[OPEN, Mingle] Yamsgiving

[lasthumanvoice]

Who: Cecil and EVERYONE
What: Another Harvest Celebration
When: Beginning of Pumpkinfest
Where: Center of town
Warning(s): Discussion of the Gala and its attendant CWs may come up

1. Yes, we're happy as fish [Food Prep, Oak and Iron kitchen]
Cecil's made a point of seeking out the best known chefs in town to help him put everything together for this meal. While sweet potato dishes are the star, at least one available with every course, he's hoping to hit a broad variety so everyone can find something they like. He, of course, is peeling and chopping his eternal sweet potato to make sure there's enough to go around.

(Of course you don't need to worry about him with a knife! He's fine! Don't you know he was once a boy scout?)

If someone needs an extra hand for their dishes, though, he's happy to lend one. There's an attitude of camaraderie and cheer in the room, with Cecil even breaking out singing at one or two points in the evening.


2. And gorgeous as geese [The Meal; Festival Green]
Everyone's invited to the feast. That is, in fact, the whole point. Cecil's always been pointedly neutral in the town's tensions, working as the most unbiased media monkey he can. He's the Voice of Pumpkin Hollow, and that means not taking sides between Dahlia and Neil and the Temple and whoever else. But after the gala, he's made a choice to act, to try to foster goodwill and warm feelings. This isn't the stone stew he offered during January's famine, this is a Redwall-style feast.

So, between glasses of mead from Kasprak Farm and dandelion wine, everyone is invited to fill their plate with candied yams and zucchini bread, roast chicken and venison donated by one of the Enforcers. There's a homemade cranberry sauce with citrus wedges and dandelion-leaf salad with an apple cider vinaigrette and toasted acorns for garnish. There's pasta with a homemade pesto sauce and cheese. Desserts, too, are plentiful, some even flavored with...chocolate. But many are not, and feature sweet potatoes. Muffins, pies, etc.

Find a table with a friend or a stranger, and indulge. This is a warm-fuzzy type thing--feel free to use it as a mingle.


3. And wonderfully clean in the morning [Cleanup; Also Festival Green]
Cecil is, quite honestly, expecting to be the only person to stay and clean up. He's been up since about five in the morning and he's dragging a bit at this point. Oh, he did take the time to eat, so he's not starving, but like. He could use help putting the Green back to rights.


4. We've got everything, we're growing everything [Cecil Wildcards]
[You know how to find me to plot.]

Comments

[decrypter]

"Not quite, Mr. Kennedy, but I confess I've been a bit reclusive. Large social gatherings with too big a crowd aren't exactly my favorite thing."

One worries about becoming an obstacle, or crashed into by neglectful others.

"I'm Helena Adams. I work at the printing shop - though that's a more recent development. Mostly I've been rewriting my diaries and learning to map the general area of the town."

[nothingbadeverhappensto]

"Fair enough - they're not usually my thing either."

Leon doesn't quite pick up on her unspoken worries, but he can sympathize at least at a base level. It can be hard to maneuver around so many people in a lot of different ways.

"Hope you're having a good enough time here at least, though. Seems like Cecil put a lot of work into making everyone feel welcome," he says, glancing in the direction of their host for the afternoon before continuing. "Anyway, that sounds like a good idea. You big on journaling? It's a pretty popular hobby where I come from, but I never really got into it."

[decrypter]

"Hmm...how should I put this, it's important to me to have a record of what's happened in my life. That way, even if my memory should one day fail me, I'll be able to look back and recall what occurred to me."

Which is a very polite way to express her feelings in that, but more needed than she'll ever let someone know without a long, long time understanding them.

"That, and I'm a poet. Writing things down comes pretty naturally, if only to remember what's just come into my head."

[nothingbadeverhappensto]

"Right," says Leon, frowning sympathetically. His first and unquestioned assumption is absolutely that she has some kind of family history of dementia or Alzheimer's or some similar disorder, and he's content to leave it at that. It's not a fun subject to dwell on, nor a polite one to interrogate people about during a first conversation.

"Makes a lot of sense. How's that treating you, though? The poetry. No shortage here of natural beauty or philosophical questions, if those are what get your inspiration going."

Poets love dramatic land and seascapes and/or being confused about death and stuff, is Leon's impression of them.

[decrypter]

"Are those your favorite topics for poetry yourself? Because I'm sure somewhere I have sketches of something about the sounds of the isle or how it feels to walk on the beach, in that case."

If he's asking because he's a poet himself, she'll be delighted. Or even just thinking about it.

[nothingbadeverhappensto]

"I haven't really read a lot of poetry since I was in school," Leon admits, sheepishly, having been caught out in trying to take polite interest in something he knows very little about. "But the ones about that kind of thing are the ones that stuck with me, so maybe you could say that?"

He'll have to think about that now. Is it that that's what the teacher liked and presented them with a lot of, or is it his own preference making his memory selective? Huh.

"What do you usually like to write about, though?" For all his lack of familiarity, he is genuinely curious. He likes hearing about peoples' hobbies.

[decrypter]

"My feelings and my experiences, I've found. Poetry is a way to give voice to what sentiments feel inexplicable, the ones where there's no one correct word to define it. When you feel strongly, is simply saying you feel happy enough? Is simply calling yourself sad enough? Or is that just the word you use because it's close enough in a category?"

She's gesturing a little with one hand, and there's less of a polite demurring in her words.

"In a poem, you aren't restrained by categories, by how you should express things. You simply...can express them. If I say that I can feel my sister in this gathering today, in an ordinary conversation, someone would ask me to explain myself. If I said this in a poem, however, I would be allowed to continue, until such a thing is self evident."

[nothingbadeverhappensto]

"That... makes a lot of sense," says Leon, sounding a little more surprised than he means to. It's not that he disliked poetry back when he had reason to pay attention to it in the form of reading and writing assignments, but it had felt a little... unnecessary? Putting frills on what should be straightforward to communicate. Showboating, almost. This doesn't sound like that.

"I hadn't thought of it that way before," he admits. "I'm a pretty simple guy. I think the words I have serve me just fine most of the time. But... that makes sense. Like turning explaining yourself into an art form."

[decrypter]

"Exactly. And frankly, most people think about poems as things with rules. Rhyming, syllable count, et cetera. The rules aren't requirements, though - I think anyone can write poetry, so long as they put down the words that they think explain their thoughts. For some, it could be as simple as a list. For others, a grand epic like the Odyssey."

She's got no doubt he's been around poems that read and feel as artificial as they were meant to be, as if the author was thinking they had to say it and express it like that.

"I suppose it comes down to the fact that only I live in my version of the world. How are you to understand me if I cannot explain myself?"