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Miscellanous Soap - Series 2

teacake had thought all the scratching she was doing was sand rash but a sudden glimpse of a high jumping black speck has alerted her to the truth: the 48 cats are dense with fleas. Gathering some useful things from the cave, conveniently placed there by CCL, teacake shuffles further into the brush. Some cats try and follow but she jabs at them with her bite covered feet.
 
Thestrangequark laments that it is awfully lonely on a deserted island at night, with nothing but her insomnia, unfortunately solar-powered laptop, 3 stringed instruments, heap of wild boar intestines, and a flea-ridden tuxedo cat to keep her company. :(
 
teacake huddles with her back to a tree and some dried out palm fronds piled on her legs for warmth. It's not that cold but she's hungry and exhausted. All sorts of screeches and chirps can be heard around her, she starts at every sound. The flea filled cat cave is starting to seem like a good idea but in the dark she could not find her way back to it. She wishes she had a cup of tea.
 
"....be around here somewhere." MLB and O-Dog find the startled teacake hiding under a tree. All of the cooked lizard has been eaten but these two strange people offer teacake a large bushel of bananas. They turn and walk back through the woods, beckoning her to follow.
 
The Crazy Cat Lady has found a plant that is a natural flea repellent. She uses it to make a lotion and spreads it over herself and as many cats as she can catch.

She wonders if any other islander will be willing to barter other produce for some lotion.
 
Hippy Lady and her six children, whose names she can never remember, land on the beach of the island on a raft Hippy Lady had made from her didgeridoo collection she'd lashed together with recycled sari material. The seven occupants of the raft are sunburnt and bedraggled, but seeing as Hippy Lady had loaded the raft with Magical Healing Crystals, her "Groovy Macrame, Man" pattern book, and a 3-week supply of Really Happy Brownies the children had "slept" through the ordeal and Hippy Lady was as oblivious of her surroundings as ever. There were also a few pots of what the children, when conscious, called "Mama's favourite house plants/cooking herbs/funny-smelling cigarette tobacco".

Too spaced out to check for polar bears, Hippy Lady cajoles her "sleepy" children off the raft, which she unloads and dismantles. As it is getting dark and shelter is a must, she pushes the didgeridoos upright into the ground and quickly weaves walls between them from the surrounding vegetation, which Hippy Lady plans to experimentally smoke, erm, she means cook with, later. Some dry rushes make an excellent thatched roof. Tonight she and the children will sleep on the ground, which is thankfully dry, and tomorrow she must find more resources for herself and the children. As she dozes off she wonders if anyone else has reached the island safely. The only sign of her old neighbours' existence she'd noticed on the water was a familiar guitar floating by, which had caused one of her temporarily conscious children to mutter "Thank god for that".
 
8 1/2 hours later Hippy Lady still hasn't seen anyone else on the island. Not even a peep. She has a habit of sending everyone scurrying away without the intention of doing so. ;)
 
I have been in my cave asleep. Gathering food is much more exhausting than going done to the shops.
 
I don't trust your magical brownies, last time I ate one I saw fairies at the bottom of my garden.
 
It was the goats what done it. Either them or the guv'ment. Darkly, Deranged Nasat wonders if it might not have been both. All he knows, besides how to bite open a bottle with his teeth, and the tune to that funny song about the landlord's daughter, is that the town is now gone. For once, it wasn't him what done it, because he spent the last few weeks face down in a ditch sleeping off that drink he made from beer and paint thinner.

He tried to warn them, but they didn't listen. Perhaps they don't understand disgruntled mutters? He'll have to mumble instead.

Fortunately, his overcoat was full of crawly things and rodents, which in their desperate kicking managed to keep it afloat, and him in it. Now he's washed up on an island. There aren't many people around; dimly, Deranged Nasat registers that this is a problem. A social parasite in good standing, he's frankly appalled that no-one has yet established a social infrastructure for him to leech off. Where will he go for cigarette money? Where will he find other people's discarded clothing? Where will he scream incoherent garbage and embarrassing, impolitic slurs until people pay him to stop?

He mutters darkly to himself, and fishes with grubby fingers into a deep pocket. This might be difficult. He still recalls those dark days of responsibility when he worked in the bar, and killed Flashover with toilet cleaner. This might be even worse.

Huh, huh, huh. That tree has big brown balls. Bastard.
 
Hippy Lady is busy macrameing hammocks for herself and the children, as well as some pot plant holders. One of the children, the one Hippy Lady thinks might be called Radiant Moonbeam Sparkle (or is that one of the My Little Ponies?), has taken two other children with MLP-type names to forage for food. Some lizards has been spotted, but the family is strictly vegan, notwithstanding the occasional bacon sandwich Hippy Lady guiltily indulges in while suffering and especially bad case of the munchies.

A sudden sound in the surrounding vegetation makes Hippy Lady stop her macrame. Is one of her neighbours making him-or herself known?
 
