Welcome back! Back to the Langurds, and back to the present day that actually took place three years ago (but we don’t talk about that). I have an incredibly pressing life decision to make this weekend, so naturally I’m writing this post instead.
Previously, our heiress popped out her first child (Acara) and jetted off to the future. She returns with pockets full of crystals and nanites, which are clearly what Dudley is “inspecting” here.
Siesta: Dudley no! Bad Dudley!
Dudley: Bad Dudley 😉
He’s skeevy but in the most innocent, unassuming way?
Oh, how I’ve fallen in the world. There was a time when I wrote these posts from an actual desk, a queen-sized bed, or occasionally even a hammock. I’m typing this one from a floor mattress, sprawled on my stomach in that awkward position that strains your shoulders and kinks your neck no matter how you rearrange yourself. There’s laundry drying just above my butt, approximately three inches of Korean dust on my laptop screen, and bread pizza with hot dogs in the toaster oven I scored for free with my phone contract.
Huh, it doesn’t sound so bad when I phrase it that way. I actually love my Seoul apartment, and I do have a real-ish bed balanced on two mold-combative plastic pallets. I just wasn’t feeling the inspiration over there.
Also, compared to the Langurds’ house it’s a downright port-a-potty so I think I have full license to complain.
Seriously. Just look at that golden glow on the wallpaper. Look at it and weep.
Delilah: Welcome to your new room, Duke! And good news, as the oldest you get it aaaalll to yourse— wait, who is that?
Riza: Just the disappointing child of a doomed relationship. Don’t mind me.
You guys voted for this star-crossed lovers business, and honour compels me to deliver on my promises in the fullest way possible. Which means—you guessed it—the Langurds are about to enter that shadowy, foreboding territory we call PLOT.
Don’t worry—Siesta’s generation will be played and written as much by the seat of my pants as the others have been. It’s just that after playing detective so many times in Gen. 6, I felt it would be helpful to put all of my “COINCIDENCE? I THINK NOT” moments in one place.
So please humour me as I don my Halloween-store trench coat and cap, and attempt to mash together disjointed happenings into a wad that can conceivably be called “evidence.”
Without further ado, let us open the case!
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?
And we’re off! Welcome to the first leg of a seven-day spirit journey. I hope you’re ready to feel closer to the Langurds than ever before (hey you in the back, I saw you swallow your vomit just now). Regrets? Absolutely not. Maybe a couple. Or twelve. Who am I kidding, guys? I’m in way over my head.
Our last instalment featured a disastrous bachelor party, a lacklustre wedding, and the birth of a Gen. 7 burrito, but not at all in that order. Don’t get me wrong—Cal and Quinn are totally traditional people who follow all the proper steps toward a conventional marriage.
Case in point—a timeless wedding ritual.
Cal: Is the cake good?
Quinn: WE MUST KNOW IF THE CAKE IS GOOD.
Skydancer: If I say no, does that doom you guys to infertility or something?
Funny story. So I’m at this quiet writing session at a local café, determined to pen some legacy words for the first time in three months. So far, I’ve stared at this page for a solid twenty minutes, trying to convince myself that I can write without caffeine. I can’t figure out where the self-serve coffee is, and the only way to find it is by blindly wandering through a minefield of easily-disturbed introverts.
Needless to say, addiction won out over anxiety (this time) and I made the expedition. Turns out it was ten steps long and only involved eye contact with like three people, but I still feel accomplished.
Now that we know how pathetic I am, let me remind you all what happened at the end of last chapter.
Frieda: What is that thing cleaning up our dishes? Did you buy an ogre slave?
Sky: Oh, that’s your son. I made him ugly so he can find his inner beauty and stuff.
Happy October 13th! Today (which is likely long before I will actually post this) marks three important occasions:
1) The 22nd birthday of my K-Pop bias, but let’s not get into that
2) The end of a year-long slap bet of which I am commissioner (meaning four of my guy friends are now free to get haircuts, thank god)
3) The awkward moment when we learn that, even with a fire up her butt, Gryffindork is an incorrigibly lazy S.O.B.
Well, guess what? Now it’s the last day of October, and I think it’s safe to say SimNaWriMo has me beat. To a pulp. But we will press on, and turn that pulp into paper!
*excuses self to vomit at own pun*
Now, where were we? Ah yes, in the pits of despair after Pokey’s silent passing.
Axorn: MY SOUL IS COLD AND EMPTY LIKE THE NIGHT
Gumby: What’s got him so upset?
…Did no one tell Gumby yet?! Well fuck, I’m certainly not doing it.
Buckle ur seatbelts kiddos for u r about to read the most half-assed Langurd chapter ever written. I am so over Generation Five.
What’s that? Hold on a sec…
What do you mean this is my 100th post?! You mean I actually have to TRY? I’m not ready for this, dammit! I’m drinking mocha with Bailey’s and watching Project Runway out of my left eye!
Maybe that’s fitting, given that multitasking is the theme of this generation. And it’s been a successful theme if I may say so myself—all of the kids are (oxy)moronic in their own ways, but no one emblemizes the Age of Contradictions quite like Crash does. Athletic and a Genius, non-verbal and a total loose cannon… Oh, and his teen look may be based on this shit disturber:
Well, I just finished a six-month temp contract at an office, wrapped up my first quidditch season as a coach, and filed my tax return. That’s enough adulting for a while, thanks.
Nobody illustrates my feelings quite like Skydancer.
Sky: I’m not even adulting. I’m literally living in this library, reading books on how to talk to people and never actually talking to people.
Welcome to the formal education system!
Sky: I don’t want it.
Yes, this one is still working on her Charisma. Quite frankly, after witnessing Galadriel Evans the Skilling Machine, I’m embarrassed for her. She’s supposed to be a Genius.