Happy Birthday//Welcome Home!

[alittlehinky]

The garden is flourishing, a riot of blooms at one end, plants heavy with fruit at the other. The chickens are in place, over two dozen of them in an oversized coop at one end of the property. The barn is unfinished, but the moonshining shed is massive, shiny and new, with locks on the doors and storm shutters on the windows, in case of another winter like the last.

The house is not huge, a sturdy two-bedroom place built with thick stone walls. It contains single floor for living, a small attic, and a deep split-level cellar. The furniture has been moved in; it's all secondhand but repaired and refinished.

By Cricket's own standards, the place is practically a palace. He never dreamed he would own so much land--granted, this is the Nexus so the topography and acreage may fluctuate, his claim may be challenged legally, whatever--it belongs to him right now, he bought it with money he earned, and he's got the living space upon it arranged to his liking.

It's sunset, and there are fairy lights strung up on the porch and in the yard, tables with food and moonshine set out, and beneath the treeline off to the right of the house there are fireflies flickering. There's a radio playing music, and lots of blankets spread on the grass for sitting or watching the stars. It's meant to be a low-key affair, but enough people wanted to see Cricket's place he felt like a party was the right idea. A small one. A quiet one.

(This is the Nexus, and there are Lokis. There is always a chance small and quiet may not stay small and quiet.)

The cake, in case anyone wants to know, is vanilla with blackberry filling. There's no writing on it, but it's the centerpiece of the food table. Cricket's not in the habit of demanding attention on his birthday, but...blackberry cake.

[[ETA: Please feel free to assume if your character knows Cricket they were invited via text or face-to-face discussion. If your character doesn't know Cricket personally but you want them to drop in, feel free to PM me and we'll figure out a reason to get them there.]

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[alittlehinky]

Forrest arrives after Steve, but before most of the others, and that all works out fine as far as Cricket is concerned. He's touched to have so much company.

Cricket scrambles a little to meet Forrest, because he's carrying so much and because what he's carrying smells borderline divine. He asked for fried chicken because no one in the Nexus makes it the way Forrest does. Forrest then offered homemade rolls, and he couldn't say not to that. He feels a little bad that he'd already ordered the cake because Forrest acted like he should have had him make it, too. But then, Forrest always wants to do more than he should have to, and sometimes more than he can, and Cricket knows that damn well.

He offers to take the pan right away. His braces are on, no cane needed, so he seems safe to manage that. "Aw, hell, Forrest, this smells amazing. I'mma put it on the table closest to the house so the chickens don't think I'm threatening them."

On the opposite end, as well, from where the fruit and veggies are set out. He knows Harley doesn't want to have to smell the chicken, even if he thinks it's great.

[middle_son]

There was a time he would have had no trouble carrying all this, certainly, so his limitations on what he can do have changed. Sometimes it seems like whatever lingering damage he has from the shootout must be somewhere in his core muscles, and carrying a heavy load with both hands like this slows him down. If it bothers him that Cricket might be more capable of carrying the heavy tray than he is, at least neither of them is going to say anything about it. He follows with the basket, which is more manageable when it's all he has to carry.

"They'd eat some too, and you know't." Birds are rarely above cannibalism, when it comes down to it. The bread rolls and the jar of fresh butter are set on the table beside the chicken, cloth wrapped around the rolls to keep them warm.

[alittlehinky]

"Honestly, I reckon there's some humans about who'd eat human meat if you seasoned battered and deep fried it well enough, Forrest."

Wow, Cricket. That was dark. He's smirking. The Nexus has been an interesting influence on this kid.

"Reckon I'd rather stick with chicken, myself. But Harley and Pamela don't eat meat at all, so I'm putting it at one end and their vegetables at the other." He peeps into the pan of chicken and selects a leg to set aside for himself. "Don't worry none, though. It won't go to waste. D'you wanna see the living chickens since you're here? Get you a drink first."

[middle_son]

Forrest turns just enough to give him a raised eyebrow, because holy shit whut? On the other hand in typical Forrest fashion, he is expending the minimum amount of energy necessary to get his own message across. A raised eyebrow, a tilt of the shoulders, a brief deeply skeptical look. Words aren't needed so he won't waste them.

Then he lets it all pass, and grunts thoughtfully. "Woulda made a vegetable dish if I'd known." He really would have, even if he's not clear on why anybody would want to pass up homemade fried chicken. In answer to the last question, he gives a nod, because he wants to check out things now that Cricket has settled in.

[alittlehinky]

Cricket is unabashed, but he laughs a little at Forrest's expression.

"Forrest, I didn't mean you had to feed the whole party." He reaches up and squeezes his friend's shoulder. "And I got plenty of vegetable and fruit things for them to eat. And pita chips and hummus--you ever eaten hummus? It's good. Mashed up chickpeas with garlic and such."

He'd rather have the homemade fried chicken, too, really, but you have to eat some vegetables sometimes.

Cricket hastens to grab one of the smaller mason jars for Forrest and brings it over. "Come see the coop! There was leftovers from the lumber you brought me, so I gave it to a friend o' mine who was building kind of a garage for his bike. Reckon we both appreciate it. And the chickens do, too."

As they get closer to the coop, Forrest may notice the brightly colored feathers. Cricket has gotten a variety of chickens: silkies, wyandottes, a couple plump Brahma hens, and a rooster with a fantastically long, feathery tail. Loki has dressed them up for the party, so to speak. They're all a rainbow of color.

"They don't usually look like this," Cricket says with a grin.

[middle_son]

"Coulda, though." He means it, too. Of course, his vegetable dishes would probably have more butter and possibly bacon grease, because vegetarian is a foreign concept. He would have tried, though, and it would have also been damn good food.
Forrest grunts at the mention of
hummus and shakes his head, because that's a new one, but he'll gladly try it. Anything with garlic ought to be good, and he has no idea about the health food ideologies that people tend to pair with it.

Accepting the mason jar, he shuffles along after Cricket, and eyes the chickens. Who knew there were so many different kinds? Or colors...

"Hmn. What're they usually like?"

[alittlehinky]

"I know you could." Cricket's expression softens for a moment. Forrest is tough as nails, intimidating and admirable, and also somehow one of the most maternal people Cricket knows.

"I don't know if it had been invented yet back home," he says thoughtfully of the hummus. "Or maybe it comes from another country? It's good, anyway."

He giggles a little about the chickens. "Well, the fluffy ones're usually white, black, or buff and grey. The ones like that purple one over there aren't normally quite so bright. And the brahmas, the big ones, they're just white, normally."

He looks thoughtful. "Loki didn't do much to the rooster, though. Just put the bow tie on 'im. He's always that colorful."

[middle_son]

Jack and Howard have long teased Forrest about being an old woman, but he never seems overly bothered by the accusations. He's at home with his domestic side, and most content when he's cooking or doing the mending. Of course, he's equally at home doing carpentry or other more masculine chores, but since he got shot, his brothers tend to leave him out of the more strenuous work.

He's appraising the chicken coop with a professional eye, though. "Ain't seen that many diff'rent kinds since the fair." Franklin doesn't have one, but a few years, he's made the trip down to Rocky Mount for theirs. He's not disapproving of Cricket's selection, mind you, maybe even a little impressed.