[O, our poor, poor sacrificial godbuns in our scorching season

We gave our people a world of culture, a world full of intrigue, 

And, yet they forsake it aplenty.

We gave them a place to gather, a world to explore,

Yet almost none of them take a moment to look at what there is to offer.

We hear the older generation preach and preach,

See the world that's around you!

But, they laugh and laugh, hop away, act like there's nothing to see.

We gave them a rich world

Full of places galore,

And yet, they choose to look away.

Don't you see?

O, our poor, poor, sacrificial godbuns,

What's a deity to do

When culture is being erased

On the daily?

They forsake, forsake, forsake,

Even if we try to encourage it in some way!

There is no preservation,

And most certainly no aspirations

To learn about the world around them.

We can see it all about to fade away,

Centuries of history, day by day.

Don't you see?

The mortals are forsaking their own history.

O, our poor, poor, godbuns of constant reminding,

What will it take for our people

To remember their roots?

We try, and try, and try,

And yet they continue to over rely.

They ask us for everything.

We continue to give, they continue to receive,

The demands are increasing by the daily!

We nudge them to recall how their older kin did things,

Yet, they brush it off, giggling!

We can only do so much,

Yet it's never enough.

Don't you see?

We can't keep with this endless

Give and never receive!

O, our poor, poor godbuns drowning in an endless sea of misery,

What can be done to change this constant cycle of boiling agony

Our people keep asking, asking, praying for every little thing,

We simply cannot keep living 

In this cycle of give and never receive!

And, yet, they never halt, never stop to think!

Why, o, why is this so?

We are at a loss on where to go.

In this season of stabbing every single moment of reprieve,

Change needs to happen, please!]

Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, bompo.

Hearing something booming, the bun rubbed his eyes. Hold on a second, what was that just now? Where was he again? Oh, right, he's in the Sappharicha Bog inside Mt. Flameachago. How did he get here again? Oh, Wistebu tossed him in here. Yawn, forget it, time to catch some more zzes. Whatever might be going out there isn't his problem, so long, goodnight, zzz.

Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, bompo, tap, tap.

Booms continuing, the vampa let out a groan. Just what is going on? Where could that racket possibly be coming from? Oh no, don't tell him, it's raining rocks somewhere? Oh no, this is bad, very bad! He needs to do something about that! But, as he listened further, the young adult swore he could hear a screech from afar.

Boom, boom, boom, boom, bomp, twaaang, twaaang.

Hearing a little tune, the farmer rubbed the side of his temples. By the godbuns from above, who in the world is playing music at a time like this? What time is it? Clock ticking on the ceiling, the bun let out yet another sea of groans. It's the fourth hour! Who plays music at a time like this? Why he oughta! No, no, stay down, Siorc, he's merely a guest here. Don't get hasty.

Twaaang, twaaang, twaang, boom, boom, boom.

Racket only getting louder by the second, the young adult removed himself from the guest bed. Rolling up his sleeves, the bun hopped towards the racket. That's it, he's had enough of this nonsense! Twaangs sound about ready to amp it up to the highest possible degree, the vampa hopped towards an unknown entrance. But, what waited for him boiled everything over even further.

"You think you can beat me?!" Qiongqi shouted. "I'd like to remind you, Rabiu, I'm a Rockstar Rabbit champion! You wanna piece of me?" Twaang.

"Um, yeah, kind of?" Rabiu asked. "I'm going to, um, beat you." Twaaang.

"As if! Look at your paws! Your posture is awful!" Qiongqi exclaimed. Hands moving rather rapidly. "I'm going to crush you!" Twaang, twaaang, twaaang.

Ridiculously colorful guitars out in the open, the bun pulled his ears down. Gritting his teeth, the vampa resisted the urge to throw the party of two a glare. Who plays guitar at the fourth hour?! If something like this happened at home, Strix and Deigr would kill him! Or, worse, they'd tell him they're selling one of their chickens to another farm! But, oh well, this isn't his abode. Different place, different rules. Yawn, back to bed.

"Um, why does my posture matter for, it's um, just a game?" Rabiu asked. Twaang. "I, um, know this song by heart. I'm going to win."

"Oh, really, do you now? Then you'd better prove it to me!" Qiongqi cried. Twaaang. "Let's see who can get the higher score at Bloody Sugar For Me!"

"Um, in a minute." He looked away.

"Ha, you a coward or something? Scared to lose?" A smirk.

"Um, no, there's someone at the door," Rabiu said, pointing.

"If it's Parisa, tell her she can put a sock up her nose and wear her earplugs!" Qiongqi shouted.

"Uh, no, it's our uh, guest," Rabiu said, sighing.

