ph_logs | we stand shoulder to shoulder (veteran's social)

we stand shoulder to shoulder (veteran's social)

Who: John Rambo (

theydrewfirstblood) & The Pumpkin Hollow Veterans' Association
What: Leveling up veteran's poker night with a barbecue
When: post-Blight
Where: Baker Ranch
Warning(s): General warnings for John's canon: violence, police brutality, PTSD, torture, etc., and likely similar for many other veterans here, check for further warnings throughout

(NOTE: Treat this as a gathering, but I personally will be backtagging into this for the duration of September, so don't be a stranger!)

Poker Night is something John looks forward to every month, but he got it into his head that it could be fun to do a little more, so he talked to a few people, did a little extra work...

...then the damn Thatcher's Blight hit and everything went to absolute shit.

Fortunately, the whole thing's blown over now, and once he's sure everything around the farm is as clean as it's gonna get? John goes through his stores and decides he's got enough food and drink for all--and tacks up a notice on the bulletin board just below that for the regular poker night, with a date and time as well as his phone number and address.

VETERAN'S SOCIAL, BAKER RANCH--BBQ & DRINKS, POTLUCK OPTIONAL

The event starts a few hours before dusk. John's set up a ways from the house with some tables, chairs, and blankets for those who want to go full on picnic style. It wouldn't be a veteran's night without poker, so there's a game going at one of the tables while another holds plates of food--regular game coming off the grill, along with a few other pieces of meat he picked up for those who aren't fans of game.

And, because Co is around, there's no visible chicken on the grill. Ever the pragmatist, there's a couple casseroles of simple baked chicken on the table, alongside some sides John's put together or any offerings that come along as part of the optional potluck. There's not a lot of alcohol, but John's got the last bottle or two of his little dandelion wine experiment available, as well as a couple other things. Mostly it's water, tea, coffee--tamer offerings.

Speaking of the animals, John's turned loose the ones he treats as pets: Sam the rooster spends the whole night chasing after and trying to wrangle Co, who makes no bones about harassing newcomers for adulation. Those she knows, if they sit still too long, will end up with a happy chicken nesting in their lap...one that will remain quiet only so long as you offer the bare minimum of scritches and pets. Dare to ignore her, and angry clucking will ensue. John's mare, Helga, can also be seen grazing around the goings-on, shy but not unfriendly. If a hot breath puffs on the back of your neck, she's just curious--if you pet her, she'll swish her tail happily and move on.

There's also a newer member of the family, whose only just getting big enough to let socialize: Bao, a female cottontail rabbit whose still young, but no longer too much of a baby to keep isolated. Though she spends a good portion of the night in John's arms when he's not busy, she does hop around loose, sticking close to John and to Co, who can be found very rarely nesting in a patch of grass with Bao tucked against her feathery side, gently attempting to "preen" Bao despite her lack of feathers.

And while this is, ostensibly, the veteran's social, any of Baker Ranch's varying degrees of resident are invited to the party, so if there's new faces about? Relax, they don't bite--unless you have food, then watch your hands. They're probably teenagers, and they don't discriminate when it comes to their appetites.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

1.
Siebren seems incredibly uncertain about showing up to this barbecue, even though he's been very explicitly personally invited. He lingers at the edge of the ranch for several minutes, watching Helga graze and trying to work up the nerve to become present.

He's made a point of stopping at the new ice cream parlor, picking up one of the large tubs of sorbet, so he's not empty handed. And he really ought to get it inside before it all melts. Just...give him a moment?

2.
Once he's actually worked up to being present, there's still a wallflower air to Siebren, as if he's silently waiting for someone to question his right to be here. He has managed to find some of the dandelion wine, and is perhaps indulging more than most here. There's a bit of a wobbly bob as he floats a few inches above the ground, at this point.

"I might need someone to accompany me home, later..." He's at the stage where he's lucid enough to know he won't be that lucid for long.

3.
"Does anyone here play baseball?"

The dandelion wine is completely gone, and Siebren has a still-raw potato (don't ask where he found it) floating above his open palm, ready to be pitched at anyone daring enough to hold up a sticklike object. Someone should probably stop him.

"Oh, hey! Are you here for the barbecue?"

Radar, being Radar, hasn't settled in just yet. He came over a couple hours early to help John set up and he hasn't stopped scurrying around since. (Though it's probably only a matter of time before John forcibly shoves a plate and a poker hand at him and forces him to sit down.)

So Siebren gets a small, friendly clerk jogging toward him, waving a cheery hello like they've known each other for months, and only staring a little at the way Siebren's floating a bit off the ground.

"Ah. Yes, I suppose perhaps I am." Siebren startles at the friendliness, but figures out how to put a smile on his face. "I haven't been here before, so I will perhaps need guidance. Where is everyone gathering?"

If he looks much more like someone's lost math teacher than a veteran, well. He didn't ask for this.

