it's a quarter past midnight [ OPEN MINGLE ]

[postictal]

Who: Anyone!
What: Catch-all Denny mingle for the month of December
When: December 18th and onward (post-Trials)
Where: Denny
Warnings: Label your stuff if it comes up y'all



[Feel free to use this as a catch-all for whatever your character might conceivably be doing here. Are they loitering outside? Delivering supplies/food? Helping improve the place because god knows it certainly needs it? Cooking? Socializing? Eating? Just wanting to booze it up? I've heard chatter of live music or IC DND, so whatever you wanna do here, go for it!]

[There are nominal rules but if you don't get caught you don't have to deal with them, so you do you.]

Comments

[postictal]

You, uh...know how to cook?

[He doesn't. He only knows, vaguely, how to kind of manage things while Muffet has the brains, the extra hands, and the wherewithal to actually put stuff together and make it taste damn good in the process.]

[antepone]

I know a few things.

[ She's better at baking, but she can cook just fine. ]

What are you thinking of?

[postictal]

I have no idea. I'm just...getting stuff chopped up in case Muffet thinks of something.

[He can't cook. He can't not cook, but cooking is probably better left to people who know how to make a meal more refined than, say, a can of cold ravioli eaten over the sink.]

[antepone]

Well... if she isn't around, maybe we could roast the vegetables. Or... make a stew?

[ It's been a hell of a time lately. And stew is always a comfort food--at least for her--so... ]

... But, actually, there was a reason I wanted to find you. I have something for you.

[postictal]

You - what?

[The tired cadence of his response breaks, giving way to momentary uncertainty. It breaks out across his expression for half a moment before the more typical confusion smooths it over, brows pushing together.]

Should I ask?

[antepone]

It's nothing much, [ she says quickly. ] I just noticed Christmas is coming up, so...

[ From at her feet, she lifts two things: A large batch of dried fruit, and a pair of fingerless gloves. Grey, because she doesn't really know what color he likes, and made from wool. ]

... Here.

1/2

[postictal]

[His thoughts shear away into an uninterpretable blur. Christmas. That's...right. He'd forgotten, honestly, that this was a thing that people celebrated. He'd forgotten it was a holiday. Not just because he's been displaced across space and time at least twice over now, into places where the holidays don't drape themselves over every available surface and dust the edges of roofs with a delicate icing of colored lights and plastic Santa decorations. It just wasn't a part of his life outside of the nominal efforts that the hospital made to brighten up the place, marginally, for a couple weeks in December.]

[The first thing he thinks of when he thinks of Christmas is this: how it turned into one of two days a year that his mom would actually make the effort to visit - so much for the initial promise of once a week, and then once every two weeks, and then once every few months. An approved gift and an approved visit. Then, a phone call. Then, a card.]

[Then, eventually, nothing.]

[His heart seizes once in his chest. Twice.]

[He swallows hard and tries to both look at what she's made for him and avoid doing so, to limited effect.]

[There's no reason that a pair of gloves should make him feel like this.]

2/2

[postictal]

I didn't...

[Didn't what? Didn't expect this? Didn't think to get something for her? Didn't think at all?]

[Once again he presses his eyebrows close together and tries to pass it off as confusion, and not the tightness in his throat that he can't seem to banish.]

Thanks. I mean. I didn't realize it was - that close.

[antepone]

[ She can feel some of it. But she keeps her expression from reflecting that she can feel what he's feeling. She shuffles from one foot to another, pushes a bit of hair back behind her ear.

She wonders what memory has made him feel this way--but she won't ask. She isn't sure how he'd react to her knowing. ]

You're welcome. And... I didn't, either, until a couple of days ago. The fruit is from things in my garden, and the gloves...

[ She pauses. ]

I hope they're alright. Warm enough, and not too big or small, anyway.

[postictal]

Yeah.

[What an inane answer. He wishes he could defang this the way Brian could, the way the Brian he remembers could - with a right-hooked smile and a laugh and that ease of deprecating charm that could have netted him a better friend than Tim.]

Thank you, I mean. This is really...

[He trails off in the absence of anything else to say to that.]

Thanks.

[antepone]

[ She shakes her head, and she seems more at ease now. She'd worried that he wouldn't like them, or... she doesn't know. She wishes she could have--she doesn't know. A pair of gloves and fruit seems like such a small gift. But... he's thanking her. ]

I'm just glad I was able to give you something.

[ And she doesn't expect anything in return. Why should she, when she's been given so much here already? ]

[postictal]

I don't keep track of time. I should've...

[Shut up. Shut up. As if she needs that - that fucking guilt, on top of everything else.]

Didn't realize.

[antepone]

Oh--

[ She blinks, as if it just occurs to her that someone here would want to gift her something. She shakes her head. ]

It's okay. Really. I didn't give you those things because I expected or wanted anything in return.

[postictal]

[So why did you?]

[It's an easy question, with an easy answer. Because she's considerate. Because she's a nice fucking person, and he happens to know a lot of nice people. Way more nice people than someone like him deserves.]

[He picks up the gloves, and pulls one on. It's soft. Warm. Fits him easily. His hands have become more worn since his arrival; points where the nails have cracked and where the calluses have torn open and become scar tissue.]

They'll help when I gotta do outdoor repairs.

[antepone]

[ She lets out a relieved breath. They fit--that's good. Admittedly, the wool gives a little bit. But at least they aren't huge, or too small.

She's happy that she could do something to make things a little easier, for him. ]

I'm glad they'll be put to good use. And if they become too worn, I can try to make another pair for you.

[postictal]

Didn't know you could knit. Or, uh...

[Make...clothes, basically. What other techniques are there, to make clothes? Knitting is what he's most familiar with - but then, that's not him that's familiar with it, is it?]

[antepone]

It would be easier if I had proper knitting or crochet needles, but... my friend helped make me a few from bone. They work well enough.

[postictal]

From bone, huh?

[He files that away. Needles. He's not made any before, but he can give it a try. He might as well.]

[antepone]

[ She nods. ]

They're usually made out of metal, but bone was easier to come by.

[postictal]

I figured. There's no shortage of...animal products, I guess.

[That being said, he's a hell of a lot better at shaving wood than he is at skinning game.]