EVENT 035

[sticksandbonesmods]

EVERY SUMMER HAS A STORY

As is the case with every April, a certain skeleton wanders his way out of the woods to party. For some of you, this is an expected occurrence. For others, no one has warned you that Mr. Bone-Jangles typically likes to play and concoct whacky adventures to take everyone on, ranging from a funny grocery store trip to going to a whole new city covered in neon. He intends, as always, to drag you somewhere fun. He intends, as always, to stop Suri from interfering with this.

You’d think by this point Mr. Bone-Jangles and Suri would realise that when their magics clash, the results are often hilariously catastrophic. To that end, late-nighters may very well see sparks in the distance as a skeleton wars with a fallen God, bolts of dark magic from Suri and waves of magical pumpkins and glitter coming from the far shorter spirit. However climactic or cliche, the bursts meet in the middle, pushing against each other until they’re forced to explode outwards.

Everyone wakes up the following morning at 6am to the tune of sharp whistles and camp bells, climbing out of bunk beds in log cabins that smell heavily of dust and sweat. It almost, almost masks the overwhelmingly floral scent in the air bleeding in from outside. Spring has sprung and the flowers are boinking, and somehow you’re at summer camp.

You do not need to understand why you’re at a summer camp in April. That is for Mr. Bone-Jangles to explain, except he won’t.

Your cabin-mates are probably as confused as you are as they all wake alongside you. A camp counsellor in red will accompany your stay and make sure you kids don’t get lost in the woods, though they largely also look like they don’t want to be here — save for Mr. Bone-Jangles, of course, who is delighted that this worked out after all. You and your cabinmates are all wearing the same colour, T-shirt and shorts in identical tones; those of you who are adults are unfortunately (or fortunately, if you’re feeling zesty) wearing customizable booty shorts with differing text on the ass instead, and yes, that includes old men like Stan. And no, you cannot change into other outfits unless they’re appropriately-covering swimsuits or pyjamas in the same exact colours as your assigned attire.

TEAMS, COLOURS, & COUNSELLORS

Team Sticky	Orange	Ydalir
Dipper	Varka	Muichiro
Ras	Shinobu	Stan
Lavi

Team Greasy	Yellow	Zonari
Joshua	White Lily	Ain
Ryan	Zoey	Wolfwood

Team Crunchy	Green	Zahliya
Senjuro	Shadow Milk	Till
Corbeau	Pure Vanilla	Nicole

Team Fuzzy	Blue	Heimr
Faust	Mystery	Akaza
Kanda	Genya	Luca
Sanemi

Team Goopy	Purple	Renard
Stardust	Allen	Link
Tengen	Flamebringer	Kyojuro

Team Velvet	Pink	Suri
Mephisto	Lodi	Mizuki
Urbain	Pavlova	River

Team Crispy	White	Mr. Bone-Jangles
Ezell	Aira	Vildred
Min-Gi	Kiera	Jing Yuan

As the procession of tired, unhappy campers shuffle outside, sorted into cabin colours like a box of crayons and dressed according to Crayola standards too apparently, a sign sitting by the lake billows in the breeze. “CAMP DIAMOND LAKE, WHERE BECAME THE FIRST EVER TO HAVE AS IN THE ERA OF THAT WHEN. CONGRATULATIONS!”. You think whoever wrote this had a stroke. But apparently they were the first ever, so jot that down.

Before you rests a sparkling, enormous lake. The cabins sit in a U-shape around it, and the mess hall across the way takes up most of the real estate — perhaps, you think, it’s a bit too massive for a cafeteria. The shower blocks sit close by on the west side between the clinic and the Sticky cabin, open-air and only with a single curtain for privacy. The first-aid building looks to be unmanned on first glance, but in fact, a single oversized moss squirrel runs the joint and runs it quite well. Since this is a vacation, they insist you don’t help with any of their tasks and leave them to their tinctures and brews. The same is true of the mess hall as you’re led there by one very enthusiastic skeleton — it is manned by Ms. Bone-Jangles and their skeleton kids, and they’re serving breakfast now, so you may as well have a bite and stay out of her kitchen before she swats you with a ladle. This is a vacation!

Welcome to Camp Diamond Lake. Population: 42 of you, 6 tired counsellors, and 8 happy skeletons.

