FOOLS GOLD && o, breaking hatchimal eggs

[charrie graveyard]

★ YOU'RE SAYIN' THOSE WORDS LIKE YOU HATE ME NOW. OUR HOUSE IS BURNING WHEN YOU'RE RAISIN' HELL. HERE IN THE ASHES YOUR SOUL CRIES OUT, BUT DON'T BE AFRAID OF THESE THUNDERCLOUDS —

/summary: aussie has a hangover, and during a trip to the bar last night, a fellow gayphooner told him about this box of crap that washed up on the beach. deciding he had to see it for himself, aussie stumbled down the beach and found a giant box full of... you guessed it- HATCHIMAL CARTONS! and now, determined to find the ULTRA rARE golden hATCHIMAL, he's smashing open some hatchimal eggs & letting off some steam in the process.

He had drank too much again last night. This had been occurring a lot lately, so it wasn't anything new, but he still felt like utter shit. Head throbbing as he rose from his bead with a groan, the male narrowed his blue eyes as he gazed out the window, a sharp pain stabbing him in the forehead in response to the light. "...Fffuck!" Australianpaw would slur tiredly, squeezing his eyes shut. He remembered little to nothing from the night before- whether this be for better or for worse, he wasn't sure yet.

It had to be past noon by the time he finally emerged from his hut, a pair of sunglasses covering his eyes. With how shitty he felt, Aussie doubted he would get anything done today. It would pass like any other hangover day, head throbbing as the hours counted down to midnight and trips galore as he made his way around- but oh, how wrong he would be.

He wasn't sure why, but something told him he absolutely HAD to walk along the beach. At first, the white feline didn't really want to, afraid of stumbling into a beached shark or... something like that, but it didn't take long before he had given in, making his way slowly along the water's edge. There was something here... somewhere... he just didn't know where- or WHY he had to find it. It was only when he reached a mid point on the beach that he swore he remembered tidbits of a conversation he had with some bogan lookin' ass in the bar last night, about a box of shit washing up on the beach. It was possible the dumb ass was lying to look cool, but there was a bit of hope in Aussie that maybe, just maybe, it was real. The chance to find some sweet loot was too high to pass by, so he continued on, until finally, he spotted something ahead.

Just as the stranger had said, Australianpaw had come across a rather sizeable box. It was a bit soggy, which was to be expected, since it had literally washed up from the sea, but damn was it heavy. "Tha fuck... what is this?" The tom would mutter, making a circle around the box before propping his front paws on top of it, trying to figure out how he could pry the damn thing open. Seconds later, he would dig his claws into the cheap tape that was keeping the box shut, ripping it open and nudging the flaps aside. Please be something good... please be something-

Nope... it was just a bunch of Hatchimal egg cartons. There had to be tons of them, neatly stacked to the top of the box in three little rows. "Are you fucking serious!? What is this utter GARBAGE!?" Aussie would growl, grabbing one of the cartons and chucking it onto the beach. It was just some dumb, plastic human toys! It was garbage! What the fuck was he going to do with all these!? Then he saw it, the bold, golden colored text... FIND THE GOLDEN HATCHIMAL. Everything was clear now... the pieces were coming together... gold... meant rare.... RARE...

It was as if a switch had been flipped in the young feline's brain. There was only one thing he loved more than relaxing and drinking some nice alcohol- and it was collecting RARE items. It didn't matter if the rare item was a plastic toy, or some cards, if it was labeled as RARE or hard to get, Australianpaw was ALL over it. Ripping off the plastic wrapping from the carton lying on the beach, he would snap open the case, nose swarmed with the overwhelming smell of factory and cheap plastic. "Find tha golden hatchimal, eh? I'll take that as a challenge! Let's do it!" With that, he picked up one the eggs and started smashing it on a large rock nearby, crushing it open with an almost sickening cracking sound. He would find that fucking golden hatchimal... or die trying. That was a promise.

/this is 678 words wHAT THE FUCK,,, i hate myself- why do hatchimals give me muse
either way, thanks gayphoon discord.
[div style="text-align: right; text-transform: uppercase; text-shadow: 0px 0px 2px #7EB6FF; font-size: 24px;"]— AUSSIE

[url=https://beastsofbeyond.com/index.php?topic=255.0]#psychosocial.

[no more]

[align=center][div style="width:400px; font-size:8.4pt;line-height:1.1;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:3px;margin-bottom:3px;letter-spacing:0px;margin-left:0px;text-align:justify;"]Though a great many partook in alcohol he was amongst the few to have yet to imbibe any, the matter of his youth working to keep it at bay and he had found little of the various drinks on offer tempting enough to try even a sip. He had grown accustomed to the smell of it, soaked into the very boards which made up the floor of the tavern he had stayed in a few times now, driven there by need more than anything. It had been been unpleasant in those first days, heavy and cloying, permeating the entire structure until it seemed inescapable, the acidic quality to it lingering in the back of the throat leaving it to burn. It was more from necessity he had grown better about it, found ways to combat it within his own room and reached a point it was vertically unnoticeable.

