Let us eat quickly-- let us fill ourselves up. {Harvest Feast}

[lastofthekellys]

WHO: Kate Kelly
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: 24th November
OPEN TO: E V E R Y O N E
WARNINGS: TBA
STATUS: OPEN

---

Aside from the days when she'd been too drunk or too hungover to get up, Kate's kept a farmer's hours all her life. Even in winter, when the bitterly cold winds that'd come up from the south and make its way through the cracks and holes in her ma's hut, she'd get up, get dressed, do her chores. But lately, it's been harder to extract herself from her bed. Benedict's been sharing her bed more often than not lately, and the chasteness of their interactions does nothing to change how warm and safe she feels. How little she wants to get up, get dressed, go out into the colder spaces of the Inn and do her work.

So, today, she's late getting out of bed - at least, by her standards. She's late getting down the stairs. She's late, so she's hurrying; she lazed in bed, and now she needs to start the fire in the main room. Start the fire, open the shutters, show that the Inn is standing and warm. And welcome, so she moves the -

No, Kate doesn't move the chairs stacked precariously at the front door as a rudimentary alarm of someone, something, coming through, because the chairs are gone. She neither dismisses it as one of the residents not getting the message, nor panics. Instead, she just opens the shutters to let in the dawn light and see if there are footprints, except, no, the snow has mostly cleared. The day is sunny. As welcome as it is, that doesn't help at all. Miss Hoppity jumps down from the foyer's desk to rub her face against Kate's skirt, apparently entirely unconcerned.

Kate eyes the cat for a moment, then approaches the closed doors leading to the main room. Closed, but with light coming through the cracks between door and floor, door and door frame. Cautiously, Kate opens one of the doors and peers in.

Then, she gapes.

The fire is blazing - hot, cheery - but so are the candles. The candles: candles on the unused candlesticks, candles clustered on tables, light up sideboards. Candles bobbing in bowls of water and apples. Candles white, yellow and red, when the village had none. Boughs of wheat, corn, decorate tables and the mantle over the fire, apples and pumpkins and collections of yellow, orange, red flowers seem to be everywhere.

And the food.

Each table is piled high with food. Roasted, baked, cooked on stoves and Kate knows how to cook, she knows how long this would all take, how many people, and it's impossible. What she's seeing is impossible to have done with the resources on hand: even an attempt would have woken up the whole building.

Disbelieving, Kate walks in. For a moment, she's entirely dumbfounded. Miss Hoppity, however, is nothing of the sort. The cat has leapt up onto the sideboard next to Kate and - well, Kate isn't sure what happens next. Just that suddenly there's movement and something large seems to lunge at her. Miss Hoppity yowls and speeds off: Kate screams as she battles something, falling backwards and hitting the floor along with a broken bowl of water, spilled apples and some tiny candles, and her attacker.

Pushing the food-turkey off her, Kate sits up and is, for once, entirely lost for words.

Comments

the scene greeting arrivals | reactions and discussions

[lastofthekellys]

Whether drawn by Kate's ear-splitting, rather blood-curdling scream, people spreading the word or just plain chance, this is what people will see:

The main room of the Inn and Pub is lit by dozens of different sized and coloured candles - on candlesticks, on dishes, some floating in bowls of water with glossy red apples - as well the merrily crackling fire. The entire room has been decorated as if for the North American Thanksgiving or another form of harvest festival.

Over the fireplace is a wreath, and over the mantle-piece are candles, pumpkins, a woven cornucopia spilling with apples, smaller pumpkins, walnuts, grapes and flowers. The sideboards are heaped with similar decorations, as are the tables. Some of the cornucopias are of basket-weave, others are of pastries spilling small chocolates and truffles.

The sideboards either side of the main doors are flanked by turkeys, and the corners of the room have bowls of candles and apples, and pumpkins. So many, many pumpkins.

On the tables are all the plates and cutlery from the kitchen, glasses and mugs clustering around each setting. The bowls are all from the kitchen and pantry, too, and mugs have been pressed into service as vases because the vases themselves aren't enough to contain all the candles, all the flowers, all the multicoloured ears of corn.

And then, there is the food...

So the question for all the new arrivals is this: what to do? Eat the feast so generously provided? Save what food and decorations they can to aid to their stores for the winter? Ignore it all as being too suspicious for words?

Or do people just stand and argue while the hot food finally starts to cool?



