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

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

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.

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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.]

Edited 2016-11-24 03:13 (UTC)

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.

Edited 2016-11-24 03:33 (UTC)

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.

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.

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?"

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.

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.

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.

Edited 2016-11-24 04:11 (UTC)

Peggy has been lingering slightly on the outskirts as she watches Thorfinn go for another and then another cider. She hardly faults him, having been regularly snacking on the food and sipping at wine in equal measures (mainly to avoid herself getting too drunk). The talking, though, is rather amusing and she eventually excuses herself from her conversation to sit opposite him, crossing her legs as she regards him, hands on her thighs as she leans forward.

"Tell me one of your stories," she says, having overheard the tail end of the last tale. "Your very best one," she warns. "I'll have nothing less."

Thorfinn was tipsy by now, if not already well on his way to drunk. It was in the way his voice slurred a bit, how his eyes seemed hazy and yet trying to focus. When Peggy sat down he grinned a toothy wide smile. A bit of a laugh escaping him.

"There are many, many worth sharing." He usually hated to talk about his life, but drink turned him like the cliche most people though of his people, drunken story tellers boasting their victories. He sat back some holding the cup of whatever liquor he grabbed last.

"Would you care to hear of the time I flew? The day I earned my bi-name, or would you like to hear how I rescued the prince of Denmark."

It wasn't exactly a look of judging that he would see on Sansa's face when he would finally spy her standing in front of him. No, the look on her face is so very amused even though she is trying to hide it by pressing her lips together in a lame attempt to stop herself from smiling or giggling at the sight he presents.

While she was a bit unsure of what was happening or how all the food had arrived, she had her own plate ladened with meat and the different side dishes that she thought looked yummy. There was things on there she had never tried before too but she was more than willing to do so now.

She also had a glass of cider in her free hand since it was a drink she wanted to try too. She would go back for wine later on if she didn't like the cider. Though, to be honest, she would probably go back for wine even if she did.

But, for right now, she stood and watched Ravi before finally arching a brow at him. She also smiled. "Are you enjoying yourself, Ravi?"

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.

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.]

Edited 2016-11-24 10:09 (UTC)

Peggy's not used to someone arriving and being new without her at least knowing about it, so when she sees a new woman at the feast, she wonders if she's started to grow lax in her practice of trying to keep on top of things. She notes the food, but it's the drink that has her truly impressed. "I don't suppose you'd pour me one," she says with a nod of her head towards the whiskey. "I'd hate to waste the opportunity."

Besides, this is practically the belated drink she's been after, what with practically every day here offering new challenges that practically beg the presence of alcohol.

He remembers the both of them - the woman with the bottles and the man who knows how to fish. He arches his brow when he sees her poking at food carefully. He's got a beer in hand (he thinks one will stay practically glued there) and it's loosened him up to the point that he feels casual and relaxed. Usually, back home, this is what happens right before the Losers get into some kind of fight, but he doubts that's going to happen here. For one, Kate would have his head if he broke any of the furniture.

"If you are worried about sick, maybe some of the vegetables," he says with a nod to them, seeing as that's what he'd started with after long weeks of being out on his own in the wilds, chasing a target.

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.

Peggy lets out a laugh, honestly unsure how she wants to decide. She raises herself to her feet before grasping another drink for herself, preparing herself for this. "Well, I'm always a sucker for stories about Denmark," she admits, "but the fact that you flew does seem to be the more interesting one," she says, sipping her wine as she uses her eyes to encourage Thorfinn to continue with his story.

She's sure that she's got quite tit for tat, but she's not entirely sure yet how classification works when suddenly you're in a very strange alternate reality in the future.

He hadn't felt this relaxed in ages, since before the troubles came to the farm. The last time might have been the night Arnies had cooked for all of them. Even then he hadn't been permitted to really let go. He rarely even let himself let go anyway. It did bring a brighter side out of him though.

Taking another drink he smiled still. "Denmark is a lovely country. But, maybe after if you want I'll tell that to." He offered. He sat sat the beer down to life the cider this time.

