smash_logs | This is the time to remember, though they will not last forever...

This is the time to remember, though they will not last forever...

Who: Everybody! Yeeaaah!
What: Graduation and Prom!
When: The evening of June 8th.
Where: The Stadium.
Warnings: Everything. Everyone. You know who you are. You Know Who You Are.

Whether you've been here every year for what seems like eternity, or this is your first time, nothing quite compares to the feeling of Graduation Day.

title or description

The Stadium was decked out in school colors and the lights were bright. The stage was simple, classy and bereft of decoration barring the happy, smiling faces of your Headmasters and Teachers. (Those of them who do smile, at any rate.) Congratulations on your impending steps forward, those of you who made it through the school year! Hope your gowns are clean and your hats are appropriately be-tassled!

Of course, such pomp and circumstance can't go on forever. Once all the formalities and diplomas and congratulatory Hand shakes are out of the way, we have Prom! There's tables and chairs set up at the other end of the Stadium, and a huge table covered in all manner of finger foods guaranteed not to dribble or splatter on your rental tux or beautiful dress - so long as you're careful, anyway. And don't forget the dance floor and the plethora of music picked just for all of you to dance to! Tonight should be a night to remember!

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[[OOC: Hey there, Smashies! You know the drill, right? It's Graduation! Here's last year's if you need a refresher on how this works. The basics go like this - Graduatiuon itself is broken into several parts. Once the last part, Dismissal, is posted up, that's your cue to make your own top-level threads for Prom! But please don't hesitate to continue tagging Graduation stuff.

If you have any problems, don't hesitate to ping a Mod!]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I can't, but I have a guy," said Bowser, pointing to ~~Walter White~~ somewhere off in the distance where an NPC Kamek was hovering around, probably yelling angrily at a baby.

"Jesus." Joel breathed. He was no expert on Turtles, but that thing looked way too old to be even remotely alive.

"....is that thing... uh. Is it OK?" Joel asked. "Should it be flyin' that broom?"

"What, Kamek?" asked Bowser, peering out over at the withered sack of old baby teeth rattling around in larded gymsocks. "He looks fine. He always flys on a broom, how else is he supposed to get around, his feet? I don't even know if those work anymore."

His ankles had been ground into dust several generations ago.

"...right."

If Joel wasn't talking to a talking Turtle, Joel might have suggested the far kinder thing to do would be to take it to the vet and have it sent on its way. The poor old thing.

"Well, figure if it's alright enough to handle a flying broom, it's probably OK to change the Punch into somethin'."

Bowser perked up at this suggestion. "What a delightfully morally ambivalent man you are," said Bowser.

"KAMEK" he bellowed across the room. "KAMEK, I NEED YOU." Ah, the pleasant, spring-like tones of Bowser have such a charming effect upon the ear of the listener.

Joel shrugged. Giant turtle or no, the guy had a point. He sure was morally ambiguous.

He waited with baited breath for the aged turtle monster to fly over on her broom.

The hideous, ancient heap floated over to the two men. Cemetery dust trailed behind him, as the cobwebs in the shapeless robes that hung off of his withered frame gave up their treasures.

"Your Grumpiness called?" wheezed the geriatric lizard creature, its voice choked with phlegm and annoyance at somehow still being alive.

"Kamek, I need you to enchant a bowl of punch to turn people into something. Something stupid. I don't care what. Just. something dumb."

"Nothin' dangerous." Joel cautioned the plastic sack full of ancient wisdom and spoiled sour cream.

The skin flaps that formed the wattle beneath his beak swayed hypnotically as the wretched, yet-still-living memorial to death and old age spoke a series of words in accents that the world had not heard in centuries, "Your Scaliness, I did not have anything prepared... if you had asked me before this very moment I could..."

"YOU'LL DO IT NOW, YOU WRINKLY OLD BAG."

"Y-yes, your Scaliness," yelped the gravedigger's idol given a semblance of life. "Whatever you say."

A wand was produced -- we ask not from where, dear reader -- and the relic from the world's first civilization waved it over the bowl, a series of geometric shapes flying into the beliquored beverage.

The punch turned into a yellow block with eyes. Just the punch. The bowl remained a bowl.

"...that's... not what I was expecting." Joel admitted.

"KAMEK, I TOLD YOU TO MAKE THE PUNCH MAKE PEOPLE TURN INTO THINGS, NOT TO TURN THE PUNCH INTO A THING," barked Bowser.

The ancient mass of Gothic-era decay fidgeted nervously on the broom he was somehow, defying all expectations, remaining perched on. "Your Burliness, you didn't let me have a chance to prepare anything, I..."

"YOU'LL NOTHING," interrupted Bowser, grabbing the satchel of rancid jellied eels and throwing him, broom and all, across the room and out a window.

"Nice aim." Joel said, watching Kamek manage to go through the window without even clipping the window frame. "You chuck him a lot?"

"Daily," said Bowser. "If not more often."

Kamek was not treated with kindness and consideration.

"Huh. Even stranger that he's alive."

In a case like this, did someone (If they cared.) call PETA? Or just the regular Police?

"He stays alive out of spite," responded Bowser.

It was probably true.

"Yeah, no, I can kind of see it." Joel commented. He really could. There had to be more than glue holding that old battle-axe together and it probably wasn't collagen.

"Met a few like that in my time."

He poured himself a cup of punch, tasted it and grimaced.

"That's definitely fruit punch and six dollar scotch."

Bowser looked at the other punch bowl, which was just a yellow-block bowl at this point.

"And that's a mistake."

It was true. It was a mistake.

"Is it anything? An object from your world or is it just a hunk of yellow... whatever. With eyes. For no reason."

"It's a yellow block. You hit them and they spin around and you can fall through them," said Bowser, as if this were perfectly reasonable. "And why shouldn't it have eyes?"

Doesn't everything have eyes for no reason?

"Is it alive?" Joel asked. Because if not, then, no. It shouldn't have eyes.

"It's a block, why would it be alive?" Bowser asked incredulously.

"If it's not alive, the hell does it have eyes for?" Joel asked, plucking the box out of the bowl and looking it over.

"...think it just blinked at me."

"Lots of things have eyes," said Bowser. "Stars, flowers, blocks, ships, lots of things. It doesn't mean they're alive alive, not like a Thwomp is, anyway."

Thwomps, the blocks that have entire faces, and therefore are alive alive.

"So this thing is normal where you come from? There are blocks with eyes that ain't alive where you come from. Just trying to get it straight that you come from a place where there are blocks, with eyes, that can blink at a guy and that's normal."

Help him understand Bowser Sensei.

Bowser stared at Joel like he was Lemmy.

"Y e s," he said slowly. "Blocks have eyes and they blink. They aren't alive. They're just blocks. Blocks that are alive have mouths, and sometimes have little bodies and arms and legs"

This is the time to remember, though they will not last forever...

Re: Punch spiking and general shenanagins.

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Re: Punch spiking and general shenanagins.

Re: Punch spiking and general shenanagins.