Campfire [OPEN] [June 7th, 8 p.m.]

[wrotethepamphlet]

Who: OPEN
When: 8 pm on Friday
Where: The campfire
What: Coach Oleander and the rest of the counselors formally welcome everyone to camp!
Warnings: TBA.



It's roughly about eight o'clock. The sun has finally begun to set on this long June day, and there is a steady fire going in what is commonly used as an auditorium for the camp. When you arrive you will see several of the camp counselors standing up on the small stage, waiting patiently for everyone to arrive and take a seat. After a quick attendance is taken one of the counselors steps forward.

He's an odd looking fellow, several feet shorter than the others and dressed in some combination of a boyscout and a drill sergeant. His face is scarred and it looks like one of his eyes is blind. He gives the appearance of a worn battle hero. He gives the entire camp a stern once over before he coughs, stands straight, and slaps his crop against the projection of the human brain behind him.

If you've been to camp before, you know what's about to happen. It's the same speech that Coach Oleander makes every single year. It seems that no matter what, he makes it every year without fail, with the same amount of gusto as the last.

"The human mind. Six hundred miles of synaptic fiber, five and a half ounces of cranial fluid, fifteen-hundred grams of complex neuromatter. A three pound pile of dreams.

"But I'll tell you what it really is! It is the ultimate battlefield and the ultimate weapon. The wars of this modern age, the psychic age, are fought somewhere between these damp, curvacious, undulations.

"From this day forward, you are all psychic soldiers. Paranormal paratroopers! Mental Marines who are about to ship out on the adventure of their lives!"

Once again, he slaps the crop against the projection, voice raising in volume. "This is our beach head!"

Thereafter, he brings the crop to his own head. "And this? Is our landing craft. You shall engage the enemy in his own mentality. You shall chase his dreams, you shall fight his demons, and you shall live his nightmares.

"And those of you who fight well, you will find yourselves on the path to becoming international secret agents! In other words, Psychonauts!"

Oleander pauses here, to glance to his colleagues, all Psychonauts in their own rights. He snaps his attention back to the rest of camp.

"The rest of you? Will die!"

There's a deep sigh from behind Oleander. Agent Sasha Nein pinches the bridge of his nose. "Mory..."

"Just so you know, we're legally obligated to tell you that no one has ever died at camp!" Razputin Aquato, one of the two teenaged agents on the stage, provides cheerfully with a big grin. He stoops down and retrieves something from a box, holding it up--it's a bag of marshmallows. "Who wants some s'mores?"

"Razputin." Sasha shakes his head and turns to address the camp. "Moving along. We, as the counselors of Whispering Rock, would like to welcome you all back this summer. You will note that a few of our counselors are missing right now, due to important Psychonaut work, and will return when they are free of obligation.

"I would like to reiterate that camp activities will begin on the ninth, and until then you all may use this opportunity to get acquainted with the grounds. We have a little time before lights out, so you may use this chance to speak with a number of the counselors or filling in junior counselors questions."

[OOC: This is a small mingle log! Its purpose is for it to be used as an open forum to counselors about any questions or concerns. For all the missing badges, we'd like to ask that you guys keep it sort of vague until we get people to fill those spots. Until then, any of the Jr Counselors for the badge may pop in and help out. That's entirely up to you guys.

Counselors/Jr Counselors are free to make their own threads and Campers are welcome to just ask questions in separate threads, where anyone could try to answer.]

Comments

stiles stilinski | junior, mediumship

[mediary]

[The noticeably absent spot for mediumship is currently being filled by Stiles, who's making an obnoxiously large s'more with probably five or six marshmallows. He swings off the stage and plunks himself down on his favorite log, sticking it in the fire. (Although noticeably far away from it.)]

So, seeing as how my boss is currently M-I-A [He extends each letter, drawling a little], if you want to get your Sixth Sense, ~I See Dead People~ on, you can come talk to me.

[norisknoglory]

You're in charge of Mediumship right now?

[Randall was just gonna plop down next to Stiles, with his own marshmallow on a stick, though it was thankfully only one because geez even he can have some decorum!]

And who's bright idea was that? [He gives a chuckle, and his tone is strictly teasing, thankfully.]

[mediary]

Rude. [He sticks another marshmellow on the cracker, promptly burning himself--Stiles shakes his hand out and sticks his fingers in his mouth. Ow. Hot.]

Mmmcompletelycapable. [He tugs his fingers out and shakes them, okay.] A responsible teenager with responsibilities and a sheriff's upbringing.

[norisknoglory]

I'll have you know that can't be farther from the facts. [Because he is totally a polite and upstanding British citizen. Of course.]

A responsible teenager that may need remedial cooking lessons. [He says with a chuckle. As his marshmallow then catches on fire.

Of course.

Don't mind him as he know attempts to put the fire out without much damage.]

[mediary]

Yeah, and how long have we been going to camp together now? [Stiles rolls his eyes, but it's good natured.] There's no counselor for the moment, so it's pretty much up to me to keep this crazy train rolling.

[He raises his eyebrows in the eternal ha gesture, biting into his massive s'more.] Looks like you'll have to join me.

[norisknoglory]

[Unfortunately the marshmallow is for the most part burnt by the time Randall finally puts it out. He is, nevertheless, putting it between some crackers and chocolate because he will not be admitting defeat that easily! And he was going to eat it with the stiff upper lip like the true Briton he was.]

At least two years by now-- and it seems neither of us can prepare a proper s'more after all this training! [Aha~ha~] You sure you won't crash the train with these skills?

