011 » moonshine mingle [open]

[thering]

characters: Everyone is invited
location: Hirano residence
date/time: Day 11 after sunset
content: Moonshine Mingle!
warnings: TBC

Well, they say good things take time. Can't exactly hurry along the process of making homebrew, anyway. Of course, most of them are still very much focused on why they are here, how they got here, what they are supposed to do, and all the other pressing questions that have arisen since their untimely arrival. But what started out as a mere joke of a suggestion arising from idle banter turned very quickly into a four day mission that has finally come to fruition. Three days is as fast as they can go, but. Yesterday had other plans, it seems, for a fair number of them.

So it's the fourth day when the hastily scrawled notes on pieces of paper taken from the Town Hall stack go up in various places, around the Boarding House, the Grey Gull, the Library, the Town Hall. If one happened to have not seen any of those makeshift flyers, word of mouth about the informal social gathering should have spread far and wide enough to reach everyone. Either way, it's happening, at Hirano's house after sunset. Moonshine has been promised.

The front porch, living room, dining room, kitchen, and the bathroom is accessible to everyone. The house isn't decorated for any sort of occasion, and the night starts out with the TV off and no music - mostly because the boys who have found themselves becoming impromptu hosts are kind of preoccupied. But perhaps one or a few of the guests can get something started fairly early on? Some finger food like club sandwiches and baked savoury pastries are also available, but the main attraction is the moonshine and that will be freely passed around. Having not had time to age, nor a barrel to be aged in, it is clear in colour, like water, but the gasoline-like smell is unmistakably strong. There was no real quality control to the process to speak of, so some might end up with 40 proof alcohol while others might go as high as 70. No one can promise it's safe to drink but it seems like no one's dropped dead (yet?) from sampling the goods.

Towards the end of the night, bottles of moonshine will be available for the taking, though it would probably be polite to take only one and leave some for the others. And while the bedrooms are mostly off-limits, if anyone is too intoxicated to go home later on in the evening, they may just unfortunately be stuck slumming it with the two tall, dark and mysterious cowboy-looking fellows for the night. Oh, the horror.

Comments

[tinstar]

This was either the best or worst idea, Raylan was sure, but he and Doc had put the work into it, tearing up walls and raiding the resturant, to jig this still together. It'd been done the day before but it could do with a little sitting - about a hundred years before the edge really smoothed off, so they were doing the quick dirty version. Raylan found he didn't much care for the smell of the still; it clung to him when he walked out of the house and for all he drank, he never went to work smelling like it, but he was grateful for Doc's knoweledge. Many hands made light work. Theirs had made 'shine.

It was odd, knowin' that they'd be 'hosting' a thing, though Raylan refused to go as full out as Winona would have said was proper for such a thing, and left the foodstuffs to Doc, who seemed to have a whole hellva lot under control. But the Marshal had a mind to keep his hands busy, and did so mostly at the tub. "I left you room," he starts as he hands out the first few glasses. "Y'all are gonna wanna cut that with some water or something. Don't go crazy, I don't know what mixes well."

Not a lot of moonshine in his household. Shame he never asked Mags Bennet for her Apple Pie Shine recipe. Never thought he'd need it, really.

Eventually, he would wander out with a shallow glass of his own, eyes skipping over people and easily drawn into conversation, casually making sure that no one was seizing or dropping dead. It'd be a bad night if they accidentally killed someone.

[thering]

When Doc returned from his impromptu adventure he had gone unusually quiet. Not unfriendly or rude - rarely ever that especially in a sea of strangers - but where he would have furnished his responses with unnecessary details and flowery descriptions, cracked a joke and lightened the mood with a smile, he groaned and grunted his way to the morning light. Where he might have retreated to the bedroom he had taken up residence in, he slept the night in the living room next to fire. Where he might have slept through the night without incident, he watched the fire until he could not anymore and then he jolted awake gripping the carpet beneath him, running trembling hands over dry clothes and empty pockets.

The shaking stops after a cigarillo on the front porch, and he's rather thankful that the day turned out to be a busy one. It gave him time and space and something to keep himself busy with while he repaired his poker face and made sure it was firmly affixed for the rest of the day, long before the first visitor showed up.

"Not bad for some honest days of work, Marshal," he greets when they come full circle and return to the front porch in the evening. Doc is holding an almost empty bottle of moonshine - he hasn't drunk the whole thing but he did pour out maybe two thirds of it and has been drinking the rest straight from the bottle. The smile and the twinkle in his eye is back.

