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the life and death of Institutional Green

Johnson patters in, turning over yellowed pages and frowning. “Cookys,” she reads, and winces. She'd take out her pen and correct, but these are Calli's forms. 1)

Jokerbot g_rock pokes his head in, then the rest of himself. He looks around. “Now, if I were a form dropbox, where would I be. . . ?”

Johnson looks up at the entrances and then waughs at them. She takes one step back, steps on G's foot, overbalances and sits down suddenly in a flutter of yellow stickynotes. “This is worse than,”

Johnson points at all the exits- “before!” Her bitten finger swivels from exit to exit to exit to Declan to exit to exit to Other Declan2) to exit. “Now we're really gonna need balls of string!” 3)

Uncle Bernard erupts from a side room, patting himself down, and covered in institutional green paint, “Will you bog OFF, Mountjoy, man?”

Uncle Bernard is followed by Mountjoy, who has a bristly appendage in hand, and it's sopping with green paint, “And put that away, G has a sensitive nature. Hallo Johnson.”

Jokerbot g_rock enghs and shakes his foot with a wince, then offers her a hand up “Nah. Just guess and, if you get lost, scream until someone finds you.”

Uncle Bernard shakes his head in a Kevin McLeod sort of fashion, “In a space like this, no-one can hear you scream.”

Kestrel is utterly unwilling to wake. Blankets are warm and worries are nonexistant and sounds were quiet - until the gaggle arrived. She resigns herself to an abrupt and rude awakening.

Johnson looks dismally at the hand and at Bernard dripping with institutional green paint. “I could be screaming for a good long while,” she says, before taking the hand and pulling herself up. “Lo Nuncle.”

Uncle Bernard gazes around, “Plenty still to do. . . ” in his hands, a couple of bristly accoutrements, “Are you two going to get stuck in, or are you going to faff around all day?”

Uncle Bernard nods at Kestrel, “Aye aye, sausage. Where've you been? Might've known, as soon as hard work were mentioned, you'd be snuggled up in a blankey.”

Kestrel shifts the blanket to cover her face, but the voices filter through loud and clear. “Mmmmng. Been sleeping. In preparation. . . preparation for building work. Of course. Morning, Uncle.”

Jokerbot g_rock blinks at Bernard “Uhm. . . did one of us just have an anyeurism? because I couldn't understand a word you just said. . . ”

Johnson is not a gaggle, thankyouverymuch. She blinks at Mountjoy with the bristly appendage. “Hello?” she says cautiously. “I've never met you before.”

Uncle Bernard harrumphs, “Cats got all your tongues, then? Might have bleedin' known. Cheek of it, and me collectin' me pension. You expect me up on the gurney, don't you? Making sure you've got your. . . ”

Johnson blinks also at Bernard. “Did you just call Kestrel sausage,” she says. It's not a question, but it's still fairly incredulous. “Kes, are you a sausage?”

Mountjoy regards Johnson dolefully, “I'm aware of you, Miss. You're one of the new intake.” This, to you, sounds like he's discussing anal warts; he turns on his heel, and leaves.

Johnson also wonders if she's allowed to vote for faffing around all day, or if she's just going to be press-ganged into institutional green-painting. “What are we supposed to be stuck into, Nunc?”

Uncle Bernard watches Mountjoy leave, “Sorry about him, he's awfully rude. Sausage, you say? Don't mind if I do, I'm famished. I must have been working at least half an hour; not even a break f'me.”

Kestrel relinquishes the duvet, scrambling all bleary-eyed and let's not even mention the hair to her feet. “Not the last time I checked.” brief glance downwards “Nope. Human. Joker. Whatever.”

Uncle Bernard asks, because everyone else wants to, “Kes, why have you got hair to your feet?”

Johnson is regarded dolefully, and then referred to as new intake. She's not entirely sure how to take that, in or out. “Am- am I meant to be insulted?” she asks, worried. “I'm not quite sure if. . . ”

Jokerbot g_rock is still trying to sound out the uncularity that had previously assaulted his ears “I've not faffed at all, as far as I know. . . ” this muttered, mostly to himself. . .

Uncle Bernard waves his hands ineffectually, “Oh no, oh no, he's like that with everyone. I'm surprised you haven't seen him camped outside of your bedroom door, glass to ear, to be frank.”

Kestrel is too tired for this. “Hair to my feet? I don't. . . I don't. . . ” another glance downwards. “I don't have hairy feet, what're you saying?” A brief irritated mumble of madman.

Johnson blinks and looks at Kes' feet. And then at Kes' head. And then at her feet again. “I don't see. . . ” she begins, and then gives up. “I may have some raw sausages in my bag, if you want to cook 'em.”

Johnson pauses mid-search for raw meaty items. “. . . my bedroom's quite a large place, Nuncle,” she says. Yes it is, it's the back end of a stage. “S'a bit hard to see eavesdroppers.”

Uncle Bernard wonders what's with the offer of raw sausages, and sees that Johnson is quite possibly deranged, “Dearie me! No, we can't have you eating them raw, of course. Where is that blasted Bruce? BRUCE?!”

Johnson is dead, not deranged. Big difference. “IF YOU WANT TO COOK 'EM,” she repeats, a bit louder. In case paint blocked the Nunc's ears, or- or something.

