CAMP ALPHA: for everyone who wanted a crossover between summercamp and Ghost Adventures

[indigo_league]

Who: Everyone who came to Camp Alph
Where: The Ruins of Alph
When: July 18th-21st
Summary: This is a log for all the camping shenanigans your heart desires! For part 2 of the event, there will be a second log to keep the ensuing seance situation separate from the all-purpose ruin-exploration adventures. Participation in part 2 will be entirely voluntary, so feel free to tag on part 1 as long as you like! For more information about this event, check out the info post over here!
Rating: PG-13
Log:


Been to the Ruins of Alph before? Are you an old hat at this stuff? Well turn everything you thought you knew UPSIDE DOWN because EVERYTHING. IS DIFFERENT NOW.

… Or at least, that’s what the flyers being passed out under a canopy of cheap Celebi balloons that are bobbing around in the breeze say.

One thing’s for sure, there sure are a lot more tents than normal. By the time most of you casuals get there, the entire picnicking area, usually quite spacious, has been turned into a small tent city. And the excited atmosphere is palpable.

The crackle of the Ruin Rangers’ walkie-talkies mingles with that of the ghost-hunting equipment toted around by excited Hex Maniacs, burbling Unown are drifting here and there to blink curiously at all the new people and Pokemon suddenly on their turf, and chatter from Legend Seekers of all ages (really, of ALL ages-- everyone from Youngsters to Veterans have apparently been swept up in the Seeker-mania!) rings out as stories and speculations are swapped.

There’s lots to do, plenty to explore, and (according to word on the grapevine), more than enough spooky rituals to perform once the night falls.

Will you solve some tile puzzles and fall into an underground chamber? Stick to the main group and make s’mores? Befriend a floating letter (or twenty-four)? Go directly against the advice of the tired-looking Rangers and play One Man Hide-and-Seek in the dark?

Or, most importantly, will you start a small-scale riot in order to keep the loud static boxes away from the tents where you’re trying to sleep?

Comments

[Dave Voice] Hit it, Barack

[uber_marionettist]

"Shit, man. I don't know if I can top that." It comes out of his mouth before he realises the words are there, and he's a little put off by that, not a fan of latent personality leaking through the gaps like seawater through the decomposing infrastructure of--okay, no, that is enough of that. Atlantis, Texas. More 'drowned' imagery. You get it. But you're not fucking decomposing. You are, in fact, watertight.

And you have one more trick up your sleeve for this party.

Dirk Strider stretches his arms out in front of him, pops his neck, and puts his hands to his mouth in a configuration widely known as essential to the art of beat boxing.

Yeah, that's right. You're gonna lay down a syncopated beat so sick that the 1918 H1N1 pandemic can't compete.

[foolishwren]

_{[OOC: this gif wouldn't fit in the comment subject-line]}

Snitter's stiff, fin-like tail can't really wag, but it does wiggle in the closest approximation to a wag it can manage.

Absolutely delighted, the Type: Null proceeds to engage with this absolutely plague-ridden beat by just kind of going fucking nuts. But like, rhythmically.

As fate would have it, it's about this time that someone's noticed that her solarpunk great dane griffin has wandered off, so in the midst of this, some bushes are held aside as one Heather Mason pokes her head through.

"Snits? Are you back he-- holy shit."

[uber_marionettist]

Contrary to what some might tell you, Dirk Strider does know what shame is. However, his capacity for it is limited to a few, very specific contexts, none of which these happen to be.

Hopefully, Heather wasn't expecting her presence to be the end of this little party, because it isn't. Not for another minute or two, a span of time that allows TAN to flicker and buzz like a lightbulb about to blow and fill her hair with an irresponsible amount of static electricity.

When Dirk wraps up his performance, he does so with a nigh-perfect poker face and zero apparent remorse.

He has to turn down the noise a little in order to be heard, though, which he does while holding that stoic mask. He could raise his voice, sure, but his default is quiet enough that it feels a lot like shouting, and shouting is only considered cool if there's some kind of dramatic context, like a battle or a particularly large and timely explosion.

"Sick beast, it belong to you? If not, I have bad fucking news because I don't do autographs. Dunno about this guy, though. Maybe it's your lucky day."

[foolishwren]

Fun fact: when Heather Mason's hair gets staticky, she looks like a dandelion.

But aside from distractedly trying to pat it down, she pays that no mind-- she's busy watching the impromptu performance art.

As soon as the music concludes, Snitter's neck extends excitedly, slightly ahead of the rest of his body as he turns to mechanically high-step back over to his trainer for praise. Which she gives freely, scratching the shaggy hair coming out from the base of his helmet.

"Yeah, he's mine. Thanks for entertaining him. We've been working on his social skills-- he doesn't usually make friends in public."

Mostly because way of being friendly was usually to just sort of repeatedly walk into the object of his friendliness.