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.

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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.

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.

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.

What's better than poker night with the veterans? Poker night with the veterans and barbeque. He's gotta hand it to John, the man knows how to grill. Crichton is eating better tonight than he has in weeks. In fact, he's back for his third helping of game off the grill. "Give me those scorch marks, baby."

When he's not stuffing his face, he's happily taking part in the poker games. It's been... feels like forever since he played actual poker but it's okay; he didn't come here to win, he just came to socialize. Though, he doesn't take part in any of the social drinking. Tempting as it is, he worked hard to get sober and he's not going to let himself go down that slippery slope of just one. He's sticking to the iced tea.

"You know," he says to the group around the table, jokingly, as he tosses down his fifth losing hand in a row, "you could let a guy win once in a while as a morale boost."

Unfortunately, lady luck isn't on his side tonight so, before long, he has to duck out of the game to preserve what's left of his dignity. (Wait, he has dignity?) With one last plate of snacks in hand, he settles down on a picnic blanket to watch and laugh while the chickens chase one another. It's all fun and games until Helga sneaks up behind him to snort down the back of his neck.

"Whoa, girl!" he shouts in surprise. "You like doing that on purpose, don't you?" he teases the mare as he reaches up to itch her nose for her. "I bet you do."

(ooc: come say hi or wild card me too!)

George hasn't attended the poker games in the past, in part because he forgets he even is a veteran most of the time, and in part because he's not sure it would be fair for him to play poker against non-changelings.

But he's here now — with the bottle of cucumber vodka he won a few months ago so he's not entirely empty-handed — because he knows he needs to get out more, and it seems a good opportunity for that.

He is trying not to wallflower, but he's been so out of sorts recently that he winds up hanging around the fringes anyway. Smiling warmly at anyone who makes eye contact is about where he's at right now.

Edited 2024-09-02 13:08 (UTC)

Alex is a veteran, but he's not sure he likes thinking of himself as one. Sure, he went to 'Nam, and sure, he was lucky enough to come back from 'Nam, even missing a foot. But he wasn't a soldier, not like John had been, and not like David. No, Delta. Medusa's most ruthless son of a bitch had been Delta, was still Delta when the situation called for it. Compared to everything David had sacrificed for his country? Shit, a foot was small potatoes.

He still has the scars, of course, both physical and mental, but he's very good at hiding them both.

Alex sits a few hands at the poker game, winning some and losing some, excusing himself with a laugh when an unlucky hand wipes him out. "I'll be back," he says with a smile, and he will, but maybe not tonight. If this is a regular thing, which it seems to be, he's happy to drop in and drop out of the game as it suits.

Most people wouldn't think to pair coffee with grilled venison, but most people aren't Alex Conklin. He's academically curious about the dandelion wine, but he's not about to break sobriety just from curiosity. Maybe there's some kind of extract or tonic John used to make it. He should ask. He sits at one of the tables, eating quietly, and enjoying the party. It is a party, isn't it? He's not usually one for parties. But as the sun sets, he finds himself smiling - genuinely happy.

Edited 2024-09-13 00:29 (UTC)

Mariner's been checking the bulletin board frequently, because apparently they don't have any kind of peer-to-peer network around this place aside from the sending stones. Hell, the most advanced they've got is - shudder - radio. Definitely a pre-warp civilization. She's going to keep her lips zipped about the technology she knows about, even though creation of a tiny matter/antimatter reactor is basically an elementary school science project for her, like ye olde potato batteries. Of course, that depends on the existence of dilithium, and just based on some covert asking around the townies, nobody's got a Q-damned clue what it is. So, no warp drive today.

The flyer for the poker night and barbecue catches her eye. After a second, she realizes that the word 'veteran' applies to her. She hadn't even considered it. Service in the Dominion War had seemed so universal that sometimes it took her a minute to remember that nobody else on Beta Shift was old enough to have fought in it, much less on the front lines like she had.

Well, not like she's about to pass up free food. It's polite to bring a side dish to a gathering like this, but she's not adept at cooking-cooking. You can ask the replicator for potato salad or poutine or lobster macaroni, but unlike Joseph Sisko, she's never been into the whole cookin'-it-old-school thing. She knew enough to get by from her survival training, but nothing worth bringing to a party. Not unless other people were really chill about eating insects. (Look, they're protein-dense, and when they're roasted and seasoned they're a nice little crispy snack, okay?)

She spends some time at the poker game, relieved that while it's friendly it is still in fact competitive, unlike the Cerritos' senior staff game. She wins some, she loses some, and excuses herself when she gets hungry. There's venison and casserole and sides piled on her plate, and she flops down on one of the provided blankets with some of the dandelion wine.

"Man, I really needed this," she sighs.

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