Dis: The awesome folks at Double Fine own Psychonauts and all the characters in this story (apart from Arnold, who is mine).Hurray!
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.'
'They are?'
'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.
It was the first night
of the camp;and procedures had been made to make sure the trees were
completely unable to be climbed. It posed a health and safety risk,
or so according to the inspectors that had been gathering in details
about the site the week before the event started. And just to make
doubly sure about it all, Razputin was sitting at the front, on a
seat, not a log like the rest of the campers. The things that boy
could do with wood were frightening.
'Alright,' said Oleander,
'settle down. Yes, that means you as well, Kitty. What? Your daddy
can sue me all he wants. In fact, I can give him the names of a few
lawyers he might find useful.
'Welcome,' continued Oleander, as
the girl decided it was probably best to shut up, 'to the Psychonauts
summer camp at Whispering Rock! Unfortunately, the projector is
broken at the minute, due to a badly used telekinesis spell,' and
with this he glanced unfavourably at Vernon Tripe, 'so we're just
going to have to go without.' There was a slight change in the
atmosphere, as if people had suddenly turned very, very pleased.
'The
first order of business is the arrival of a new recr-- member to our
ranks. If he could just come up on stage, and we'll welcome him with
the traditional Psychonauts welcome. And no, Bobby, before you make
the joke, it doesn't mean you give him a damn wedgy.'
Three kid,
unknown to Raz, stepped up and trooped up to the stairs. He was
dressed in a pin-striped suit, matching pants, and shoes shinier than
Razputin's were scruffy. The newcomer held his head up high, walking
quite proudly, apparently using his mental powers to hold a stuffed
toy kitten suspended in mid air. He smiled unpleasantly at the
assembled crowd, paying particular attention to Razputin
himself.
'His name is Arnold, and he comes from Britain,' said
Oleander.
'That's right!' said Arnold, his grin fading into a
angry frown, 'and don't you foreign pigs dare treat me like an
imbecile! I got level 5 for English in my SATS!'
Oleander
grimaced. A sure sign he was wanting to shout, but had decided to
hold it in because he was a "new man."
'We run a social
camp ground here,' he explained, as nicely as he could, 'there is to
be no bullying, or name-calling, or the suspect will be court mars--
told off.'
'Good,' said the child, apparently satisfied with this
statement. 'Is this the end of the welcome, I wonder?'
'No,' said
Sasha Nein, standing up. 'We will now welcome you,
officially.'
'You're that superhero, aren't you?' said Arnold,
unimpressed. 'I've read all the comics. Personally, I think you are a
fake.'
'I know,' said Sasha, 'clairvoyance is a wonderful
thing.'
'What?' Arnold asked, despite himself, 'I didn't feel a
thing!'
'I know. I am an expert at this, aren't I?'
There were
a few smirks from the kids, watching this spectacle with interest.
On
the last row, Franke and Kitty were frantically whispering.
'I
love his cat!' said Franke, enthusiastically.
'Oooh, he's British.
He'll be a bad boy then,' said Kitty, dreamily, 'I like bad boys.
They're exciting.'
'Wouldn't it be funny if it just burst to life
and it suddenly went "meow?"'
'I'm sure he's got lots of
ideas that I'd just love to hear.'
'I owned a cat once.'
'He's
got a wicked smile too. I should introduce myself to him.'
'It was
called Percy.'
'I could be the Flannel Femmel!'
'I was so sad
when it got flushed down the toilet...'
'What?' asked Kitty,
coming out of whatever world she was currently occupying.
'I was
just talking about the cat I used to have.'
'Well don't. It's a
silly story.'
Elsewhere, J.T and Chops were discussing the
prospect of a new villain to contend with.
'There's a few kid on
the block,' said J.T, radiating thoughtfulness.
'You reckon we
should befriend him?' asked Chops.
'What?'
'Well, you know. I
get picked on because I'm a Canadian, and well, he's British, and I
thought we might... strike and alliance, give him a badge, that sort
of thing.'
'I'm American!'
'You are?' asked Chops, 'I always
thought you were Dutch!'
'What in tarnation gave you that idea?'
asked J.T, offended. He had always found himself to be a credit to
America, as a sheriff that wasn't on the edge, and someone who wasn't
about to take a bribe. He had heard about bribes; he had even worn
one, once.
'It's just your accent,' said Chops. 'I always got the
idea that you were Dutch.'
'Well, I ain't,' said J.T defensively.
'I haven't even been to Dutch!'
'Oh.'
'Anyway, what's this
about you wanting to form a Non-American alliance? That's grounds
for...for...mootany.'
'Oh, nothing. It was just a joke.'
