sixthiterationlogs | [MINGLE] Crab Boil

[MINGLE] Crab Boil

WHO: Mark Watney
WHERE: 6I Inn front lawn
WHEN: 21 June 2018, afternoon/evening and onward
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
NOTES: A few thinsgs: You may assume your character helped set up; There are tubers in pot with the red salt, negating the warmth effect; The list of of potluck dishes is here; The list of local provisions is here

The weather is great, the sun is starting to dip toward the horizon, and it's pleasantly mild. Time for an (extremely) old-fashioned low country boil.

We've got two small fire pits built out in front of the inn, each with a massive pot filled with loads of vegetables — corn, carrots, potatoes, onions — and of course the rainbow crabs Finnick and Annie discovered not long after we arrived here. We've even got salt, if you can believe it, although the red salt in this place is pretty spicy and usually makes me sweat, so I've only put it in the one pot, and then set a bowl of it out for garnishing.

Tables and chairs have been brought out from inside, a couple of them set aside specifically for piles of plates, bowls, cups and whatever potluck provisions the rest of the village brings.

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Though he is, indeed, immersed in dog time, that doesn't mean he hasn't noticed Karen along his periphery. She seems down, drinking a lot more than she should maybe. But he feels like he'd only make it worse so he keeps his distance, playing with Aurora and Aretha like a puppy himself until all three of them are worn out and laying on the lawn catching their breaths. The two dogs pillow their heads on his stomach like bookends and for a precious moment he's something akin to happy. Until the house of cards collapses around him, that is, but it takes a few seconds longer than usual this time at least.

When he turns back towards Karen more overtly to check on her again, however, she's gone. Alarm lances through him as he sits bolt upright, displacing the dogs who glare at him ineffectually. Did he see Kira with her...? Though Karen Page is, in fact, not wearing a wire or tracking device of any kind (much to Frank's own chagrin, mind you) he does eventually come upon them. Despite having a tail himself of two worn out pups, he's as eerily silent as ever, creeping up behind the Town Hall and slowly starting to relax when he sees that she is in fact in one piece. He's about to take off again when he accidentally makes full eye contact as she turns her head to say something, and he freezes there like a dumb deer in headlights. Well, this doesn't make him look good, does it?

"I have a stalker— A friend," Karen amends as she leans back, head bumping gently against the wall. She's not fully drunk yet, but she can feel it creeping in on its little cat feet. She probably should have eaten more, especially when she's apparently about to add pot on top of it all.

"He's probably already here, it's sort of a thing," she says, words slow but not yet slurred. "He worries. But I mean, so do I. It's a mutual worrying." She takes a sip and quirks a little smile as she slides a look Kira's way. "As my grandmother would have said, we have a way of inviting trouble—"

And there he is, her homocidal guardian angel. She used to have two of them, but she doesn't want to think about that right now.

"Just come out, Frank," she calls. "Have a drink. We can pretend we're normal."

Kira hadn't cut his drink with much of anything, and his spine barely straightens when sober; the issue of finding a light feels secondary to leaning beside Karen in her confidence, discussing what should be a distressing development in her social life.

But, he recognizes the name: "Wait, so Vin Diesel's The Babysitter but for dogs is your mutual stalker? I'm changing your nickname to Lassie."

None of it stage whispered for the apparent ex-military stalker to not hear, because who cares anymore? Put his head through a wall: the observers will eject another him through the water a few days later, giving even less of a fuck about who he left behind. "Is that what we came back here to do? I thought we were inviting trouble."

Even stage whispers are pretty easy for him to pick up now, any minute sound categorized, registered and filed away. He's stopped being terrified at every sound others make, but that doesn't change his demeanor overly. He's less concerned about walking and breathing, but talking is a serious rarity. Kira's commentary gets a bemused eyebrow lift, mouthing Mutual Stalker? at Karen but then he's making his way over with the dogs in a relative display of obedience.

Then he points to himself and looks at Kira. Am I trouble?, again mouthed, having since gleaned the kid doesn't know sign language or morse code. Maybe he doesn't read lips either, he doesn't much care. After a beat, he turns towards Karen again and leans against the wall with her, their shoulders glancing. "'Normal,'" he mutters, beyond soft, with a generous eyeroll to accompany it. Sure enough no Sound Eaters, no preternatural force to strike them down. He sighs near silently and folds his considerable arms across his chest, attempting to act normal or casual or whatever the fuck anyone here seems to want from him. It's the first word he's spoken in Karen's presence aloud, he realizes belatedly.

