Post by Eric Cartman on Oct 10, 2013 18:03:22 GMT
It'd been about a week since Eric phased into Tenebrae, and he could say with absolute certainty that he hated it.
Tenebrae, to be fair (and optimistic by half), hadn't been all bad. He'd finally gotten his iPod back from the crazed Tenebrae staff, who scrubbed it of a bunch of random songs - his entire Barenaked Ladies discography was gone, for starters - removed a few album cover images, and handed it back to him with the explicit instructions to not add anything to it. That probably wouldn't be a problem, considering that Eric couldn't even get useful internet access. That was one way to cure his Minecraft addiction, but it left him without any of the connections he was so used to back in South Park and Denver. He and his mother might not have been the richest people, but they knew how to bargain and get themselves some decent electronics when they were required.
And the Tenebrae people seemed much less stingy about their books than they were about everyone's computing devices. Eric had set up camp in the library almost every day in the week he'd been there, picking up stacks and stacks of books that he thought might elucidate his situation, but just turned out to be hellishly frustrating. He read a whole book on a different geographical world, only to figure it out it was a satire of Victorian modalities at the last page. Damned Flatland, tricking him into thinking something useful might come of it. Eric really should've known better.
He was getting the feeling that the perfectly plucked and primped staff at Tenebrae was hiding a lot from the populace inside it. Eric got that feeling about pretty much anyone in authority, from the U of Col president to his old fourth-grade counselor, but rarely did it seem so justified. Most of the people Eric watched flit in and out of his consciousness seemed so oblivious and carefree about their situation. Maybe they came from a bad place and, unlike Cartman, couldn't summon up the courage to admit it and work with it. Maybe they were really that freaking stupid. Either way, Eric figured that trying to jog his memory in the library wasn't the worst use of his time, especially now that he had his iPod. His eyes skimmed a dense textbook on sensory memory, half of the words barely registering - it was definitely not in his wheelhouse - as he focused more on the music. He associated a lot of songs with his life, and he was hoping that maybe, a song would come along that could jostle something loose in his head. Or a song that would cure his terrible eyesight. He wasn't sure what he wanted more, he thought blithely as he bobbed his head to some old hip-hop song, one earbud dangling around his neck and the other popped in his right ear.
Tenebrae, to be fair (and optimistic by half), hadn't been all bad. He'd finally gotten his iPod back from the crazed Tenebrae staff, who scrubbed it of a bunch of random songs - his entire Barenaked Ladies discography was gone, for starters - removed a few album cover images, and handed it back to him with the explicit instructions to not add anything to it. That probably wouldn't be a problem, considering that Eric couldn't even get useful internet access. That was one way to cure his Minecraft addiction, but it left him without any of the connections he was so used to back in South Park and Denver. He and his mother might not have been the richest people, but they knew how to bargain and get themselves some decent electronics when they were required.
And the Tenebrae people seemed much less stingy about their books than they were about everyone's computing devices. Eric had set up camp in the library almost every day in the week he'd been there, picking up stacks and stacks of books that he thought might elucidate his situation, but just turned out to be hellishly frustrating. He read a whole book on a different geographical world, only to figure it out it was a satire of Victorian modalities at the last page. Damned Flatland, tricking him into thinking something useful might come of it. Eric really should've known better.
He was getting the feeling that the perfectly plucked and primped staff at Tenebrae was hiding a lot from the populace inside it. Eric got that feeling about pretty much anyone in authority, from the U of Col president to his old fourth-grade counselor, but rarely did it seem so justified. Most of the people Eric watched flit in and out of his consciousness seemed so oblivious and carefree about their situation. Maybe they came from a bad place and, unlike Cartman, couldn't summon up the courage to admit it and work with it. Maybe they were really that freaking stupid. Either way, Eric figured that trying to jog his memory in the library wasn't the worst use of his time, especially now that he had his iPod. His eyes skimmed a dense textbook on sensory memory, half of the words barely registering - it was definitely not in his wheelhouse - as he focused more on the music. He associated a lot of songs with his life, and he was hoping that maybe, a song would come along that could jostle something loose in his head. Or a song that would cure his terrible eyesight. He wasn't sure what he wanted more, he thought blithely as he bobbed his head to some old hip-hop song, one earbud dangling around his neck and the other popped in his right ear.
