gonst asks? okie dokie, lets put the papas in a situation :)
we all know that all of the papas worked very very hard and were given no time to relax away from the clergy. SO what if the clergy did arrange each papa a yearly vacation but did not bother to think about the kind of vacation each papa would actually enjoy? this is a very long winded way to ask - what is the worst kind of vacation you could send the papas on? one they would absolutely despise and come back from more stressed. :)
Primo: A day at an amusement park. A seismometer could pick up the intensity with which he's gritting his teeth as he stands in line for two hours to ride a rollercoaster. He didn't know the lines would be so long so he didn't wear his compression socks, and the orthopedic shoes can only do so much. His feet hurt. He almost loses his mitre when he finally gets on the ride. His robes are flapping around in an undignified manner and showing everyone his skinny old legs. The screams surrounding him are of delight rather than terror. He is Unhappy.
Secondo: A Yonic Wombyn's Retreat. They meant to send him to a Yoga retreat (he also would have hated that), but oopsie! At first he thinks it'll be great; he's clearly not supposed to be there but when he realizes he'll be surrounded by flexible chicks for a whole week (there is still yoga, of course), he smooths it over saying some shit like, "I wanted to connect with my feminine side" and gets to stay.
With each passing day it sinks in: None of these women are interested. They don't appreciate his contributions to discussions of vaginal health. They are not interested in his hedonistic anecdotes. They had to loan him yoga-appropriate clothing and everything is too tight yet no one appreciates how the yoga pants accentuate his package. He has never stretched in his whole life and is too stiff to do anything. He spends the whole week sore, cranky, borrowing ineffective """natural""" ointments for his bug bites, sulking when he's accused of perpetuating toxic masculinity, and complaining about the food (everything is vegetarian or gluten/dairy/nut/sugar-free).
On the last night he finally gets so close to bangin' one of these ladies but they're interrupted and she scurries away to guiltily journal about how much she misses her fuckass deployed soldier husband.
When the ghouls come to pick him up the next day he's been at the front gates since sunrise, sitting grumpypants-style on his luggage. He doesn't speak to anyone for days.
Terzo: He would clean👏 up👏 at the Yonic Wombyn's retreat, but alas, he is sent on a cruise. On paper this seems like it would be great, and he is initially excited to chill out on a deck chair for a week and soak up some sun, but when he boards, he is given a schedule of all the different little events they have.
He's flipping through it like, "Oh, this is fun, maybe I would like to do a little painting class while I'm here," etc, but then he starts thinking, "I should make the most of my time off, right?" and thus begins the spiral.
He spends so much time on the road that he never has time for him anymore, you know? All his hobbies have fallen to the wayside. His personal development has stagnated. When was the last time he danced, or painted, or just played some board games? Maybe Asian Fusion cuisine was his calling this entire time and he's never had the chance to find out. Maybe learning the ukelele is what he should do. No! It's pastels! Drawing with pastels could be his new Thing!
He spends all his time hustling his ass across that huge boat, stressing over whatever little event he had to skip due to a scheduling conflict, never enjoying anything all the way because what if he was really meant to go to a wine tasting today? Sure, he thought he knew about wine, but what if he was mistaken?
He is exhausted, and in the middle of this ongoing ADHD crisis he stress-eats too many buffet shrimp, gets food poisoning, and has to spend the last two days puking in his room anyway.
He also gets fined for chain-smoking in his room between bouts of vomiting.
Cardi is sent to a Men's Fitness retreat. Just look at these and tell me Cardi wouldn't want to die within 24 hours. He'd show up cautiously optimistic and the first night would go great! He'd have a blast eating steaks with the boys, but then the next day his ass would be red-faced and pouring sweat, sitting on a rock as the boys all pass him on the trail.
He'd have some fun (mostly eating more steak with the boys), like the swimming and sitting-around-looking-at-nature parts, but eventually I think he'd just sit around at the cabin or whatever, waiting for the boys to come back from throwing logs around, and he would miss all the male bonding and end up withdrawing and getting sad when they all have inside-joke nicknames for one another and shit.
I made myself a little sad picturing this. Sorry, pookie. He wanted to go to Space Camp.
Perpetua: Water park. Like Primo he would hate waiting in line, but more importantly, his time as a cryptid in the Pacific Northwest was full of lakes and rivers and ponds, leaving him with a deep-seated distrust of chlorinated water. He would keep reflexively drinking from the pools as he swam, then choke and spit out the piss/poolwater. He screeches and runs away when someone tries to put sunscreen on him and gets badly sunburned.
Now that he's living in the human world he's become aware of his physical appearance, and with this knowledge comes the curse of finding out that getting his hair wet ruins his beautiful curls, too.
He is a miserable, peeling lobster, complaining for at least a week about frizziness and the chlorine smell sticking to him.
