ph_logs | and i'm ready to suffer and i'm ready to hope [October-ish Catch-All]

and i'm ready to suffer and i'm ready to hope [October-ish Catch-All]

Who: John Rambo (

theydrewfirstblood) & YOU!
What: The ranch is expanding again, John offers Edgar something permanent, plus a B-plot for hot dog hijinx.
When: maybe a week and a half post-Gala, catch all for October (and maybe November, we'll see)
Where: All over Da Hollow
Warning(s): canon pertinent warnings for Rambo and the FIRST BLOOD movies: violence, death, PTSD, torture; Rambo pertinent warnings: probably depersonalization, touch starvation; additional warnings as they come in comment subjects

moving on up in the world (Farm Upgrade, OTA, with special guest star Sam Trautman!)

"How you holding up?"

"Not bad, for an old man."

"Hey, not everything goes bad with age. Wine, cheese..."

Sam just raises an eyebrow at John, but the both of them smile as Sam trudges up to where John's offering him a nice, cold glass of water. Pulling a rag out of his pocket, Sam wipes away the sweat he's worked up, helping with the expansion of the chicken coop and surveys his handiwork.

"What else is on the docket, Captain?" Sam asks, earning him an eyeroll from John.

"You may be helping me out, sir, but respectfully? I'll never outrank you, so don't start."

"No ranks here, John. Just Sam will do, even if I'm on the clock." Sam assures him after another sip of his water.

"Yeah? What're you doing?"

"No military, so I joined the force. Eh--constable, they call it?"

John nods approvingly, glancing over as Co and Sam scuttle past, Sam still trying, as ever, to get Co to sit still long enough to be preened.

"Nice." John agrees, turning back to Sam and studying the coop. "Uh--so, after we finish with the coop, I'm starting on construction of a new workshop. Been kinda using the preserve for the stuff I been making so I'm gonna shift it all indoors. Gonna talk to the boys up at the Kaspbrak farm about maybe finding someone to breed Co with--Sammy's her brother, it's too close."

"Still not sure how to react to the fact you named a rooster after me."

John just smiles, feeling a wistful pang as he thinks of the other Sam as well--but it's nothing like it used to be. There's far more joy than sorrow or pain as the wound slowly heals, and when he thinks of Laios--and possibly more...

"Wanna share any of that wool you're gathering?"

John glances at Sam, narrows his eyes, and takes a sip of his water before wiping some of the condensation off the glass and flicking it at the other man.

"Back to work. Sir."

Sam just snickers, and continues to finish his drink as John walks away before returning to working on the coop.

((Baker Ranch is now Level 3, and this is open to anyone who wants to help with the improvements! Assume there was an open call on the bulletin board, all takers will be fed and watered nicely. Sam and John are both open to chat with, just let me know who you wanna talk to in the subject of the comment. :D))

let's make it official (closed to Edgar)

It's been a couple days since things with the property upgrades became official--and John just got word on the supplies for the house expansion, which means it's time to talk to Edgar.

He waits until a night when Radar and Kitty aren't crashing at the house, so it's just the two of them and Edgar can surprise the rest of the kids with the news later. Dinner's done and they're both puttering around the kitchen to clean up when John decides to broach the subject.

"So, uh...I forgot to mention one of the improvements I'm making is on the house." he begins. "Gonna be adding on a room, and I wanted to talk to you about it."

THE FORBIDDEN BOX (OTA)

John's not sure how to go about this, so he spends a long time thinking--and he comes up with an idea.

He's been duly warned about the box, so he figures there's gonna be some recoil. He also doesn't have good tape to seal it back up if he opens it, so he has to think of a way to get in and out without causing too much chaos. So, using some spare wood scraps from the recent construction, John builds a makeshift enclosure for the strange box he bought at Calloway's and wedges it inside. Sealed, weighed down, secure with only one face visible.

He does some looking, and comes up with a piece of cork he can cut into a pretty decent shape to just wedge into a preordained hole. He does some measuring, draws a circle onto the side...

...and when he's ready, he carefully starts to cut...

"...okay, there we--ah shit shit shitshitSHIT!"

It could be worse. It could be a lot worse--nobody may have come out to help him wrestle the thing down and get it corked. Still, the wood enclosure did what he wanted and prevented the damn thing from getting away from him.

But the stream of sausages--of hot dogs--was more than he bargained for, and so by the time he's got it sealed up again there's a pretty fucking large pyramid of fresh hot dogs laying on the tarp he spread out.

Suffice to say, a new post goes up on the bulletin board, advertising FRESH HOT DOGS, 1 BRASS PER DOZEN, PHONE BAKER RANCH FOR DETAILS, all friends of the family have been extended an open invitation to dinner at the ranch for the next few weeks for a regular cookout...

...and until they can clear out their stack of franks, the residents of the Rambo household will be having hot dogs for dinner for a while.

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"Yeah?" Edgar's hands pause in scrubbing dishes as he looks over his shoulder. "What've you got in mind?"

