necroslacker | room 216 ; saturday afternoon

Sam wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to the fact that it was mid May and felt like it was January outside. It'd been chilly ever since he'd arrived but today was just downright cold. That made for a convenient enough excuse to stay inside so that's what Sam was planning on doing. He'd called home and talked to Frank for a few minutes earlier. Frank had provided updates on Ramon (the were-bear exposure had taken him awhile to recover from but he seemed to be doing okay) and Brid (still hot, still completely out of Frank's league) and Sam had told him a little about the school here.

Once the phone call ended, Sam went about doing something he'd been meaning to do since moving in. He slowly unpacked his record player and settled it carefully on his desk. This should have been one of the first things he'd done but he'd forgotten. He'd almost left the record player in Seattle but then images of Frank smearing mustard and ketchup or god knows what else on it had popped into his head and he'd hastily packed it up.

Shaking those horrific images out of his head, Sam put on one of his favorite records and turned it up. It was nice to be doing something familiar in a place where he was still new. He half expected Brooke or Ashley to pop up and insult his music but the spirits were quiet. Sam sighed and stood up so he could start unpacking the rest of his things. Slacker meant slow. He'd get there at some point.

[Door & post are open]

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"That's gross, Butters," Sam said, pulling a face before he laughed a little. "You're, uh, not gonna do that if you get pissed at me, right? I wouldn't even bother with the making you clean it off the walls, I'd just leave."

Ew. Just ew.

"Well, gee whiz, Sam," Butters, glad to see Sam laugh, laughed a little himself. "I wasn't really plannin' on it, but now that you've mentioned it, why, maybe I'll have to!"

But he couldn't say that and pretend he meant it. He waved a hand dismissively. "Aw, who'm I kiddin', Sam? I don't think you'll piss me off, you're too nice."

"Thanks," Sam said, chucking lightly. He wasn't really sure if he was nice or just anti anger but that wasn't a bad thing to hear. He'd have to brag about it later to Ramon who would inevitably insult him somehow.

"You're pretty nice yourself so I suspect our walls will remain poo free." Thankfully. "And I'm not gonna hire anyone to pretend they're you either. Kind of seems pointless. And like something out of work actors would do for a meal."

"Or several," Butters admitted. "Mine lived with me for a few weeks before I figured it out, and that was only because Stan got one, too. It just seemed too much of a coincidence that we both had Future Selves, and so he investigated. He's real smart like that, though he's not too great in school. You should meet him someti---"

But then a thought crossed Butters' mind and he frowned.

"H-hey, it's a pretty big coincidence that we're both goin' to this here camp, too," he realized. "You don't think maybe our parents are trying to teach us another lesson or something again, do you?"

"Uh." The easy answer was just to chalk it up to coincidence especially on a weird island like this but after hearing some of the stories Butters had, Sam realized he couldn't rule out his parents being assholes.

"What lesson would sending you and your friend here teach?" he asked instead. "How to dress warmly in a month that's usually reserved for summer?"

"No," said Butters, shaking his head. "We're from Colorado. We only have about a month of summer anyway, and it's usually pretty lame."

"Well, I'm tapped out." Of course, he hadn't really tried but still, he had nothing. "You feel like you're here for some big moral reason? Had any urges to smear gross stuff on walls?"

"No," Butters was glad to admit. "Not lately. I'd almost think it was that, but, well, that was six years ago, so they would have really have planned ahead for that one. I'll just have to talk to Stan; he can usually figure that sort of thing out."

"Maybe the answer's the obvious one," Sam pointed out, shrugging a shoulder. "Just a coincidence or something. There might not be any malicious intent behind it or anything. It's not a bad school, right? No uniforms, no corporal punishment, no classes on the mating rituals of frogs."

Butters had to make a face at that last one; he knew nothing about the mating rituals of frogs, for the most part, but he had to assume it probably wasn't pretty.

"Gosh, no," he agreed. "It's a great school so far! Much better than a lot of the other places I've gone to, so I sure hope you're right, Sam. That would be nice, if it was just a regular old place and I got to come, why, just because."

"If anything, it gets you away from that Eric guy, doesn't it?" Even if Sam had only heard the name or time or two, it hadn't ever been associated with anything good so maybe this would be a vacation for poor Butters.

Butters had to chuckle at that. "Y-yeah," he said wryly, "you'd have to go to a whole 'nother state to get away from Eric, that's how fat he is."

"He sounds...fun." Sam did not mean that. "You or Stan didn't tell him where you were going, did you?"

Sam could just imagine opening the door to his room and finding some guy torturing poor Butters just because he could.

And that imagining would not be too far from what would often be the truth, either.

"Aw, heck, no," said Butters. "At least I didn't. I didn't even know I was goin' here until I was on the way. Although, with both me an' Stan gone, he'll probably figure it out anyway."

"Yeah, but where did you say you were from again? Colorado?" Sam asked, hoping he'd recalled the right place. "Even if he does figure it out, he's gonna have to find a way to get here and most kids just can't go halfway across a country without someone noticing."

He obviously didn't know how Eric's mother was.

room 216 ; saturday afternoon

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