CAMP HAIR, DON’T CARE

This is the one and only time you’ll see Suri looking so put-out.

Mr. Bone-Jangles is a big fan of activities. Of fanfare. Of doing things. But somewhere along the lines of having his magic overpowered by a stars-damned skeleton of all things, the old campground had grown a bit cursed and wild, as if all of the efforts to re-stabilize the magic in this forest was for naught. Not that it affects you as much as it should; it’s too kooky, too silly, and does no harm. Suri is, of course, the type to want to be in charge… which he is not. Because his boss is a skeleton. And this skeleton requires, again, doing activities.

A fair few of your counsellors try to make the best of it. Renard, Heimr, and Ydalir are continually trying to keep the mood up. Zahliya simply treats it as another task to be done, devoid of many emotions except “I gotta”, as is his default. Zonari continually gets into trouble by refusing to accompany her cabin on their mandated activities and is in additional trouble for cutting up her shirt to ribbons; when she acts as a lifeguard by the lake during her shift, she barely blows her whistle and simply sits there chewing on the end of it. Suri is exclusively here to stare weirdly from the sidelines and frown deeply because, thanks to whatever barriers Bone-Jangles has put on him and all the other counsellors, they can’t hurt each other. Nor can you hurt them, nor can he hurt you. He came up with such a nice vacation for you by putting you in the hotel with sirens that want to eat you. Mr. Bone-Jangles is a chump.

He does not say this, because his pay has already been docked. He didn’t know he was getting paid.

For everyone, the time here is cyclical and predictable, scheduled down to the mere minute. Breakfast is at 6:30am to 7:30am; lunch is from 12pm to 2pm due to some activities stretching long; dinner occurs from 6pm to 7pm and you’re expected to get the fuck out at exactly 7:01pm or face a disappointed stare from Ms. Bone-Jangles. Despite this, the food at the mess hall is genuinely delicious, served up on fancy plating and with a strange four-star restaurant quality to it. If you ask nicely, Ms. Bone-Jangles will slip you liquor, despite her husband’s adamant insistence that liquor does not belong at summer camp. He may be the boss, but she is his wife. The sole issue you have to deal with doesn’t come from the food, but from the fact that the mess hall is enchanted with truth magic, compelling chatty campers to blurt out the truth. No lies can be told. This is, expectedly, the only way Zonari can entertain herself here, by maintaining this Zone of Truth so that you fuel her gossip. Perhaps the gossip club would appreciate this, were it not from her.

You can shower whenever you want, as much as you want, without it being restricted. A block of free time to do non-camp-mandated activities occurs from 7:30 to 9:00 in the morning, at which point everyone is rounded up to do a before-lunch activity before an after-lunch activity occurs. Another brief bit of downtime occurs after dinner before Bone-Jangles gathers everyone up to roast marshmallows in a bonfire that’s a little Too Large, make s’mores, tell campfire stories and sing songs, and wind down for the evening. Curfew is at 9pm, and although you’re free to stay up later than that, wake-up is at 6am and you will be dragged out of bed regardless. Sneaking off to other cabins to sleep also doesn’t work; whatever sleepytime magic is cast over you by the point you get tired makes you automatically return to your assigned one.

Goodnight! :) And good morning. Hi. It’s another day.

MUDDY SHOES, HAPPY HEART

Speaking of wild magic and activities…

Tug-of-war is played at variable times throughout your campground experience. The losing team, or person or people — perhaps participants is the word — go into the lake with a grand splash and the realisation that they can breathe underwater. You can choose, if you want, to swim in it at any time, explore a little under the waves and collect shiny rocks and be accosted by fish who don’t mean to bump into you. The longer you stay in the water, the more you transform into a kelpie; luckily, this enchantment is easy to undo by simply getting out of the water and staying on dry land for about half an hour.

There is a catapult behind the mess hall. None of the counsellors are truly sure why it’s there, but if correctly armed, it will launch you harmlessly into the lake. If incorrectly armed, it will launch you harmlessly into the forest, a building, or right at the ground. The enchantment on it prevents you from becoming a splat ball and dying, but that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt. Ydalir earnestly insists no one use the catapult; Renard has, unfortunately, already armed it. Good luck.