"Well, a bit of set up so you can understand. I had spent my years since I was six in the company of a band of Danish warriors. Horrible people, but they were all close knit, all of them admired the leader, Askeladd. Now, I hated Askeladd, it was my hatred of that man was what kept me going all those years. It was the winter of our 10th year together, we had prince Canute in our possession aiming to return him to his father for whatever the fuck Askeladd was after. I never asked or cared back then. But, since I was closest to the princes age, I was assigned his Thegn, or guard." He explained with a wave of his hand.

"We had been chased from England, to Wales, to Mercia and anger crackled in the air. People whispering that luck had left Askeladd. We were being chased by Thorkell the tall and his band of 500. The tides were not in our favor with our 100 and mutiny growing on the lips of foul men." He told the set up with a bit of animated movement of his scarred hands. The cup nearly spilling once.

Somewhere in the number of plates he had eaten he saw Cougar when he popped the cap. Looking genuinely amused by it he moved over to flop down in a chair near his friend. Another drink and plate of sweets out before him. Offering the closed beer over.

"Do it again. I want to see."

Edited 2016-11-24 20:17 (UTC)

"The food is not enjoying itself, but I am," he says, so ravenously and thoroughly in rapturous delight as to the food in front of him. Honestly, he knows he's going to be sick later, but it's going to be absolutely worth it. He lets his gaze drop to her hands, his forehead furrowing. "Are you not eating? You've got to at least try and have the stuffing. Or the cranberry," he coaxes, desperately.

"Though, that cider does look very good," he says, fairly sure that everything on the table looks incredible and he's going to end up being sick at the end of all this. And yet, it will be so very worth it.

She startles, a bit, at someone talking to her, particularly with Finnick sitting right there. And yet, Cougar's addressing her. Talking to her. Offering her - offering her actually decent advice.

Annie smiles at him, more shy than painfully uncertain.

"Tha, um, thank you," she says. Then, a little emboldened by warmth around her and warmth in her belly, she adds, "I think, the uh, problem is just not stuffing my face. With everything."

There are times, Annie feels, when vanity is warranted. When maybe it isn't, but she's willing to indulge his, because it's so much a part of him. And then there are times when, no, he is being a ridiculous, somewhat sulky peacock, and there are more important things than his exquisite jawline being obscured by an untrimmed beard.

Like now.

Annie curls her fingers around a mug of hot chocolate and gazes at her (lover) friend for a moment. Then she cants her head, raises her eyebrows.

"Sugar? Getting a bit risqué there, Odair."

"Not that anyone's told me," Kate says from where she putting the attacking food turkey back where Miss Hoppity had pushed it from.

(The cat herself is nowhere to be seen, funnily enough.)

"I just came down this mornin', and found it all like this. It's not even that anyone's been all sneaky, Miss Carter, but we can't do most of this. We don't have the food, and we sure as anythin' don't have the equipment for some."

Notably, those roasts. The spit in the kitchen is broken, and would have made a god-awful racket even if it'd been used.

Kate turns then, put her hands on her hips.

"So now the question's all, do we partake or are we gonna be trapped with the Good People for the next century if we do?"

Cougar can't help his smug smirk as he takes the bottle of beer. Who knew that a simple party trick could keep him so popular? "It's easy," he says, turning so that Thorfinn can see what he's doing. He moves so that the edge of the cap is against the table, angling it carefully before he knocks it with his palm, kicking the cap off and letting the carbonation drift a little as he holds it out to Thorfinn.

"Victory sip, I think, first," he teases, sipping Thorfinn's beer before it makes it into the other man's hand.

Peggy is still marvelling with worry and awe, but distracts herself from those feelings to help Kate with the turkey, giving her an arched brow as she surveys the line of tables stretching out. "I think if we don't partake in it, it's going to go bad," she says, sizing up the food and trying to recall the population, given that it's not like there's a line of refrigerators sitting outside. And wouldn't that just be ideal, would it?

"No one snuck in at night? Not even, perhaps, a small army?" She thinks that given the right amount of time and talent, a battalion could accomplish this, but she's still missing the 'why'.

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

the scene greeting arrivals | reactions and discussions

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

After the Scream

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OTA | Finnick

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