[?MAYBE MODERATED? - we may slip into this memory] [CRITERIA: must be able to swim, minimum group size 3, minimum replies 10]
The thrum of music blaring from Bluetooth speakers sound distorted underwater, but it's better than hearing it above the water. Poking the top of their head out of the warm waters of the Greentooth, the river monster cringes at the sound of this so-called "music". But they remain, keeping a close eye on the magical teenagers on the shore.
A bonfire crackles on the pebble beach and large, color-changing orbs floating lazily over the partygoers' heads. Teenagers trip along through an area cordoned off with old rope fishing nets (how thematic), scooping drinks from wheelbarrows and dropping onto logs, or chatting with some unfamiliar bartender.
Nearby, an inflatable pink coffin floats past the river monster and it's with a sense of resignation that they swing their arm to push it back toward the shore. This is not a favor, but a job, which means they don't have to do this happily. They cross their arms under the water, keeping sentry as another boat readies to launch in hunt of those little glowing floats. These ones they need to watch, and—
There’s a sound. On the other shore, in the bushes, a sound that doesn’t fit with what should be here. All other noises drop out, one by one, as the river monster focuses in on the source of that rustling. There’s too many limbs, it moves too quickly. And it’s breathing—it sounds like a thunderstorm from under the water.
"—rollerskates!" Some kid on a boat is shouting and the monster whips around. Everything freezes in that moment, the river monster watching in annoyance as two irresponsible boaters stand on a vessel mere milliseconds from capsizing. The golden float they're supposed to be retrieving lies just a few feet beyond their boat, but apparently they'll be needing a ride back to the shore tonight.
MEMORY: Moonlit Swim
[CRITERIA: must be able to swim, minimum group size 3, minimum replies 10]
The thrum of music blaring from Bluetooth speakers sound distorted underwater, but it's better than hearing it above the water. Poking the top of their head out of the warm waters of the Greentooth, the river monster cringes at the sound of this so-called "music". But they remain, keeping a close eye on the magical teenagers on the shore.
A bonfire crackles on the pebble beach and large, color-changing orbs floating lazily over the partygoers' heads. Teenagers trip along through an area cordoned off with old rope fishing nets (how thematic), scooping drinks from wheelbarrows and dropping onto logs, or chatting with some unfamiliar bartender.
Nearby, an inflatable pink coffin floats past the river monster and it's with a sense of resignation that they swing their arm to push it back toward the shore. This is not a favor, but a job, which means they don't have to do this happily. They cross their arms under the water, keeping sentry as another boat readies to launch in hunt of those little glowing floats. These ones they need to watch, and—
There’s a sound. On the other shore, in the bushes, a sound that doesn’t fit with what should be here. All other noises drop out, one by one, as the river monster focuses in on the source of that rustling. There’s too many limbs, it moves too quickly. And it’s breathing—it sounds like a thunderstorm from under the water.
"—rollerskates!" Some kid on a boat is shouting and the monster whips around. Everything freezes in that moment, the river monster watching in annoyance as two irresponsible boaters stand on a vessel mere milliseconds from capsizing. The golden float they're supposed to be retrieving lies just a few feet beyond their boat, but apparently they'll be needing a ride back to the shore tonight.