[Note: Feel free to have discussion posts, threadjacking threads, mingling, etc.]

After the Scream

[seekingvinland]

Thorfinn had been awake after another set of night terrors. It was nothing new. He had been in his room working on this or that with the window open. He liked the air, and after the furnace had broken, he didn't dare keep his door open if he had the window open.

Kate's scream ripped through the room. And though he was hardly dressed for the cold or even going out he moved fast, leaving his door open and grabbing the axe by the back door. His boots ignored, which was dumb, but he was a creature of action more than thought. Running as fast as he could with the axe in hand incase he needed it. running into the inn, his hair wild and messy from the braids he wore yesterday, only dressed in his scrub pants... holding an axe. He really looked looked a madman at the moment.

"Kate!" He called out her name, worried. He really needed to start closing that window.

[lastofthekellys]

"I'm fine!" She calls it out before she can see him, and then nearly collides with him as Thorfinn comes tearing into the room. With an axe. Shirtless, hair a veritable mane.

Kate doesn't flail at him, but she steps back, hands up.

Here, I'm here, I'm in one piece.

"Thorfinn, I'm fine. I found, um," she steps back, turning like a dance move, and gesture at the room. "Then, Miss Hoppity made something fall, so I thought somethin' was bein' attacked, but I'm fine."

ota

[womanofvalue]

The inn is a regular stop for Peggy both in routine, but also in her social life. She likes to stop in and have a bite to eat or better yet, to enjoy some tea, but today when she shows up, alarm and joy war with each other the moment she walks into the inn and stares at the food piling up on the tables. It's not just that, but the decorations. While she knows Kate is quite the resourceful one, she sincerely doubts she could have done all this since last night, when Peggy took her leave of the inn. Mouth gaping open, she wanders inside and tries to find someone who might have seen something.

The other problem, of course, is knowing this place. Usually, the pattern is the other way. Something terrible happens, revealing something good. Perhaps Natasha's attack had been the bad? Her own near-incident in the canyon? The trouble is that no matter how much she wants to convince herself that nothing bad is going to happen, she's far too much of a realist to stare at this gift horse and not look it in the mouth.

"Did anyone see what happened?" she asks, gaping at the food piled high. "...How?"

[warriorborn]

It's hard to sleep in when the person you share your bed with insists on leaving, letting cold air in under the blankets and otherwise disturbing what could have been a perfectly lovely, lazy morning.

But he's been sleeping in Kate's bed long enough to know that she sticks to a strict schedule, no matter how much sleepy persuading he might try to make her tardy, so after Kate slips out of bed and dresses while he keeps his back firmly turned to her to afford her some privacy, he forces himself to get out of bed as well. The air in the room is cold, even with a brazier of coals that had all but burned down to ash overnight, so he's quick about it, hopping into his clothes and stomping into his boots in about half the time it takes Kate to dress.

He's just finishing tying them up when he hears a piercing scream rend the quiet morning hair, and almost before he even knows what he's doing, he's racing from Kate's bedroom and down the stairs in a flurry of noise and motion to see what has frightened her so.

"Kate!" he yells, careening around the corner and barging through the doors into the main room downstairs, skidding to a halt behind where she lies sprawled on the floor. He wants to pay attention to her, but his attention is understandably caught by the food laid out in front of them.

Gaping, he looks around, then down at Kate, then back at the tables all but groaning under the food piled upon them. "By the Builders," he breathes, crouching to give Kate a helping hand back to her feet, most of his attention still held by the food. His stomach, traitorous to the end, chooses that moment to growl hopefully, and he blushes.

Wrenching his attention away, he looks down at the girl in his arms. "Kate, are you alright? What happened? Where did all this come from?" It wasn't through her own efforts that this feast appeared, she'd been asleep beside him all night.

Scream-greeting!

[itchtokill]

The best part of waking up is supposed to be something kitchy like coffee or the morning paper. It is most certainly not an ear-piercing scream ripping through the air. Kol hears the scream and is immediately on his feet and assessing the situation. Definitely wasn't Jo, she'd probably never scream like that over anything honestly, and it was too far away to be from inside the house, anyway. The Inn, maybe? It seems to be the most likely assumption, so he gets something like dressed to leave the house and rush down to the Inn.

