villagelogs | 011 » moonshine mingle [open]

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011 » moonshine mingle [open]

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.

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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.

Raylan had been particularly stone faced and quiet that morning too, having woken up in the other room on the floor and spending a little too long in the shower to scrub off the layer of dust that had somehow settled over him, so Doc wasn't pressed to say more than he wanted and Raylan was more than comfortable with silence. It wasn't something that he felt the need to fill and after a few hours, he was glad that Doc seemed the same way.

But busywork was good and by the time that he ambles onto the porch to find Doc and his aggressively empty moonshine, Raylan smiled crookedly.

"Strong enough to knock tits off a boar hog, that's for sure. Pretty sure I got to feel a few brain cells dyin'. Just like I remember," he said with a lift of his glass. "Used to hit it with the guys I worked with at the mines after a shift. Still ain't nothin' to stand up to Mags' Apple Pie Shine. Don't know what she did but." He hummed softly with a tilt of his head to one side, a bob of a movement. "It was damned good. Still," he continued with a glance at his cup. "Sure as shit better than nothin'."

He nodded at the bottle in Doc's hand. "You feelin' better now?"

The only way Doc can survive what he's stomaching is because he's stomached much of the same before - if not worse. He's no stranger to highly volatile and variable qualities and quantities of homebrew. This isn't the worst he's drunk.

"Apple pie shine, huh. Must have been sommin'." That's quite a bit above and beyond his limitations in the kitchen, but he can imagine it must have been a potent thing.

"I had a-... strange day, yesterday," he offers up with a furrow of his eyebrows and a long sigh. A bit of time and distance and he can play it cool. Light his worries on fire with a brittle old matchstick, blow smoke into the cool air, and let it take that unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach away as the thin wisp slithers towards the sky.

"It was not my intention to leave you alone to look after the still. I do apologise, Raylan."

Raylan wasn't sure the guests inside were lucky enough to be so endeared to the effects already. But really, that was on them. It wasn't like either of them were trying to get anyone up on the wagon, just themselves it seemed.

"Hellva drink, that's for sure." Granted Mags had killed countless men by putting cyanide at the bottom of their glasses without them knowing, covering up the sharp taste with her smooth trusted Apple Pie, but it had been shockingly good.

Raylan's brow furrowed in turn, eyes narrowing slightly as his body turned a little towards Doc, one hand propping on his crookedly tilted hips. "Guess we're real lucky the place didn't explode then. I wasn't much here to notice havin' been left alone, havin' a strange day myself." His chin lifted a little, curiously.

"What was strange about it?" Talk to him Doc, he's got his ears on.

The way Doc is taking another big swig of moonshine probably suggests that it had been A Day. But at least he's willing to talk about it. Especially seeing as, judging from Raylan's familiar-looking confused but inquisitive pose, he might not have been the only one whisked away for a spontaneous, unplanned adventure.

"Woke up somewhere else with a woman I ain't never met before." This kind of thing used to happen plenty, but always after the drinks, never before. Also, if that sounded like it should have been sexy, it most certainly was not.

"It was dark and wet and I- couldn't really stay focused." Trauma? What trauma? He's fine. Been through much worse and lived, somehow. Just needs to finish his cigarillo and get to the bottom of his bottle, that's all.

Raylan's own cup, having started full, was well down to it's fourth but he hadn't started on a bottle. Not yet anyway. That was drinking he'd likely do alone. But how a man hit a bottle was telling and Raylan had seen drinking like that all his life.

He didn't lift his eyebrows or react to the admittedly sexy sounding start - no one drank like that due to pussy, and let Doc speak on his own time. Dark and wet. Sounded like a well and Raylan could guess that spending 130 years in one didn't endear a soul to them. Instead, he nodded softly and looked down, jaw flexing a little, looking back up from under his hat brim as he asked his next question.

"Trapped seems to be a theme.. Where were ya? How'd you get out?"