"I'm not inviting you to trouble or anywhere else if you call me that," Karen pointedly informs Kira, and then tracks Frank's approach as he steps from the trees, past them both and then takes up his place beside Karen with an air of resignation. As if he really should be anywhere else.

"And trouble has arrived," Karen adds with a motion Frank's way, only to startle at the velvet rumble of his voice.

"He speaks!" she cries, lifting her glass in exultation. "Wonders seriously never cease. Here," she says, and pushes the glass Frank's way. "You need to relax. It'll only kill a few brain cells."

Turning back to Kira, she hesitates a moment, and then picks up the thread again: "Holy shit, Vin Diesel is kind of right, but the robot version. You know how he's a sweet robot and then somebody threatens the kid who adopted him and then he's a murder robot? That's Frank." A tick. "I thought you had a joint."

"Maybe you shouldn't give him that, then," he says of the vodka, inclining his head as the glass trades hands. "What if undoes the dent in his helmet and he forgets to be anything but a murder robot again?" And then Aurora will have to bring him back down with her big dog eyes, and Kira will cry like a little bitch, because fuck that movie.

Instead, he lifts the joint, stood up between his knuckles. "What I don't have is a lighter. Now that we're not dodging your stalker, and apparently giving him a vote: who wants me to light it off the inn's stove, and who wants to get high around a campfire?"

Kira lifts his hand for the second one: the last thing he needs is certain quantum physics teens watching him blaze his way back through the party.

He flinches when Karen raises her voice that close to him, but he quickly recovers to catch the glass she shoves his way. Not one to ever actually turn down alcohol, he takes a big sip. It's awful so he takes another right on its back. And wow that is... some comparison. Though actually, he tips his head in concession. Not so inaccurate. He's just going to hold onto the booze until she takes it back, a moment he's already dreading. He misses when a case of wine or whiskey or even both would show up on his doorstep at the start of the month.

Then his gaze swings heavily to Kira, and he's starting to understand why these two get along. He holds up his index finger for his vote. If only because he assumes Kira means the campfire at the party. There are kids at that party man!!! He's such a dad sometimes. But also... he's looking at Karen uncertainly. She smokes weed??

"Hang on," Karen says, and thrusts a hand into the back pocket of her pants. They're the ones she got not long after she first got to the village — Or the last version of it, whatever — and to her chagrin, she has recently started to think that she might have to start switching them out for those terrible overalls when she goes hiking. She's just vain enough to want a single pair of not-crappy pants in her closet.

"Here," she pulls forth a piece of flint and shoves it into Kira's hand. "Let me find a rock..." Stepping forward, she bends at the waist, squinting in the fading light at the dirt ringing the fields in front of them.

"Maybe we should make a baby fire," she calls back in suggestion, and then reaches down to pat Aretha's head when the dog joins her. "Sit around it, sing 'Kumbaya.' That's Frank's favorite song."

"I meant a baby fire," he clarifies; if he'd wanted to stay and smoke at the party, he would have. "Maybe out by the spring, bunch of wet rocks on the ground to counter our increasing stupidity." Did he mean expanding the group to include the guy who showed up and started walking north without uttering a word, or did he mean the moonshine and pot? Who could say.

Looking down at where Aurora is spinning herself dizzy with her tail in her mouth, Kira knows exactly who and what he means.

"It's summer. Frank can mumble ghost stories to us and we can teach him whatever Rihanna single is current between our fucking timelines."

Wait... Is he being peer pressured rn?!?!?!?! This is outrageous. Frank looks back and forth from the young man to Karen and back again, though he does spare a soft smile for Aurora, putting his hand out to try and calm her. What a nutball. At the mention of ghost stories though, he looks back up, a smile starting to tug at the corner of his lips. Oh, he knows ghost stories. He even was one, once. One eye closes some in a not-quite wink and he holds up his trademark OK sign. He's in, okay. You guys are monsters!!!!

"That's too far," Karen announces, and then pops back up, a small piece of what looks to be granite in hand. It should work. "I am too drunk and not high enough to walk all the way out to the spring. But we probably should go somewhere else, because we will be murdered if we accidentally catch the vegetables on fire," she adds with a motion toward the fields.

"It stinks over there—" she continues, pointing toward the neighboring trees; the butcher's is on the other side, where the soap gets made out back. Stinkily.

"Holy shit, Frank's almost smiling, watch out," she warns.

"You fucking lightweight," Kira grouses, more cheerfully than the words deserve. He doesn't care one way or the other about the walk, just the lack of people, and the lack of tall dry grass. "Make him carry you. Make him carry us both."