[mediary]

[...yeah Stiles is just going to watch you eat that, Randall, and with a big grin on his face. Ha.]

Positive. You have so little faith in me. If there's anything I know how to do, it's talk to dead people. [Or just talk to people in general. Stiles Stilinski and his chatter.]

[nymeriarya]

[Of course Arya's going to wander up to him. She's got a smudge of chocolate on the side of her mouth that's probably not going to be the only stain by the end of the night.]

You're using too many marshmallows.

[mediary]

Don't knock it till you try it! I've got this marshmallow to chocolate ratio down. [He puts a piece of chocolate on top of his monstrosity masterpiece and smooshes them down with a graham cracker.] It's a science.

[nymeriarya]

If it's a science, why don't we learn it in school, then?

[She tries to nick a marshmallow out of Stiles' smore. It doesn't work. He's got them packed in there pretty well.]

You're not going to be able to fit that all in your mouth, you know.

[mediary]

You should. The science of marshmallows. You have no idea how much more I'd rather do that over chemistry. [chemistry. The bane of his existence. He survived Harris. That's all that matters.

Stiles grins, and it's a slow drawl of a grin. Challenge accepted.

He promptly attempts to fit the whole thing in his mouth.]

[nymeriarya]

I've not taken chemistry yet. Right now we're learning about different sorts of animals. That's important, but...this is more fun.

[She watches in awe as Stiles does his best to stuff the entire s'more in his mouth.

Not to be outdone, she takes six marshmallows - exactly one more, and stuffs them into her own cheeks.

She looks like a little chipmunk when she smiles.]

[mediary]

[Almost promptly, Stiles bursts into laughter, nearly choking on his meal. God he loves this kid. She's adorable.

His second response is to grab another marshmallow and attempt to add it to his pile. He's not about to be outdone either okay. He's sixteen. Food is war.]

this is a place holder til tomorrow cause sleep

[brokethecycle]

[Norman had wanted to come and find who was in charge of mediumship. He didn't know what to expect for it as far as teaching it went. He already saw ghosts really well so, what else was there?]

Um. I guess that's why I got sent here. The whole "I see dead people" thing, I mean.

eeeeee eue

[mediary]

Theriouthly?

[Midway through chomping on his s'more, Stiles stops. He hasn't really had anyone come up and talk to him about actually like wanting to do mediumship. This is kind of exciting. Choking on his bite, he swallows it down, thumps himself on the chest, and continues talking.]

Your specialty's mediumship! Dude, awesome. Hi. I'm Stiles, yes, it's a nickname, no, I'm not telling you what my real name is.

[brokethecycle]

[Norman's eyes go wide while Stiles gracefully chokes on his smores. He raises his hand in a worried gesture, about to inquire if he was okay. He recovered quick though, and Norman figured he was fine, so he dropped his hands and fidgeted with the end of his hoodie.]

Okay. Um. I'm Norman? And yeah, that's kind of what I took from that long talk with the Psychonaut agent that came to my house. Is...

[Norman looks around a bit at all the other campers.]

Is mediumship rare or something?

poor norman i'm sorry you get to deal with this weirdo

[mediary]

[Waving him off, he rests his hands on his knees, looking around at some of the other campers, too, raising his eyebrows.]

Rare? No. Unpopular? Kinda. --Don't look at me like that, it's not my fault. For some reason, people don't like the idea of talking to ghosts. Believe me, if it wasn't for Scooby Doo perpetuating that, I bet I'd be rolling in campers right now.

Its okay its charming. He's like an older weirder neil

[brokethecycle]

[Norman actually smiles at that and gives a small laugh.]

Tell me about it. I guess its kind of ironic I tend to have better conversations with the dead than I do the living.

Oh good.

[mediary]

[He can't help the grin on his face; Stiles pats the spot beside him on the log, even offering the bag of marshmallows he was definitely not hoarding forward.]

Right? They're awesome. Dude, wait till you get to talk to some of the ghosts around camp. If you ever want to know anything about literally anyone that's ever been here ever, they'll tell you. [Stiles is excited. It's been ages since he's had someone that actually enjoyed Mediumship to talk to.] I don't know what everyone freaks out about.

[nomorebedtimestories]

[Aggie approaches Stiles a little more closely, sitting somewhat near him.]

Um, I... I can speak to the dead too...

[He might be a medium like her, and a lot more experienced one at that to be a junior counselor, but she still can't help being a bit nervous.]

[mediary]

[Distracted by god only knows what sort of antics that were going around the campfire, Stiles almost doesn't hear the little voice beside him--however, upon doing so, he immediately turns towards Aggie, his face going from surprised to a genuine smile in a millisecond. For a minute, he thinks of the list he'd memorized earlier. Arya, Norman... ]

Youuu must be Agatha.

[nomorebedtimestories]

Yes, that's me...

[She's not exactly surprised he knows who she is right away. She did have a specialty in mediumship, and he was part of that department. It only figures, but she's still getting used to it.]

It's nice to meet you, sir.

[mediary]

[Stiles blinks.]

...Oh, dude. You don't have to call me sir. Sir's my dad. [He leans over a little, proffering his bag of marshmallows. He's a little tickled at being called sir, ngl.] Just call me Stiles, alright? 's nice to meet you too, Agatha.

[thekinged]

[ Suddenly, Stiles will find that his bag of marshmallows that he's hoarding currently have learned to float.

Away from him. ]

lovingly covers you in tags

[mediary]

[HEY.

HEEEY UNCALLED FOR. He jumps up to make a grab for them, looking around for the culprit.]

Oh my God, I thought the fire was sacred ground!