"The bloody hell is--" His words are cut off as he enters the main room, set up to be all warm and inviting, food and decorations littering the place. It's the sort of thing that's supposed to be a good thing, but sends off a lot of warning bells in Kol's head. Because nothing this fantastic comes for free.

But he'll panic about the probably poisoned or cursed food later. He spots Kate and perks a brow as he sees her on the floor in a mess of water, apples, candles and other assorted things. "All right, luv?" He can't stop the familiar slip this time, more concerned with whatever had transpired here than her preferences at the moment.

OTA

[booklegging]

Just as Kate was discovering their morning surprise, Jess was in the process of climbing back into his room by way of his second story window. The clatter and noise surprised him in the middle of slithering over the pane; startled, he ended his nightly patrol in a rather inglorious position on all fours until he pushed himself up.

In the next few seconds, he was down the stairs still fully dressed in his black pea coat, boots leaving damp imprints on the steps. "What--"

Like everybody else, Jess had to second guess what he was seeing the minute he stepped into the main room and identified the source of the enticing smells. Spices, melting butter, and coffee, miracle of miracles. Had he stayed up too long and fallen asleep on his feet? Was he dreaming a five star restaurant in place of the inn's cramped, drafty little pub? He passed a hand over his eyes, gritty with lack of sleep. Just to be sure.

Nope, still there. And the fallen apple he bent to pick up was solid and looked perfectly appetizing in his hand.

Holy mother of...

It was rare that Jess was caught off guard to the point of words failing him, but as he stepped closer to a side table and inhaled the mouth-watering aroma of hot, creamy soup, it felt as though they'd completely flown from him. His stomach, however, had plenty to say--and it kicked awake with a gnawing vengeance.

the feast | eat, drink, and be merry! (for tomorrow, we may be dead)

[lastofthekellys]

The Observers have been generous.

Six middling-sized turkeys, spit-roasted and basted with herbs and their own fat, are the centrepiece of the feast. Around them, and on the other, smaller tables, are plates with roast beef, stuffed quail, several varieties of grilled fish and glistening hams. There are bowls of green turtle soup, mushroom soup, and between each seating are oysters on a tray with some ice.

There are bowls of heaped mashed potato, lightly flavoured with garlic, and roast potatoes and sweet potatoes, roast onions, corn, peas. Small dinner rolls are in baskets on the table, with shallow dishes with butter in easy reach. Mugs and dishes of gravies, cranberry sauce, bowls of stuffing, bottles of additives. Little shakers of salt and pepper. There are wide dishes with green bean casserole, potato fritters, and other fare. Some platters have been heaped with various cheese and baked crackers.

Deserts are scattered both on tables and on the sideboards. Various sorts of pumpkin pies next to plum puddings, molasses cakes and ginger cakes with sweet cream. The cornucopias, both woven and pastried, are spilling with fruit, little pumpkins, walnuts, chestnuts, chocolates and truffles.

The bar hasn't been forgotten, either. From empty, now there are bottles lining the walls behind the bartop. Wine, bourbon, apple cider, craft beers, all looking as if they'd been there all along. There are pots of coffee and hot chocolate in front of the fire, to keep warm, and scattered along some of the tables, and the bar, are pumpkins hollowed out and filled with ice to chill some of the alcoholic drinks.

Even for the nearly fifty people living in the village, there will be plenty to eat not just today, but the next.

OTA

[thecatinahat]

When there is something strange going on, Cougar's hunting instincts kick in. He might not have his gun to sling over his shoulder, but he heads outside to see the snow gone and follows the trail as best as he can, finding that it leads to the inn. When he gets inside, he raises his eyebrow when he sees the feast piled high. Turning around, he heads back to the house with a chocolate pressed to his cheek, a beer, and a hot chocolate in hand that he places at the foot of the bungalow with a scribbled note for Veronica and Jake.

With his duty done, he returns to the food and goes straight for the alcohol, pulling out another beer to study it quietly, his hat still obscuring his face from anyone looking at him. Still, if they were trying to get a good look at his face, they would see that Cougar's smiling, just a little.