“Well,” John replies slowly, finishing with drying the plate in his hand and setting it in the cabinet above him, “you been staying here a while, and you do a lot to help out. And your room is kinda small—I know you’re good with less space, but what if you had space to keep your rabbit in your room even in warm weather? To sleep with you I mean.”

He shuts the cupboard, trying to hide a smile as he continues.

“And, y’know, if I’m gonna hire you officially, you should have a nicer room as part of the benefits package…”

Edgar blinks, then a slow dawning smile starts to cross his face.

"Oh is that what we're doing, then?" His tone is ostentatiously airy, as though this isn't a surprise at all and barely interesting for all that.

(His smile tells a different story, though, and he isn't trying to hide it at all.)

John nods, equally casual with a shrug for good measure.

“Yeah, I figure might as well.” He replies, and can’t quite keep the snicker out of his voice at the little bit of teasing. It doesn’t last, though, as unabashed affection warms his features.

“I mean, this is a family business after all.”

Max whistles merrily to himself as he trots along on his way to the Baker ranch to see what the guys might be getting up to over there. The first hint that there's anything amiss comes with the scent of salty meat on the air. An all too familiar scent ever since that, ahem, accident back on the Serena Eterna. And when he turns the corner and catches sight of that box...

"NO! Don't open it!"

He takes off at a sprint but he's already too late. That box is firing off hot dogs like a sausage machine gun. How? How could it be here? Will that box never stop haunting him?!

When he hears the voice, it's worlds too late--but preparation is helping. John grossly underestimated the firepower of this fucking thing, but the wood enclosure is weighing it down enough that he's able to tackle the thing.

He's got it pinned to the ground when Max reaches him, the cork clutched in his fist. Looking up sharply, there's grim relief in his eyes as he nods for Max to come over.

"Here, hold it down! I can stop it up, just--all your weight, just lay on it..."

"Got it!" Max answers while he's already in the act of throwing himself onto the box. Not the first time he's had to, so he knows exactly how unruly this thing is. Even with all of his bulk on top, it still thrashes wildly.

The whole time, questions can't help but spill from his mouth, too. "Where did you find it? Did it wash up on the shore? How did it get all the way here?"

"Calloway's. Bought it." John grunts, letting up on the box once Max has it pinned. He shifts around to the front, one hand planted on the box to help try and mitigate some of the thrashing, glancing up at Max to make sure he's okay...

...and he's more than okay, even after suit shopping he still can't believe the ass on that guy...

Focus.

Cork in hand, John evades one hot dog after another and finally jams it against the hole. He fights to keep an iron grip on it as the force of the hot dogs trying to escape tries to eject or dislodge it...

...the cork slides home, and John shoves hard to jam it in as far as he possibly can. He's vaguely worried about ripping the cardboard, but it seems designed to hold up under the pressure once there's some kind of seal in place.

Thus, the box stills...and the casualties remain in the form of a pile of hot dogs, with countless others strewn everywhere.

"That shady guy who charges way too much for stuff?"

Max hisses as the box nearly slips from his grip, but he recovers by flexing even more of those fine muscles until he's nearly put the box in the equivalent of a chokehold. He's saying some quick prayers to the goddesses on this island that the cork John is rams into that hole will be enough to contain it. How long would this bubble take to fill with hot dogs, he wonders as sweat beads upon his brow. Could they eat them all before that happens?

Thankfully, they won't have to find out. The cork holds, and Max lets out a huge sigh as he finally sags, breathless, against the cardboard. Unfortunately, the smell of hot dog is still thick in the air thanks to that massive pile.

"Thank fuck..." he groans. "I was scared that might not work."

"Yeah, well--he's a shady fuck, but he gave me plenty of warning." John pants, sagging in nearly the same spot, their arms tangled as they drape themselves over the box.

Only then does it register, what Max said, and his head shoots up with a raised eyebrow.

"Wait--is this your box? What--how--why--"

Max takes this opportunity to rest his forehead on the nearest limb that may or may not be his own.

"Yes..." he groans. "It showed up as a gift for me back on that evil cruise ship. There weren't any warnings that time. I opened the lid and they just kept spilling out." Said in the tone of a man trying not to have a small breakdown about it. This box is his curse. It's brought him so much trouble.

"I thought it went down with the ship."

Well...shit.

John surveys the aftermath, then Max--then bends his head to gently bonk his forehead against the back of Max's head where it lays, in fact, pressed to John's forearm.

"So I guess you wouldn't wanna stay for a weenie roast lunch, huh?" He deadpans.

He giggles and nuzzles his face against John's forearm unashamedly. (He's not using you as a sweat rag, shh.)

"... We had to eat so many last time." He usually isn't one to turn down food but just the sight of that pile makes him a little green.

"Poor Ylva probably ate, like, two pounds all by herself." If not more.

John grins at the gesture, even as it makes...something warm and soft and huge swell up in his chest, compelling him to return the gesture by flat out pressing his face against Max's hair for a second to breathe him in.

"Well, I don't mind a good hot dog, and maybe some of the natives will enjoy 'em." John decides when he lifts his head. "Otherwise...hot dogs for me, venison burgers for you? I'm serious about lunch--if Ylva has a sending stone, maybe we can even arrange to take her some if she doesn't feel like coming by to join us."