The nature hike occurs during the daytime hours only, and takes campers through a mushroom forest. The hike itself isn’t too steep but isn’t too gentle either, and the mushrooms can be climbed to your heart’s content. Being kind to the mushrooms will yield gifts from the native mushroom men in the form of jewellery and trinkets people dropped out in the woods eons ago. Being mean to the mushrooms means that you will instead be blasted with spores, and inhaling them means getting extremely high for several hours.

Back at the campground, a 40ft rock wall that no one saw until it became plot-relevant can be climbed freely. While it’s recommended to use the safety gear and have someone spot you, you don’t have to do this — most camp counsellors will not stop you from being your worst self if you want. Ydalir and Heimr, who hate fun, really insist that you please be safe and use the damn equipment. Either way, as you climb the rock wall, the handholds will wiggle and come to life under your grip, licking your hands and feet as you ascend. The fastest climber — and no cheating if you can fly! — will ring the bell at the top and win absolutely nothing.

Every Wednesday are art classes, held in the mess hall before dinner. Any medium is available to use — popsicle stick art, painting, sculpting, you name it, it’s happening — and every camper is required to participate in some form of macaroni art or their feet will be glued to the floor and they will be unable to leave. Adding a single macaroni to whatever you’re working on will fix this issue.

Thankfully, there isn’t much odd shit you can be wrangled into at night. Technically. Kind of.

MAKING MEMORIES UNDER THE STARS

Sometimes when you stare into the rift, an eye stares back.

Constellation-finding (or making, rather, as the Grove lacks known constellations) is an activity that gets held some nights, when the sky is particularly clear and the weather is particularly nice. In the night sky, however, it’s difficult to discern the sky rift from the rest of the pitch-black environment; the stars shining in the rift blend in too easily with the stars in the sky, and it’s only the occasional glance of a moving eye overhead before it disappears that signals where said rift even is. Something is looking in at you. Something gently sings.

No one knows what it is.

Regardless, playing constellation-maker with your peers is encouraged and even pushed for a little bit, as no one wants to talk about the goddamn eyeball that floats in every couple hours. No thanks, nuh-uh. But if you stare long enough into the wrong part of the sky, into the rift itself, something in you will change until you manage to tear your affixed gaze away. Sometimes it’s as simple as turning into a toad or being able to only speak in rhyme or your skin and eyes turning starlike. Sometimes it’s as harrowing as growing extra eyes that all want to continue to look into the rift. Sometimes everything you say comes out backwards.

On future constellation-making nights, Mr. Bone-Jangles henceforth uses a bright emergency flashlight to try to keep people aware of the edge of the rift, instead of, you know, calling off the activity. Because why would he do that when there’s the whole rest of the sky to look at?

As the days drag on and the weather gradually starts to get warmer and warmer, the campground times come to an end. You go to sleep in your cabins for the final time, fall asleep, and dream of waking up in your own goddamn bed. In the morning, you don’t wake to the sounds of those awful campground sirens, and instead open your eyes to your own bedroom.

Oh, thank fuck.

Spark Notes (Click to Expand)

summary

EVERY SUMMER HAS A STORY: Welcome to Summer Camp (in April)! You're stuck here for the month. You're also stuck in attrocious outfits with funny booty shorts. Feel free to pick your own shorts text. Good luck. :)
CAMP HAIR, DON’T CARE: Your days are scheduled down to the minute, and your counsellors are somewhere between "doing their best in the circumstances" and "wanting to strangle a skeleton". Enjoy the nightly bonfire!
MUDDY SHOES, HAPPY HEART: Look, a list of Activities to do! Hooray! Yay! You're free to also make up your own and add onto this. Lots to do at summer camp.
MAKING MEMORIES UNDER THE STARS: Don't stare into the rift. If you do, you'll be hit with various effects. At least you'll be able to go home by the end of the month, though.

out of character

It's April! That's all I have to say. Please go crazy, this is a "make your own fun" event and I largely do not care what you add to it as long as it doesn't break my setting. It's supposed to be Funny, please keep it funny, but otherwise uhhh go insane I love you.

updates

Any potential updates, such as characters damaging something important or whatever else, will be put here.

