[FIC]Very Little Whispering on the Rock
<I'm basing this as if it was the second year, and all the kids--plus a few other ones I might add--are back as well. I dunno if I'll make a big thing of it. Just gimme feedback, I quite like feedback.
The kids' cabin area in Whispering Rock was very, very rarely quiet. There was always at least one argument, or someone giggling at unfunny, inappropriate jokes.
Presently, it was morning, and the three lecturers, Coach Oleander and his two guests looked on disapprovingly as the kids ran around aimlessly, seemingly playing tag, or bulldog, or whatever was popular this year.
'So unruly,' said Oleander. He was wearing a rather fetching tank-top. His medals had been thrown in the waste bin, and his mind, as far as Sasha and Milla could tell, was not full of tanks and machine guns any more. There were still a few occasionally grenade caused explosions, but that was like any mind. He didn't even tell the kids that they were all going to die any more.
'It is good practice for them,' said Sasha, with his usual hand-on-chin expression. It always seemed to be glued there in times of thought.
'Eh?' asked Oleander.
'Well, they are training up their powers.'
'Yes, indeed. For example, look at Bobby Zilch. See that? He's holding up James "J.T" Hoofburger with an expert telekinesis PSI power. You can't tell me that isn't good for practice.'
'Shouldn't we be stopping that?' asked Milla.
'No,' said Sasha, 'if you look, Mr. Hoofburger's good friend Chops is about to send Bobby Zilch's pants on fire. That will teach him to use his powers in moderation, will it not?'
'I'm not standing for that,' said Oleander, breathing out. 'Bobby Zilch! What's that other one's name? Is it? Oh. Chops Sweetwind! Will you two calm down?! Yes, I'm fully aware he was picking on your friend! You were about to set his pants on flames!' Oleander subsided, apparently satisfied with his tirade. He then raised his eyebrow at another sight. 'And what the hell is he doing?' he asked, with bewilderment.
'Which one?' asked Shasta.
'That one, man,' said Oleander, pointing at one of the boys of the camp. He was sitting on one of the cabin steps with a girl, trying, with some success, to nibble on her neck.
'Oh, Nils Lutefisk, said Shasta, with a touch of disapproval. 'And I believe the girl he is with is...Phoebe Love. This must be his third this year.'
'Irresponsible,' said Oleander, 'I bet his parents let him watch R-Rated movies.'
'I think it's kind of cute, actually,' said Milla. The two men in the conversation snorted disapprovingly. 'What?' she asked, 'They're just growing up.'
Shasta and Oleander shrugged almost simultaneously. In truth, it was one of the perks of the job; disapproving. It was a time for complementation, of thinking that your childhood was a lot more social. Of course, mostly it wasn't. Because they were Psychonauts. Psychonauts didn't used to have social childhoods.
It was just good that they did now.
Last edited by drunkymonkey; 11-14-2006 at 05:13 PM.