08-09-2019, 12:24 AM
Black fumes ascended to the upper atmosphere in sizable clumps. The choking scent resembled not the exhaust deriving from the blaze that incinerated Sam's cigarettes - this was genuine campfire smoke, baby.
Off towards the shore, a multitude of oaken picnic tables encircled a live firepit. Every table wore a tablecloth of either red or blue, with snacks of a wide variety set upon the reds, and a slew of beverages (some alcoholic) established atop the blues. Accompanied by some pokers, a whole snack table was strung about with the ingredients to Tanglewood's most renown treat - S'mores. A fair amount of metres out of the flame's reach sat a neon-endowed jukebox, which played vinyl records like there was no tomorrow. 60's tunes and billowing smoke formulated the current environment. To Leroy, it felt just like home.
A sizable branch prodded away at the smoldering logs. His golden peepers observed with satisfaction as the combustion's dancing figure bent to his will, growing taller and much more immense as the kindling toppled against each other. Once the flame appeared marshmallow-worthy, his jaws unclasped the poking stick, which would plunge to the cool ground with a kerplunk! He stares in contentment. All of this was him. Even after all the shit that came cascading his way of late, joy could be found in the simplicity of a bonfire. All he hoped was that the rest of the swamp folk could feel the same.
He hadn't taken the liberty of setting up areas for games and such. The majority of the population were adults, and thus, the hound anticipated that the attendees could interact over everyday conversation. One of the main reasons that he stepped up to host this event was so that he could interact with some of the newcomers that he had ignored.
The crackling of dry wood shot thousands of glimmering sparks airborne, which would momentarily shower the surrounding area in their scorching presence before fizzling out of existence.
With luck, maybe two or three Tanglers would show up, and optimistically, one or two would stay.
Off towards the shore, a multitude of oaken picnic tables encircled a live firepit. Every table wore a tablecloth of either red or blue, with snacks of a wide variety set upon the reds, and a slew of beverages (some alcoholic) established atop the blues. Accompanied by some pokers, a whole snack table was strung about with the ingredients to Tanglewood's most renown treat - S'mores. A fair amount of metres out of the flame's reach sat a neon-endowed jukebox, which played vinyl records like there was no tomorrow. 60's tunes and billowing smoke formulated the current environment. To Leroy, it felt just like home.
A sizable branch prodded away at the smoldering logs. His golden peepers observed with satisfaction as the combustion's dancing figure bent to his will, growing taller and much more immense as the kindling toppled against each other. Once the flame appeared marshmallow-worthy, his jaws unclasped the poking stick, which would plunge to the cool ground with a kerplunk! He stares in contentment. All of this was him. Even after all the shit that came cascading his way of late, joy could be found in the simplicity of a bonfire. All he hoped was that the rest of the swamp folk could feel the same.
He hadn't taken the liberty of setting up areas for games and such. The majority of the population were adults, and thus, the hound anticipated that the attendees could interact over everyday conversation. One of the main reasons that he stepped up to host this event was so that he could interact with some of the newcomers that he had ignored.
The crackling of dry wood shot thousands of glimmering sparks airborne, which would momentarily shower the surrounding area in their scorching presence before fizzling out of existence.
With luck, maybe two or three Tanglers would show up, and optimistically, one or two would stay.