It’s Hosting, It’s Hosting Now

Early in the day, John’s pretty busy. Cooking, greeting people, running to the house once in a while to grab more plates or some extra food…and yeah, corralling one very entitled chicken when she’s being too overbearing.

And, pretty fast, he’s getting wiped out. He’s still just not used to being so social…

But Radar is on hand, so the moments he starts to feel twitchy or tired, there’s suddenly something in the house Radar is begging him to get, or Co is hassling the horse (it does happen), or the grill pit looks like it’s dying out. It’s just a few minutes here and there, but it helps…and it means that he makes a point of giving Radar his own plate of fresh fry bread with dandelion syrup for dessert later in the evening.

He’s a lucky bastard, and he makes a point of thinking that often for Radar’s benefit—otherwise, his intervention means that John is able to stay available as a good host for the duration of the party without wearing out.

All In, All Out

John makes a cameo at the game, doing pretty well as he usually does—not great, but nobody takes him to the cleaners.

He also takes the chance to chat between hands, meeting the few new people that show up and checking in with friends—and John considers it a good record when there’s only one incident of Co vacating his lap to nest on the pot during a hand John does particularly bad in.

It could be worse: at least she waits until the hand ends to stir shit.

Down Time

The party reaches a point where everyone is fed, relaxed, and there…really isn’t anything to be done. He’s tidied up enough to leave major cleanup for the morning, Helga has been stabled when she gets tired, and John eventually ends up at one of the tables with a lap full of Co and Bao cuddled up to his chest, chittering happily.

The air is full of familiar voices, it’s warm and fairly still, and just for a second he’s reminded of evenings on the res, sitting with some of the other boys listening to the old men tell stories about Coyote and giants, about Changing Woman and the birth of the world.

It feels, well and truly, like home—and he finds a few moments when the ache in his bones and the chill that’s never far from his core becomes something he can forget about for a while.

John is setting out a plate of steaks when he realizes someone new is shuffling up to the party…

When he looks, he can’t help but grin at the familiar face carrying a container of ice cream.

“Siebren!” He calls out, setting the plate down and jogging over with his hand extended. “There you are—thank you for coming, more familiar faces here the more fun I can have.” He glances around, looking vaguely sheepish.

“It’s, uh—it’s kinda been a while since I’ve had to be this social. Held a party or something, I mean.” He admits. “Lotta pressure, so…seriously. Thanks for coming—and like I said, you don’t gotta come again if you don’t have fun. I think you will, though—see? You even brought dessert. What flavor you got there?”

John extends his hand, so Siebren passes off the sorbet. "She said it was strawberry basil. A new experiment, apparently. Such an eager young woman, I could hardly tell her no."

His smile is uncertain, and he glances around as if waiting to see if anyone else has a reaction to him being here.

He almost doesn’t go. If Hawkeye shows up (and he expects he will for the promise of free good food), Mulcahy doesn’t want to be in the way between him and his friends or too much of a burden on his enjoyment of a veteran’s party. But he’s had enough of the Blight’s isolation, and they’ve at least discovered that they can be professional around each other.

So he goes. Still, he relegates himself to the sidelines, always orbiting. Never at the center. He picks slowly at the food and hangs out more with the horse than with people, contenting himself with watching and being near. Peter has been hovering around his shoulders all day, quiet and watchful, and frankly often eyeing Co.

But when things have become much quieter, he does approach Rambo with a smile. “You throw one heck of a barbecue, John. Thank you for this.”

Peter chirps his appreciation at John for getting Mulcahy out of the house.

It's okay, Radar doesn't look like much of a veteran either! Neither do three-quarters of the guys in his unit. Siebren barely looks out of place at all to him.

"Oh, we're all setting up over there," he says, pointing toward the tables and chairs a small distance away. "But if you got ice cream we oughta get that inside until later so it doesn't melt. C'mon, over here."

He beckons for Siebren to follow him toward the house.

"I'm Corporal Radar O'Reilly, sir, what's your name? I think I seen you around the library sometimes."

"Dr. Siebren de Kuiper. I work at the library, yes. Someone needs to be able to reach the top shelves beside Lev."

That's mostly meant as a joke. Mostly. But he can dust even the highest places, given the whole floating thing.

Radar breaks into a laugh. "That's the one really tall guy, right? Dr. Anzu's husband -- uh, partner?"

(Radar still doesn't quite get the whole gender thing, but he's trying.)

"Yeah, if it weren't for you two, guys like me would be up a tree without a paddle whenever we wanted a book, huh? Glad they got you both around. Here we go -- "

He holds open the front door of the house so Siebren can float inside.

"It's a far cry from the work I'm more accustomed to, but I like it. It's also low-stakes. If I have a particularly bad day, I can call in without anything falling apart."

In he does float, looking for the right place to stow the sorbet.

Food

Once the gathering's in full swing, Radar finally stops dashing around long enough to join in. It's his first time really going to one of these poker nights, and considering everybody just worked their butts off to make it through a nasty outbreak, boy is he ready to party.

