#imagine an elder trying to hop out of the coffin

[cursedcola]

I don’t think we talk enough about Yuus who actually have lives back in their world, and are genuinely freaking out about being stuck at NRC. Just imagine them lore bombing the cast because no one ever asks about their homelife. So it’s just random moments of yearning for home until evidently Crowley gets off his rocker and does his job.

————

*having tea at heartslabyul before everyone goes on break*

Yuu: “I miss my mom. This is holiday season back where I’m from…man, this sucks” *sulks and eats tart*

Deuce: You have parents?

Cater: You miss your family???

Riddle: Must be nice.

————

Yuu: *sigh*

Grim: ….

Yuu: *siiiiigh*

Grim: ……….

Yuu: *SIIIIIIIIGH*

Grim: MRAH ALRIGHT ALREADY. WHAT DO YA WANT?

Yuu: I miss my husband. I wonder what he’s doing right now. All I have of him here is my wedding band….I just want to see him.

*proceeds to admire a wedding band they had hidden under their uniform gloves*

Ace+Deuce: YOU’RE MARRIED???? HOW OLD ARE YOU???

Grim: Aye lets pawn that for dorm funds

————

*at monstro lounge. jade’a trying to shove mushrooms down floyd’s gullet. The latter is fighting for his life*

Yuu: Slug em in the nads Floyd! Lesson one in human anatomy! Make em’ sing!

Azul: *appalled* can you not encourage them??? Aren’t you supposed to mediate disagreements?

Yuu: nah. You don’t get between siblings. That’s their beef. GET EM JADE, MAKE EM EAT HIS WEIGHT!

Azul: I take it you have siblings? - urk. Thank the sea witch I am an only child.

Yuu: *cheers when jade claims victory - at the expense of a now broken table* Be grateful it’s just the two. I have three and we once made a game out of sledding on concrete. News flash - the er visit cost quadruple that table

Azul: *proceeds to make medical investment plans*

———

Yuu: *crying*

Leona: The hell’s wrong with them now? *eyes ruggie*

Ruggie: *puts hands up* I didn’ do anything! I just swiped one of their cookies! I swear!

Yuu: *crying harder* It’s an oatmeal creme pie dammit! Y’all don’t know little debbie and it shows!

Leona: ….do i want to know?

Ruggie: *hands back the half eaten creme pie. Lowkey freaking out because Leona looks ready to whack him upside with a spelldrive disc* Here! Y’see? There’s still some…c’mon prefect. Ya can stop crying now. I’ll get Trey to make ya another. Just take a breath.

Yuu: *sobs while eating. Doesn’t know whether to be upset because the creme pie is gone, or because trey’s tastes better than little debbie. So it’s still not the same* I hate you all.

[suburbandrifter]

┌─── │ It’s been quite a while since my last trip westwards, and having landed at a motorway service area in Upper Austria on a Friday afternoon, it soon becomes clear that most drivers are heading quite the opposite direction – be it to Romania, Hungary, or Turkey. At the edge of the parking area, I even spot a hearse, and out of pure curiosity I approach the two guys having a smoke standing next to it. They say they are going to Stuttgart, but have no space left, except for, well.. “We would even take you in the back, but we don’t want to risk it, as now there are lots of police checks in Germany”, they say, pointing at the big window covered by a curtain in the back part of their slightly aged Mercedes. As they explain, they are just on their way back from a funeral in Târgu Mureș, soon to pick up another client in Germany. “Vielleicht nächstes Mal, mein Freund”, they cheer me up, and while I ponder about the missed chance of travelling hundreds of kilometers into Germany hidden in a coffin, I notice a delivery van pulling up at the gas station. │ As I get closer, an elder man hops out. I ask him, whether he is going my way. In a mix of English and German with French accent, he tells me that his destination is Paris, and sure, he could take me along, but just wants to have a little snack before - “no problem?” │ Then he drives to the parking area, opens the side door, puts out a wooden stool and a portable fridge, which he covers with some cloth, to serve as a makeshift table. With his thinker's brow, circle glasses, and worn outfit he appears like a beautiful misfit among the majority of poshed-up, consumption-driven people around the gas station. Offering me some bread with cottage cheese, he says he has everything he needs to survive, and points at a convoluted piece of rubber foam in the back of his car. “I used to be a truck driver, but now I’m an artist”, he explains. │ Back on the motorway, he introduces himself as Gábor, tells me he comes from Hungary, but found refuge in France in the early eighties. Before he worked in a town theatre in Eastern Hungary. “It was an incredible time”, he raves about his community of art lovers, drawing endless inspiration from books – “Bukowski is my spiritual father” And it was through books and their own imagination, that they created what he called “an island of freedom.” But then came repressions, which threatened that island, so he decided to leave. And France promised real freedom in any sense. Once there, he soon fell in love, started a family, began to earn money as a truck driver, later led his own business with a few lorries. But when he retired a few years ago, he began to paint. And now he just carries two paintings he created in Budapest, the place, where his father still lives. “He is 97 years old, but still a bright intellectual.” As we get waved through by the police at the German border, he tells me that twenty years ago, his father wrote a book about the “phenomenon Orbán”, somehow predicting where it all could lead. “Wait, I’ll show you”, he says, pulling over to a parking area. While he rummages in the back of his car, I notice what seems like a tent village further behind the trees. Then he hands me over a paperback in gaudy yellow, labeled “Az Orbán jelenség”. We continue through the parking area, and soon we find ourselves in the middle of what seems like a police camp in a state of emergency. What’s more, we seem to be the only civilians around. The uniformed immediately wave us into a huge tent, where a dozen of their colleagues seem to await us, surrounded by loads of high-tech equipment like mobile scanning units and such. │ Two officers come closer, Gábor opens the window, answers their “Sprechen sie Deutsch” question with “Français, Hungarian, and a little English”. They ask for our papers, take them to a container unit. Then two other officers appear, asking Gábor if he drank alcohol. “No, no! I usually drink every day, but today – no, no!” he answers in his bubbly manner. In the background I hear a policeman saying something rude like “but he has the face of a drunkard” in deep Bavarian dialect. Then the officers say they will conduct a breath test. To my surprise, Gábor turns almost enthusiastic. “How funny that I have to make this test on the only day of the year, when I didn’t drink”, he whispers over to me. And indeed, the test turns out negative, and the police armada has to allow us to continue our journey into Germany, while Gábor wears the smile of spiritual winner: “Ha, they think I’m drunk, but I’m only communicative!” │ While I am trying to cope with the absurdity of the whole situation, enraged by the arrogance of the police, reflecting the recent tendencies towards establishing something like a “police state” in Bavaria, the spectacle of border controls within Schengen area, and so on, holding a twenty year old book in my hands, actually warning about a “system Orbán”, I hear Gábor rejoice: “And now we can tell our Syrian friends hiding in the back, that they are safe!” │ ├─ │ Near Passau (D), 3/May/2019, 18.20 h │ └───