"How's your gasoline?" Doc's has a particular eau de paint stripper about it.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm wasn't going to go. He actively decided not to go.

And yet, somehow, he found his feet walking up the steps of the house. The door was open. Other people were milling around. He walked in, his arms wrapped around himself, lingering on the edges.

Until he spotted that hat over by the tub. He moved in that direction, staying a few feet away, watching for a moment as Raylan handed someone a glass.

"Good turnout," he commented weakly.

If he'd looked bad the previous day, he was paler and more drawn now. He'd spent much of the day in a corner of the library, curled up against the wall, trying to breathe through the pain and the cold sweat.

[40seconds]

Coulson's been largely keeping to himself since events took a very curious turn one day, and although he's been a bit preoccupied, it hasn't been to the point that he didn't notice other strange things were happening to the other individuals who'd been brought to this mysterious town.

Either way, the things he saw were enough to raise a plethora of questions, but also, they gave him the worst headache he's had in awhile. So when he spotted one of the flyers, he didn't hesitate too much about stopping by to see what this moonshine madness was all about.

Upon arriving, he spotted some familiar faces, but there were some he hadn't yet met, and he approached one of them who seemed to be spearheading this particular endeavor. "Hey there, did you brew this up yourself?" Regardless of the answer, he intended to partake of it, but he just figured a little friendly conversation first wouldn't hurt.

[endlessflask]

Alcohol was alcohol, and after a few days without it, Eliot would have been ready to drink Listerine if he'd been able to find it. So the fact that some very good Samaritans had brewed up moonshine? Eliot wasn't going to miss it, even if it was one-hundred-percent serious backwoods shit.

(Honestly, Eliot respected the alcohol making process. He's had a variety of success and failure with it, both with an without magic, and if someone else hadn't done this then Eliot would have made his own prison hooch.)

The first gulp sip made his eyes water. The second and third helped him get over the burn. By the time he started his second cup, his body was starting to feel right again. He was raising it to his lips when he saw the cowboy guy walking around with a very sad portion of alcohol in his glass.

"Pacing yourself?"

Malcolm Bright OTA

[abrightboy]

Malcolm finished the first cup of 'shine Raylan handed him in short order and helped himself to another.

When he was on his third, while still shaky and weak, he started moving through the house, still dressed in borrowed rolled up bluejeans and a black long-sleeved t-shirt from the closet in the master bedroom, feet bare, animated enough to talk to others in attendance.

[thering]

When that third glass is starting to look near empty Doc stops Malcolm from his aimless wandering with the clink of the neck of a moonshine bottle against his glass. He tops Malcolm up, pours and pours and pours until the glass is at least three-quarters full.

"You doing alright, son?" Doc greets with a smile and an incline of his head. He is not leaving this house until he's crawling across the lawn singing one of Adele's classic hits. Or just not leaving the house at all.

[40seconds]

Phil here is on his second, and while he's not exactly tipsy just yet, his gait isn't particularly steady either. Odds are good that he'll regret drinking this much, especially when the hangover sets in, but right now, he's not really thinking too hard about that.

He passes by Malcolm, and almost as if by rote, he raises his glass and tips it in his general direction. "Here's to you, and I hope you're doing better than I am." Except he didn't mean to let that last part slip out, but either way, it's out and he's finding that now he doesn't care all that much.

john constantine | ota | will match format

[hellblaze]

John had showed up, taken what he could, and stalked his way through the house. That screened porch looked heavily inviting for him at the moment. Waking up covered in dust had been one thing. The growing frustration and anger at the situation in Mathias was another. He closed the door from the kitchen behind him, sat himself against the wall, and took a swing of the brewed moonshine.

Oh, it was horrendous.

Then he took another drink. He had worse.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm saw the kitchen door swing shut behind what he'd thought on a glance was John Constantine. It was the second time that evening that he thought he'd seen the... wizard? What did you call people who claimed to do magic?

He pushed the door carefully open, then looked around it, spotting John sitting on the floor. He stepped in, pushing the door shut again.

"I thought that was you," he said, gesturing towards John with his glass. His other hand was in the pocket of his jeans, which were too long to the point that Malcolm had had to roll up the cuffs.

[tinstar]

It was near an hour later when Raylan ambled onto the screened porch, hoping for a moment away from all the others where could drink and think in peace, door brushing open and closed behind him. It would have been hard to miss John posted up on the wall and Raylan smirked at him as he dropped down onto the couch.

