#she just kinda collects Things. not quite a hoarder but. not exactly Normal either

[designernishiki]

(y0) majima’s apartment is a barren wasteland and i hc that yuki’s apartment is a cluttered disaster, so inevitably when majima first sees her place and she first sees his they both, for completely opposite reasons, are like. damn bitch you live like this?

[windup-warrior]

Prompt 4: Saving Time

Corners Cut

“Time is the longest distance between two places.”

― Tennessee Williams, The Glass Menagerie

If a penny saved is a penny earned, what can we say about the temporal equivalent? Is a moment saved, a moment earned or is it not such a one to one translation? Admittedly I am both a lazy hedonist and also a moment hoarder, so this is a subject that simultaneously perplexes and amuses me. I was once told that I am only so lazy as I am for the sake of investing my time and energy into only the most worthwhile endeavors. Or I am just a lazy ass. It could honestly go either way.

“Get up, lazy bones. It’s nearly midday.” The crowing call came with a looming shadow over my resting form. With the sun overhead, it wouldn’t be long before its progressive descent to the horizon in the distance would soon cast its harsh light over my cozy sleeping spot tucked beneath the overhang of the old woman’s home.

“I’m up.” I groaned, draping an arm over my eyes to shield them against the light. Little by little I dragged it away while cracking my eyelids bit by bit, little by little until I could peer up at the shaded form standing over top of me. A stout thing, the Midlander was a wrinkled old thing late in her sixth epoch. Her wrinkled hands sat upon the breadth of her hips, one pinching at a piece of parchment marked with black ink and bearing what looked like a triple cream coffee stain in the corner nearest my reach. “What have you got for me today, Garwynn?”

“A few things from the merchants in town and something to take to the mender. If it’s not too trouble.” She thrust the parchment my way and with a yawn, I took it off her hands to look it over. A few dry goods, fresh meat, a handful of crafting materials. It would be easy enough to knock out and get back to being lazy for the rest of the day. Pushing myself upright, I picked a piece of hay from my hair and brushed my side off while yawning.

“Easy peasy.” At sixteen, it was essentially my goal in life to get by doing the absolute bare minimum. In a post Calamity world, I had no family, no school, no direction or purpose in life save for survival. Garwynn Armstrong was the only one keeping me honest at that point. She gave me a place to stay, menial jobs through which I could make a little pocket gil, and kept me on the straight and narrow. She had lost her husband and only child in the Calamity, leaving her just as alone as I was. We were kindred souls of a sort, I guess. After her passing when I was eighteen, I took her surname as my own, abandoning my father’s name in favor of the only person I have ever truly considered to be “family”.

“Don’t dilly dally either, child. The birds need their greens before supper.” Garwynn leaned down to pinch at my cheek, prompting a scrunch of my nose and a little grumble as I got to my feet. She smiled and retreated into the modest one room cottage set on the fringes of the Chocobo Forest not terribly far from Tailfeather in the Dravanian Forelands.

“Dilly dally shilly shally.” Singsong tones and a dragging lack of pep to my step made for an odd combination but wasn’t that me in a nutshell? Garwynn knew how it would go. It was why she let me sleep as late as she had but still roused me to get something done before the day was through. It was a nice balance that she struck for us both, a beneficial partnership through which she gained a part time companion and someone to tend to the chores and errands that she was getting too tired to do in her advanced age. In turn, well, I had a home. Kinda. She didn’t exactly have the space for me inside, not unless we were sitting or dining together. But there was a generous stable with unused space for me to lay my head and stash a handful of my possessions. When the weather was particularly bad, she would coax me inside and let me curl up in front of the wood fire stove in the corner of her cottage where I would warm my bones while listening to the rumble of the Midlander’s snoring as she slumbered across the room. Usually before morning, I would sneak back out to the stable and bury myself beneath a few layers of gear and a pelt or two until the weather broke. Old habits, they die hard.