...well, within reason. Even just sniffing the wine makes him a little queasy, a whole month after the beach party, so he's sticking to his usual seltzer-and-grape-juice concoction that's the closest he can get to a grape Nehi around here. He's more than making up for it by going back for seconds, thirds, and fourths of the barbecue, trying at least a little bit of everything on the table.

If there's something he particularly likes, he might turn to you, gesturing at the dish enthusiastically, and say, "Wow, you had a chance to try that yet? It's amazing! You gotta!"

Poker

So. You'd think a guy who can hear people's thoughts would be great at poker, right?

You'd be wrong.

Radar has absolutely zero poker face to speak of. He groans in dismay when he gets a bad hand and giggles in delight when he draws a few good cards. On top of that, he's got no real strategy -- it's even odds whether he folds or keeps going if somebody's beating him, because look, just because they've got a good hand now doesn't mean they're gonna have one in a few minutes! (Except, oh shoot, they're about to draw the card that'll give them three of a kind, aren't they. Nuts.)

But hey, if you join in while he's playing, you'll be able to brag to all your friends that you beat a psychic at a card game!

Everywhere Else (Wildcard)

No matter where you are around the ranch, you'll probably bump into Radar at some point. Maybe he's running back to the house to grab something, maybe he's taking a moment to say hi to the animals, maybe he's stepping in for a second so John can take a break. Maybe he's taking a little break from the noise, going to a quieter part of Baker Ranch for fifteen minutes to give his ears some rest before he jumps back in.

But wherever you are, Radar'll probably wave and say hello as he goes by, even if you haven't met yet.

[you know where to find me for more wildcard plotting!]

The vampire has seen fit to attend, but he’s doing little to socialize beyond that. Occasionally, he moves to help John with tidying. He doesn’t speak to anyone unless they initiate conversation. Sometimes he tries to warn them off ahead of time with a glare from his red-gold eyes.

Anyone who came from the cruise ship might find this mer strangely familiar- he looks a lot like someone that showed up at the height of everything falling to pieces before promptly vanishing again. Others might think he could be related to a raggedy, rambling elf that wanders around in the evenings now and again, often fixated on the idea of loss and grief.

This guy hasn’t explicitly told anyone except Rambo that he’s a vampire, but anyone with a decent Sense Motive should at least be able to tell that there’s something off about this guy.

Edgar's heard the word veteran before, but had to ask what it actually means when the poker nights got started. He wasn't quite sure whether it applied to him. He still isn't. Was he in a war? Absolutely. Was he in the army? Definitely not. And yet he thinks about the way he took orders from Curtis, and ... yeah, he's not sure.

It's not like he has any fuckin clue how to play poker, though, so he guesses it doesn't really matter.

The game's at Baker Ranch this time, though, and that means he has a good reason to be here even if he isn't playing. Find him helping at the grill under Rambo's direction, or bringing out refilled pitchers of drinks or plates of bread, or circling the game tables with curious (and deliberately innocent) glances at players' cards.

Or, later in the evening, sitting on the stoop with one of the half-grown rabbits in his lap, idly watching the sky.

Siebren sees the warning in Macaelius's gaze and keeps a polite distance for most of the night. But toward the end, he brings over a glass of the dandelion wine, offering it silently.

It's when Edgar's star-gazing that there's also a Siebren outside. "I didn't think to bring my telescope. Next time, perhaps. If I come for the next time."

"Telescope," he says, a bit vaguely, "that's for ... looking at things far off, right?"

"Yes, exactly. When they're pointed at the stars and planets, they allow one to see more details, like the planets' moons, or the color of the stars."

A pause, and a faint perplexed frown, as he looks at Siebren for the first time.

"Stars have got color? Thought they were all just, you know -- " He waves a hand at the sky. "Light. Like sparks."

"Are you familiar with how the color of a fire changes, depending on how hot it is, or what chemicals are burning? Stars are the same way, sort of. With more factors affecting what we see than just that. How fast they're moving and whether toward or away can also affect the light waves."

He gestures concepts with both hands as he speaks, bobbing enthusiastically mid-air.

He might or might not catch the moment at which his new conversational partner clocks that he's floating, with a glance followed by a brief double take.

"Huh," he says aloud. "But if they're different colors, how come they all look the same?"

"Do they all?"

Siebren points to one that doesn't twinkle and has a particular red cast; one of the planets in this solar system.

Edgar squints upward, following the pointing finger.

"... Maybe a little different?" he hazards.

"And this is why the telescope would help. The difference is much clearer that way. Ah, next time...if our host welcomes me back."

Oh, he's sure Rambo will, but he's still getting caught on the blade of 'deserving'.

"Sure he will," he echoes half the unspoken thought.

And then, with belated regard for manners: "I'm Edgar."

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we stand shoulder to shoulder (veteran's social)

Sigma | Overwatch | OTA

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John Rambo | OTA

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down time

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Radar O'Reilly | OTA

“Macaelius” (one of Sheo’s figments) | The Elder Scrolls | OTA

Edgar | OTA

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