"You look about how I feel. Tired and rough around every edge we got. How's the shine treatin' ya?" He had a freshly filled glass of his own, number three if anyone was keeping count and he was still standing fairly straight.

[thering]

Keeping a watchful eye on everyone milling around the house, Doc has been flitting from one person to another like a social butterfly, keeping tabs and catching up on yesterday's... oddities, under the guise of playing host. As someone who has owned and run his own bars and bordellos, this is a game that comes naturally to him. Of course, he had noticed one John Constantine coming in and slinking out, but he gives the magician a bit of time and space on his own before he eventually follows out back.

Doc comes upon him like last night's good time, a forearm pressed high up against the doorframe as he tilts his hat out of the way to scratch at his eyebrow with his thumb. With the back door ajar and light filtering out from the house he casts a long and foreboding shadow, but Doc knows how to make his presence known and felt without physically encroaching on personal spaces.

"Care to take a walk, mister Constantine?"

Claire Novak | Supernatural | ota (will match format)

[waywardsister]

❖ Open

[ If ever there's been a lightweight. Claire is a young woman, not even gotten to 21 just quite yet, she's a mere 5'5'', slender, and now someone's decided that letting her participate in moonshine is a good idea.

Maybe there's something to love about Mathias after all. Claire has her usual biker barbie attire, and the surly expression to match. Her fingers, one might notice, have soot on them in some spots, and she often seems slightly lost in thought.

Two glasses of moonshine in, though, and Claire is perched on the backrest of the couch, nodding emphatically, at the tail end of telling her story about taking out a small werewolf pack and saving the little girl they'd grabbed to eat later. ]

Okay okay, but let me finish. So! Not only did they fall for the fake delivery trick, right. But dude is on the ground - his two buddies already ganked, little girl they took crying in the corner, and he punches me, right, but I got him pinned. And he goes, get this, get this, he goes: "Who the hell do you think you are?"

[ She chuckles, takes another sip. ]

I mean, dude's just a werewolf so bad at his game he's getting found out by a hunter only a couple years into the game, and he tries getting smart with me? Nah! Oh, that's how I got this by the way!

[ She gestures at the fading bruise on her face, yellow now instead of the nasty purple it was when she arrived. ]

---

❖ Closed to Five

Hey. Button. Benjamin.

[ Finally she manages to spot her lil' note buddy, her companion in grouchiness, the oldest of old men in the teensiest body....

She might be tipsy.

Never say a 5'5'' slender girl can't hold her drink.... wait...

Claire sways into Five's personal space, leans close, and there's something in those blue eyes of her that's stone cold under the slight glassiness of the alcohol. She drops her voice though, so only Five hears her. ]

I got something.

---

❖ Wildcard

[ ooc: any other ideas? Feel free to hit me up on inkcharm or send me a pm! ]

---

[thering]

By this time of the evening, Doc has had the equivalent of a whole bottle of moonshine. Yes, one bottle. And he will insist he's only just getting started. He can probably have another two and still stand upright, and it might take double that amount to kill him.

The floor is on a strange tilt though even though nothing's sliding around and he's starting to find everything funny so she gets a laugh out of him even though she's telling him something rather harrowing and terrifying. He's got his back pressed to the wall as he faces her, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a glass by its rim, trying to focus on her story. He knew she was something fierce but good lord this was going places he was not expecting it to go.

"He hit you in the face?" Doc leans in and instantly regrets the sudden movement, free hand pulling out of his pocket to rub the surface of the wall before he straightens up again slowly.

"How unprofessional." Of the werewolf. Is he eight feet tall and kind of furry at this point? Doc's kind of lost.

eyes emoji

[fika]

[ five's been drinking. because there is a lot on his mind, because he spent over a week without the poor coping mechanisms that he'd developed over decades.

the moonshine was shit. it was absolutely vile, and maybe he should count himself lucky that he must have gotten a weaker batch. it's still enough to inebriate, more than, but the haze doesn't help as much as he hoped.

he has planted himself into an armchair, holds a short glass he found in one of the cupboards - another remnant of a perfectly ordinary family that lived here before henry decided to take the abandoned house for a dip into prohibition-like production.

he'd been staring into one spot on the wall, knuckles still frost-cracked from a not-quite-dream.

when claire waltzes into his personal space, he barely makes a motion. eyes narrow, flick over to her with furrowing brows before he props an elbow on the chair's plush arm and leans away. ]

What? Dramatic suspense?