The path from Garwynn’s to Tailfeather wasn’t overtly treacherous, frequented by traders and pilgrims alike as they passed through to more promising prospects further on down the line. With a rucksack on each shoulder, one full and one empty, I tromped through the woods en route to my final destination. There I handed off one bag to the mender with the promise to pick it up in a short while. From the mender, I made my way to the collective of traveling merchants that had a habit of lingering near the middle of the small hamlet. On slow days there would be just one but if you were lucky, and I usually was, there were a handful to pick from.

Today was a slow day.

“Shite.” I muttered under my breath when I saw the line congregating near the sole trader. He looked flustered but pleased as punch about the business he was dragging in. I suppose that is inevitable when you’re the only one from which people can buy their needed items. The Dravanian Forelands was by no means a kind or forgiving landscape. Sure, if you tried really, really hard, you could provide for yourself while working the land and hunting and gathering. At least until winter came and blanketed the landscape with feet of heavy snow. Only the most hearty and hale of animals remained and they were usually some of the more vicious species that populated the forest around the town. If any of your preparations faltered during the summer and fall, it would make for an immensely long winter until you could finally get what you needed. As such, many capitalized on the traveling merchants who passed through to get their various sundries to bulk up stockpiles for every season. Dravanians were nothing if not resourceful and well prepared usually.

“Excuse me… I just need a few things…” I piped up, raising a hand to try and get the sole merchant’s attention. At an angle, he heard my call but didn’t see where I was, leaving him to search the crowd around him.

“What do ya need la-- oh.” He stumbled when he saw me, locking gazes and quickly looking away to retreat to the nearest patron perusing his wares. “You’ll have to wait like the rest of these good folk. If there’s anything left for you when they are done, you’re, ah… you’re welcome to it for a premium.”

“A premium? You’re pulling my tail, right?” Typical. So very typical. Not even here could I escape the persistent prejudice that seemed to permeate through every tier of society. Jerks. Whatever. I scanned the list in my hand and turned away from the man. It would likely be at least an hour before I got my turn. There was no way I was going to sit and wait for him forever just to pay more than anyone else for whatever he may have had left.

“Keimfyr!” Five minutes later, I was rounding one of the peripheral buildings on the edge of Tailfeather in search of a particularly reliable Roegadyn who frequented these parts. Like Garwynn, he lived on the outskirts of the forest but ventured in often to peddle his own wares. I found who I was looking for, thankfully, and lit up with a bright smile for the man as he looked my way.

“Little kit, how’s Garwynn?” He called with a jovial smile in return. His nickname made me crinkle my nose but he could only laugh at that too. With the way he towered over everything and everyone, I was sure that he called everyone little. It wasn’t personal, right?

“Doing well enough. Sent me out for a few things she needed… but the only guy in town is, uh… a bit of a jerk. So I was wondering if you might be able to help me out…” I asked hopefully, lifting up onto my toes with a little bounce.

“Well… maybe. What have you got?” He asked, gesturing for me to hand over my list. I passed it over without argument and rocked back on my heels while he scanned it. The low thrum of a contemplative note in his throat had me holding my breath. After a moment or six, he finally nodded and turned away to his chocobo, rounding the side to flip the flap on his saddlebag. “I might have some of this. If you aren’t keen on waiting for the arse over there, you could always hunt some of it down yourself. About… five hundred yalms north, north-east of here, you could be able to track it down if you are careful.”

“I’m always careful!” I protested, puffing myself up as if it would make me bigger than I was. I wasn’t quite full grown yet so that probably put me at four and a half fulms high even if I stood on my tip-toes. He chuckled and reached over his chocobo to ruffle my hair. As if it wasn’t already a totally hot mess. Thanks Keimfyr. Sinking back, I scowled at him and waited for him to get the rest of my requested items, which I ultimately traded for a modest amount of gil. With a stuffed ruck, I thanked him and promised I would give Garwynn his best for him, before taking my leave, setting off north out of Tailfeather along the Whilom River’s babbling path.