It's not every day that a village apologizes to you for stealing your memories by giving you good food and beer. Setting the beer against the table, he knocks it with one smooth movement to get the cap off, whistling to himself as he flips the cap like a coin, finding himself a spot in the corner of the room where he can prop up a foot, tip his hat up, and get himself an excellent buzz going.

ota

[zomboligist]

There are approximately three servings of stuffing in Ravi's mouth at this particular moment, with little bits of celery dribbling down his chin and into the beard. This is approximately the fifth least attractive he's ever looked and it's only because there isn't any cranberry sauce in the equation that it's not completely awful. He should be suspicious of all of this, he really should, but it's food and he's so hungry, so very hungry.

There's more than just food, too.

The beer and wine are practically singing to him and Ravi steps up to take one of the beers and stare at it reverently, cradling it to his chest. He's not sure whether he's happier about the snow going, the rats suddenly appearing, the food, or the beer. "Don't ever leave me again," he tells the beer, reaching out for some of the coffee at the same time. "You too," he says, but now he finds himself having to war between the two of them. "Oh, hell, no one's going to judge me," he says, downing the coffee before doing the same to the beer, hissing and wincing when his teeth hurt.

Honestly, when is a dentist going to get here? And is there secret toothpaste hiding behind this whole feast? Grasping for another coffee, Ravi decides that he's just going to have to care later.

OTA

[seekingvinland]

It hadn't taken to long for Thorfinn to turn around and go home. Instead of coming right back once he was properly dressed to be around people. He went back to splitting wood for awhile. Not wanting to go back right away. He wanted until he knew a few people had gone on to the inn to see what the commotion was before he made his way back.

Once he was back, he went for both food and drink. His favorite thing in any world had always been apple anything, but mostly hot cider. he had both alcohol and cider before him, as soon as he finished something he went right back. It was rare he was so selfish, but after making a fool of himself earlier he decided to let his beast of a stomach rule him. Stuffing his face as much as possible. Staying generally in the same area.

As the day went on, and the alcohol slowly warmed him up and made him feel much more at ease. He didn't get to drink often since his fortunes had turned on him years before, and knowing the multiverse it could be awhile, so, he didn't hold back. He started to talk more and more, through the day even offering a story or two to anyone who sat or spoke to him.

ota!

[ex_assertiveness90]

Stella has been here only four days, by her count: long enough to get a general feel for this place, not long enough to get to know anyone yet. Her understanding is that, while they're not really being deprived, as such, the people here are more or less expected to fend for themselves. To say it makes her uncomfortable, as someone who is used to having everything she needs on hand, is a bit of an understatement, but Stella is slowly beginning to accept the fact that she is simply going to have to adapt to the situation for the time being. She's adapted to worse situations before.

So she is certainly not expecting the feast in the main room, the sheer volume of food that would have taken any ordinary person days to prepare. That fact alone makes this whole thing suspect. Of course, the problem is that she's not coming up with any sensible reason why all this would be here, and so suddenly — and not being able to have an answer at hand is frustrating, to say the least.

But — as she watches people go about sampling the fare — the food itself seems safe, and though she still can't quite shake her feelings of suspicion, she realizes she's actually fairly hungry. She's eaten since she's been here, naturally, just not food like this. Stella makes herself a plate with turkey and potatoes, a few vegetables and a dinner roll, and — well, why the fuck not, the whisky is there; she pours herself two fingers into a glass. She is not precisely avoiding the other people in the room, but doesn't put herself in the center of the action, either, picking a table slightly off to one side where she can observe.

OTA

[treadswater]

Feasts have a very particular meaning in the Hunger Games. They are essentially traps, the bait being something that the tributes need and the dangers being each other.

But Annie's had weeks of being cold and hungry. Weeks, nearly three months by her count. She's been getting thinner, but more than her physical reserves depleting it's her mental. Stubborn, stubborn Annie Cresta, without an end to focus on, without rules she knows how to follow, without anyone but Finnick, could carry on as she has been. But she knows with this weather, they'll be in trouble. And she knows that there is warmth, hot food, despite the risks.

Today, she's opted for warmth, for hot food. For the risky, dangerous bounty of the Gamemakers, in defiance of Finnick's reminders (mostly silent, but she knows him) about what feasts mean. But inside, no one is killing anyone. Instead, people are gorging themselves, getting drunk.

So it is that Annie is currently tucked into a seat at one of the smaller tables, her white clothes dirty under her black peacoat, her once rich and soft red hair a frizzy mess falling out of a braid, trying to remember table manners. Trying to remember that too much food on a hungry stomach results in debilitating pains.

Instead, the small woman is savouring every mouthful, and tucking what supplies she can get away with into pockets and her backpack.

