[log] chips but no salsa [closed]

[mrcreamsicles]

Characters: Davesprite, Karkat, the Cat, Beckett, Angel, Rhys (the dickcheese one), and Enoch
Location: Building 309
Date: Day 285
Summary: A whole bunch of people meet up, tablet chips get handed off, and maybe pancakes happen.
Warnings: Nothing planned.

309: A house, green on the Geiger counter, that probably should have been redecorated ages ago. Everything looks to be from the 60s or 70s. There was carpeting here, but it's gone now, revealing a locked trapdoor in the bedroom. There's a bedroom, living room, kitchen, and bathroom. "зеленый" is written on the inside of the door. A ration box from the convenience store has been attached to the inside of one of the kitchen cabinets with wood glue. On the kitchen wall beneath it, a message has been painted in black: "i left a ration box here for storing food. if you want to leave rations for the people exploring it should hopefully protect them from radiation. any other supplies can go in the cupboard outside the box. contact davesprite (@featherydouche) if some fucker steals it".

Comments

cw: implied eye trauma/scars from the Noisy Black event

[mrcreamsicles]

A. this entire couch is my nest

[Did you want to sit there? Good luck doing that. Because after a long night of traversing the tunnels (and that goddamn labyrinth beneath the pass), Davesprite's exhausted body has claimed the couch. The whole couch. His folded wings take up their own space, and the tail that forms his lower body has been coiled up onto the portion of the cushions not taken by his torso.]

[At least he's warm, given the three blankets (two space-patterned, thanks Andromeda) and pair of vintage '60s curtains draped over him. He's also an unrelenting eyesore between them, how incredibly goddamn orange he is, and what peeks out of the rainbow sock made from one of those kids' parachute games on his tail. The scars around his eyes mark the more literal kind.]

[Catch him later and he may be awake (with shades firmly on and scars hidden), but he has his tablet and is still comfortably settled under his blanket-plus-curtain pile.]

B. this prompt brought to you by the gold shag carpet my grandma had all the way into the 90s

This place looks so different without the carpet.

[Davesprite is up now, blanket and curtain collection gathered up with his things somewhere else, leaving him to float around the house while mumbling to himself. Mind the tail; it hovers right at trip hazard height above the floor.]

Who decides to call a carpet shag, anyway? Yeah, I want my floor covering to sound like a teenage stoner who thinks his dog can talk. I want to live my life cosplaying Austin Powers 24/7. I want my entire house to sound like nothing but a shack for banging people while being insufferably British about it. Ain't nobody ever saw shag carpet and got aroused, but these assholes had it all the way up the bedroom walls. Is this a metaphor? A visual reminder of what's lacking in the marriage? Come on, honey, you've had a headache every night for the past year. Well, sweetie, maybe if you made some sensible design decisions we wouldn't be having this problem. It's the horrorterror of carpeting. I swear somebody has to have busted their toe getting it tangled in all that fucking floor yarn.

eat some pancakes you nerds

[headjacked]

1) cake

[ Mixing. Drizzling. The batter bubbles and cooks, oh-so-slowly, on Rhys' trusty frying pan. He throws himself fully into the task. He is the Pancake Lord, he is going to bring sweet sweet happiness to everyone crowded in this house.

Concentrating on this keeps his mind off other things. It's nice. The house smells nice. ]

Hey -- h-hey! Take this one before it burns, willya?

---

2) smeep

[ Once the maybe-successful pancaking is complete, Rhys is pacing back and forth, looking for something else to busy himself with.

Forts.

The old standby. ]

Who wants a -- I could build a fort, with any pillows and blankets and any other soft thing you care to donate. Seriously. Think of it as a shelter within a shelter, trap as much heat as possible.

itt Enoch gets emotional over pancakes

[warriorscribe]

[They're just fried cakes...and yet, they're completely unlike the ones he knows. Fluffier and yet still pleasantly doughy, and just the right amount of sweetness. Even if they were more familiar to him?

He hasn't had properly cooked food in months. He slows from simply eating slowly and savoring every chew to just holding a bite of pancake in his mouth and letting it gradually dissolve in there.

He may or may not be about to cry in pure joy.]

[quadrangle]

A

[Like Davesprite, this little troll can be found passed the fuck out after the night's travel, curled up as comfortably as he can in a deep purple sleeping bag. To be more accurate, he's almost comically enveloped in it; the only really visible parts of him are a lock of wild dark hair and a single horn. The edge of a blanket peeks out from inside too, but it's not enough to discern any sort of pattern besides also space.]

[The more crowded the house becomes, the less likely he is to be found actively asleep; at some point, he hauls himself awake and begins poking through the room for anything usable. His hair is a fucking disaster, but he seems to neither notice nor care. More of the blanket is visible too; it depicts a solar system that contains, among other things, what looks like a red giant and a planet with one green moon and one pink.]

B

[If trolls have pancakes, they are 1) absolutely not called pancakes and 2) probably contain enough insect parts and/or other fucking bizarre ingredients as to be completely unrecognizable to their Earth counterparts. Consequently, while Karkat does settle down sssssssssomewhere (up to you??) to consume these delicacies, it's clear from the vaguely perplexed expression on his face that he's not one hundred percent sure what to make of them.]

[Occasionally, he will reach out with his spork (AKA the one utensil he's managed to pick up) to lightly poke at one. He may also be sniffing occasionally because the scent is goddamn everywhere and, seriously, what are these things made of?]