Welcome back—to yet another post that will undoubtedly disappear into the ridiculous blur of Generation Seven. I can’t imagine how you all feel trying to keep things straight, because I’m barely hanging on myself.
Previously, Dusty topped his career AT LONG FREAKING LAST and dumped his boss, Patty. Kiko and Siesta became mortal enemies, Ixi returned from snob school, Acara went from humdrum teenager to humdrum young adult, and many a mastermind plot was hatched.
But most importantly, in a tragedy that rivaled losing the unicorn, we said goodbye to the greatest butler of all time. And no—June didn’t die. She just stopped doing her job and then vanished in a hallway.
Such is the circle of life.
Her (second) replacement is such a disappointment that I didn’t even bother to screencap her name.
Butler: Sweet, who made waffles?
Siesta: Evidently not you.
And so we go where no Langurd has gone before—and probably much, much farther, but let’s take this one chapter at a time.
Previously, Tonu became a teen. I don’t remember his new trait, nor is it particularly relevant thanks to the constant fuckery of Unstable.
The only thing I can be sure of is that he definitely has a crush on Butler June.
Tonu: I’m a turtle eating waffles.
June: That’s nice. I’m a butler eating cake.
Jeez Kau, what’s got your suspenders in a knot?
Kau: I just found out there are at least TWO empty beds in this house.
Kau: …and I’m SO happy to keep sleeping in my roof tent even though it’s winter. I love it SO MUCH.Read the rest of this entry
We did it! We’re here! We can finally put Gen. 6 to sleep! Strangely, after all that talk about being burnt out, I woke up after 4.5 hours all fired up to write the next one. My PC has this weird habit of randomly booting on its own, usually in the middle of the night; at 5:30am I convinced myself that I did it with my mind, took it as a sign, and now here we are.
This one’s a short one and all about the kids, so pack your lunchboxes and brush up on the lingo, fam. It’s lit.
Rhapsody: Fine, bye.
I don’t think Siesta has slept once since becoming a teenager. When her energy turns red, she hits the coffee and just keeps a-rolling until she’s dying again 30 minutes later. This is exactly what Frieda was doing in her final days; needless to say, I’m a little concerned.
Siesta: I’m fiiiiiiiiine.
Well, here we are at last on July 12th! Happy Birthday Langurds and R.I.P. Sam’s sanity!
I can smell the light at the end of the tunnel (not a typo; caffeine does strange things to your senses) so I’m going to give it my all for these last 13.5 hours. Hopefully without having to cut things in half and without wasting the potential of these screenshots. You are all lovely and supportive and I’m sure it’s only me cracking the whip at this point, but there is no whip more terrifying than the one in my own hands. (Cripes, a few cups of coffee and I’ve turned into Omen?)
Things have been moving pretty fast. Our eldest heir candidate is a teen, our youngest a child, our heiress a middle-aged underachiever, and her ex-husband a corpse.
Only Rhapsody has yet to get a kick in the pants from Father Time. Of course she’s busking in the park when it hits.
Rhapsody: Thanks for coming to celebrate my birthday with me!
Corren: I didn’t. Where’d your guitar go?
In my haze of exhaustion last night, I completely failed to acknowledge a feat I have not accomplished since Chapter 1.3: two legit updates in one day! Universally recognized as the first sign of the apocalypse, so start hoarding those cans. Given that in Tewl’s day my average post length was a weak 40-45 screenshots, I think I get to claim victory over myself here.
To celebrate that victory, and because everyone begs for this shit on Leisure Day, the Langurds are opening up their glorious yard for entertaining!
Like any good party, this one begins with a fumbled pizza delivery.
Pizza Girl: Tada! Did some ants order a pizza?
Round of applause for Gryffindork tanking her self-imposed mission in less than 48 hours. It’s not my fault, guys. Failure radiates from my very being. My friend asked me to look after her betta fish this week, and he literally died on my watch.
But in the words of a misguided Death Eater (and a really dated reference), IT’S NOT OVER YET! This seven-posts-in-a-week thing can still be a thing. I’ll just have to double up one day, which is totally doable. /delusion
Last time, a trilogy of Ghost Crises caused all sorts of rule breaking and left me wishing for several plates of ambrosia, which I then remembered is also against the rules. Basically, things are going great and everyone is really happy.
A fine time to check in with the one who started it all.
Quinn: Inspector Flanagan reporting for duty, sir.
Tewl: Well well well. So dis is da new man of da house.
If that title doesn’t tell you we’re getting to the good stuff, then let me tell you right now—we’re getting to the good stuff!
Last time, Gumby finally died but Frieda’s Gold Digger LTW still registered as incomplete. Shit was lost; tables were very nearly flipped. Now we take deep breaths and try to figure out the meaning of this.
Frieda: Yes hello, I’d like to request a refund on my life.
Want to know what it takes for me to be productive these days? I am finally penning the first words of a post I’ve had prepped for three months, and only because…
a) Boolprop is running a marathon updating event where I get a shiny medal if I publish 3-10 of these bitches in October (spoiler: it won’t be 10)
b) My bedroom no longer gets a wi-fi signal thanks to the mythical router upstairs, which I am beginning to suspect is just a pair of rabbit ears stuck in a potato. This has cut me off from my #1 hobby of watching related YouTube videos until I can’t remember where I started or why I exist.
c) Yesterday’s quidditch tournament has rendered my every muscle completely useless, so I literally couldn’t do anything else even if I wanted to.
Why am I like this? D:
Anyhow, the stars have finally aligned—so here I am, making a start on GENERATION SIX!
We mark this milestone with a big “fuck you” to Isla Paradiso as we ship off to the Valley of Dragons.
DV greets us with an equivalent “fuck you” in the form of rain.