"Oh, right, that guy," Qiongqi said, words dragged out for a moment. "What do you want? You want to beat the Guitar Master down here in Krakeneedle labs?" He then reached for a spare guitar.

Shaking his head, the young adult held back the urge to sigh. Please, don't invite him, he doesn't know the first thing about guitar! Did he even play any instruments back in school? Well, maybe he played the triangle once. Forget it, no way, he's not throwing himself into the ring here! Reaching for the Talkmaster B, he reached for the knobs.

Crude little guitar drawn, the bun let out a barely audible groan. No way this looks like one. He needs to try again. Scribbling again, a circle with a line in it had been drawn over it. Closed eye face scribbled down, he wondered. Is this going to come off as rude? Come on, Siorc, be polite, he's a guest here! Oh well, too late now.

[No, first of all, who plays guitar at the fourth hour, and second, I don't have time for games right now. Isn't the Sun Rising West Festival soon? Shouldn't we all be in tip top shape for that?] A crackling voice asked through the Talkmaster B's speakers.

"Look, I don't know how things work in Seeboro, but us Lopvampas down here don't need that much sleep," Qiongqi said in an annoyed tone. "Besides, that really isn't what it's cracked up to be."

"Um? You know as well as I do that it's um," Rabiu said, voice shaking. "Uh?"

"Geez, spit it out already! Aren't you supposed to be the prickly bun with a mean edge?!" Qiongqi cried.

"Um, no?" Rabiu asked. "Um, anyway, It's best you uh, prepare yourself for tomorrow. You might not, uh, like what you see."

"And the award for the LopVampa who said the most nothing of value goes to Rabiu!" A tada noise echoed through the room.

"Was the necessary?" Rabiu asked, sighing. "Um, but, uh, what Qiongqi said. We don't um, need all that much sleep. We're um, sorry if we disturbed you, we'll tone it down a bit."

Qiongqi rambling on and on about he wouldn't quiet down for anyone, the bun rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. He sure was Competitive Pika alright, he should have known it would go down like this. Oh, well, he'll just try to tune out all the noise. Curling back up onto the guest bed, the vampa let out a yawn. Goodnight, world. Don't let the racket bite.

Ring, ring, ring.

It's the seventh hour.

There's twelve hours until the Sun Rising West Festival!

All buns on the festival committee, please report to venue by the thirteenth hour.

Rubbing his eyes, the bun let out a yawn. What did that announcement just say? How long until the festival starts? Oh, right, twelve hours. Why is it so late? Who holds a festival at the nineteenth hour? Sappharicha Bog sure is a strange place. Maybe he should try to find a way to get back to the surface. But, how? Lifting himself up from the guest bed, he swore he could hear something slimy off in the distance.

Heading to the center of the laboratory, a strange sight caught the bun's attention. Hanegal pacing around in a circle, the young adult blinked. Was this announcement way too short notice for her, or something? Surely, twelve hours was plenty of time! No, no, maybe she processes time differently than he does. Best to not judge a LopVampa he only just met, after all.

"What do you mean the Soon Risinj Wezt Festival is in twelbe howers?!" Hanegal shouted. "I thouj we had more time than dat!"

"First of all, it's west, second, it's twelve, third, it's hours!" Parisa cried. "And, you know how to pronounce thought by now! Are you trying to test my patience?!"

"No, why would I be trying to tezt your paychunze?" Hanegal asked, tilting her head.

"You're doing it again!" Parisa screamed at the top of her lungs. "It's test, and it's patience!" Pillow in her hand, she tossed it across the room. "Why do I even bother?!" Huffing, her eyes soon wandered. "Oh, you're awake. You'd better prepare yourself for today. You really don't know what you're about to get yourself into."

Second warning coming his way, the bun wondered. Just what kind of festival was the Sun Rising West Festival anyway? Maybe it was secretly some kind of ritual to sacrifice a bun to the godbuns? No, no, happy thoughts, Siorc, happy thoughts! That's silly, why would that be the case here? It's not like there's any resident godbun down here for something like that to happen!

[I'm ready for anything! I fight vermin all the time back and home, and they're no match for me! What do I have to do today?] A crackling voice asked through the Talkmaster B's speakers. But, such had been met with a headshake.

"Bermin? There's not going to be any bermin to deal with at the fezteebal," Hanegal said tendrils crossed. "Is dat what you think Parisa meant by a world of payun?"

"I swear, you are going to make my heart fall out of my chest if you keep this up!" Parisa shouted pillow in the palm of her hands ready to be beaten to a pulp. "It's vermin, festival and pain! Can you at least try to say it right?!"

"I am tryinj!" Hanegal shouted, tendrils waved around in the air. "Anyway, dats not what you gotta prupare yourself for."

"I've had it up to here with you!" A scream shook the room.