"Some kind of cave or tunnel system. We just kept walking." Of course, Jill wanted to stop, see the sights, smell the pebbles, investigate all the anomalies and turn over every rock. His fault really for not being enough of a man to tell her he couldn't stand the place. Maybe there were answers they were really seeking, but Doc just wanted to get out.

"What happened to you?" He watches the Marshal out of the corner of his eye, leaning against one of the porch pillars. He'll duck in and top them both up in a minute, but they probably have enough drink still to get Raylan's story.

He nodded a little more in acknowledgement before glancing over at the question. "Woke up at the bottom of a tower stairwell with a guy I met couple of days ago. The same guy I let shower earlier. Got him sat down with a cup of shine right now."

He let a beat pass before he continued. "Only door there was led into a closed room so we went up. If you're interested in pictures, he's got 'em." Raylan looked over properly. "We got some sense of the town from the top. Turns out they've got a lighthouse here. We're definitely on the Atlantic ocean, if I had to bet."

Edited 2020-11-04 02:58 (UTC)

"Huh." So the Marshal did have a good long wander, too, and with a newish friend to boot. Just one cup though? Is that going to be enough?

"Caught a glimpse of him earlier. Looked a little pale," Doc observes. He hasn't yet approached or introduced himself, but he'll have made a few rounds before the night is over so it's only a matter of time.

"We're gon' need a map at some point. There was some paper in the Town Hall." Maybe it's a waste of time to play cartographer, but that side project, like moonshine, will keep them busy for a while.

"He's suffering withdrawals, though I don't know from what meds specifically. Got some company upstairs," he said with a little gesture to his own temple. "Probably why he's on meds in the first place."

Raylan looked over at the suggestion. "I draw like a drunk third grader, but I'm happy to help provide context to it. We just gotta make sure that map starts at a solid sensible kinda center, all these streets that keep poppin' up. There's gonna be more to come, if my gut is right. Place didn't look as small as what we got...

Might wanna look into us finding a different house to actually live in too, if we're lookin' for busy work." Somehow, he'd settled into the 'we' of his budding friendships fairly well, even if he was still learning about everyone. It was nice to have 'we' in a place like this.

"Times have changed since I was a doctor but the shakes are the shakes; don't matter what you're taking. Could check in on him later," Doc offers. He's not looking for permission so much as just trying to put Raylan's mind a little more at ease. Also, it was the 1800s. He'd smoked a hell of a lot of opium. Among other things.

"Let's just start with what we know. Stick more paper together the bigger we go." He's not much of an artiste either but even a kid's drawing would be helpful when they know next to squat about this place.

"Don't much like your favourite chair anymore?" he inquires most innocently, waving what's left of his cigarillo a bit before taking one last puff and putting it out.

Raylan nodded. "I'd appreciate that." His eyes narrowed a little bit but he continued with the line of conversation. "John's got a lady friend, Zed. Artist. Might be able to make it.. pretty." He was sure someone cared about that and it was information worth sharing. Communities this small relied on the people in it and while there were quite a few faces that Raylan didn't know, he didn't discount their possibilities of what they could contribute.

"Don't much care for smellin' like the still if I can help it. Contact high goin' into the living room and a headache to match. You were a doctor? General, specialized or a mix?" Doctor of any kind was good news; Raylan was acutely aware of the possibilities when there wasn't one. Everyone had their roles.

"I do believe I have met her, in the library. She was previously acquainted with John?" It's not a precedent but it's still interesting considering very few of them have encountered familiar faces. Regardless, it may be worth enlisting her help. She seemed fairly helpful and friendly to boot.

"Mmm. Probably will do you harm in the long run, sticking around here too long," Doc agrees. "We shall move then, somewhere nearby. Have to keep an eye on this place still." He imagines this isn't a one and done batch and he'll be brewing up another once they start getting low.

Tossing away the last bit of his cigarillo somewhat carelessly, Doc straightens and sighs, leaving the empty bottle balancing on the rails and turning to face Raylan fully. Adjusting his hat, he crosses his legs at his ankles and rests his palms on the bevelled edge of the rails.

"Dentist actually, but you learn a bit of everything along the way. But most everyone calls me Doc. Unless I'm in real trouble, then it's John Henry Holliday."