A beat.

"...burgers, I mean. No more hot dogs. Two pounds, seriously?..."

Max spends his time around too many tactile extra-sensory people for this to even register as strange. That's just what friends do, right? Scent is comforting, ergo, enjoying the familiar scents of a trusted friend makes perfect sense to him. It's flattering, in fact.

"Maybe we should still call them sausages when we introduce them to the ecosystem here..." He doesn't want to have to try and explain the naming convention.

Max shifts his head over so he can look John in the face as he answers. (The stubble on his chin probably itches.) "I'd love to stay for lunch. And, yeah, we can call her up. I think she has a stone but I'm not sure if she keeps it on her all the time."

He laughs just picturing the kind of face she'd make, "Yeah. Don't subject her to any more. She's done her time. There were so many. You don't even know. The box came open under the water and the ocean started filling up with them."

"Yeah, well," Edgar starts, then stops mid-snark and blinks up at John.

He looks much younger, somehow, looking up with a wordless you mean that?

John just smiles at that expression, warm and fond—and a little bit sardonic. It’s a silent statement of yeah, I do, dummy.

And if he still doubts it, John just moves in and wraps him in a fierce hug.

Sorry, Edgar. John loves you, and you’re stuck with him.

Edgar hugs back hard, wiry arms tight around John's barrel chest.

"Okay, but listen though," he starts, even before he draws back to look up again.

"Hey, I'm the boss, you listen." John jokes with a laugh as Edgar draws back. Reaching up to tousle his hair affectionately, John...he's not overcome, not quite, but his chest feels so full and warm it's almost hard to breathe in a really good way.

"Everything'll be the same, except you'll get your paycheck from me, new room--if you want, but I was thinking about storage and maybe moving your rabbit in--and now I can make you take breaks when you're workin' too hard."

He huffs, his smile growing impossibly wider, and claps Edgar fondly on the shoulder.

"Now I'll listen--if there's anything else you want with the job 'n stuff. Cause I'm probably gonna say 'yes' no matter what it is."

"No, it's -- all that's fine, that's excellent, happy about it, but listen," he insists.

"If we're family," and he has to stop for a moment with the way that swells in his chest, burning like sunlight, "then -- you know I've got other people, right? Nimona, and Max, and ... you met Curtis, yeah? Him more than anyone."

John nods with a quiet huff at the mention of Max--yeah, that's a connection he hadn't been expecting, and tried not to think about too much given that...well, he's got feelings of his own about Max that land in a weird valley, but skew mostly platonic.

Curtis, however...

"Yeah, I met him. And I'll tell you: I like him a lot." John assures him. "He's a good guy, and I caught sight of you 'n Nimona at the barbecue. Little pink critter you got cozy with on the stoop, right?"

"That's her, yeah. And I'm just saying ... they gotta be welcome here too, if I live here. Is that okay?"

Is that how this even works? He's never really had a place of his own, even partially his own, just spaces in communal housing. This is different; this feels different.

"Hey--this? This is your home. And anyone you wanna bring over, you're welcome to. Don't even gotta ask me unless it's a big group, and that's just so I can set a few extra places at the table and get out the extra blankets." John assures him, pulling Edgar into another hug.

"Home means safety, and whoever's one of your people is welcome here as long as you say they are, buddy. If you say they can be here, they can be here. Even if it means we're putting up the whole damn island."

His smile isn't enormous, not yet, but it's bright and warm as the sun coming up.

"Right then," he says, "got it. Might hold you to that, sometime, if you're not careful."

John abruptly draws back just enough to narrow his eyes at Edgar--to the extreme of a suspicious squint, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth all the while.

"You know I was trained to win every battle, right?" he warns playfully, making a fist and gently touching Edgar's chin with his knuckles before nudging it firmly in an affectionate mock punch. "Bring it on. I'll be such a good host you'll beg for mercy and more tasty snacks, my man."

"Well, it did net me a discount on the box." John agrees at the mention of the name. He should get up now...why is it so hard?

He compromises by grabbing Max's hand before getting to his feet, then pulling him up and looping an arm around his shoulders for a haphazard side hug when he's on his feet.

"See if she answers. Meanwhile, c'mon inside and say hi to the crew--and by that I mean Co, Bao, Sam if he snuck inside, and the dogs." ~~Pokemon, he means Pokemon~~

"Do I even want to know how much you paid for this thing?" He's not sure he does. He got the box for free and he would have paid money to get rid of it.

Max makes a sad little sound when the warmth of John moves away. Aw, that was comfy. But he lets himself be helped up without further protest. He's happy to be rewarded with a warm side hug instead.

"Okay, yeah. I'd love to meet them all. It's a shame I didn't bring Crumpet with me. Can I next time? She loves playdates. She can be gentle, I promise. She's good with our kitten Anani."

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and i'm ready to suffer and i'm ready to hope [October-ish Catch-All]

official you say?

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THE FORBIDDEN BOX - IT'S TIME

THE HOUR IS UPON US, WOE BE UNTO UR MUSTARD

xD

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