One thing is normal about her, though: Finnick is sitting next to her. No matter how cross and frustrated he might be with her, she knows he'll never abandon her.

[OOC: Annie is totally taggable and conversationable! And this is an OTA for her. Just be aware of the pretty bodyguard on her left who isn't really leaving her side.]

OTA | Finnick

[fishermansweater]

When the course of their usual observations of the village had yielded Finnick and Annie the information that a mysterious harvest feast had appeared in the Inn, the word feast had seemed entirely appropriate. It's a feast, and they're both Careers, Finnick a regular mentor, they know what feasts mean. Feasts mean a trap, either one laid by the Gamemakers or the simplest trap of all in the arena: the tributes all brought into close contact.

The problem with a fest, of course, is that it always has something that a tribute needs. And Finnick and Annie could use a solid meal, with winter setting in and likely to make foraging, hunting and fishing all the more difficult. They've stored what they can, but it's not enough for the whole winter, especially not if anything else happens to the river or the forest life.

Still, he doesn't want to come. He thinks it's a stupid risk, and if he were on his own, maybe he'd take it, but he's not on his own. Annie, though, wants hot food, wants the warmth of the Inn for a while, and he knows her too well to think he'll actually win an argument based on fears that have been so far, largely, unproven.

He does complain about going to what sounds like it's turning into some sort of festival day dressed in his stained red pants and shirt and with the horrible beard and too-shaggy hair he's been forced into by lack of supplies, but Annie remains unmoved, so to the Inn they go.

Finnick sticks close by Annie, mostly, but he's also watching everyone else in the room.

And, yes, helping himself to the food, and particularly to the coffee: a luxury in Panem, but one he's been able to afford ever since his victory. Hot coffee, creamy milk, even sugar, and he helps himself to a few extra sugar cubes for later. One, though, he eats right there, savoring the sudden rush of sweetness in his mouth.

He also spends some time admiring the decorations, which look far less like a Feast in the Games than the Harvest Festival.

He doesn't, however, look pleased by the cornucopias, and he stands a while glaring at one without making any apparent attempt to help himself to any of the fruits or nuts spilling out of it.

The cornucopias, he feels, are in poor taste.

OTA

[notabirdcostume]

Ten minutes. That's how long it had taken. Sam had stared at the food for a long while. He stood at the door, debating with himself and trying to talk himself into leaving. He should not condone this. This was unexpected. Was it a reward? Was it a trick? It was certainly too good to be true and Sam wanted to reject it outright.

But it was food. It was more food than he'd seen in nearly six months now. It was a reminder of everything he was missing back home and it brought back to him memories of his mom's house around the holidays. Sam took a deep breath and that only made matters worse because now he was inhaling all of those scents.

"Well damn," he sighed, dropping his guard and crossing the room to start making a plate for himself. There was even beer, cider, coffee, and oh God was there pie? Maybe Sam had died last night, maybe this place had finally killed him and this was a version of Heaven.

He looked over his shoulder, "Someone make sure to preserve whatever we don't eat...if there's anything left." And with that, he begins filling his plate with food from as many dishes as he can.

OTA

[lastofthekellys]

She'd been wary, of course she'd been wary. But Kate Kelly is tired. Tired of worrying about everyone, about the food situation for man and livestock, worried about fuel, worried about getting out, worried about the deaths, worried about the disappearances, worried about everyone staying alive, getting out. It's her chosen worry, she didn't have to, but she did and she will keep on worrying, no matter how tired she is, but she's tired.

And it's been so, so long since she's had a drink.

So Kate's found herself a seat, and she's eating. Not gorging herself, for she's not starving and this is more food than she's ever seen in her life, and it's hard to gorge when she can look at all of this and see how long it will last, even if the meat is moist and impossibly tender, but eating, and, all right, maybe she's eating more than she thinks she is. She's also drinking.

Wine, not anything stronger, and the first glass goes slowly. A normal girl savouring the kind of expensive, gorgeous wine she'd never be able to afford back home, her first drops for months. But as the meal progresses, she starts to lose track of how many glasses she's had. She just feels... good. Relaxed. Able to smile and flirt and laugh without the pressing weight of responsibilities.

