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WELCOME POTLUCK

Greetings, residents! Those more observant sorts among you may have noticed a large influx of very crowded ferries. In order to welcome our new residents en masse, Town Hall is holding a potluck in Town Square. Please bring a dish if you are able and make a new friend!

All of our newest arrivals need only bring themselves. We look forward to welcoming you all into our community, and may your lanterns always be lit.

This event is open to all! In light of our new influx of prospective players following the Great Sail Migration, we've decided to offer a small public event to tide everyone over until the TDM this weekend.

Comments

[yournewsidekick]

"Dunno," she says. It doesn't sound like Nimona's typical nonchalance; more like Edgar suggested she do something absurd and burdensome, like spend five hours a day standing on her head. "Not that long."

Her ears flick as she angles her head into Edgar's palm. Trust Ed to give good hugs and good scritches when she's messed up.

[hate_gettin_older]

"Glad you're here, bug." He draws in a quick breath through his nose, one that is absolutely not a sniff, shut up, you're imagining things. "Real glad."

"... not to complain but d'you think I could sit up for a bit, there's a rock or some fuckin thing right under my spine and I don't think it likes me."

[yournewsidekick]

At last, a glint of Nimona's usual mischief lights her eye. "Well, what're you squishing the rocks for? Pretty rude, Ed," she says airily. "I'd be mad too if somebody squashed me."

She punctuates that by nimbly vaulting off his chest. Once she's landed, Nimona stretches forward into a bow, cranes her back legs further behind her, then shakes herself all over. Pink sparks erupt from her fur like a cloud of glitter.

When the kinda-literal dust settles, she's bigger, but not too changed: an equally lanky wolf that can't fit under the tables so easily.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar hauls himself up to a sitting position, scoots back out of where people might want to walk, and pats the ground next to him to invite Nimona back into hugging range.

"So," he says, "was that you knocked over the platter, or did you just happen to be around when someone else did it?"

[yournewsidekick]

"Yeah, that was me," she says, a little sheepish. (The fact that she's not immediately denying it and actually sounds a touch chagrined might speak to how not-herself Nimona feels lately. Or maybe it's just, gasp, personal growth! One or the other, the narration's sure.)

Unhesitating, she plops down next to Edgar and leans against him as aggressively as she can. "I was just going for the roast beef. It got stuck on the other stuff."

[hate_gettin_older]

He puts an arm around her shaggy frame and leans back against her, not so aggressively but enough to keep her from sloooowly pushing him over.

"Wanna help me pick it all back up, or what?"

[yournewsidekick]

She shrugs, noncommittal.

"We could have a cold cut party on the ground," she suggests. "Not as cool as a pizza party, but not bad either."

[hate_gettin_older]

"... we could do that," he allows judiciously. "Maybe knock over some bread to go with it?"

Completely serious. Look how serious that face is.

[yournewsidekick]

So serious. Gloreth herself would tremble in the face of such seriousness.

Nimona arranges her expression into equal solemnity, giving him a nod. "Guard the ham," she says. "I'm going in."

She licks his hair again, making sure it sticks up in an extra-ridiculous-looking way, and trots back toward the tables. Turns out someone thoughtfully left a ton of dinner rolls next to the (now missing) cold cut tray, the better to make a bunch of little sandwiches, and all it takes is one tiny...

CRASH.

A second tray rolls away from the potluck like a single tire rolling away from a car crash, scattering bread as it goes.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar snatches as many of the rolls as he can before they, true to their name, roll away. He should probably feel a little guilty about encouraging Nimona to wreak chaos, but honestly, after what she's been through he's ready to defend this to anyone.

"Not gonna suggest we knock over any mustard though," he says, pulling open a roll and starting to stuff ham slices into it, "that'd be a mess."

[yournewsidekick]

Ahh, it does a shapeshifter's heart good to break some stuff. Kinda. Baby steps, she's still getting her feet under her.

"Mustard's gross anyway," she declares, flopping beside Edgar and craning her neck to snap up one of the rolls. Rather than try to construct a sandwich with no opposable thumbs, she just grabs a mouthful of salami, too, chewing both meat and bread together.

[hate_gettin_older]

"What? No, mustard's good stuff," he protests mildly, brushing some dirt off a couple of slices of turkey and adding them to his already overstuffed sandwich. "Not as good as barbecue sauce though."

CHOMP.

[yournewsidekick]

"Oooh, yeah," says Nimona around her mouthful of food. "Barbecue."

She barely pauses before snarfing down a hunk of roast beef.

"You ever get a chance to do that on an real grill? 'Cause if not we gotta steal somebody's grill sometime."

[hate_gettin_older]

He shakes his head, munching.

"Nnw wha," he starts, pauses, chews a little more vigorously and swallows.

Take two! "Know what, I bet Max knows how to do that on a grill. We should ask him."

[yournewsidekick]

"Max?"

Her ears swivel upright; hope ignites in her eyes.

"He made it too? He's okay?"

[hate_gettin_older]

"Yeah! He's here, there's so many people here from the ship, I dunno what the hell happened but that's why they're doing this whole party thing, cause so many new people have been showing up."

[yournewsidekick]

"Maybe somebody yanked Malin's other eye out," she says, abruptly vicious. "Killed all of us, but killed her right in her shitty face too."

The flash of rage doesn't vanish right away; the echoes remain, like thunder after a lightning strike, even as Nimona bends her head to sniff for more cold cuts. "But -- yeah. My cell was pretty close to Max's, so we were talking for a while. I'm glad he made it."

Especially since he and Edgar --

Hang on. THAT'S RIGHT.

"Speaking of that -- " and she nips one of Edgar's overlarge ears, lightly, like he's a puppy to be scolded, "HOW COME YOU DIDN'T TELL ME YOU HAD A BOYFRIEND, HUH?!"

[hate_gettin_older]

Her initial vehemence sparks an answering anger in him, likewise slow to subside. He's about to respond to it, when --

"What ack get off," and he splutters a little and ineffectively swats her away from his ear, half laughing. "What are you on about, he's not my boyfriend, he's got a whole pack of people he's with."

[yournewsidekick]

"Oh, riiiiight, he's just a frieeeeennnd," says Nimona, proving exactly why everyone made the right choice in concealing Edgar's love life from her. "My bad."

Any second now she's gonna burst out with Ed and Maa-aaax sittin' in a tree --

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar snorts at her, grinning. "Yeah, he's a friend I go to bed with sometimes, and you are a little maniac, c'mere."

LOOK OUT NIMONA YOU'RE ABOUT TO GET HUGGED ON

[yournewsidekick]

OH NO ANYTHING BUT THAT

Nimona yelps with laughter, making a perfunctory effort to squirm away -- her wolf shape dissolves back into a dog, then into a cat as she wriggles in Edgar's arms. But within seconds of sprouting whiskers, she's also purring, as involuntary as the giggles that intersperse themselves between her protests.