Parisa ripping up a pillow into nothing, feathers rained down from the ceiling one after another. Horns giving the rest of it a nice slice the bun hopped all the way back. Woah, it's raining screams in here! Maybe she should be Prickly Pika instead. But, there's no way he could say that. Surely, this will come to pass in just a moment.

"Are you done?" Hanegal asked.

"I'm done," Parisa said, back turned against the wall. "Maybe."

"Dat's da fiftieth pillow you've dezdroyed dis monch," Hanegal said, sighing.

"And whose fault do you think that is?!" A loud huff.

"Yours. Come on, don'j you dink it'z time to eat? We gotta long day ahead of us today." A sigh.

"Fine! I hope you like Minty Iceberg oatmeal because we don't have time for anything fancy!" Parisa shouted.

[I'll help you with breakfast if you want.] A crackling voice said through the Talkmaster B's speakers.

"Don't waste you time. Why don't you go get ready for today's job? Your hair is a rat's nest, I can't even stand to look at you!" Parisa shouted. "Go help yourself to our guest shower and don't come out until you look presentable!"

Parisa hopping off, the vampa placed his hands on the side of his head. How strange, weren't fawns supposed to be gentle creatures? The godbuns really missed the mark when they gave this bun her divine name. Maybe she should join the Mystic Carrot Bowl and ask for a redo also. No, no, why would she want that? Besides, this place was nowhere near Frosaro.

As the sprinkler rained down on the bun's head, he couldn't help but wonder. What is he about to get himself into? Is this really what Wistebu wants him to get done down here? Maybe, or, perhaps not. He supposes he'll find out later when he gets out of here. If he does. He's not going to be inside Mt. Flameachago forever, is he? Please, no! Who's going to take care of the chickens if he can't go back home?! The farm's so going to be in trouble.

Pesky Unhappy Bunny shirt smirking at him in the cracked mirror, the bun resisted the urge to bark. When the Mystic Carrot Bowl finally starts, he's going to get the redo of the century! Knee length skirt soon eating him alive, the vampa let out a yawn. He shouldn't have hopped out of bed at the fourth hour.

Hair pulled into a high bun, the vampa clicked the hairpins and earrings into place. Pink sun set soon adorning his hair and ears, the questions had begun to roll around once more. What's he about to get himself into? This isn't some secret sacrificial ritual, is it? No, no, happy thoughts, Siorc, happy thoughts! Why would that be what this is? That's ridiculous! It's just a celebration of the sun, that's all, nothing more!

Slapping his cheeks, the bun prepared himself. It's going to be fine, right. It's just a festival to celebrate the rising of the sun in the west. Where is he getting all these silly ideas from? He needs to stop letting himself get caught up into a web of lies. Hopping out of the restroom a bitter scent wafted in the air.

Qiongqi and Rabiu snoring away at the table, the vampa rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. They didn't need sleep, huh? He's not going to pull them out of the fire if an emeraldwolf attacks them in the bog! Seating himself in the middle chair, a strange concoction soon bubbled in front of him. What is this oozing thing?

"Rabiu, Qiongqi, wake up right now!" Parisa shouted.

Snorkle, meemur.

Clang.

"I said wake up right now, or this spoon is going down your throats!" Parisa shouted.

"Huh, what?" Qiongqi asked. "What day is it?"

"You know what day it is! It's the day of the Sun Rising West Festival!" Parisa shouted. "I told you two not to stay up all night playing Guitar Master!"

"Um, we didn't play all night," Rabiu said, voice shaking. "We um, slept for, um, an hour."

"Stop defending your husband like it's your job!" Parisa shouted. "I told you two to get a good night's sleep!"

"And, I told you I don't need that much sleep!" Qiongqi shouted. "And, it's not like we have to get that much done, you know! Besides, I can finish setting the festival up faster than every bun on the planet!"

Clang.

"Forget it, just eat your oatmeal! We have to leave soon!" A spoon was snapped in half for everyone to hear.

Icy leaves burning his throat, the bun held back the urge to scream. Why did it have to be peppermint? No, no, it's a nice, cabbage pastrami breakfast melt, delicious! Bowl placed into the washer rack, he swore he smelled something rancid. Hopping towards the source, the vampa did a double take at what waited for him in the other room. Hanegal with a beaker in hand, he almost wanted to turn around.

"Sorry, did the smell bojer you?" Hanegal asked. "I'll be done in a secund." She then scribbled something. "High concentration of methane, low concentration of sulfate. Kay, dat should do it." She then yawned. "We're heading to da festibal area now, I tage it?"

[No, not yet. I was just wondering, what should I prepare myself for today?] A crackling voice asked through the Talkmaster B's speakers.

But, no answer came. How strange, why isn't anyone telling him anything?