Johnson fishes out a long string of sausages, wrapped in brown paper and offers them to Bernard, and on second thought, to Kes who can probably be trusted. She's called Sausage for a reason, right? Right?

Jokerbot g_rock snrrrks quietly at, but doesn't mention, Kes' hair. Or feet. “Morning, Kes. Good night's rest?”

Uncle Bernard steps back into a tin of institutional green, trying to avoid the threat of sausage, “Wauuu!” he cries, his foot now clanking and splurging the remaining paint all over the floor. . .

Jokerbot g_rock would, if he heard Johnson's thoughts, respond that reason don't enter into it.

Kestrel spends so long considering the question, and the calendar pinned to one wall, that her eyes almost glaze over. “Two nights' rest,” she corrects him. “Yes. It was good. How are you?”

Uncle Bernard restrains himself from asking if the second night's rest was whilst she was considering the question. . .

Kestrel is offered a package of- a paper package. Of something. And accepts it, bewilderment clear in her expression.

Johnson eyes the paint creeping forward, slowly taking up the floor with institutional green and threatening the pillows. “Um,” she says.

Teh Dave thinks the second night's rest was preparing to deal with Bernard. He steps around the spilled paint daintily as he steps inside. “Hallo everyone. . . what's goin' on?”

Johnson takes a step back as the paint- keeps going. Forward. Across the floor. And it may or may not be getting higher, and greener, and more institutionaly. “Um,” she says again.

Uncle Bernard cries out, “Dave! Thank goodness! Someone sensible! Can you get this frigging tin of paint off my plates of meat, and then ask Johnson to stop waggling her meaty sausage at me.”

Teh Dave calls over to Bernard. “Oi, Uncle B, where'd you put my workshop? I think I have a working pump there that'll help contain this.

Johnson takes another step back, and then eyes the pillows, and the crates, and then wonders where the hell she's going to go if the paint keeps going. “Um. Nuncle.”

Johnson stops backing away from the paint long enough to look offended. “I am not waggling my meaty sausage at you!” she says. “I gave Kestrel my meaty sausage. She's handling it now.”

Uncle Bernard can't believe everyone's playing around with their meaty sausages whilst he's got his foot stuck in a bleedin tin of paint. “What? I haven't even touched your workshop, man!”

Kestrel is indeed fondling the mysterious package, possibly out of sheer need to be fiddling with something. At Johnson's words she recoils, tossing it back in her direction.

Teh Dave thinks Johnson is probably glad Mountjoy isn't here to have heard that exchange. Or at least, not here enough to respond to it. He steps around the paintspill to try and get to the Kitchen.

Jokerbot g_rock is impressed by Dave's daintiness as he backs away from the advancing paintline. “Erm. . . is the gift shop open yet? Maybe we could use something in there. . . ”

Johnson is fast realising that she's running out of space to retreat to from the slow liquid lurch of awful green. “Um,” she says, and then climbs onto G's foot, clinging onto Kestrel.

Teh Dave turns towards the sound of paper fiddling just in time to catch a faceful of Johnson's sausage. The package ends up just outside the spreading edge of paint, and Dave ends up on his back just inside

Uncle Bernard stops dead in horror, “You mean we haven't opened up the bloody gift shop? How are we earning spondoolicks? Making some moolah? What's going on? Someone tell me?!”

Johnson has the feeling that the tin of paint is indeed bleeding. Everywhere. “Don't- don't stick your foot in further,” she murmurs. “Please. I think that could end. . . badly-”

Uncle Bernard is slightly overbalanced, (I say slightly. . . ) and topples, and tumbles and goes crashing into. . .

Kestrel thunkbonks her head against G's shoulder, apologises profusely, then shifts into a comfortable if-still-clung-to position well away from the growing mass of green.

Rodin's rather lovely rendition of Declan, sending the statue spinning and crashing and - above all - breaking into a trillion pieces. On the plus side, Bernard doesn't have a tin of paint on his f

Johnson waughs as Dave is suddenly eaten by the green spreading mass. She attempts to climb further up G and Kes at the same time, watching as it begins lapping at shoes. . .

Uncle Bernard looks at his foot, which seemed to have been cut off slightly earlier (not in the literal sense, but slightly more figuratively) by the last splodge of description, “Brilliant. Never liked that. . .

Green-painted Teh Dave emerges, a Monster of industrial green paint, dripping and oozing towards the outer edge of the spill.

Jokerbot g_rock finds himself an island of apparent safety in the growing sea of green. He suppresses utterations of discomfort in favor of stoic fearlessness under pressure.

Uncle Bernard continues, “Never liked that carbuncle anyway. And look, the paint tin has come off my foot.” He waggles his green carpet slipper about, as if in demonstration.

Johnson WAUGHS in all seriousness now as fragments of statue bomb the place, plinking gently into the moving ooze of green like summer rain on a nuclear sea of poisoned fish.

Green-painted Teh Dave turns what's probably his head in the direction that's probably Bernard. “What'ya just break?” is what he means to ask, but it comes through the paint as WHARDBLBJSBRK?

Green-painted Teh Dave does realize that his previous utterance is, under normal circumstances, unpronounceable. Being covered in apparently semi-sapient industrial green paint, however, is hardly “normal circumstances”.

Johnson climbs further up G, and then attempts to pull Kestrel up after her. “Dave?” she utters in tones of mingled horror and reproach.

