Guild: Double D’s

🌴 DAY 1 — ROBINSONADE
Robinson's Hat
We washed ashore with nothing but salt in our lungs and each other. John had kept us alive through the crash — reading the wind, finding the raft, steering us to land in the dark — and by morning, Tara had already climbed a palm tree just to see what was up there. It was from that height that she spotted it: a wide-brimmed hat woven from palm fronds, tucked between two banyan roots like something sleeping. Whoever made it had skill and patience. John turned it over slowly and said, "This person was here a long time."
Beneath the hat was a flat stone scratched with a name — R. Malone — and below that, seven words: Day 211. Still believing. We sat with that number in silence. Two hundred and eleven days on this island, alone. His greatest challenge, we decided, wasn't hunger or thirst. It was the morning he almost stopped making the hat — almost stopped caring for himself altogether. But he finished it. He put it on and kept going. We placed it back exactly as we found it, and made a quiet promise to borrow his words until we no longer needed them.

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🏝 GUILD QUEST: SECRETS OF A DESERTED ISLAND

First-person dispatch from Tara “I’m basically a ninja”

Okay, besties, buckle up. We piled into the mystery house like it was Black Friday at Target—Julie clutching her “immersive experiences” brochure like it was the Dead Sea Scrolls, Lala already rolling her eyes so hard they might detach, John muttering “If this thing crashes I’m flying us out,” Laura beaming “This is going to be so magical!”, and Liz herding us like the human Swiss Army knife she is. The sign said: “ISLAND ROOM – Transport yourself to ancient Japan! Samurai! Temples! Mystical beaches!”

We stepped in. Lights swirled. Wind whooshed. And boom—we’re standing on hot sand with palm trees, turquoise waves, and zero cherry blossoms. I struck my “stealthy scout” pose (you know, one foot dramatically on a rock) and immediately ate sand because gravity and I are in a toxic relationship.

Lala: “Congratulations, Tara. You discovered gravity. Again.”

Julie: “Fascinating. This appears to be a… thematic malfunction.”

John: “Yeah, no Shinto gates, just seagulls judging us.”

Laura: “But look how pretty the water is!”

Liz: “Everybody hydrate and stay together. We’ve got five ‘days’ in here. Let’s roll.”

DAY 1 – ROBINSONADE

We hadn’t gone twenty feet before I spotted it sticking out of the dunes like a sad flag: Robinson Crusoe’s Umbrella—tattered canvas, bamboo handle carved with tiny goats, still faintly smelling of regret and tea.
I yanked it out, twirled it like a parasol, and promptly poked John in the ribs. “Behold! Proof that even famous castaways were basic. Picture poor Robinson: ship goes down, he builds a fortress, befriends a goat, names it Friday because weekends are rough. His main test? Not the cannibals. Not the earthquakes. It was the freaking rain. Every afternoon he’d sprint around clutching this thing like it was Excalibur, screaming ‘Not today, weather!’ Eventually he gets rescued, leaves the umbrella as a middle finger to the island, and here we are.”

Lala cackled so hard she snorted. Julie gave a five-minute lecture on Defoe’s symbolism while I used the umbrella as a walking stick and immediately tripped again. Laura sweetly tied a ribbon on it “so it feels loved.” Liz just shook her head and started a fire with the dry palm fronds I definitely didn’t help gather.

By sunset we were roasting imaginary marshmallows and toasting “to soggy British dudes everywhere.” Day 1 conclusion: one umbrella acquired, zero athletic dignity remaining, but the squad was already unstoppable.

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Tara 🇺🇸 031cde
Guild: Double D’s

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Когда Василию предложили поучаствовать в островных играх, он и представить не мог, что это будет отшельничья жизнь на выживание на абсолютно необитаемом острове. С собой ему выдали провизии на сутки и….всё. Василий весело прозвал себя Робинзоном, и к концу недели уже неплохо освоился на острове- лагерь бойскаутов не прошел даром, ему пригодились все полученные там навыки. Первым делом Вася построил хижину, а так как по профессии он был архитектором, то хижина стала предметом его гордости. В нее он вложил всю свою креативность и весь свой профессионализм. И даже спустя месяцы, наслаждаясь уже привычной городской жизнью, Василий с теплом вспоминал свой первый новострой на далеком необитаемом острове…

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Даже тигры любят игры!
Ррррррр! 🐅

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DAY 2 – PLANE WRECKAGE

Day 2 we followed the smoke smell (John’s pilot nose never fails). Half-buried in the jungle: twisted plane bits—shiny aluminum, a cracked window, and a seatbelt still buckled like it refused to let go.
John went full skeptic mode: “No way this is real. Look at the serial number—pretty sure that’s from a 1970s Cessna.” I climbed onto a wing (athletic queen, remember?) and promptly slid off into a bush. Lala: “Graceful as always, Tarzanna.”

Here’s the tea I spun while we were prying open a compartment: This little plane was piloted by a honeymooning couple who took a “romantic detour.” Pilot (handsome, cocky, obviously John’s long-lost cousin) ignored the storm warnings because “I got this, babe.” They crash, she survives on protein bars and optimism, he survives on denial. The wreckage became their condo—seat cushions as sofas, fuselage as roof. Main role in their fate? It kept them alive long enough to realize they actually hated each other. They split up, built separate huts, and waved passive-aggressively across the beach for three years. She eventually paddled away on a raft made of seatbelts. He’s probably still out there yelling at coconuts.

Julie nodded approvingly at the “symbolism of modern hubris.” Laura teared up and left a little flower on the wing. Liz made us all promise not to climb anything else. We ended the day drawing mustaches on the fuselage with charcoal. Iconic.

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Tara 🇺🇸 031cde
Guild: Double D’s