The trampoline, if it
had any feelings, was probably feeling a bit used, at the present
time. Coach Oleander had been amazed that not one of the inspectors
had pointed out the obvious health and safety risk of a trampoline on
the side of a building. It was probably just too obvious for them to
actually see.
It was an old, tattered trampoline, which was
strange because it had only been in use a few years, but it was
probably explained by the fact that the kids using it would make
anything look old and tattered within minutes; perhaps even
seconds.
Presently, Chloe Barge was trying to get closer to space,
via use of the death-trap. Her efforts had been thus far
unsuccessful, but you were not an astronaut if you gave up after your
first seventy-two goes. Even so, she was beginning to get a little
irritated.
This irritation was slightly (read: incredibly)
intensified by the fact that Elton Fir was sitting on a deck-chair
(no one knew where he got these from. They just seemed to suddenly
appear), trying to tell her about the wonders of the sea.
His
sailor's hat was hanging down limply from his head, as he spoke in
faraway tones. People tended to avoid him when he was in one of these
moods, he tended to inform people when they bothered him that they
were "scurvy dogs."
'What I wouldn't do now for a
fishing rod and...some fish, to fish for...' he said, almost
poetically.
What I wouldn't do now for an orbital bombardment,
thought Chloe to herself. Or the Death Star, she added, smiling
slightly.
'Did I ever sing you that song about the boat that you
rowed?' asked Elton, with the certain, unshakable knowledge that she
was paying her fullest attention. When there was no reply, he took
his as a "yes" and started to sing.
Meanwhile, away
from all this horrid racket, in the main lodge, Phoebe Love and
Quentin Hedgemouse were playing their usual instruments.
They
still hadn't decided on a band name. But they were getting there,
they would insist to anyone that was listening. They also had a new
member. Nils had decided that he was an excellent guitarist, and
while this was stretching the truth to cataclysmic proportions,
Phoebe didn't have the heart to say no. Quention certainly did, but
had been convinced by Phoebe (via some surprisingly hurtful foot
stamping) that he would be a valuable addition to the band. If
anything, he would make the other two look better.
He was also
really quite enthusiastic about it. Apparently the bands he listened
to were the sorts of bands that had "Parental Advisory"
written on the front in very, very big letters. Quentin, scowling,
had never heard of this band, but he didn't want to point it out, in
case he didn't look cool.
He also didn't like the way that the
other two would have breaks where they'd go into the kid's room and
sit on the sofa. Making out. With tongues everything! And Nils had
suggested that his scarf was "gay." It was a nice scarf,
and there was nothing wrong with it.
The forest was nice this
time of year, Razputin had decided. Admittedly he hadn't seen it at
any other time of year, and it might have been better in Autumn, but
Raz was not a fussy person.
Since last year, there had been a
small play park built in one of the forest's clearing, where brand
new utilities of excitement made the kids lives a lot more exciting.
It was also rarely overcrowded, considering lazier members of the
camp couldn't be bothered to trek all the way out to the forest just
to go down a slide.
So it was peaceful. At least it was when a
child hadn't fallen off said slide, and had decided to inform the
world of this via the medium of crying.
One of the things that
Razputin didn't get was that he was always the one that was having to
push the swing forward, while Lili was the one that would be sitting
on it and telling him to go "faster." This is common is
most ways of life. The man is always the one that has to go
faster.
Dogan was sitting on base of the slide, while Elka was on
the other swing, trying to tell people about all her personal
problems, including Nils, who she was reportedly "so totally
over" but still insisted on talking about him for the better
half of the day. Razputin had considered telling her to shut up once
or twice, but he feared her brain would explode.
'I mean, I can
see he so totally wants me,' she said flatly, 'he's just going out
with Phoebe to get back at me, it's so obvious. Who would be that
sad?'
'Didn't you do that last year?' asked Lili, radiating
innocence.
It appeared that Elka had not been programmed to hear
things like this. 'But as I said, I don't really care about him. In
fact, I'm happy for him really, if it's good for him, it's good for
me.'
'Thanks the spirit, Elka,' said Razputin, heaving the seated
Lili "higher".
'Hey, did anyone like the camp
entertainment last night?' asked Dogan. He too wanted to get off the
subject, but he was an expert liar (he was far too suspicious to
suspect of anything) and he was far too innocent to harbour thoughts
of shutting Elka up.
'Listening to Coach sing "War"?'
asked Razputin, 'I think he's really going for it with this pacifist
thing.'
'I didn't get any sleep last night,' said Elka, 'nope, not
one bit. There was an awful draft in the cabin. Wasn't there,
Lili?'
'I suppose so,' replied Lili.
'Oh,' said Razputin, as if
a metaphorical light bulb had just turned on in his head, 'that was
Ni-- like that last year. Yeah.'
'Was it?' asked Elka
suspiciously, 'I can't remember.'
