camppetoskey | Week 6

WEEK 6

Last week had been pretty brutal, leaving scars on everyone in camp. A murder driven by paranoia-induced visions, committed by and against two of the youngest members of camp, has left everyone reeling. If this is the way murders will go, what's to happen next?

The humidity is dropping off some, but the heat is staying strong. The campers will need to find new ways to beat the heat. A delivery is due this week though, so maybe the camp's deliveryman will have some ice cream?

The WiiU and current games are all here, but there are no new games. Sorry everyone, you're stuck with what you have. Usagi and Boa are now gone from the Mii menu, but that strange faceless Mii is still there, staring as always. His grin seems to have grown though, and the Mii menu music has changed as well. The other Miis seem scared of the grinny Mii, and they are staying far away from him. Now the only selectable Mii is grin-face. How weird.

The counselors have said they need 'more time' to end this, but just how much time do they need? Can the campers really stall long enough for the counselors to finish their plan? And how does that knowledge sit with them, knowing that each delayed week means less campers will make it in the end?

14 CAMPERS REMAIN.

Main Navigation
Trust Sheets | Locations | Camp Store

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Lenka stays against the barrier in the lake, though he slumps a little against it when Mitsuru speaks, his hands curling into loose fists against it. He doesn't do anything like start hammering on the barrier, though; having seemingly accepted its solidity. And perhaps the frontal collision had at least knocked a little sense back into him.

His voice is still small, a little lost.]

It's a hallucination. It's not solid. [it sounds like he's trying to convince himself] There's coral, so I thought-- I should have thought--

[He's starting to lose track of what the hallucinations should or shouldn't be telling him, though. The coral belongs here, of course, but none of the people around him do except for what sounds like Mitsuru's voice, behind him. He vaguely recognizes this spell; it seems to be a favorite. Mitsuru isn't dead.]

We're not dead.

[He leans a bit on his staff. As he does when he's lounging lazily during a conversation. ]

No, we aren't. [Are his hallucinations perhaps...]

You shouldn't be seeing any of the dead. Not any real ones, anyway.

I couldn't tell.

[What they were supposed to be, the where and the when and the how and the why; everything is somehow washed out and unclear in the last little while. Belatedly, he swipes a hand across his face and his vision, at least, clears up a little -- even if it does slop more lake water across his front. The entire situation is beyond salvaging, anyway, when it comes to being soaked through.

He doesn't pay it any mind.]

All of them are real. But we're in the camp. I remembered-- what I didn't remember. [he bites his lip and his hands slide off the barrier, no longer in contact with anything except the water; there's a long moment where he isn't moving or saying anything, but he sounds a little less scattered when he speaks again] People I won't see again anywhere. I should have realized.

[When it looks like Lenka isn't about to continue his march into the lake, he dismisses the barrier, waiting for Lenka to finish his thought.]

The dead from your world? [Is his assumption, based on what Lenka's managing to get through.]

... All of them.

[There's a waver to his voice that isn't quite laughter and isn't quite tears and isn't quite anything at all. He sits back on his heels with a small splash and scrubs at his face again, ignoring the futility of it just for some sensation other than the numbness of lake water and the mild ache of running solidly into magical thin air. It helps, a little.]

I didn't know you could have hallucinations like this. I just thought... they would stay things that I didn't want to see. [perhaps unusually, he's not thinking his words through at all, just letting them fall where they will] Isn't that what they're for?

[Mitsuru gives a sigh, his own gaze falling to the ground - well, the water, actually, in front of him.]

...The hallucinations make it hard to know what's real and what isn't. So long as we're distressed too much to think straight, they've done their jobs.

Fear and... everything else. To make us easier to sacrifice.

[He's still not completely sure what he's doing in the lake; it's as unclear as everything else, he didn't even quite register the water beyond the familiar sound of it -- something he'd heard for years, sometimes in his dreams, the rain and the dark. At this point, with the more high-strung emotions draining away he's too tired to make sense of it.]

... Thanks. For the barrier.

[Go figure, defense is still the best offense when it comes to this place. Something like that.

At least he can be grateful for that much: in that sense, the new visions are less dangerous than the old, the ones that would have him believe there was an enemy around every corner. Sometimes, speaking to him in full daylight, their forms melting and twisting seamlessly into something a lot bigger and more familiar. Constantly trying to hold himself back and differentiate the realities is almost more tiring than this.]

You're welcome.

[It's really coming in handy in this place, for so many uses he really hadn't thought of before.]

Was the hallucination... something unhappy?

[There's so many ways seeing the dead could go.]

... I don't know.

[There's a little of that lost quality in his voice again.

He's not sure what he's feeling, at the end of the day; there's grief, bloody and raw and sharp, but he doesn't know where it's coming from or where it's going -- it's been a year, shy a few months, since he was last able to see anyone in that vision. He'd finally been able to stop thinking about it, too busy with all he needed to do and to be. They visited him only in dreams anymore.

(Maybe, just maybe, it's his refusal to stop and smell the mourning roses the last two weeks catching up to him in a perfect storm of events. But he hasn't processed any of it that far yet, and probably won't.)]

I thought I'd forgotten what most of them looked like. The people from home.

[There's something about the way he says the word home, like he's afraid to use the phrase itself for fear that something will crumble. The concept of it. The nonexistent traces of it.]

[Ah. Well.]

It can feel like that sometimes. [It's been even more years for him.] That doesn't seem to stop the hallucinations.

[Aya.]

[He looks up and around at that, and manages to more or less see Mitsuru -- his gaze is more focused, anyway, and he shifts a little to where he isn't just staring out into the air over the lake anymore. It's a little bit of an improvement, remembering someone else's remembering instead of his own. It coaxes a little more of his self forward, from under the visions and the fog of them.

Never mind the feeling like he's tearing out pieces of himself all over again, if he leaves the faces and their unnecessary beckoning behind. That's been this whole camp, anyway. He should be used to it; and there's no surprise, just a dull sort of acknowledgment.]

If Sol is sending us these-- [he doesn't know, honestly, if they aren't a part of every week then why--] Maybe it doesn't understand the difference. Maybe it's just...

[Maybe it's just his thoughts trending darker, when he remembers the memory stones and the thought that their memories are being extracted and used in this way is... a little much, right now.]

If Sol has control over what we see, I would have to wonder why they choose bloody memories if they're truly so opposed to killing.

[He doesn't really believe that, not one bit, not after the visions he's still plagued with. It seems more likely to him that like with much else, this is yet another facet of camp life Sol really has little true control over.]

Week 6

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject