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.]

Comments

[middle_son]

Forrest may be just slightly later arriving than he'd like, although it's a fair bet that he wanted to be early so on the balance of things that's just fine. It's taken him more time than he expected just because of how much he's carrying. There's a basket over one arm, and a large heavy covered pan that requires both hands. The smell of homemade fried chicken that wafts from the latter is unmistakable and mouth-watering. In the basket are fresh bread rolls to go with it, and a jar of butter just in case there wasn't any on hand. Cricket's party will not go without good food.

Forrest assumes he doesn't need to bring drinks, because Cricket has been doing quite well on that front by himself.

[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.

[readvondaniken]

There's a man with scruffy hair that vaguely looks like a badly-groomed dandelion standing close by. Palmer notices the other man quickly, but is further attracted by the scent of homemade fried chicken. He comes over, trying to look somewhat distinguished even with the patches on his clothes and scruffy appearance. He offers a warm smile, partly his own nature and partly moonshine.

"I smell chicken. Mind if I have any, please?" Palmer offers a hand. "My name's James Palmer. I'm a friend of Cricket's."

[middle_son]

Welp, that looks exactly like somebody Forrest was once told to keep an eye out for. Boy could use a good comb and some hair oil. He gives a nod even before Palmer introduces himself properly, because he's got a good idea already. His return handshake is firm, knuckles scarred and hands work-roughened.

"Chicken's for ev'rybody't wants't. Hearda' you. Name's Forrest Bondurant." Whether or not Palmer has heard of him in return, he doesn't ask.

[readvondaniken]

"You've heard of me? Didn't know I was famous." Palmer gives Forrest a cheeky smile before explaining further. "I'm a mechanic. The shop I run's called Gear Today, Gone Tomorrow, and Cricket works part-time for me as my assistant. He's been a real good friend to me."

Once Forrest gives him permission to help himself, Palmer cautiously accepts some chicken and takes a bite. He chews for a few moments, then swallows.

"This is pretty damn good, Mr. Bondurant. Or would you like to be called Forrest?"

[middle_son]

"Mr. Kinner told me you'd done Cricket a good turn. He used t'do garage work for us, but maybe this place's got a lot more t'offer. Seems he's doin' real well here." Forrest is just a little sad that Franklin County was clearly limited in what opportunities it could offer. As much as hes missed the kid, there's no denying that Cricket has bloomed, in the Nexus.

"Thanks. Either's fine." There are enough people around back home who call him Mr. Bondurant that he's used to it, but a friend of Cricket's is certainly allowed to use his first name.

[readvondaniken]

"Cricket's been real helpful to me as my assistant. I've been teaching him how to work with machines from my time as well as his.." Palmer bites into the chicken. He looks up when he hears Kinner's name. "Oh? You met Kinner? You might want to visit his shop sometime. He makes the best fish in the Nexus by my books. He brought some biscuits and shrimp for the party. Might wanna check his stocks out sometime."

"Thanks, Forrest." Palmer acknowledges the permission he's been granted. "You can call me Palmer. Or Jim, but Palmer's what I'm used to answering to. Cricket and I were in a bit of a similar boat. Not bein' able to go home to our worlds."

[middle_son]

"What is... your time?" Forrest is not adjusting to the Nexus quite as fast as Cricket has, both because he's not as adaptable and because he's not trapped here the same way. It's still strange to him that there are so many people from different times.

"Been meanin't'stop by Kinner's place. Pick up a few new recipes, maybe." It is very good fried chicken, not too greasy, light and crispy. He's no slouch cook, either.

[readvondaniken]

"I'm from 1982. Born in San Diego, if you wanna get specific about it. I'm a long way from where Cricket's from. Only 'bout sixty years apart, we're from the same century, but machines in my time are pretty different." Palmer shows Forrest his Walkman as an example of what he means.

He smiles when Forrest mentions visiting Kinner. "Kinner's a great guy. He'd have some great recipes to teach you if you talk to him, and he makes some great fish. I'm guessing he gave you his address?"

[middle_son]

Cricket's time is also Forrest's time, so that puts him as not even born yet where Forrest is from. He looks at the Walkman when Palmer pulls it out, but his expression shows mild bewildered incomprehension. Yup, that is a box with a cord. That probably does something. It does not look like it could walk, since it has no legs, and it's definitely not a man, and Forrest doesn't know what a 'Sony' is, either. As examples go, it's just plain mystifying.

"Said he hadda shop, I just don't spend much time here. Got work back home." He's making a mental note that he should really make plans to stop by, though.

[readvondaniken]

"It plays music," Palmer explains when he sees the look of confusion on Forrest's face. "You push this button here, put these here headphones on your ears, and voila! Music. Really nothing too fancy, but I'm guessing they're not really a thing where you're from. Not yet, anyway. There's all kinds of machines in the future that I've taught Cricket about."

"Kinner's Kippers. That's what it's called. He's a great guy. Little rough around the edges, but he's got a good heart." Palmer rummages in his pocket. "Tell you what - how 'bout we swap PINpoint information?"

[middle_son]

Assuming that Forrest knows what headphones are may also be a stretch, really. But he gives a slow nod, and if he doesn't quite fully understand than at least he can give the impression that he does. All they have at the station is a radio. The Bondurant family was never wealthy or fancy enough to have a phonograph.

'Rough around the edges, with a good heart' could be applied to a number of people Forrest knows, including his older brother Howard. Palmer looks just a little bit like Howard, really, in a way Forrest hasn't yet pinned down. The habit of self-medication, maybe.

Oh no.
Is exchanging PINpoint info some kind of ritual around here?
It probably is.
Forrest pulls his out and hesitates, then prods at it a little to pull up his own number on it, with the air of a senior trying to work out a VCR remote.

[readvondaniken]

Palmer's offering the PINpoint because he's taken a liking to Forrest and also so he can let him know how Cricket's doing. He's not Cricket's guardian, of course, Cricket's an adult, but he is his employer. He considers Cricket's wellbeing partly his responsibility.

While Forrest works with the PINpoint, Palmer's taking the chance to enjoy his supper. By this point Palmer's gobbled down the last of the chicken he took, and is happily sucking the last scrap from the bones. He politely compliments Forrest as he discards them.

"Delicious. Thanks, Forrest. These are some good eats. But yeah, Cricket's fine. He's a good hand with a car, and we make a great team. You're welcome to visit my shop sometime."

[middle_son]

If there is one thing that Forrest is not fond of about the Nexus, it's these weird little boxes with their buttons and their screens. Give him a pen and paper, any day. Also, Forrest would definitely argue that he is Cricket's guardian. He's been looking after him and his own younger brother since he was a teenager, himself.

"There's bread rolls, too." Also homemade, and a jar of fresh homemade butter to go with it. Forrest has brought some amazing food. He frowns at the screen of his PINpoint, and holds it out to Palmer displaying his own number on it, for the other man to take down. "Might come by." He doesn't do much shopping in the Nexus, but he's thinking he should probably assess what resources are available, here.

[readvondaniken]

"Don't mind if I take you up on that offer." Palmer takes a couple of breadrolls and adds butter. Hey, he's never one to turn down a free meal, and he's still hungry. He decides to talk a little more before digging in.

Palmer doesn't mind the PINpoints so much, but he's used to them. He's also a mechanic - he likes going through things and seeing what makes them tick. "Wouldn't mind if you came by. My place is called Gear Today, Gone Tomorrow." Palmer pulls a business card with his address and PINpoint information, offering it to Forrest after he copies down the other man's number.

[middle_son]

There is nothing on earth that compares to fresh-churned butter from milk that came out of a cow less than 24 hours ago. It's soft and rich and creamy. What Forrest makes is farm food, stuff that's designed for people who eat it and then go work in a field for hours on end.

Forrest raises an eyebrow at the pun that is the shop's name, but dutifully takes the business card, and is grateful not to have to punch the numbers in on the little keypad right now. He's a smart man, but the PINpoint is weird and foreign and makes his fingers feel big and clumsy. "Is it cars 'n trucks, or... other stuff?"

[readvondaniken]

Once Palmer's eaten one of the breadrolls, he would agree with that assessment. He gives Forrest a thumbs-up. He's not a picky eater, far from it, but the breadrolls are delicious. Palmer greedily slips another breadroll into his pocket to eat later. No harm keeping a snack to eat when the party's over.

When off work, Palmer always keeps a few business cards on his person. He is a salesman, after all. "Yeah, we do cars and trucks, but you're right, we do other things, too. I do general repairs and restoration work, if you've ever got any need for that. Cricket works for me sometimes, along with a man named Cassian."

[middle_son]

Forrest doesn't advertise Blackwater Station; the road and word of mouth brings his business to him. The reputation of his baked goods may have something to do with that. But he does not have business cards.

"Don't got a lot beyond cars 'n trucks, and th'stills. Cricket used t'be our mechanic at th'station, though." They have not replaced him yet, and while the Bondurant brothers all know the basics of car maintenance and can repair easy issues for travelers, none of them have Cricket's more advanced skills with an engine.