He nodded again with a passing 'Mmhmm' of confirmation. Hell, part of him was just glad that there were more than one or two people seeing these other people. Mathis was starting to instill the foundations of an already solid paranoia that tended to turn out as rightly founded.

"Next door or across the street maybe, if they've already been abandoned again by the others. Lights are less frequent here, past few nights." He paid attention to his neighbours, regardless of if they did the same. "I'd hate to see the place blow up while we're on the other side'a town."

But he was more interested on what was going to come as his answer with that shift of Doc's posture and watched his profile as he spoke. John Henry Holliday. In all the other stuff that Raylan had read in his life, some of those books had been history books - prep for the Marshal's service. John Henry Holliday wasn't exactly an unknown name, in context of the era that Raylan had been led to believe.

"You're Doc Holliday?"

Who knows. Maybe Doc Holliday is a figment of Raylan's imagination. That's a far more likely conclusion to draw than a group of strangers from all walks of life and varying degrees of 'normalcy', whatever the hell that means, being whisked away to some quaint little town.

"The one and only," Doc replies with a tilt of his head. He is aware that he has a... reputation. He built one for himself all those years ago, after all, back during a time where you had to have one so people wouldn't mess with you. Especially so for someone who, at times on his bad days, might have appeared more sickly than he would have liked to appear. What he didn't count on was turning into some kind of frontier fairytale. That wasn't in the cards when he last checked his awfully shitty hand, but who knew those could change on him at the drop of a hat?

But hey, what the hell. If he's got that going for him, might as well use it to his advantage.

"Suppose you'll be needing another drink. I know I do." He swipes his empty bottle off the ledge and starts heading back inside. "I'll top you up."

Raylan's eyes narrowed more. "I do," he replied, handing over his glass and watching Doc stroll back inside. The question here was, how far did he believe what he was being told? There was no doubt that Doc believed it and Raylan wasn't out here to tell people what their experiences were but it was something of a tall tale to swallow. It was a question of a leap of faith. Suspend what he knew to be true to make room for their possibilities.

He leaned against the porch railing as he waited, arms crossed over his chest as he thought about it. The day before had forced him to look at all sort of possibilities that he hadn't before, ones that wouldn't fit into his understanding of the basics of reality. Things continued to happen that had no 'reasonable' explanation. Raylan knew at some point, he'd cave and take it all with no argument and only a little bit of continued paranoia and suspicion. What harm in there was going along until his inner and ultimate suspicions were proved right? None, that he could see. It was a tentative suspension of his disbelief.

And worth it for some solid company that he'd found himself very comfortably familiar with, even if he clearly had a lot to learn about the man he'd chosen to bunk down in a house with.

Just a quick round around the house while he's fetching drinks - nothing on fire, nobody naked and screaming or passed out on the floor - and Doc returns in short order, holding Raylan's just about five fingers glass out to him on his way back to where he'd been perched on the porch. He's got a glass of his own this time. Even he has his limits, and this is harsher stuff than he's had to drink in a long while.

He doesn't feel particularly compelled to prove anything to anyone here, the stakes are not the same as they were back where he had come from, so he takes those furrowed eyebrows in his stride. It's better to just drink tonight than play 20 questions about people and shitshows that got done and dusted over a hundred years ago, anyway.

"Whatever you've read or watched or-- think you know, I just wanna get outta here, like e'ryone else." He's got places to be, things to do, 99 problems already and Mathias ain't needing to be another one.

"What, like you'd rather shoot up the library or pull all our wisdom teeth like a boogeyman?" Raylan smirked, muttering a soft 'thanks' as he took the glass and took a sip, teeth baring for a few seconds as he swallowed it down.

"I'll be honest; what I know, I read. Part of me abosrbin' Marshal Service history and.. well, enjoyin' the history of the Wild West." He wasn't ashamed of his influences or his side passion-knowledge projects and while he had nothing to stand up to what Doc was suggesting, he could, at least, be honest. "But even they didn't paint the story as anythin' more than a few good men fightin' against passionate fools. I-.. I don't expect any.. magical saviourism just because you were part of a case in a time that was.. less structured than I'm used to."