“Should shave an hour off of today…” Talking to myself was fairly normal. Sometimes the voices answered back but for the most part, it was an echo chamber into which I called but never received anything in return. Maybe I should have spent less time talking and more time listening because by the time I shut up, it was too late. The crunch of underbrush met my ears only a moment before the heavy weight of something yellow, red, and musclebound bowled into me from the side. Frumious bandersnatches, curse them all.

I rolled before sharp teeth could embed themselves in my throat, half of my bag’s contents scattering across the ground. Swearing, I ripped free one of the two blades I carried on the regular, a smaller dagger I kept sheathed on my hip. Backhanding my grip, I slashed out to try and gain myself a little space. The tip of the blade only narrowly grazed the bandersnatch’s shoulder and served only to piss it off more than it already was. It dove forward, the pointed edge of a wicked tusk caught me in the leg as I tried to spin away, sending me crashing to the ground with a sharp cry. It gave me enough time to pull the hatchet from my back, whirling it in my grasp so I could lash a heavy handed blow into the its chest as it pounced. The bandersnatch let out a wailing snarl and bucked its way off of me, rolling over then recovering enough to leap at me again. I hacked and slashed over and over, cleaving flesh and fur alike until it stopped moving. It collapsed over my lower body, leaving me panting and pinned down. Not that I could stay like that for long though, the commotion would assuredly draw more predators if I didn’t take my leave as soon as possible.

Ultimately I made it back to Garwynn’s an hour later than I originally expected, bearing just a fraction of what she asked. To boot, I forgot to grab her garb from the mender before I returned. As I limped up to the front door, a fluttering of the nearest window’s curtain drew my attention before the door opened.

“What happened to you?” Garwynn asked, padding out onto the front step on bare feet. I sighed and shook my head.

“Long story. I took a shortcut.” I said with a wince as Garwynn leaned down to poke at the puncture wound in my thigh.

“What have I told you about cutting corners, little one? Come inside, we’ll get you cleaned up.” She put a hand to either of my shoulders and steered me over the threshold and into the crisp warmth of the cottage within.

“What about the stuff? I lost half of it…” Admitting that wasn’t easy, pinking my cheeks with embarrassment. Garwynn passed her hand over my hair and gifted me a soft smile that made the corners of her eyes crinkle.

“Never fear, dove. We can get it tomorrow, don’t you worry.”

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

I've been to Wildwood. The Jersey Shore is crazy in general but wildwood is next level. The board walk has like 200 of the same t-shirt store, feels like you're walking through the fires of hell, and is jam packed with kids on camp trips. I've only ever done the board walk there but I've seen the walk you have to take to get out to the beach, it's insane. I can only imagine what it's like with family. How old are your cousins and what are they like?

My family has literally been coming to Wildwood every year since, like, at LEAST the 1930’s, I’m not sure on anyone earlier than that, and my family is insane, so let’s dive into this.

The Main Characters In My Life On Vacation Are:

-My Grandmother, who was a child dancer star (she tapped on the radio!) who’s been coming down here her whole life- her parents used to come down the same day there would be a talent show, enter her in it, and then use her first prize reward for the money they’d spend throughout the week. Has been in the old person stage of “I’m an elder, who cares what I say or do” for the past 15 years. Has eight living kids and Too Many Descendants. Loud and refuses to admit she can’t walk half the time.

- My Mother, who gets confused very easily, overshares and breaks off into meaningless tangents in the middle of stories, snores like a literal demon, always wants to be asleep, keeps pushing for family activities, doesn’t realize all the kids think she’s lame.

- Me, who is always Extra Depressed in the summer months, and is the Sole Person In This Family My Age- everyone just stopped having babies for a few years when my mother decided to have me (Everyone is either over 25 or under 16). Because of this I’m usually confined to my room, unable to really do anything on the boardwalk because going on rides alone is depressing and my mother has heart problems. Just wants to read and write, but the children keep Screaming.

- My Aunt and Her Husband- A Very Loud Couple, she likes to control everything and he’s the only one who ever bothers to yell back at her. They always fight exactly once, every year, and every year somehow I always end up being the only other person in the apartment while its happening, so I just have to sit in awkward silence until my aunt finally huffs out “I can’t believe you’re doing this in front of my goddaughter!” and storms out to go find her kids. They make a lot of jokes and think their children are very dramatic.