OTA

[itchtokill]

For the first good while that he's there, after finding Kate and realizing she's all right and no one's dying, Kol is pretty much wallflowering on the sidelines. He doesn't trust the food or the booze or anything else that appears without notice, and he isn't sure anyone is going to be interested in hearing all of his paranoia over it. These people, for the most part, already know how he feels about any "gifts" handed over to them on the part of their captors--he doesn't at all think for a second that they could possibly just be feeling generous today--so he doesn't see much need in reiterating things people are already aware of.

Eventually, though, a few hours into the mingling and the feasting...he's taken careful enough note to realize that no one is having any ill effects from anything they've eaten or drank. With no signs of poisoning or curses happening, he can't quite deny the allure of the booze, more so than the food. He missed liquor, so he goes over and grabs a drink to sip on. He's still not in the most social of moods, but he can still survey the rest of the party and probably manage to be social enough if someone else decides to approach him.

OTA

[markwatney]

I think it's pretty fair to say that, of everyone here, I've not exactly seemed concerned by the deeper meaning of why we're stuck in this place. This doesn't mean I haven't done plenty of thinking about it, because trust me, I've had more than my share of sleepless nights. There's just a point where people like me, people like Kate, we go into survival mode. Making sure everyone is fed and healthy becomes the most important thing, and that's been pretty damned critical these past few months. Winter has arrived with a vengeance, and I'm glad we put the rest aside to focus on the harvest when we did.

But that practicality doesn't mean I can look at a spread like this and not be completely freaked out by it. Honestly, part of me -- A very loud, insistent part of me -- doesn't want to touch any of it, at least not yet. The smarter approach would have been to feed some of it to one of the animals, watch what happens. The food would have kept for a day. But there are so many people tucking in by the time I show up, there's no point in being the practical one anymore.

And who can blame them? We've been barely getting by and this is a meal straight out of 'Good Housekeeping.'

I give in, because of course I give in. Trust me, you'd give in, too. But even as I eat, I'm more somber than normal. I don't know what this means, but I'm worried it's nothing good.

OTA

[thekittenqueen]

It was the flowers that meant more to her than the overabundance of food. She had forgotten what true beauty looked like. It was as though she were peering through a mirror and seeing the woman she used to be. The perfumes of High Garden were returned to her, the warmth of summer breaking through the cold and reminding Margaery of the things she loved.

She took many of the flowers and fashioned a crown for herself, placing it on her head and allowing it to contrast against her auburn hair. She felt drunk, despite only having one glass of wine. The pastries were almost overwhelming, sharp in taste against her tongue.

She wanted to eat everything, to try every drink. Even if this was a game or some sort of lure, she didn't care. There were so little luxuries in this place and she wanted to indulge herself.

OTA

[thesavior]

There was no question that Emma was going to go to the feast. It wasn’t just for the food either, although that would be a bonus. No, Emma was a firm believer that it was a good idea to know who you were living with. Things happen all the time, and pulling together to make something work is always something that helped Emma in the past.
She had no reason to think that it wouldn’t work here, and she had already made inroads with several people. She shook her head slightly trying to get herself out of the everything is evil and trying to kill them frame of mind. It wouldn’t do her any good in the long run. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, thinking of Killian, which calmed her down more often than not these days. Opening her eyes, she smiled having a much clearer head.

She began to mingle a bit, not closing herself off like she usually did, but instead making an effort to make herself more approachable. Her mother was always telling her that she had to open herself up to the possibilities around her. It was, however, at times like these that she was the most homesick.

OTA: Jo Harvelle at The Bar

[tobeclosetohim]

Jo doesn't want to like it, but she's been in this room a good long while. Since Kate screamed, as the three of them live nearly right in the back of this place, and Jo all but has this room staked out as her second home in this strange trapped little cage of The Village. She'd call it a base of operations, for herself, and for anyone else who needs and wants the information, but that's pretty much all her homes have been in the last year or two, anyway, right?

It's more food than she's seen in years. Since before Medietas, and The Apocalypse, and that place. Maybe the better part of her whole almost decade out here. Medietas probably had this, could, given the Ball, but it was never like this. Garish bright, and gay, against the dark sky, the dark confines of their cage, the dark mark of all the animals dying. Suddenly, being thrown a glut of plenty, after all these months of nearly starving and compromising anything and everything they had to survive as a group.