Johnson has finally had enough of oozing green paint, showers of Rodin, carbuncly Bernard and WHARDBLBJSBRK. She scrambles up G until she's sitting on his head.

Kestrel is trying her best not to climb the unfortunate Jokerbot, but Johnson isn't giving her much choice. “Argh I'm sorry G. I'm not trying to crush you.”

Green-painted Teh Dave turns what's probably his head towards the Johnson-Kestrel-G Island Of Safety, and something lifts from his head that could be a tentacle, could be Teh's feather. It waves, spraying paint.

spandex has been in the mess-of-building-site-yard and finally found her beloved zombie goat. “Anyone home I found Dammit!” she yells in the doorway.

Jokerbot g_rock backs slowly away from the slime-mutant-Dave-thing, his shoes making sopping, sucking sounds with each small movement. “Stay back, creature! Give us back our Dave!”

Dizzyizzy wanders in.

Jokerbot g_rock cranks up the overclock on his upper and lower body to handle the extra hatload. Luckily, it weighs less than his usual hat, so he's pretty okay with it. . .

Uncle Bernard is standing, proud, like Colossus straddling - um - a growing lake of green paint - “What is wrong with you lot? You're all acting like saps. What's wrong?” oblivious, he is.

Green-painted Teh Dave pauses at G's words, head tilting in a rather familiar way. “But I am Dave.” comes out as “BHTblbIMblopDVblubblub”

spandex arm's yoinked back as the goat pulls on his rope. “Hold still Dammit!” she snaps over her shoulder.

Johnson yelps as she sees Dex. “Quick! Up here!” she beckons from the relative safety of her perch on G's head, still attempting to haul Kestrel up after her. “Before the paint monster g-”

Uncle Bernard waves to Dex and Dizzy, “Hullo there you two. Oh DAMNIT!”

Kestrel ends up holding onto his neck for dear life, trying to persuade Johnson that she doesn't need tugging further. She's good with heights, honest, but only when there's warning. “ArghhelloDex.”

Johnson would like to know what G's hat looks like, if it's heavier than a person. She blinks in dismay at the waving tentacle and attempts to wave back. “Is it trying to establish contact?”

spandex maintains her position on this side of the threshold. Green so clashes with her hair. “Bernard! How's – DAMMIT STOP MOVING ABOUT – things s'been ages.”

Dizzyizzy sees said paint monster and strides forward to authoritatively flick something that might be an ear. “You leave these people alone, hear?”

Jokerbot g_rock freezes “But Dex, if I stop moving, that THING-” he gestures at the Davething”-will catch all three of us. And we don't want to end up like our poor, fallen clannie.”

Johnson wonders how the threshhold will hold up under the advancing tide of green paint. It's still not stopped slurching from the bucket near Uncle Bernard's foot, and seems to have eaten pillows. . .

Uncle Bernard looks hurt, “I'm not moving about, I'm standing here, perfectly still. And LOOK! I've got rid of that tin of bloody green paint from my foot!” he waggles his now-green leg at Dex.

Green-painted Teh Dave shlubthumpsplorches towards the kitchens, slowly mucking through the paint. The “ear” flick sends a spot of paint flying, but no other effect. He doesn't even seem to notice. (He wouldn't.)

Johnson waughs as Izzy strides into the green sea of paint. “No! Izzy- no- don't- you'll turn into-”

spandex is reluctant to pull back too hard on Dammit's rope. Zombie pets, you know, their heads can just come off if yer not careful. “Allo GERMs having fun?” Looks like fun.

Dizzyizzy frowns at the lack of reaction, then jumps at Johnson. “whaddoidothen?”

Green-painted Teh Dave's head-tentacle-which-might-actually-be-Teh's-f eather-covered-in-paint turns in Dex's voice's direction, and attempts to wave at her. Paint spots fly everywhere.

Rookie Declan bolts upright on a tiny island of pillows, clutching his dead dog to his chest. He blinks, blearily amazed at- at- 4)

Jokerbot g_rock enghs at Dex “Well, I'm being trod, slopped, and climbed on, but other than that. . . sure, pretty okay. You?”

Somehow, some primordial reflex fires in Bernard's synapses, and he senses something behind him, Dave, most likely. It's where he's most comfortable hanging out, “Dave, stop arsing about. . . ”

Kestrel suddenly tenses, pulling herself free of Johnson's grasp, and looking frantically beyond the see of green towards the figure sitting there. “Declan. Declan - you alright there? you safe?”

Rookie Declan yelps and scrambles up, trying to stay untouched by the sea of monstrousness threatening to swallow his only hope of non-greenity. “Help-” he croaks.

Uncle Bernard turns and regards the painty fiend, “Fucking hell!” Bernard ejaculates, “What have you done with Dave?”

Green-painted Teh Dave pauses in his splorching movements to tilt what's probably his head at Bernard. “GRblop?”

Dizzyizzy says “Declan, quick! put his on! it'll help!” He tosses his hat toward him.

Green-painted Teh Dave attempts to wave his arms frantically at Bernard, announcing his inherent Daveness, but alas, the paint seems to be getting thicker, drying out slightly.

Kestrel scrambles down the tower of safety - sorry, mate - perches neatly on a pair of feet - he's wearing steel toecaps, right? - and concentrates on choosing a path of air and dry ground.