Though he puts one foot dutifully before the other, taking perfectly loose but serviceable steps away from the wall. He's a professional somewhat functional drunk; in his heyday he could knock back three shots on an empty stomach and still give Sasha Fierce on the seizure inducing dance floor.

He just couldn't make judgments of character or personal safety. He barely does that sober, anymore. "Frank smiles, he just mostly does it at dogs. I bet if we get him drunk he'll re-enact that Buzzfeed video and cry about them."

He's never seen Karen like this. So carefree and easy... it gives him more pause than it should. He's still staring at her, mumbling the softest, "I smile," just in time for Kira to start running his mouth. Frank isn't sure whether he wants to slap the guy or have him narrate his life most of the time.

The best he manages is narrowed eyes and a slightly louder: "Asshole" as he takes a long gulp, savoring the burn of the terrible drink all the way down.

The look Karen affords Frank is skeptical, but softens a moment later with a lift of her chin. "That's true, he smiles about coffee. And killing bad guys," she allows.

Kira is wending a sloppy, meandering path away from them, thankfully in the non-stinky direction. Without thinking, Karen holds out a hand for Frank to take so they can follow, only to pull it quickly back.

"Sorry, that's right," she says, and shifts her gaze to Kira's progress as she pushes the weight of her hair over her shoulder. "You don't do that."

Tilting a look back over one shoulder, he gets enough context to plant his feet in the grass and wait for them to catch up. "No," he states plainly, reaching down for the nearest hand on each of them, breaking their awkward bullshit like a big dead crab in the tide. "I'm not third-wheeling your weird mutual stalking."

Karen's hand is the easier of the two to find, both at his height and with his purely mundane reflexes, but he'll give Frank's a few attempts if necessary. Swinging whichever hands he winds up with, he takes the next step forward.

"You're butting into my support group," he tells Frank. "And we're drinking wig-girl's moonshine, and you're going to smoke my weed. That means if it isn't fun, leave it at the drink table. Let's go."

Frank sends her a sharp look for the murder comment, but before he can deny it, Karen is reaching for his hand. He doesn't fully understand her intention until she drops contact preemptively and he looks from her hand back to his with a frown. A good distraction if ever there was one. The five of them continue their traipse and Frank takes another gulp of the terrible drink in his hand - already sensing he's going to need it. You don't do that. Has he really been that awful to her? Frank mostly just thought he'd been staying out of her way.

He starts all over again when Kira grabs for his free hand, but he doesn't yank it away or anything dramatic like that. In fact, he merely clasps the other man's hand and allows himself to be dragged along. See, Karen, he can do this!! And he's definitely not doing it to be contrary or prove you wrong not even a little bit. Kira reminds him of Tetora in an odd way and holding his hand like this makes him feel like words should be reaching into his mind any second... but instead he gets snappy commentary and peer pressure. Actually, that's a lot like Tet too honestly. When he thinks of how the young man used to call him 'Dad' though, that's enough of that memory.

After another few paces, he looks over at Karen through Kira, feeling strangely more connected to her than if he was holding her hand directly. There's a hopelessness in his gaze, he never does appreciate uncertainty and yet there's a comfort in the familiarity of it all the same.

A flash of anger washes over Karen, and when Kira first grips hold of her hand, she initially resists. It's palpable and deep-seated, this anger, and that acknowledgment in itself is upsetting and confusing and surprising enough that the fury becomes secondary; Despite it all, she finds herself pulled haplessly along without further struggle.

She holds Frank's gaze a long moment, wanting to cry and not knowing why, her thoughts and emotions all smudging together. "I need a support group," she says when she drags her eyes away, and then seems to prove the point by catching a booted foot on a rock and nearly taking all three of them down into the dirt.

He's less prepared and less willing to hunt Karen's hand, but somehow manages to find the hold and keep it. He's even less prepared for her to drag at him when she trips, and his hands tighten on both of them as he's pulled sideways. It's up to Frank to keep them upright, Kira careening into Karen's side as she steadies, and in managing it he invites Kira's accusing gaze.

"You must be this uncoordinated to be our friend," he says, swaying back the other way to drag them both at Frank's hip--in part to challenge his balance. "Drink up tall, dark and sturdy."

Attention returning to Karen, he doesn't make the attempt to bring her up against his side--no half-hugs when you're balking at apparently necessary hand-holds. "You really fucking do," he agrees. "You invited your stalker to smoke weed in the woods." Not that they're going to get very far in there, at this rate. He'll settle for behind his house, where there's already wood and a makeshift ashtray on the back steps.