She's one of many who stand at the edges, who voice the opinion it might be poisoned, a trap, a trick, but they all give in. All of them eventually. They're only human and no one's seen even one-third this much food in a single day for themselves, no less everyone, in six months now. They can't help it. They're desperate for it. Knocked sideways with need and surprise, even beyond intelligence and suspicion. Even she is.




Jo polished off a plate of food, and she's where you'd always find a Harvelle when there actually happens to be a bar.

She's leaning against the bar itself, polishing off a plate laden with every kind of dessert and her, who knows what number now, drink

OTA because coffee

[thenewways]

This, if Nerys is being perfectly honest, is really fucking creepy.

There's food, so much food, though it's all human food (she's assuming) and a lot of it's not entirely familiar. But people are eating it, there are people who are done eating already, or maybe just paused, who haven't keeled over. Ergo, any outcome like 'turning blue on arising tomorrow' is, she decides, worth the risk of having a full stomach for the first time in ages, as well as some necessary vitamins and fat that hasn't been overly forthcoming.

Nerys has been hungry enough times before that she knows how to make the most of this sort of glut. Starting slow is the best plan, giving her insides time to get used to the idea of eating a lot, and then following up with a second, larger course where possible, both balanced meals with sweets only afterwards. She's strategic about this because she has to be, or at least feels it's an insult to her childhood to let anything go to waste.

The child in her is just hoping it all doesn't disappear while she's still eating it, or turn to sand like in the folktales she remembers from her youth.

The one thing that she recognizes instantly, though, is a scent that floats over the top of everything else, irrepressible. Coffee. The response, the longing it causes, is so strong that she goes over and pours herself a mug, adds a tiny amount of water and some bourbon to cool it to drinkable temperature, plops some of the whipped cream from the dessert table on top, and enjoys it quickly but with gusto, before she even starts her gameplan with the food.

Announcement

[lastofthekellys]

As tipsy (fine, fine - drunk) as she is, Kate is still Kate. Still having that mental inventory of food and resources, that eye of looking at what they have and calculating how far it will stretch. This, though, this is different.

Kate looks over the tables, and sees that there is no possible way that everyone will eat everything before it spoils. Particularly if it all stays here, at the Inn, and if the weather goes back to awful.

There is only one solution.

Kate carefully clears a space on the table she's sitting at, and then gracefully steps up. First up to the chair, then up onto the table.

"Excuse me! Attention, everyone!" she announces, voice clear as a bell, clear as a showgirl in the theatre.

"In light of the weather, and this bountiful if faintly disturbing feast, I have a recommendation. Please, take what you want home. We cannot eat it all here. And candles are useful.

But be nice," Kate adds, "and fair, or I'll hit you with me broom."

With that she smiles at everyone, raises her glass, tips some of it back, and then sits back down as if nothing has happened.

Closed - Benedict

[lastofthekellys]

A little after her announcement, Kate gets up again from her seat. This time, however, there's no announcement, no public declaration. Instead, she goes over to Benedict and smiles at him, offering him her hand.

"Can I borrow your attention and person for a bit, Mr Sorellin-Lancaster? Outside in the foyer?"

The foyer is not her overall intention. No, that would be her - their - bedroom, if he is amenable.

She hopes he is.

She's been wanting to kiss him breathless and senseless for weeks. Ran her hands over him, throw chastity out the window and indulge. Some of that might show, in the way her lips curve and her hazel eyes sparkle, the way she looks at him with mischief clearly written around the poise.

[warriorborn]

Benedict has been greatly enjoying all the wine and food available to him. While he hasn't ever felt quite as ravenously hungry here as he remembers feeling up in Habble Morning, he's never exactly been full either. He hasn't wanted to stretch the already paltry offerings that people have managed to scrounge up by eating more than his fair share, for many reasons.

One of those being he'd hate to create more work for Kate, who works so hard already, trying to provide for them all.

He's on his third plate when she appears beside him, holding out her hand.

"Oh, um." He swallows quickly and wipes a hand over his mouth, a little flustered by the sudden interruption. "Yes, of course."

He brushes his shirt off as he stands, tugging on it to erase some of the creases, and places his much larger hand in hers. She looks especially beautiful tonight, he thinks, her cheeks pink from the alcohol and her eyes sparkling in the candle light. It's clear she's a little drunk, but so's he, so he can't hold that against her. He follows her almost meekly out of the room into the hallway, not even caring that he'd abandoned his plate. "What is it?"