- Jenna, the 14 year old cousin. Very dramatic. Mastered the art of the eye roll at a young age. Has literally looked like a mini model since she was born. Can’t be bothered to deal with anyone. We usually have one (1) tiny girl-bonding moment each vacation and then she promptly acts like she doesn’t care even though it’s clear she does. Athletic and artistic and musically/theatrically gifted. Very sarcastic. Always doing cartwheels.

- Seanie, the 12 year old cousin. Middle child syndrome. Tries to hard to be funny for attention. VERY dramatic. Will cry at the drop of a dime (I’m typing this and I literally just heard him burst into tears in the other room??). Super adorable, you can tell he’s gonna be one of those high school boys that pulls Ridiculous Shit but after one charming smile the teachers can’t bring themselves to stay mad. Very loud. Currently addicted to video game youtubers.

-Zack, the 7 year old cousin. Adorable. Loud. Lowkey a prodigy child but they can’t afford to get him into Special Schools so he’s always bored in class. Baby Of The Family syndrome. Currently in an aggressive pokemon phase. Doesn’t understand he’s literally a child, he acts like an old man half the time.

We’re all shoved into a small apartment for a week, but there are Others:

- Kathy, Grandmom’s second oldest. Literally the most bland person I have ever encountered on this planet. Very, very into trying to plan ‘fun’ family events. Thinks any conversation is a riveting conversation.

- Kathy’s husband, who is just a plain old guy who’s lowkey a hoarder and jokes around a lot, but every time someone mentions his past or his family it gets more and more confusing??? He may have a brother who was in the CIA??? He may have been homeless or he may have lived with his sister???? He may have killed a man???? I literally know nothing concrete about this man other than he’s apparently been with my aunt since they were teens but I. D. K. Every new piece of information I receive just scatters the puzzle more.

- Their eldest daughter and her husband spend most of the summer down here but always make sure to match up the schedule for when we come down. Loud, energetic couple. I have no idea what either of them do for work? They might currently be unemployed? Really into alcohol. At some point in the week every year, everyone in my apartment bonds together to diss them after we get back from the beach. Like, they’ll do something or another EVERY YEAR that sets EVERYONE off.

- The 16 year old. Tries to show everyone memes on his phone. Never really talks to people. Does NOT get along with his parents because he’s kinda an outlier in the family. I feel like he might be a stoner, but if I find out he’s got a hidden gun collection, I wouldn’t be surprised? That probably sounds awful but he’s a good kid I promise.

- Danny, 12. Adorable. Quiet. Mini golden boy. Makes jokes when you aren’t expecting them. Very resigned to the fact he has to hug me and my mother when he sees us.

- Kathy and Mystery Man’s youngest daughter, a librarian, and her stand up comedian husband, and now their three month old who is ADORABLE and everyone was surprised to learn they hadn’t named her Hermione.

Other recurring family members are prone to popping up throughout the vacation- Aunt Margie, Grandmom’s sister-in-law, who, I love her, but remember that chocolate episode of spongebob with the old woman that was essentially a stick in a wheelchair and had a chain smoker voice??? Put that in the tiniest bikini you can imagine and add a wheezing laugh and you got her. Her daughter who I could not recognize on a street if I tried. Her son Michael, who is best friends with my mom and apparently Not Gay (no one’s really convinced). A step-cousin sometimes pops by, she’s very breezy and easy-going and you can’t distinguish her Actual Talking Voice with her Talking To Little Kids Voice.

Anyway, Wildwood itself is just. Goddamn ridiculous.

The aesthetic of this place is somewhere between the 1950’s, a trailer park, and the kind of developed land you get when a moustache-twirling man wants to convince all the old people he can to retire to his buildings. Some buildings are harsh metal, and others are bright pastels, but the only thing joining them together is the fact that it looks like no one has cleaned anything here in years. EVERYTHING, even the knew stuff, looks worn and faded. Even like…the AIR is faded. It’s not just the sun being too bright, everything you’re looking at looks like it’s an old photograph. If you stay too long, you might start to fade into the landscape yourself.