Johnson is being jumped at! She lurches backwards, hands fastened onto G's ears. “Getawayyou'recontaminated!” she yowls, nearly toppling backwards off the tower of G.

Green-painted Teh Dave's motions, therefore, look rather like a 70's era Japanese monster disaster movie.

The Rather Green Bernard nearly sharts in fear.

spandex tips her chin to give some encroaching paint a look that says, stain-my-boots-I'll-paint-the-insides-of-the- skronky-pot-wi'-you. The paint oozes elsewhere.

Rookie Declan stares across the swalloshing sea of thick glubglubbity in dismay. “I'm-” he says, and then he slips and falls and is swallowed by paint, dead dog and all.

The Rather Green Bernard tries to shlep his way out of the green morass, “Morass? This isn't some lurid gentleman's flick!” Bernard advises, “HELP! HALP! I'm certain to be eaten! I'm too YOUNG to die!”

Dizzyizzy frowns. “Where the hell's my hat now?”

Kestrel flinches in shock when the rookie goes under, and drops, shin-deep in sludge. She allows herself one moment to mouth few choice swears, then plunges both arms underpaint to search.

spandex gestures nonchalantly with her unDammited hand. “Whadyou a buncha rooks? Jus'kill the monster already.”

Jokerbot g_rock is nearly toppled backward by one, but is anchered forward by th'other, resulting in a very unfortunate-looking dance-stumble-waggle-thing in place “Quit squirmin about, you two!”

Johnson regains her perch by way of tugging at G's ears- sorry G- and clings to the poor fellow's forehead, staring down at the disaster around her. “Kes! Where are you going?” She makes a grab.

Uncle Bernard slaps one forearm to forehead, “Save yourselves! I'll see off this fiend!” he turns again to face the monster, “Uh. . . On second thoughts. . . ”

Dizzyizzy says “I flicked it's ear, but nothing happened. What do I try now?”

Johnson misses her grab and windmills, trying not to hit G in the nose. “G-”

Green-painted Teh Dave pauses as he senses a disturbance in the paint, and splorches over towards where Declan fell in.

Johnson topples off, waughing all the way down. It's a high height to fall off, and down below is Kestrel. Sorry, Kestrel.

Rookie Declan unsploooshes, a green hideous thing in a gelatinous morass of more green. “HALP,” he croaks, the maw of the monster belching open as the sea slowly rises to waist, then chest-height.

Jokerbot g_rock eyes Dex “Would love to, dear, but at the moment I'm-” offbalanced and shoved, is what he is, and trips, falls, sliiiiides through the paintpool through an open door

Green-painted Teh Dave lurchsplorches forward in his last movements before the outer layer of paint dries around him to catch Declan under the Rook's arms, holding him out of the paint.

Kestrel backs away from the two paint monsters, heart in mouth and - Kshloop - is sent backwards and promptly lost in the sludge.

Rookie Declan is caught by a green monstrous thing. He flails, terrified, moving faster than fast for once in his slow, corner-drifting life. “MY FRIEND,” he bellows, splashing sheafs of paint everywhere.

spandex ties Dammit's lead to a beltloop and fishes four of her throwing knives out from her various sneaky hidden pockets. klinkklinkklink they say in her hands. “Want my help?”

Green-painted Teh Dave is, unfortunately, now stuck within a shell of dried or drying paint, currently holding Declan out of the pool of paint. Lacking locomotion, he decides to take a quick nap.

Uncle Bernard is becoming more and more infuriated with all of this nonsense, “I'm becoming more and more infuriated by all of this nonsense.”

Jokerbot g_rock emerges from the west wing, weilding one of Merlin's clipboards laden to near-breaking with officiously official forms “Alright, you sludge, where's your proper authorization for floor retinting?”

Johnson sploshes in paint, closing her mouth tightly. She's not breathing paint into her lungs. She's not. She refuses to have green lungs, positively refuses-

Johnson sinks slowly to the bottom of the pool of green sludge, despite all her thrashing. Maybe the stones in her backpack have something to do with that.

spandex looks crestfallen as Destructo!Monster!Violence! seems to plunge into nap-time. The knives are tucked away again.

Kestrel lurchscrambles back to her feet, one of many green statues in the murk. Paint plopdrips from her hair and clothing as she squelches around to face the clannies and the dex and the rook and-

Johnson opens her eyes in the sea of green and sees- green. It's not particularly opaque, paint. She attempts to swim blindly in the painty sea, but has no idea where she's going and this pool is enormous-

The Rather Green Bernard is dripping paint from his fingertips; in silhouette, he'd look rather like a hero in a comic book 'The Sloppy Avenger'.

Rookie Declan finds the paint monster beneath him stilled, so he immediately cracks off and tumbles back into the paint. “MY”- GLOP- “FRIE-” and then he's gone into the sea. Can hatracks swim?

Kestrel trips over a shape in the paintpool - and trips - sent sprawling facefirst and gulping for air in the flip don't breathe the paint.

Dizzyizzy stumbles toward the rook, and begins searching about for his hat.

Jokerbot g_rock backs the paint up as it metaphorically searches it's pockets for the requested forms. It forms a small open area directly around his feet “Right. Well, you'll need the forms, or Merlin'll. . . ”

Kestrel is not all that bothered by the paint covering her eyes - she keeps both of them squeezed shut, and reaches through the sludge for something to anchor herself t- aha!