He was more than pleased to leave it behind, a vacant hut sitting on just on the edge where the jungle gave way to sand slow made over into his own space. Unfortunately he still had a few things left in the Capricorn he needed to retrieve, left for a time as he had chosen to take only the essential items as he began to settle in, a trek he had grown familiar with. Beneath small paws sand crunched softly, replaced by the warmed surface of smoothed cobble, his satchel hanging about his waist, empty for he had need of it. For only a few minutes, time enough for him to climb the stairs and stow the last of his items in the bag, was the sage within the structure that had housed him for some time now, half listening to the chatter of those on the floor beneath.

It was within the threshold that another voice rose, distant and thus somewhat unclear, confusion curling about dark features, the single dark eye narrowing as he sought the speaker. He couldn't quite tell what it was had been spoken, only a few words had risen to a volume he might determine what they were but without the rest of the sentence it held no meaning, as such he was forced to rely on finding the one who had voiced their opinion and ask them t repeat it. Separated from the pale sand for he proved a starker shade Aussie was little trouble to find, though he had hunched himself over the rock and thus it as his movement, repetitive and easy, as he smashed the plastic egg against the surface of a rock.

Beneath the steady onslaught the egg broke, much slower then Silus would have thought, and was surprised to find nothing came spilling out, its contents seemingly wedged in firmly. Taking up a slow pace he moved closer to where the other had set himself, looking upon the ruined box though giving it little more than this cursory glance. In a similar fashion to Aussie he found himself curious as to the golden text but spared no time in reading it, he had grown better about it but had little time to do so in recent weeks, much too busy to spare time for such no matter how badly he wanted to, instead looking to the Beta.

“What ar ya doin...” Though it proved a question he cared not for the answer, seemingly not expecting one as he moved closer, catching sight of a flash of something fuzzy in the broken egg. It seemed not to be the gold hoped for, more a bright shade of something, possibly blue or purple, but beyond that Silus could tell nothing of what was inside.

[the trash man]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 550px; min-height: 9px; font-family: arial; line-height: 109%; text-align: left; color: black; padding: 20px;font-size: 12px;"]too young to partake in any alcoholic activities, linux wasn't a stranger to the effects that alcohol had to all kinds of people. something that just came with the pirates she guessed. but it was always of utmost amusement to the milky child; to see the kinds of things that people will do under the influence of the liquid gold. sometimes it had the potential of glorious blackmail. like this incident? well linux would say yes, but it was aussie. he wouldn't care. a shame, but at least the snow-white child could watch on as the man continued to bumble his way through his inebriated state.

coming up along the side of silus, linux paid no mind to her cousin yet - all of her attention wasted on aussie and his passionate attempt to find the foretold "gold" furby thing. because linux had never seen a creature made of metal and electronics hatch from an egg before, and she had massive doubts that the thing would even be made out of real gold as well. but it was toys, toys linux could see herself fawning over. why was aussie breaking them all? they seemed in such near perfect condition as well; they were a scavenger's dream. this massacre - it was linux's nightmare. playing out in front of her without a single thing the kitten could realistically do to stop it from all playing out. what a terrible fate for those toys, linux wished she could save them. she could only try. "stop! oi! those work perfectly, don't destroy them! they could be so useful! stop!" linux shouted at the boy with her voice reaching new pitches in how stressed she felt watching those poor hatchimals be mercilessly slaughtered. a travesty.

[Grey]

The Typhoon is full of drunkards and crewmates smelling of booze. He’s always reminding himself of that. Drunkards. Booze. Bakugou never wants to drink, he never intends to drink. It was one fateful day, however, that he found a drink in his hut he hadn’t seen before. He doesn’t remember what was going through his mind. Perhaps there was a lack of thought that went into it when he consumed the whole bottle after a long day of blacksmithing, thinking it would satiate his dehydration. Oh boy had that gone wrong. He can’t even remember what had happened but from the stories the ragdoll has heard, they were indeed frightening. Bakugou learnt very well why alcohol shouldn’t be touched and why, in the tavern, he should watch out for anything intending to play a trick on him. He’s afraid of who he is when under the influence of alcohol, vulnerable to acting without a filter. His mind can’t even process the horrific possibilities of what he might do.

Another aspect of their island was the beaches. The beaches are always the subject of conflict, poetry and emotion. It was something about the sea which lures every creature, a tidal wave of possession. He’s heard of crewmates finding all sorts of weird junk washed up by the ocean, but he’s never actually found anything himself. Perhaps he is unlucky. He wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case. There are too many instances where he suffers the case of bad luck, but these thoughts quickly retreat when he catches the ivory form of Australianpaw. He still has yet to know the male’s name, approaching to see boxes and smashed toys. The reaver raises a figurative brow, unimpressed before he hears the horrified squeal of Linux. His fur rises, unaccustomed to such an ugly shout and glancing briefly at Silus. The sage has already voiced his question so there is no need for the ragdoll to waste his breath. What he does recognize, however, is a golden label. He reads the words and scoffs.

”I bet you won’t find a single one,” the ragdoll says, scrunching his nose at the smell of alcohol. God, the feline reeked of it. Disgusting. Bakugou raises his head, as if belittling the Australian male. ”Euch. You smell fuckin’ awful. If I had the power, I’d send ya straight to jail for smellin’ like that.”