, however, scoop them all up carefully and laser-cut out the door of the arts and crafts hut, to escape.
And so begins this post.
((bonus points for anyone who figures out who's talking where))