The Rather Green Bernard now shakes his fist, in silhouette, he'd probably bring you in mind of Eric Morcambe. . .

Jokerbot g_rock thinkthinks “Merlin'll be forced to fine you, and put you on bagpipe-listening duties for a month.” not even inanimate, mindless paint wants to be subjected to that!

Kestrel fumbles with the small shape until she recognises it - clutches to her chest - and emerges from the muck once again paint-sodden and gasping for breath.

spandex is not laughing at everyone's misfortunes, ohno, that'd be unwise.

Johnson has no idea who Eric Morcambe is. She breaststrokes slowly through the green. It's quite peaceful, underneath it all. Can't hear any shouting or screaming and goodness, is that someone's leg?

The Rather Green Bernard would look rather green at the prospect of being forced to listen to that interminable wail for a month. . .

Rookie Declan lurches back up from the gloppy sea, unrecognisable in his coat of green, right in front of the woman with the mohawk.

Jokerbot g_rock finds himself at the center of about a 3-foot circle devoid of paint, with only a slight tinge of green on the floor underneath. “Also, I'll need a copy of your rampaging license. and-”

Jokerbot g_rock clears his throat, putting on a nasally tone “And, of course, your oozing permit will have to have been filed at least 30 days ago.” he glares, daring the seething mass to not have filed.

Kestrel keeps herself moving - stubbornly determined not to allow the paint to dry in one piece - and once again finds her way blocked - close to tripping - by something in the paint.

Johnson has no idea if the seething mass has filed or not, but for some reason her ears are clearing up as sludge slowly puddles around her, growing slightly more opaque. Whose leg is that.

Rookie Declan freezes in place. This is just the chance the paint's been waiting for, and it dries around him with no remorse whatsoever. Frozen in space, the poor ex-hatrack canna' even yelp for help.

Kestrel wiggles the leg in dismay, trying to free it, only to find resistance. Frantic, she keeps the other leg moving, and both arms, doing some kind of crazy gymnastics to stay moveable.

Jokerbot g_rock is running out of ammunition! He mutters about Filing Fees and something about improper recycling of paint tins as he wades toward the tin itself, then splutters and falls silent.

spandex stumbles backwards. “goddammit dammit!” She grapples behind her waist and unties the rope. “I better take him for a walk or sommat. G'luck with yer DecoMonster!” and she's gone.

Johnson frowns. Whose leg! She demands to know. She demands this by yanking the leg, hard, and attempting to swim away with it. This is not a logical solution, but, y'know, paint fumes.

Jokerbot g_rock gives Dex a farewell nod, best he can do. “Right, so, unless you've properly met the requirements for ooze and/or blob-type monster licenses, I'm afraid your going to have to refile.”

Kestrel slowly starts to tilt, from the yank and the pulling and-

Kestrel objects to that. Dave is trapped. G can look after himself. Bernard's too far away. She grabs a Declan-arm, and holds tight, before toppling.

Johnson swims into another leg as she's attempting to swim away with the first leg. This one is near where she thinks the tin should be, and it seems somehow. . . devoid of paint?

Rookie Declan is yanked backwards by a green monster clutching his arm. Paint shatters around him and he has time enough to howl- “HEL” before he vanishes into the sludge too. Again.

Johnson's hand comes out of the green sludge, into the clear space around G. Experimentally, the hand pats G's boot, and then finds a knee. It tugs again, experimentally. Tugs harder.

Kestrel is pulled, and pulling, through the sludge. When the other stops, she attempts to turn the tugging to a reassuring patpat on rookie-shoulder. The other arm still clutching. . . something.

Green-painted Teh Dave's voice weakly emerges from the mass of paint dried roughly in the shape of godzilla. “erm. . . isthepaintstillaround?”

Jokerbot g_rock is about to deliver the coupe de grass, when he's tugged. “So, if you'll just file quietly out, GAAH!”

Mountjoy, from up in his aerie (shut up Kes), shakes his head in dismay; what a group of bleedin' idiots.

Johnson yanks again, frustrated as the paint isn't letting her go. She backpedals. Hard.

Jokerbot g_rock has luckily made enough of a dent that he falls into only a thin sheen of green, though it's enough to stick to him sloppily. More disturbing, though, is the sickly green gooey arm clutching at him.

Kestrel's lungs are screaming for air. She works on attempting to wiggle her leg free - handy lubricant, wet paint - and divining which way is up.

Rookie Declan is being reassuringly patted. By a green monster. He has no idea how to take this.

Green-painted Teh Dave would note that while useful as a lubricant while wet, dry paint is rather uncomfortable, especially if recently used as a lubricant.

Jokerbot g_rock has to assume that the paint hasn't sprouted arms. He grabs back at it and HAULS, to see to whom it is attached. The paint, meanwhile, seems to have decided that this ain't worth the trouble.

Green-painted Teh Dave does not, he maintains, know this from personal experience. That's his story and he's sticking to it. Well, he's sticking to paint, since it's dried around him and he can't bloody move.

Jokerbot g_rock would note that now Dave's the one making things uncomfortable. But, what he does in the privacy of his own neighbor's house when they're not home is his business. Not judging.

Dizzyizzy remembers the monster. Giving up on finding his hat, he strides over and tries the ear-flick again.