After an indeterminate amount of days and nights at sea, during which he wrote seven novels in his head, RJDiogenes is brought ashore by a half dozen helpful dolphins-- all those donations to Friends of Calypso finally paid off. "Thanks very much, Flipper, Flipper, Flipper, Flipper, Flipper and Rambo," he says with a wave.

Looking around, he nods with approval at his paradisaical tropical surroundings. Bad location for a bookstore, but he can adapt. He immediately climbs to the top of the island's mountain, builds a bamboo hut and grows his beard long and white. When the seekers of Truth come, he'll be ready. In the meantime, the peak gives him a great view of a cute young lady in a floral bikini down on the beach.

After he's been watching for a while, he soon realizes that he's surrounded by the mountain's original occupants, who seem to be worshiping him as a god, judging by the statue they're building in his likeness.
 
Elim finds a big knife in the sand, and picks it up. Soon starts to walk along the sand, as he is looking for a tree branch - so he can make a spear out of that branch. Plus he might see someone else.
 
Deranged Nasat wakes up rather confused. At first he thinks he's fallen asleep at the golf course again, but then he remembers he's on a beach. Rummaging in those parts of his mind which still adhere to notions of linear time, he also remembers something about trees with big brown balls. It seems one fell off and hit him, leaving a large lump on his head and displacing the dead lobster that had sat there since his trip through the ocean. Luckily, Gertrude, Curly and the Possom all seem to be unscathed. It's a good thing they're all here. Deranged Nasat knows he'd be lost without them, as crazy as they can be sometimes. Vaguely, he seems to recall their absence before he arrived here, but that's probably just the usual gaps in his recollections. Dismissing the odd feeling, he sends Curly and the Possom to scout the bushes, while he and Gertrude start a fire. Gertrude's no help at all, so really he starts it himself, by coughing and hacking theatrically over the remains of his hankerchief. The resulting chemical reaction causes the 'chief to burst into flames, releasing noxious fumes. Now he feels warm and, by his standards, human (though some prominant zoologists might debate this until they'd washed off the grime). Lobster for dinner, it seems. Bugrit.
 
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As the lobster cooks, Deranged Nasat notices a bottle sticking up out of the sand. To his confusion and outrage, it doesn't contain booze but instead a letter. There's something about a curse and treasure, and a plea for help. Maybe it's worth something.
 
Ice had been floating in a lifeboat for four days when he spotted something off in the distance. For another day, it teased him, floating into view for a few minutes or an hour, only to seem to float away when he attempted to get closer. At dawn of the fifth day, however, Ice floated close enough to the object to realize that it was some kind of boat.

Realizing that this might mean that rescue was at hand, Ice took out some oars and began to row toward the other boat. As he got closer, Ice started to get worried. The other boat had not moved at all, and he could not see any movement on the deck. Just before dusk, Ice reached the other boat and, touching the boat, determined that he had not been hallucinating. Well, at least about the boat anyway. Icestill had those oddly flavored mushrooms that the Hippie Lady had given him a few days before they left. Those produced some interesting hallucinations....

Ice gives the boat a quick search, finds nobody on board, and finds himself a place to sleep for the night.
 
The Nasat has been discussing things with Curly. Although he greatly distrusts any sort of authority (sure, it said it was the Mayor, but why was it shifting in and out of phase before his very eyes? He was quite right to push it into that canal), he does accept Curly's convincing argument. Namely, that it is wrong and not nat'rul for Deranged Nasat to work on something when someone else could be working instead. Ignoring Gertrude's disapproving huff, he decides he'll visit the Crazy Cat Lady and ask her to decipher the mysterious message in a bottle.

As he staggers up to the appropriate cave, waving his arms in the air to fend off the demons, he passes the remnants of several bonfires and the still smouldering remains of some sort of dead animal. As he nears the cave, the rats in his overcoat become increasingly agitated. This is the domain of The Enemy.
 
The children had returned with lots of greens and several root vegetables. Sadly there doesn't seem to be a nut loaf tree on the island, but Hippy Lady will make do. Earlier she had extracted her youngest child (at least she thinks the child is hers; it's so hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?) from a puddle of clay, prompting Hippy Lady to try making some cooking vessels. She wasn't entirely sure how to make a kiln, but she was having a go at making one with stones, vegetation and mud. As much as she was into peace, free love, and all that kind of stuff, she couldn't help but smile condescendingly when she thought how her dirty hippy skills were paying off on this remote island with no running water and even less mobile phone reception.

She still hadn't seen anyone on the island besides her children, however, though she thought she'd heard someone muttering something about millennium hand and shrimp earlier. She hoped she'd meet up with other inhabitants soon. Bartering her skills would be good for her and the children, and as she finished the kiln she shook the worst of the dirt off her hands and began to macrame some more hammocks.

Wonder if any of the kids have found any "useful" fungi yet?
 
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