submissions

❖ Questions
❖ April Plotting
❖ Past Life Plotting (Closed to Game Members)
❖ Investigations

code

Comments

hi :) hands you demon ass on a silver platter

[bluebasketballed]

[regardless of the time of day -- which may come as a surprise to the hashira in daylight -- sanemi is not the only one prowling the campgrounds. at some earlier point, akaza smelled something distant in the air that short-circuited every braincell in his head except the ones dedicated to eating. the sharpness hadn't lasted, and the scent became muffled, but still present. before he even knows it, he's seeking it out on pure instinct.

maybe he's been lucky, thus far, that nobody in the grove has marechi blood to tempt him. that luck, it seems, ends with the man he eventually comes upon. and unlike the other demon slayers or hashira, there's no uniform, no silver or gold buttons denoting rank. he's got no clue whatsoever who this fucked up looking guy is, but the kanji in his own eyes give him away instantly to anyone familiar with demons.

the way akaza stands there dumbly at first, willing himself not to outright salivate, gives the human plenty of opportunity to make the first move. gods, he hopes the guy just walks away.]

Self-harm CW because yeah we are starting like this.

[purifyingwind]

[ Unfortunately for Akaza, Kyojuro had already preemptively warned him of the presence of Upper Moon Three. He had also expressly told him to be wary of shedding his own blood. Most would take that warning at face value for the genuine concern that it was; Sanemi has other plans.

Kyojuro could reassure him of the Upper Moon's new and improved self all he damn well pleased. Sanemi thinks it’s horribly naive to believe a single word out of that biased mouth, especially concerning this particular demon.

Had he been circling the campgrounds in search of the Upper Moon? Not entirely. It had been a dedicated survey of the perimeter primarily, with the added bonus of potentially running afoul of a demon. Luckily, not only does the demon in question march his colorful ass right up to Sanemi, he seems riveted to the floor the moment they’re within a certain distance of one another. Without even a drop of blood shed, huh?

The moment their eyes meet, a fiery brand of anticipation curls hot in Sanemi's gut. His teeth flash when he grins, wide enough to strain at his jaw. ]

Wow, what a treat! You just came right to me, huh? I’ve heard a lot about you, y'know.

[ Sorry, Akaza. Sanemi is sauntering right on up to him. As he approaches, his hand flicks down to his sheathed katana. ]

I'd introduce myself, but I really don’t give a shit.

[ In one smooth motion, he draws his blade and buries it straight through his own thigh. It hurts like a son of a bitch, but he’s weathered far worse. Besides: he wouldn’t want it to heal over too quickly. For now, he leaves the katana half-submerged in muscle, weeping blood. ]

it's cw: self harm all the way down, chat. also i lied i can't sleep

[bluebasketballed]

[the moment this guy smiles like that, and opens his mouth, there's no room for confusion. well, shit, akaza thinks in exasperation. not again.

he expects the slayer to try beheading him; he doesn't even move away, knowing it wouldn't work here. what he isn't prepared for is a free-flowing supply of... what is, without a doubt, the strongest marechi blood he's ever inhaled.

akaza is old, and experienced, but even those traits of his are dwarfed by the likes of kokushibo, so he'd have no chance of ignoring this. on top of that, akaza is also fighty and impulsive. the blade has no sooner pierced its own master's flesh that his jaw snaps open and he lunges.

ms. bone-jangles and one or two fellow campers had been insistent that he eat as recently as a few days. that is the single, miraculous reason he's able to lift a hand and sink his fangs into the flesh of his own forearm rather than the human before him. even so, he struggles to maintain what little distance there is between them. he can feel cold sweat on his skin, and every muscle in his body trembles with want.

his voice comes out distorted; he's too terrified to set his teeth free of their current sheath.]

What th' hell 're you doing?

Yeah let’s just call this a blanket self harm CW because this guy is a freak

[purifyingwind]

[ In sharp contrast to a reaction that is safe or sane, Sanemi's primary, burning reaction to Upper Three's reaction is one of unfettered glee. Vicious satisfaction courses through him, intensifying the burn from the buried blade into something as hot as his pounding blood.

Watching a demon struggle with their baser instincts has always stroked some dark part of him. To see a creature so convinced of their own superiority reduced to a slavering, shuddering wreck • no better than a beast – pleases him. Though the Upper Moon's restraint surprises him, it is only for a moment. Then, it presents opportunity. Intrigue.

