This is fine. It's fine. We're fine.

[sharpasanarrow]

[Well that was.

Something.

Underneath everyone’s door they’ll find a slip of paper, in shaky calligraphy, that reads:

INVITATION

Meet in the Dining Room.

Do not bring alcohol of any sort.

Upon arrival into the Dining Room it’s clear that this is very much...not a party.

The center of the room is cleared of all tables, and instead has all the chairs arranged in a circle, facing inwards. On the tables pushed to the side are jugs of water, cups, plates of saltines, and several hastily-made pamplets that read on the front ”How to cope with Child homicide” that contains an advisory list:

1. Try not to think about it.
2. Do not get hysterical.
3. Crying is permitted, but keep it within a reasonable volume. (For the consideration of fellow mourners)
4. Maintain civility
5. Do not plunder the belongings of the deceased.
6. No drinking or gambling your sorrows away. Set an example.

Standing in front of one of the chairs already is Mr.Arrow. He clears his throat as people start to slowly come in.]

I gathered you all here because I believed it would be conductive to group morale if we all worked through our feelings regarding recent events. Talk about your feelings with one another, but not with me.

[He steps back a little, out of the circle of chairs, in what seems to be an invitation for people to sit down and discuss with one another.]

Comments

[stanbyme]

[Uh-oh, relief is gone.]

Of course I'm not 'okay,' Stanford, do you have any idea what I've been through today!?

[Time to cover the kids' ears]

How in the [wow where'd that foghorn come from] did I not know that you were dragged into one of these [cat scream]-hole rituals?!

[sixfingeredstan]

[Welp. Here they go.]

Oh, I'm sorry, Stanley, I've been a little busy trying to figure out a way to rescue your sorry behind!

[They lasted thirty whole seconds.]

[stanbyme]

I've been worried about you, you [huh who let a dolphin loose in here]! I thought you were alone on the boat!

[sixfingeredstan]

Now, listen here, don't get mad at me for your own short-sightedness, you old [wow huh seagulls too!]! I had no way of letting you know where I was or that I was in mortal danger, or I'd have told you already!

[kindaruledatit]

[Hey, hey Ford. It's alright if she just

pokes her head up

"between" you and Stan.]

Yup. Really feeling the love here, guys.

[stanbyme]

[fuckin shit-]

Wendy?

[kindaruledatit]

Yo, Stan! [Big ol smile, like she hasn't been dying inside for the past few weeks.]

S'been a while! Like... a ton of months now.

[Haha.... wow. She feels tired.]

[stanbyme]

[He rubs his forehead.]

No... They didn't drag you into this crazy mess too?

[kindaruledatit]

....Surprise.

[Jazzhands? Okay, no she'll stop.]

Yeah, me and Ford were scooped up into the same mess. Oh, and Fiddleford Mcgucket too, only he's a young guy now.

[stanbyme]

Well at least my idiot brother had someone to watch his back.

[He muttered bitterly. Why couldn't he have been in three places at once????]

[kindaruledatit]

Yup, I basically helped him with everything. [Lighting small fires, tackling a giant yodeling man...]

...Hey, it's really great to see you again, Stan. We missed you.

[stanbyme]

[His pout softens into a small smile.]

Yeah yeah, don't get all sappy on me. You're not getting paid vacation just 'cause you were stuck in a real murder hut.

[He missed you too, Wendy.]

[kindaruledatit]

Pfff, yeah I get it. No overtime. [Haha, she's missed out on a lot of school.]

Sooo, I couldn't help but notice you were talking to that General lady, like a lot.

[But did he miss this.]

[sixfingeredstan]

Not now, Wendy.

[He's just gonna. Yup. Pick her up by the shoulders and set her aside.]

[kindaruledatit]

Uuugggh. Come on, man, I want to talk to everyone too!

[This is major bogus.]

[sixfingeredstan]

Wait your turn!

[kindaruledatit]

Nnnnnoooooooo.

[She requires attention.]

[stanbyme]

I'm your twin, and I-- I didn't know you were in trouble!

[probably because he didn't get him into trouble tbh

His voice strains a little on the last word like a fucking traitor, pulling the curtain off the raw grief and emotion.]

[sixfingeredstan]

Well I—

[He pauses, as slowly the gist of what Stanley is saying filters through the asshole part of his brain and into the budding intuitive part of his brain.]

...Stanley, that's not your fault. You're not psychic.

[Pause. Wait for it.]

Your mind isn't nearly finely-attuned enough for that.

[stanbyme]

[Whomp. There it is. There's a flash of fury unlike anything he's felt since the last time Ford corrected his grammar, but the fact that Ford isn't here right now in the flesh to throw hands at tempers it into dry sarcasm.]

Hey Poindexter, do me a favor and give yourself a punch in the face and pretend it's from me.

[sixfingeredstan]

[Surprisingly, Ford splits into a grin.]

Check's in the mail, Stanley.

[Something occurs to him, suddenly, and Ford looks a tiny bit sheepish.]

I've, ah. Got some good news for you.

[stanbyme]

I'm gonna cash it as soon as I see your face in person, ya big nerd.

[They love each other.]

...On the one hand I could use some good news. On the other hand, with that look on your face I'm not sure how good it'll be.

[sixfingeredstan]

[They're Brothers.]

No, no, it's good news. I...I got married, Stanley. Before we escaped our house.

[stanbyme]

[If he had been taking a drink of soda, it would have sprayed.

Everywhere.]

YOU WHAT!

[sixfingeredstan]

[Stanley this is Serious.]

Yes! Well, it wasn't quite official, there wasn't a rabbi or anything, but...Fiddleford and I. We married. Before he...

[Ford cuts off, and his eyes go very wide.]

Please, I need you to send him a message for me. Please, Stanley.