camppetoskey | Week 8

WEEK 8

The weekend passes in a blue, and suddenly it is Monday again. Monday of week 8, the final week of camp. The last week to try and change your fate.

It's sunny and pleasant, with daytime temperatures lingering around 70 degrees Fahrenheit and dropping off into the 50s in the evening. It's pretty much the perfect weather for Michigan, and it's only a shame that it took this long to get to it.

The WiiU continues to be broken, though the creepy Mii is gone now. All of the Miis are, actually. All that can be seen is a variety of Pure Michigan ads, interestingly enough. A bit calmer than last week's visuals, but probably annoying since no games can be played.

There is one other notable change about camp: the counselors are nowhere to be found. There is plenty of food and some note left on how to run things, but otherwise the campers have been left to their own devices apparently.

On the main door to the lodge is a note that says "We will be back as soon as possible." written in Red's handwriting. What could this mean?

7 CAMPERS REMAIN.

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[Things are really so pleasant this week that there was bound to be something (or somethings) going wrong somewhere.

By this point in the day, Lenka is more or less braced for the coral dead to pull out new and unpleasant bits of coral from any known limb or orifice, so walking into the bathroom only to see Lance peeling like he's been through a few rounds with the lake kittens is... marginally less terrible than it could have been. He just... makes sure there's a sink between them and leans over to splash water in his face, staring down at the clean sink like it's the only thing in the world.

What'll the greeting be today...?]

... How long does that usually take?

[He manages to keep the unease out of his voice, modulating it to some semblance of curiosity. He knows it takes a while, because he lives with the guy (in a manner of speaking), but it's not like he ever stuck around for it. They might have to... do clean-up in here.]

Edited 2018-07-24 04:59 (UTC)

[This seems to have been an excellent choice in conversation starter because Lance turns to look at him with a slightly less vacant smile than usual. Nobody's shown interest in his skincare routine before!!]

Not that long! Half an hour maybe? But it's a small price to pay for skin that's baby smooth and picture perfect for all occasions.

[He says, idly giving his peeling cheek a scratch. More skin sloughs off and joins the rest floating merrily in the sink.]

You should start a routine, too, Lenka. I mean, if I do this every day and I'm still removing a lot of scum from my face, I can only imagine how ghastly your face must be. [....] No offense.

[There are way too many idiots in this camp who are much too preoccupied with mostly unrelated things, like dead people and the way they get all their dead bits in the sinks and probably the showers. Who is even stuck cleaning up anyway.

Lenka is still staring at the sink like it's going to run off in the next minute, so regrettably(?) he spots neither the smile nor the additional shedding -- he can guess at it, though, whenever Lance actually makes a movement he can see in his peripheral, and he winces a little. Granted, because he's not looking the fact that he ends up scratching his own cheek a little confusedly when Lance starts pushing skincare routines on him is a teeny bit comical.]

I don't think we've taken a lot of pictures since we got here... [come to think of it; they don't have any of the first day and probably none of any of the dead before they changed] But I... keep clean? I don't really get the routine thing. It seems complicated.

[On top of him being himself, what's having exposure or access to this stuff back home. Who knows.]

[Which is of course Lance's cue to pat his face and hands dry on a towel and grab his cell phone from out of his pocket.]

Already on it. Selfie time, c'mon!

[He moves close to Lenka, ignoring all signs of the guy's clear discomfort and angles the camera high. Despite his body quite literally turning to stone, the motion seems fairly fluid, like he's done this way too many times.]

Say cheese!

[Ah. Well, at least he's no longer doing his unsettling routine of ripping his entire face off, so Lenka manages to look up to check on not-quite-Lance and finds him -- in the midst of taking quite possibly the worst selfie ever, because there's probably still a little skin hanging off, strips of petoskey stone gleaming poisonously in the light.

He doesn't really want to know what else is on that phone either. But not-quite-Lance's selfie skills are way too speedy for him to really register how to escape before he's been tugged straight into it, protesting and making faces all the way.

(I guess what we're saying here is that Zance is becoming a walking selfie stick.)]

Uh, Lance-- I don't think-- [is it cursed to be in a photograph with the dead, because it sure feels that way right now] I didn't mean right now.

[It's a little bit petulant. He's not used to taking pictures in the first place, much less being ambushed with them.]

[None of that is the word cheese, damn it, Lenka. But you know what, that selfie is getting taken anyway and as soon as his phone makes the camera shutter sound, Lance brings the phone up to his face.

Yep, that sure is the worst selfie ever. But apparently not for the reasons Lenka thinks.]

Man, Lenka, you ruined it. Why'd you have to blink and not be smiling, huh?

[SIGH.]

Okay seriously? We're doing this as many times as needed, you hear?!

[Lance raises him arm again, but shudders to a stop, His neck cracks loudly as he turns to look at Lenka.]

[Look, the word cheese isn't even in his photo reflex, that's how little he's used to getting his picture taken. Lenka's still scrambling to back out of camera range, because he has to be stubborn about this and apparently not realize that discretion may be the better part of valor, here.

Still real bad with coralfam: an autobiographical yell.]

I don't really take pictures like that... [does he even know what a selfie is, honestly] ... Lance?

[By this point, Lenka's at least got some inkling that when their coral friends suddenly stop operation, that means he should probably be paying attention. He freezes in his selfie struggles obligingly, too, just in case that helps.]

[The annoyed expression falters in its intensity as well and smoothens into a tired resignation. Pointedly, Lance keeps his eyes on Lenka and away from the mirrors.]

Lenka. I need you to steal my phone and keep it with you for when our bodies get taken away so that we can still talk to you guys.

[And he stares back determinedly, concentrating on the message to the exclusion of all else -- including the, ah, facemask aftermath -- but Lenka does tilt his head slightly in confusion at those instructions. The dead have never communicated in any other way before, but Red has a phone, so...?

No, he still hasn't figured out the way from Point A to Point G. He is frowning deeply now, because following the plan of action he registers taken away and that's...]

... I can do that. What do I need to do with the phone?

[He wants to ask about the coralfam but that's going to need to be lower priority than communication.]

[There's an exhausted look on Lance's face -- something he'd explain if he had more time, more energy, more control over his own body, but he has none of that, so instead, Lenka gets his reassurances with a faint smile.]

Just keep it with you, you'll know when I want it back.

[And despite the fact that the smiling may be weak at best, his tone is determined. That's an unspoken promise if anything -- he will want that phone back, even if his body isn't there to claim it.]

[It's funny, when worry is a luxury you can only sometimes afford, and other times a resource that you need to ration.

And of course all of them need to be focused on the days ahead, what they can do from here -- but he'll remember that look anyway, all of it. It's necessary to having the strength to go forward at all: hoarding the bits and pieces of the dead they can still recognize, until they can really see them again. He nods, firm and resolute.]

I will. I'll keep an eye on it. So you'd better come get it later.

[In this time and place, there's always something warming about promises -- even ones you're not sure you'll keep or that you should be making. Lenka's made it this far on them. He's not about to let go now.]

Week 8

he already got the neck it's time for the variety pack

face peeling! part of a wholesome day

truly organic facemasking

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