[tinstar]

Raylan was a wandering kind of man and had swiftly lost count of how many cups of shine he'd put back, but he was hardly still once he started drinking, relaxed by the shine and too restlessly tense by all the company at first. It was starting to ebb into a nice fuzzy haze and his eyes were squintier than normal, even with his easy, equally warm smile. He'd finally stopped to post up on the wall and people watch, eyes and ears falling on Claire and her animated story.

She wasn't a marshal but she had the same energy of the young ones. Raylan liked seeing that; it was both promise and hope. She sorta reminded him of Loretta in that way.

He wasn't going to interrupt or inject himself, knowing as little as he did and believing less of it, but arguing the semantics of it all wasn't the point. It was nice to see everyone relax. But a good hour later, he was circling back around to check on her.

"How much of that you had now," he asked with a smile, drawl heavier to match his own consumption.

Phil Coulson | OTA

[40seconds]

Coulson's not really a drinking man, or at least, he's not one who drinks to excess. He might allow himself a drink or maybe two at the end of a stressful day (and let's be honest, that's nearly every day), but he has to keep a clear head, and drinking isn't really the way to do that.

But this isn't home, or the Bus, and he doesn't have any particular responsibilities here that require being sober. And, well, he's just dealing with something vaguely akin to an existential crisis, so he figures that means a little drink or two (or three) is warranted.

At first, he paces himself, and anyone passing by might find him midway through his first drink. It's already mellowing him out a little, and if someone stops by or just walks past, he'll raise his glass to them.

But fast forward a few hours, and he's on his third drink, and a lot of his typical calm has all but flown out the window. He's slouching in his chair, and his jacket and tie have been unceremoniously flung onto the back of said chair.

Simply put, he looks like a bit of a mess, but he doesn't particularly care about that. He's too busy trying to drink away his problems to really say much of anything, but if someone tries to engage him in conversation, it'll become very apparent that maybe he needs to stop. At least, the slurring words are a hint that it's something he should consider.

Regardless, the fact remains that the moonshine has loosened his tongue considerably, and he's more than happy to regale anyone who will listen about the time he shot a Norse god with a gun made up of Asgardian technology.

[endlessflask]

Eliot's been vaguely watching the progression (regression?) of the man. What caught his eye first was how the stranger looked too square to be at moonshine hootenanny, but he knows you can't really judge a book by its cover. Sometimes the people who look the most put together are the most screwed up.

Eliot might understand that on a level more personal than he's ready to reveal.

So as the time passes, Eliot keeps finding his eyes going back to the man, and eventually he figures he should maybe do his Good Deed Of The Day by checking up on him.

"Hey. You doing okay?" He's walked over to the other man, giving him a look that is both simultaneously concerned but friendly enough. "Maybe after that glass you should try some water. Cleanse your palette a little so your tastebuds don't burn off."

[hellblaze]

John loudly sits his glass down across from Coulson. A bit to startle the man, and a bit to announce himself. There is a smile plastered on his face. Sardonic, grimm, and with a dash of self-hatred in it. Typical levels of John Constantine, but, most people here in this city didn't know that.

He leans against the counter with his trenchcoat over his arm, sleeves rolled up. It's a little obvious he's had a bit more than he should of. "Oh, buck up, soldier! It's not so bad being in the spitting ground of the multiverse with no way of getting out."

The question is: did he say that to Coulson or to himself?

number five - open mingle !!

[fika]

▶ OPEN

[ when five appears - in the most literal sense of the word - in the kitchen of the hirano house, it's with one fundamental thing in mind: to drink.

it's a fair point to say that the last week has been a long one, and that's not counting the two odd weeks spent hopping from one apocalypse into the next before his arrival here.

he still thinks of the gravestones in the clearing, and recounts the patterns just to make sure they stay in his mind - even if he'd scrawled them all into his notebook the second he'd woken up. five's fist is wound tight, frost-cracked knuckles a reminder that what he'd seen had to be real. and that? that was the unsettling part.

so it isn't a surprise that he was overdue for poor coping, especially after yesterday, and he'd have to make a point of thanking Doc when he sees him.

if he remembers to, at least.

the moonshine tastes viciously vile, knocks the smell right out of him as he pulls a face, coughs, and pours himself another.

to anyone who hasn't had this little menace threaten their entire existence for assuming him to be the thirteen year old kid that he looks be, it would appear as though...a thirteen year old kid was throwing back generous shots of moonshine.