Green-painted Teh Dave's paint-ear remains stubbornly still from the earflick. Dave, however, feels the vibrations through the paint and can be heard from within. “Oi! Cutitout!” is rather muffled, but almost audible.

Johnson is hauled out of the green, glooping busily and spattering tiny bits of paint everywhere. She can't see what the hell is going on because her eyes are painted over, so she just flails.

The Rather Green Bernard has managed to get himself a cup of tea amongst all the furore, “Would anyone care for a cuppa?” he points back into the kitchen, “Bruce asked me to ask. . . ”

Dizzyizzy flicks harder. “What're you doing speaking english, you monster?”

Kestrel is summarily hauled out by the hauled-out-Johnson, and in turn, the effects are passed along the chain to Declan. Kestrel breathes sweet, fume-tainted air once more.

Green-painted Teh Dave attempts to answer Bernard, but he can't. . . quite. . . raise. . . his. . . nope, can't move his arm. “I'lltakeacuppa!” weakly emanates from somewhere in the depths of the dry paint.

Jokerbot g_rock scuttles away from the flailything he fished out as it speckles him with yet more paint. He notes, however, that the paint has stopped oozing out of the can, and has settled down to non-sentience

Jokerbot g_rock raises his hand “I think we could use a full pot, Bernard. And could you get Mountjoy to clean this mess up?”

Johnson would also like a cuppa. However, she has no air in her lungs to proclaim this and simply flails to make her point, unclinging from the other leg she was holding on to.

Dizzyizzy frowns. If the monster can be civil, why cant he? He begins flicking agin, now trying to break off some of the paint.

Rookie Declan decides breathing is a good idea, now that he's out of the paint and- and still green, but, but he's not drowning. He opens his mouth again, green dribbling down from his mouth. “Thank you?”

Green-painted Teh Dave's engh emerges from deep within the paint as the not-quite-flaky-yet paint responds rubberly to the flicking. “MebbegetaknifeCAREFUL”

Dizzyizzy calls out “anyone got a knife? Meat fork? chainsaw?”

Kestrel, breathing long and deeply and only raising her hand to the offer of a cuppa, nonetheless relinquishes and nods to the sodden Declan. “You're welcome,” she manages. “Here-”

Johnson would like tea, please. She really would like tea. She attempts to make this clear.

Kestrel uncurls the other arm from her chest, with many a crack of protesting paint, and offers him the paint-covered, four-legged shape. “He- he might need a bath. Or two. I-I'm sorry.”

Rookie Declan blinks at the green monster offering him a- another green thing. Paint crackles down from his eyelids, flaking off and drifting to the floor like tiny snowflakes. “I-” and then he sees.

Green-painted Teh Dave has a knife! It's in. . . his. . . pocket. . . damn. He struggles against the paint in vain.

Rookie Declan takes the small green shape from the green monster thing and cradles it close, trying hard to wipe paint off the limp head, from the ears. “Oh,” he says, and then- “thank you,” and

Rookie Declan is fumbling with the stiff fur and the awkward legs and the arms and he doesn't know how to- he just- he clutches it close, and stands very still, and stands very, very still.

Jokerbot g_rock stands, cheerily, as Bruce brings in a tray, sneering surliness at the silliness. “Right, so, that's. . . ” he does a blobcount “That's 6, then?” Bruce pours grumpily.

Kestrel shifts her attention briefly Davewards to thonk him on the head - heck, no harm in trying - then back to Declan. “He-we-we might have a pool. Or. . . or somewhere to get him clean. If you want.”

Dizzyizzy gives up trying to free the moster, and instead begins searching its pockets for something interesting. (read: stealable.) He finds the knife, and quickly pockets it before the monster can protest

Johnson flails up at the sound of tea pouring. Paint is cracking off her in fountains of green smithereens, spangling like shatterbombs and plaster, dust swirling as she gapes forward. “Teeeeaa,” she moans.

Jokerbot g_rock wishes Bishop were here. Or Callia. Both seemed to have a way with paint thinner. Though, maybe paint thinner rather tended to have its way with Callia. . .

Rookie Declan blinks once, green flittering down from his eyes, as a greening dusty crackling zombie lurches towards him making- making noises. He slides his eyes sideways to the green monster who saved- who-

Dizzyizzy wishes he could make himself thinner, never mind the paint.

calliaphone pedals in through the doors to the hall. “can i smell paint thinner?”

Jokerbot g_rock has got an idea! He nips into the spea. . . cloakroom. . . *coughcough*

Rookie Declan pulls the thing in his arms closer and nods, stiffly, crackily, at the green monster. “Yes,” he says, green flaking down from his lips. “Please.”

Dizzyizzy suddenly realizes what he just pocketed. He pulls it back out, looking guiltily at the monster. He sets to work, starting around the mouth area.

Green-painted Teh Dave's EUNGHH echoes from within his paint-shell as said shell cracks slightly in the back of the head.

Jokerbot g_rock: : wanders back in, taking a short draught from a large, clear bottle. He sits down. Yup, that was his whole idea.

Green-painted Teh Dave EEPs as a knife nearly pokes him in the lip. Thankfully, he manages to open his mouth just before the knife stabs him, and calls out. “Careful with that!”

calliaphone yanks on the brakes and stares in astonishment. “what in the name of . . . ” pause. clunk-clunk. pause. “WAAUGHH! HAALP HAALP! THE CLAN'S BEEN VEGETATED!”