I have never once seen an animal that wasn’t a seagull here. Most towns, islands, places, whatever- you usually have at least squirrels running around, maybe some variations of birds, just. ANYTHING. But it’s all seagulls all the time. You cannot exist in a spot for longer than a few moments without one of them dive bombing you. They are not mere birds. They are feathered demons that Hath No Fear Of The Foolish Mortals Of Mankind.

The song “Wildwood Days” plays on the Boardwalk every half hour. It is the only way to appease the spirits. It’s the modern, New Jersey-ian version of painting lamb blood over your door frame. As much as I’ve grown to hate the song, to twitch and clench my fist at each note, I deeply fear for the day the song doesn’t play on time and the curse is unleashed. I have a deep, sinking feeling that this moment will come within my life time.

If You Don’t Stop To Watch The Fireworks, Your Bones Shall Never Be Found.

You hear the ongoing chant of “Watch the Tram Car, Please!”, and look around, but there isn’t a Tram Car coming. The order grows louder and louder. You realize you aren’t even on the Boardwalk any more. The sound is right behind you, but you can’t find the source. “Watch the Tram Car, Please!” you realize, to your horror, the sound is now coming from inside you. You never find your true voice again.

Despite The Fact That This Place Is A Mosh Pit Of Families From All Over The World, If You Can’t Immediately Place My Accent Or Figure Out What Language I’m Speaking, I Have Legal Grounds To Kill You.

The sand simply isn’t normal. It’s ADVANCED sand. It doesn’t make sense. It never truly washes off. The more you scrub, the more appears.

Ancient gods from multiple pantheons like to chill out on the beach, have a few beers. You never know for sure who is who, but you Know they aren’t the same as you, and you know they know more about you than you’re comfortable with. For your own sake, NEVER ask them to turn their music down.

There is always at least one plane flying over with a sign reading “Jen, will you marry Sean?”. It’s been decades. Will Jen ever say yes?

Elevators Are For The Weak And We Use Them To Judge Who To Do Away With First.

The ocean goes back and forth between green and grey, and you know the color makes a significant difference but you can never quite put your finger on what.

Fish Are Fake.

All the stores sell everything you want, but nothing you need.

King Kong Is Our Fierce Protector, Loving Hero, And Just Enforcer

All the police officers and firemen and general ‘in charge’ jobs seemed to be run completely by 18 years olds

No one truly knows who pulls the shots when it comes to deciding the Boardwalks style each year. Every store sells the same Designated Style, and each year they make less and less sense. You buy a specialized hoodie anyway, and you have no idea why.

I could keep going on with that list, but the point is, Wildwood is a Strange Place and I have a Ridiculous Family, so every year is always a bit of an experience.

Like, no one in my family really has anything in common other than everyone’s always loud and everyone’s always right and everyone is always ready to loudly fight over the fact that they’re definitely right, but like. Imagine crawling through some Hillbilly Murder Showers in the garage of a condo, using all of your force to pry open a suspiciously heavy and questionably mechanized door, walking under the boardwalk and trekking over sand dunes just to find a bunch of screaming yet physically relaxed people under the flag for Montserrat. Some guy’s cracking stand up jokes while no less than three children are fighting each other, your mother is promising for the 14th year in a row that you’re gonna go on a whale watching trip and everyone knows she’s lying, some woman’s trying to hold a conversation about buying applesauce in bulk while her husband and children get drunk, there’s a skinny pale guy with horrible sunburn blasting songs from N.W.A., a girl’s cartwheeling around the site to the point you think she doesn’t know how to move any other way, a boy’s quietly drinking pickle juice, there’s a 7 year old literally trapped in a giant hole that he dug, your mother is snoring loud enough to alarm the people around you, and just when you’re starting to get a little comfortable about the feathered demons and start to relax, a tide comes in so strongly your chair literally starts getting pulled out to sea with you in in. It’s average. It's fading into the landscape with the rest of the place.