Frank really doesn't understand why Karen is so pissed at him. She'd been pissed at him before, sure, but she usually got over it fast too. This time seems to be lingering which means he keeps doing the wrong thing. He wishes she'd just tell him what to do. She trips and he gasps aloud, somehow managing to keep a firm grip on the glass even as he drops Kira's hand and grabs the man's arm instead to help him pull Karen up. It's no trouble for him to keep all of them afloat even with only one hand free, but he's becoming increasingly more worried about Karen's state of mind.

He does glare at Kira for the horseplay, but there's no heat behind it. Surprise: even that reminds him of Tet. Once they're on flatter ground, he drops the assembly line and shifts around to Karen's other side, his footfalls matching hers perfectly. "Are you okay?" Because she's really... not acting okay. It's freaking him out, Kira can be ignored for a minute while he gets to the root of it.

What Karen is, is drunk. Still, despite the fumble a moment before, she manages to look Frank in the eye, her gaze steady and open in a way she'd never dare while sober. "I'm always okay," she says, watching him. "You're here. That's all I wanted."

She swivels her head around to Kira, snapping the moment. "Okay, listen. In six months— More than six months, I've had one beer. I used to be better at this. Myyy ex-boyfriend was Irish Catholic, and I kept up with him. Mostly. He also had special powers, so whatever," she adds with a flap of her hand.

"Don't be mean to Frank," she says after a beat, as if just remembering defending the Punisher's honor is her job. "He saved my life. Lots. He's just bad at feelings."

In his own defense, Kira is also drunk--and specifically looking to not deal with whatever emotions keep passing over his head. That was the point of drinking when he had no choice but to know everyone's bullshit, and it's still shockingly necessary.

When Karen flaps her hand near his face, he resists only a moment before snapping his teeth at it--a full beat and several inches off, head tilting back to roll his eyes up and aim his gaze at Frank.

"I'm not being mean to Frank," he says: obviously, the only way he is ever mean to anyone is by ignoring them. Concentrated, on-purpose asinine behavior is the olive branch. Also, free weed is the olive branch, and every other fucking thing he's done for the brooding jarhead since he arrived. "Frank is a big boy," he adds, head snapping back up, wobbling a bit as he shoves Karen's hand into Frank's and makes a meandering curve around her back to take proper lead. "A big idiot. We are all big idiot adults. And I'm going to get back to your boyfriend's special powers later, I am not too drunk to remember that."

Snapping both sets of fingers on both hands, managing properly with only the one, he charges the short distance from the Hall to his new house, marshaling the dogs to replace the pair of them at his sides.

His gaze startles. That's all I wanted. Frank swallows, not knowing how to process the words. All Frank wanted was for Karen not to come to Reims, and he realizes he's made a miscalculation again. Maybe an unforgivable one. Then she's going on - rambling really - about Matt and then to her usual defensive speech of him. All he can do is sigh, even as he nods at Kira. He flashes an OK sign, they're cool. Kira can rib him anytime honestly, it's how he shows affection too. Maybe it's just because Karen is drunk, but she seems even more vulnerable now than she had previously and when Kira smacks their hands together he does one better and winds one broad arm around her shoulders, she's not falling again on his watch.

"He's a ninja," Frank offers brightly. What? He's helping.

"That's ra-cist," Kira sing-song interjects, voice harshing at the end, but he doesn't look back in the slightest, leading the dogs up the steps until they bottleneck and he goes to one knee. Very graceful. Very kung-fu.

Now he's kind of ignoring them, but soon enough he's tossing and kicking logs off the small porch, telling Frank to be useful for once in his life.

"He's also white, so." Sorry to disappoint. It's defensive though, he's still not over Magfuckingneto calling him racist in Reims okay. He's still holding onto Karen and just looking unimpressed with the man's sick kungfu moves. What is he even supposed to be helping with?

When Frank's arm slides across her shoulders, all Karen can really do is look at him as she allows herself to be led along. She's doesn't know what to possibly say because she doesn't know what she possibly feels with the ante so abruptly upped. This isn't a thing they do, be close for more than fleeting moments.

Her mouth opens, words forming on the tip of her tongue, and then the conversation is pulled back to Matt and she snaps her mouth shut again.

"He's also dead, so," Karen flatly chimes in, turning her attention to Kira's back.

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3ofswords - 2018-07-06 20:33 (UTC) - Expand

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oorah - 2018-07-06 21:14 (UTC) - Expand

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[MINGLE] Crab Boil

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cuts in just this once

slices ur throat

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