Dizzyizzy calls out “sorry!” and tries to free the rest of the face.

Green-painted Teh Dave attempts to move his head, and the crack extends, snaking down around his neck to separate the paint covering his head from the paint covering his body. Head movement! He rolls his neck slightly.

Kestrel is frantically scanning her mind for the whereabouts of water - and distracted by the promise of tea - and caves in, handing a second cup to the rookie before sipping.

Green-painted Teh Dave thankfully manages to avoid being stabbed by Dizzy's handiwork, and after a brief, dangerous moment, his face is free, and he coughs green for a good minute.

Johnson shakes herself a little more free of green, creating a small whirling storm of flakes. She steps out of it, and sits down beside G. Takes a deep, wheezy breath in. “Pass the bottle, mate.”

calliaphone staares at G, who doesn't seem quite so green as everyone else. She says, “HAALP G IT'S NOT TOO LATE FOR YOU! Quick, we can get you to a hospital tent.”

Johnson blinks as tea is offered. “On second thought.” She steals the teapot and begins drinking from it greedily, leaving institutional green stains all over the dull red porcelain. Festive.

calliaphone points shakily to GreenJohnson, and bounds from cart to sofa on G's other side, tugging frantically at his sleeve. “QUICK QUICK BEFORE YOU CATCH IT!”

Dizzyizzy cuts a slit up the paint-neck, carefully avoiding the real neck underneath. he carefully studies the face he's exposed. “Dave? Is that you?”

Johnson turns her head. “Oh. Calli. Want some tea?” She offers the teapot, quite politely, reaching across G.

Green-painted Teh Dave nods, rather carefully, to avoid being cut by the knife dangerously close to important arteries. “In the paint. Flesh.” He brightens as he gets an idea, and whisperwhispers to Dizzy.

Jokerbot g_rock: : started to hand the bottle, and thus only has a loose grip when Callia bounces him excitedly. Upupup it goes, to smash into the ancient cieling fan whirling away above.

Dizzyizzy nodnods at the whisperwhisper, and sets to workwork on the jointjoints. funfun.

Jokerbot g_rock: : recieves a soft misting of something that seems to lie in the boundary area between fun drink and fun industrial solvent. . .

calliaphone tries to frown at the tea-offerer, as she somersaults on the rebound. “is it green tea?” she's not so sure about that.

The Rather Green Bernard awakes, shuddering flakes of green paint from his shoulders and lapels.

Green-painted Teh Dave, from a combination of the solvent and Dizzy's work, finally manages to move his limbs within the paintshell, and he stomptromps around the room for a moment. “DAVE ANGRY!”

Johnson blinks as paint starts leaking off her in thin drips, sliding to the floor like mist. Glass splinters whirl down everywhere too, and she half-shuts her eyes, covering the mouth of the teapot.

calliaphone yalps. Angry Dave? She buries her face in G's sleeve and hiiiiides.

Green-painted Teh Dave peers about. “DAVE THIRSTY!”

Rookie Declan stands very still as paint begins leaking off him. Glass shivers down, scratching thin lines in his skin as splinters bounce and fragment off, slipping into the sloshing, opaque green dissolve. . .

Green-painted Teh Dave's massive goofy grin is probably a hint, were anyone looking, that he's not really angry. . . just playing around with having a massive bulk of green around him right now.

The Rather Green Bernard leaps (not as far as normal) “Flippin' eck, haven't you got rid of the bugger yet?” this to the assorted clannies and chums, “Do I 'ave to do everything myself?” possibly best not to, eh?

Jokerbot g_rock shields Calliaphone with his jacket, as most of the glass sticks into the paint remaining on the floor or on people, doing little to no damage to persons or property

Rookie Declan stands still. It's what he does best, here.

Kestrel, hand moved hurriedly to protect the tea, realises what's happening to her and the others - eyes scrunched shut, firmly ignoring the splinters raking across bare skin, she waits.

calliaphone can't see the goofy grin. Her brain goes into fright overload and she experiences immediate protective narcolepsy, zonking out on the sofa. (wait, there's a sofa?)

Green-painted Teh Dave peeeeeeeeeeeeeers at the one holding the teapot. “DAVE. . . er. . . THIRSTY?”

Johnson fits the spout of the teapot to her mouth, mid-whirl of glass and alcohol and solvent, tilts it back, and drinks. She's a zombie. She don't need to breathe, she don't bleed, but she wants tea.

The Rather Green Bernard also needs tea.

Johnson pauses mid-drink. “Tea?” she offers, pointing to the possibly-glass filled cups on Bruce's tray. She realises Dave's eyes are fixed on her teapot, however, so she hands it over, not very graciously.

Green-painted Teh Dave supresses a snicker as he pours the tea into his mouth. “DAVE DRINK!” thankfully, he says this before the tea gets to him.

Kestrel is not yet clean - that will take time. Tea now drained, shower mostly stopped, she sets the cup to one side and gets to work on her mask with fingernails, scraping off the leftover paint.

Johnson snrks and glances around the room from under lowered lids as the glass shards tinkle down and are still. Most everyone is showered with solvent, and most everything drips slowly, thinly.