A barking laugh scrapes out of his mouth, unaffected by the weapon buried in his thigh. He licks his teeth, wild-eyed with enjoyment, peering at the demon's fangs buried into the meat of his forearm with honed interest. ]

Shit. Close one, huh?

[ Sanemi wrenches his katana free unflinchingly, barely twitching at the wretched sound it makes. Though his stride is somewhat shortened by the wound, he still closes that distance. He could go for the head at this point, but where was the fun in that?

Besides. He wants to see how long he can push this. With that same reckless abandon, he slices his own palm open. The moment the wound opens, he claps his hand down on the demon's elbow - mere inches away from his straining mouth. ]

C'mon. Smells good, right?

i love him your honor. also cw broken bones is that a thing i should cw

[bluebasketballed]

[it's clear pretty quickly that this son of a bitch knows exactly what he's doing. what a fucked up -- and honestly genius -- strategy, to hunt demons by drawing them to himself in a way none of them have a chance of resisting. unfortunately, akaza doesn't have the wherewithal to admire the tactic while it's actively being used against him.

two things happen in quick succession when the slayer touches him with a bloodied hand. akaza forces his jaw muscles to clench tighter, until fangs part his own flesh all the way to the arm bones and they audibly crack. not even the blink of an eye later, he reels back and kicks sanemi in the chest with the flat of his foot hard enough to send a normal human flying for yards. for a hashira, it might only crack some ribs and grant breathing room. normally, he might pull his punches with the slayers here, but this is measured only in that it isn't enhanced with his blood demon arts or meant to pierce straight through him like another familiar encounter. even at the cost of severely injuring the hashira, akaza wants him and his irresistible blood away from him.

only with some distance given, even temporarily, does he chance speaking openly, and it hardly feels like true speech given the animalistic snarl of it and the uncontrolled salivation.]

Are you stupid or just fucking crazy?!

MAYBE SO. Broken bones CW.

[purifyingwind]

[ Throwing himself headlong into another fight with an Upper Moon so soon might not have been his smartest move, but damn if it didn't get his blood pumping. The crack of Akaza's foot against his sternum is weighty enough to send him sliding back a fair distance – and that was without acknowledging the damage it wreaks. Sanemi's next breath scrapes out painfully, hindered by at least one broken rib.

Sanemi spits out a wild, ragged laugh. His body shrieks in abject protest when he twists at the waist, shaking off the agony with pinpoint pupils. The blade of his katana whistles wickedly as he twirls it almost jauntily, relishing the way it shed crystalline specks of his blood onto the ground underfoot. This was nothing. He had endured far worse immediately prior to coming here, after all.

And besides – this place would heal them. Loathe was he was to admit it, it would also heal the demon. What a disappointment that would turn out to be. ]

Guess I'm fucking crazy. Though – you aren't much better, shitstain. Goddamn. You almost bit clean through your arm. [ Sanemi starts laughing again, bright and frenzied. ] That's disgusting, you know? Like a dog trying to chew its way out of a snare.

[bluebasketballed]

[guess the ground around both of them is getting... uh... watered... because no way in hell is akaza just allowing that blood to remain on his arm. at the same speed his wound knits together, he essentially sheds the stained skin and stomps it into the dirt so that it can't be as much of a temptation anymore. even if he isn't the one who shed the blood, he doesn't want to give the slayers any excuse to say he can't control himself.

of course this guy is having the time of his fucking life. it's almost like looking in a mirror, but akaza is altogether too pissed off to admire his fighting spirit or his sheer tenacity.]

Crazy and stupid. Would you really rather it be your fool throat? [a large part of him would very clearly also rather it be sanemi's throat, if the way he has to wipe at his lips to keep from drooling like said dog is any indication.] Stay the hell away from me.

[purifyingwind]

[ The desperation in the sloughing of that skin invites a cruel hook to the wild grin on Sanemi's face. His original goal be damned: watching a demon practically scramble to maintain his bullshit innocence was more satisfying than it had any right to be. To Sanemi, the answer was blatant. The strings of saliva clinging to the back of the demon's hand was proof enough.