he doesn't keep going however, and slows down after enough battery-acid had dulled his tastebuds entirely. it doesn't take much, not for his weight, and he drops himself onto the sofa, and tips his head back to look at the ceiling through the haze that's starting to set in.

anyone is welcome to come by and bother him, or wonder why a thirteen year old is drinking, though the latter comes at one's own risk. ]

▶ WILDCARD hit me up with anything! he'll be milling about, and can be found anywhere! i'm at berezka if you want to hit me up! will match style

[thering]

When Doc does happen upon the old-young man looking like he's about to pass out on the couch, he fetches a blanket from behind one of the closed doors to the bedrooms and sets it down next to Five. He is welcome to stay the night, even if no formalised offer has been extended. Lord knows Doc won't be able to walk straight enough after he's finished drinking to be able to carry him home like they're on their honeymoon or escort the pint-sized troublemaker off these premises.

"These rooms behind me looked like they belonged to some folks around your age," Doc starts once Five stirs and shows any signs of being alive. He most certainly would not want the reputation of killing anyone with his homebrew the first time they came over to have a drink. Said folks might happen to be young ladies but they do have... multipurpose? Ambiguous? Non-accusatory or Doc does not know the term unisex? plain shirts and pants that won't be degrading or undermining any traditional notions of masculinity to wear. Unless of course, Five enjoys wearing women's clothing. Then he has plenty of options.

"Might be some clothes that'll fit ya."

[endlessflask]

[ The last person who can judge anyone for underage drinking is Eliot. Also, he doesn't even know if this place has drinking laws, and even if it does, who the hell is going to arrest any of them for letting a teenager get blitzed on pure alcohol?

Eliot's pretty sure the whole damn population is here already.

So when Eliot comes across him in the kitchen, he just raises his own glass in a toast. ]

All this needs is some shitty music and a bag of Doritos and it'd be just like college all over again.

[hellblaze]

[ john had passed the sofa once, but now he passes it again at the sight of the thirteen year old knocking back moonshine. he lofts an eyebrow with a wicked grin, finding it oh so amusing. hell, he started drinking and smoking around that age. who is he to make a scene?

instead, john simply sits across from five and lays an ankle on the other leg. he swirls his own glass around. ]

Burned your tongue out yet? [ he wishes his was. ]

zed martin - open/closed (but feel free to obverse eavesdrop)

[chicartista]

ｏｐｅｎ

[ zed has never been one to get drunk. the last thing she needed was to lose control of her powers. it was complicated even after she met john she constantly feels like her life is about control either getting it or trying to let go. but it wasn't as if her powers were really working here so if there was ever a time for her to get drunk it was now.

and maybe losing control would be a good thing. if her powers suddenly started working again it would give her a distraction from everything that happened the day before. that itself was enough reason for her to want to drink. maybe she could forget everything and worry again in the morning. tonight she could just drink and maybe actually have a good time. ]

ｃｌｏｓｅｄ ｔｏ ｊｏｈｎ*

*they're gonna have a major argument so feel free to eavesdrop on them! there will be yelling!

[ it's only natural for her to seek out john. they haven't spoken much about what happened to either of them the day before and somehow she can't help but think they won't speak much of it at all. it isn't as if they ever talk about things like that - at least he was talking to her more than her first few days here. he had seemed cold and it wasn't just because of the weather.

still, she finds him just as she's starting to feel a little tipsy and drops down next to him. ]

How do you drink... all the time?

( we mean PLEASE EAVESDROP 👀 )

[hellblaze]

[ it isn't as if john has anything to hide about what happened the day before - the dream? he feels it is something more akin to an astral projection, but, he's rather fed up and in the mood of not-giving-a-damn about the mathias mystery at the moment. let someone else figure it out. he wants to be drunk off his ass, passed out for numerous days, and ignoring the situation at hand.

mathias can sort out it's own problems. the rising darkness can sod off. manny can sod off. the lingering feelings of zed kissing corrigan can bloody well sod off. he doesn't want anything to do with any of it anymore.

his life is so much easier when he hasn't got attachments to deal with. yet, he goes out and finds mates, because he can't stand being alone. he needs them. otherwise his ledger of dead souls would triple, he'd be beyond redeemable, and who knows what else.

john looks up from his thoughts as zed sits down beside him. an eyebrow raises. ]

Guess you don't need to worry about losing control of your visions if you can't have them. [ he may not be tipsy yet - but the drinking certainly brings out his moodiness. it's usually why he drinks alone. ] Years of practice and a perfected art of drowning my sorrows, luv. Don't hit the bottle too hard.