The Rather Green Bernard wonders if anyone will offer him a nice cuppa, “I'm wondering if anyone will offer me a nice cuppa; I've had a stressful day.”

Johnson decides what they need is- water. Lots of water. A jump-in-a-river type lots of water. “G?” she murmurs, turning to one side. “We don't have a very big tap, do we?”

Jokerbot g_rock scrubs at his jacket, now that the impromptu sprinkler system seems to have run dry of booze and projectiles. “Right. So. . . BRUCE! FRESH TEA PLEASE!”

Green-painted Teh Dave shakes a teacup free of solventliquor and glass, pours a cup for Bernard, then hands the pot back to Johnson. “DAVE HELP!”

Johnson smiles bemusedly at Dave, perfectly calm now that everything is over and she's reached some kind of post-chaos nirvana, far beyond the borderlands of stress. “Dave help indeed,” she agrees.

The Rather Green Bernard takes a deep. . . sip of the solvent based tea. And immediately spurts it out in an aerosol cloud, “For BOLLOCKS sake, David, what are you BLOODY well playing at?”

Dizzyizzy lays down on the floor and passes out.

Johnson takes back the teapot and continues her drinking. That's it. The teapot is now the equivalent of her dummy for the next few minutes.

The Rather Green Bernard continues, “I can't abide bloody Lapsang Souchong!”

Green-painted Teh Dave snickers at Johnson, then manages to squirm out of the Hulk-paint-suit, leaving it standing in place while he plops down against a wall, leaving a green spot. Well, he is a green spot right now.

The Rather Green Bernard is wiping his mouth, angrily, “Which pillock brought the bloody smoked tea? It's like drinking solvents!”

Johnson blinks over the edge of her teapot at Bernard. “Bruce made it,” she says blandly. “Get him to make you some Darjeeling next time.”

Green-painted Teh Dave points at Bernard. “Then yell at Bruce for that'n. Don't shoot the messenger, and all.”

Jokerbot g_rock is summarily ignored by Bruce “We could go jump in the pool, I suppose.”

Johnson nods, slowly. “We could. Or- or we could summon maidens from the dark lands to give us evil spongebaths.”

Johnson has no idea where that came from. Probably the smell of alcohol still in the air. “Where's the pool.”

Jokerbot g_rock peeeers at Johnson “You sure you're not Paul?”

Kestrel has given up work on the mask, and now has. . . has one bronze eyeball resting on her palm, being scrubbed at and scrubbed at an- “Pool? Flip - ah, yes. Sounds like a good idea.”

The Rather Green Bernard suggests the Boating Lake, “We don't want to clog up the pool's filtration system again, not after Sink shed a load of hair in there last time.”

Johnson slides her eyes sideways to G. “Have you ever seen me and Paul in the same room at the same time?” 5)6)

The Rather Green Bernard managed, at one point, to pull out a hair attached to a lump of fuzz and sludge that was over 40 meters long, “Is he woven?” he asks, seemingly apropos of nothing.

Green-painted Teh Dave nods in agreement with B. “Rather good point. Though please if you're coming along. . . trunks? We don't want to all be traumatised.(again)”

Jokerbot g_rock points toward the west wing “Thataway, unless I'm much mistaken.”

The Rather Green Bernard will wear his bathing suit, actually, he looks a little like Charles Atlas in it. A leather-bound atlas, rather.

Johnson blinks again. “Where is the boating lake?” she says, before curling quietly up and falling asleep on the spot, hugging the teapot to her. “Someone,” she yawns before she drifts off- “someone take-”

Johnson begins sliding precariously off the seat, clutching the teapot- “someone take me to the boating lake and dump me in. I don't breathe. won't. . . . drown. . . ” and she's asleep.

Green-painted Teh Dave stands, stretching, and goes over to pick Johnson up, slinging her carefully over one shoulder. “Boating lake. . . er. . . thatway?” He points to the West Wing.

Kestrel looks befuddledly to Dave, wondering what on earth trunks have to do with anything. Translation issues - and the fumes really aren't helping.

Kestrel, actually, is getting quite, quite dizzy. Lying down where she is seems a far more attractive prospect than following the others to the pool - and so she does, all wobbly-like.

The Rather Green Bernard can't actually remember where the boating lake is. Then again, he often doesn't remember when he should go to the lavvies, so that's okay; isn't it?

Rookie Declan opens his eyes again and sees- sleepers. He decides it's probably a good idea for himself, too. Simply, quite neatly, he folds in half onto the ground and is asleep, holding his dog to his chest.

The Rather Green Bernard asks Kestrel to leave poor Dizzy alone, “He's had a hard time of it. And bullying isn't nice.”

Jokerbot g_rock shakes his head “East wing, Dave. Down the hall, to the left.”

Green-painted Teh Dave peers about, and thinks the East Wing is most likely. He strides thataways.

The Rather Green Bernard follows. . .

Johnson offered to take in Calliaphone's extremely misspelled forms. So far, they are as yet unreturned.
there was a statue of Rodin's Declan in the hall.
As opposed to balls of… balls. Which are marginally less useful for finding your way out of labyrinths.
Declan was recently recovered. See The Case of the Missing Rookie Declan.
NO-ONE HAS. This says. . . Something, don't it?
just haven't met. . .yet. Really, only a coincidence.
the_life_of_institutional_green.txt · Last modified: 2023/11/21 18:03 by

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