Maybe he'd even fed recently. Maybe it was only a matter of time. With a low laugh, Sanemi plants the point of his blade against the dirt and spins it. It is a gesture that borders on playful. ]

What – you really think I've got shit to fear from you? Don't make me fucking laugh. Besides – the place seems plenty capable of healin' us up. Unless you're eager to try and test those limits?

[ With vivid disdain, he rakes his eyes over the demon's body. Man. He really wants to cut this guy's head off. It'd heal, sure, but that wouldn't matter. He'd get the opportunity to do it again, and again, and again –. ]

But, nah. I've got the strangest feeling you're just gonna slink off with your tail between your legs.

[bluebasketballed]

[for all sanemi's talk, akaza's pride maintains that in single combat, he would tear this human apart -- but it's plain that the slayer is fully aware that the upper rank has no intention of doing so. it's... somehow more infuriating, that he's taunting and mocking akaza like this just for the hell of it, rather than trying to go for his neck.]

So I can prove the point you're trying to make? Fuck you, jackass.

[being underhandedly called a coward is, on its own, almost enough to rid his head of all sense. walking away is what he should do, what the reasonable human half of him wants to do, but sanemi making it sound so craven instantly turns him off to the idea and keeps the savage snarl on his face. but he can't remain in this stand-off forever; even now, he's barely holding himself together right after having that scent so close.]

You're pissing me off. Get lost.

[purifyingwind]

[ Sanemi, on the other hand, is... confident in his own ability, but also having freshly come off fighting Upper Moon One. It was difficult to gauge the potential gap in abilities between two ranks. Not that it would matter. With their ability to heal, and Sanemi's generous pain tolerance, it would make a worthwhile scrap regardless of how it turned out.

Besides. The demon's practically chomping at the bit from a wound alone. If they were fighting in earnest, stoking that introduced instinct – he's fairly convinced that that barely maintained composure would snap like a twig. ]

Or what? You're gonna snap your teeth at me from all the way over there?

[ Another derisive snort. Rather than doing as he's bidden, Sanemi starts to close that distance again. He's rather fucking eager to see what the demon decides to do this time, especially given he's starting to look riled the hell up. ]

[bluebasketballed]

[as sanemi approaches once again, akaza's head is a whirlwind of conflicted thoughts. he needs to put as much distance between them as possible. he never runs from a fight. if he ends up going for blood as a result of being taunted, it isn't his fault, right? just one bite wouldn't even hurt the guy for but a few seconds, but it would ruin his precarious standing in the grove forever. if this son of a bitch implies he's a dog one more goddamn time... a hashira looks fucking ridiculous in that outfit, how is he even taking this human seriously --

his eyes widen as they glance up and down sanemi as if seeing him for the first time, instead of a slab of meat. then his face screws up in shocked disgust. their uniforms are the same fucking color.]

You've gotta be shitting me. I am not staying in a cramped shack with your stench. [well, neither of you have a choice, so...]

[purifyingwind]

[ Their respective brain cells align in perfect synchronization. Akaza looks at Sanemi and Sanemi looks at Akaza, and a revelation dawns on him from the angels on high as unadulterated reproach twists the demon's face.

Sanemi, on the other hand, starts smiling like a goddamn madman.

He isn't going to sleep for a month. But he is going to get the perfect opportunity to torment a demon for a month, and in his mind, that is leagues better than even a wink of sleep. Hell, he'd gladly lose his mind for a chance to put this guy through the wringer. He doesn't even give a shit. That smile stretches and stretches until Sanemi starts laughing, a wild burst of it that flashes his teeth.

What a fantastic first impression for the both of them this made. With visible glee, he sheathes his katana. ]

Sounds like you don't got a choice. Damn! What a shame! Hope you get real used to the smell of my blood, shitstain.

[bluebasketballed]

[... this guy is actually unhinged. like, he thought he was pretty far gone. for the first time in hundreds of years, akaza feels truly exhausted.

but he's going to tell himself that the current fight is over with the slayer putting away his blade, and take that opportunity to walk away without another word. not run, because he still refuses.

maybe if he's lucky, he can walk right into the lake and stand at the bottom of it until the month is up. (he will stay there until the cabin sleepy magic teleports an entire wet horse into his bunk. sorry mystery.)]