Tarrlok (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bloodisthicker) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
trusthell2016-03-05 04:01 pm
bloodisthicker) wrote in trusthell2016-03-05 04:01 pm
WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? OUR TALES RIVAL JUST TURNED INTO A ZOMBIE!
[...so, uh, that was a thing that happened. Tarrlok was completely ready to do the politician thing and come up with a speech or something for most of whatever the hell that excuse for a trial was, but everything got all confusing, baffling, and horrifying and completely inexplicably, he can't find the words.
Maybe he just... needs a day. Tomorrow will probably be fine. For now, though, Misa volunteered to make brownies, and he was going to make a Northern Water Tribe comfort food specialty.
...even if they only had shortening and not actual animal fat and it'd been a while since he'd made it, but it tasted... alright? Definitely not as good as the stuff back home, but it was hard to get that good, anyway.
...there's also the matter of setting things up in a location other than the dining hall, because even though that's cleaned up, it still feels pretty tasteless to hold a wake literal feet from the place you found someone's bloody corpse.
So, a little later on in the day, a lovingly personalized note will be slid under everyone's doors:
And if the Survivors choose to head to the library, they'll find a... well, okay, it's a bunch of boxes from the storage room of comparable size stacked up on each other to kind of resemble a table. The dining hall ones don't even seem like they'd fit in the library, so Team Afterparty clearly had to improvise. One side is filled with plates, bowls, and spoons, and the other is filled with brownies, cookies, and a big bowl of berry aqutak. There are also chairs dotted throughout the room in a sort of vague circle --- close enough together that if people want to talk, they can, but far enough apart that it'd be easy to drag it off for some privacy.]
Maybe he just... needs a day. Tomorrow will probably be fine. For now, though, Misa volunteered to make brownies, and he was going to make a Northern Water Tribe comfort food specialty.
...even if they only had shortening and not actual animal fat and it'd been a while since he'd made it, but it tasted... alright? Definitely not as good as the stuff back home, but it was hard to get that good, anyway.
...there's also the matter of setting things up in a location other than the dining hall, because even though that's cleaned up, it still feels pretty tasteless to hold a wake literal feet from the place you found someone's bloody corpse.
So, a little later on in the day, a lovingly personalized note will be slid under everyone's doors:
And if the Survivors choose to head to the library, they'll find a... well, okay, it's a bunch of boxes from the storage room of comparable size stacked up on each other to kind of resemble a table. The dining hall ones don't even seem like they'd fit in the library, so Team Afterparty clearly had to improvise. One side is filled with plates, bowls, and spoons, and the other is filled with brownies, cookies, and a big bowl of berry aqutak. There are also chairs dotted throughout the room in a sort of vague circle --- close enough together that if people want to talk, they can, but far enough apart that it'd be easy to drag it off for some privacy.]
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[Well, if Cherryblod thinks something's wrong with him, he certainly isn't saying so.]
That means I have to fuss over your wellbeing a little less. ...Just a little, mind.
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[Just. Vague handwaving.]
It'll work out, and I'm sure everyone else will be fine in a few days.
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[...well, maybe not of course.]
Do you have any plans for the evening?
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Why do you ask?
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[Cherryblod is a social person, and easily prone to homesickness. He agrees that most people will need time to themselves, but all the same - someone he liked did just die, and he doesn't feel like spending the evening in his room alone, passing time trying to come up with useful things to do with pens that write one sentence.
He's not traumatized, but he does get lonely.]
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[And from the sound of it he does mean it.]
Really, we can do whatever you'd like; it's not like I'm doing anything all that important.
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[He gives a real, earnest smile.]
Your company's enough for me - I don't mind whatever it is we decide to do.
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[...]
You don't have to worry about troubling me, you know, if you ever just want company like that. My door is always open and all. Figuratively, anyway!
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There really is no swaying you, is there? I'm flattered by your faith in me.
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[It's just flattery corner here today.]