Reason ruled all, as far as Raylan could wrap himself around. And since he had nothing else, this basis of reality was the one sure thing he'd never questioned before.

Doc snickers. If shooting up the library or grabbing a pair of pliers and going to town could get them closer to getting out of this town, Raylan ought not to put it past him. Alas. He's just here keeping his head down, patching young ladies and gentlemen up, making sandwiches and brewing moonshine.

"There were no good men." Even Wyatt had his bad days. His sins. "It was not a time or place where good men could survive," Doc clarifies after a beat, peering into his own glass of moonshine. Most times, he doesn't like the man on that rippling surface, alcohol clear as water, staring back at him.

"But." He moves the glass away and breaks up his own reflection before taking another swig from it, setting it down on the rails again where he'd left his bottle previously. "We all did our best. And that is all we can do here. All things considered, today has not been a bad day." Doc gestures to the house behind them with his head. The here and now is what they ought to be focusing on. They can leave the scepticism for when they have the luxury to entertain it.

"We've got people. We've got booze. And nobody's tried to kill us yet." Sometimes that's all you can ask for in life.

Oh, Raylan knew enough country to know better than putting anything past people in a desperate situation, himself included. Small towns generated their own trouble, in that way.

"There still aren't," Raylan promised. Even he wasn't a great man. He was alright, in his own estimation. But he looked back at the house as Doc gestures that way and nods again.

"I'd argue that last one but it's hard to when there aren't bullets flyin' at me. I know there's more than that that'll kill a man, but somethings are more dangerous than others. But this," he said with a lift of his glass. "Is a damned good start. Might actually get some sleep night - least a few hours.. Though I hope you know that chair's comin' with us when we move." He smiled behind another deep draft of his cup.

"You seem alright, Marshal." Doc wouldn't presume, given how little he does know about the man, but if he had to take a gamble - and he is most definitely a gambling man - he'd put his money on Raylan.

"If that doesn't knock you out then you haven't had enough of it," he jokes with a cant of his head towards Raylan's glass. Or, well, it's only sort of a joke.

"I'll help you with the chair," he promises. "After we get through one hell of a hangover waitin' for us tomorrow."

He bobbed his head to the side once with a soft curl of his smile. It was the best he could do for accepting a compliment. He didn't hear them often or take them easily, but it would be a lie to say that some small part of his inner 12 year old boy was elated that someone who might legit be the Doc Holliday thought he was 'alright'.

A Marshal stiffy, Tim might have called it.

"I don't know how well moonshine is gonna mask any screams we might hear in the night," he answered with a note of seriousness. "That hangover might come sooner than later. Least we can kill one pain with another." He gestured with his glass again, pinky finger curling up a little, tip meeting the knuckle of his ring finger as he drained the rest of his cup with a bare wince and show of his teeth as his lips curled back from the swallow.

"This was a fantastic fuckin' idea, Doc. Out here doin' a public service."

Case in point - Raylan could have simply left a man to suffer his own troubles and torments on his own. He hardly knows him for barely a day after all. Simple enough to offer some token gesture, some frivolous thoughts and prayers and it would have been simpler still to close the door and lock it, retreat to his chair and forget about it. Whether it be out of duty, care, or a softness he tries to hide in a world that has hardened and toughened that exterior, Raylan did not do any of those things.

"Heh. Just another day on the job." And no one's gone blind or keeled over. Just the cherry on their sundaes that they sorely needed.

"We should be getting up early anyway. Might start on another batch. Clean some of this shit up." For there will be no cleaning tonight while messes are still being made.

Seemed unnecessarily cruel to do that when he could offer a tangible help. Malcolm looked too much like a scared, lost, traumatized man. He couldn't help his instincts. The suggestion that they get up in the morning had Raylan laughing. "You like sufferin' don't ya."

He adjusted his hat with an amused sigh. "Guess that's what tempers the steel. I wanna try and take two bottles to set back, if we can. A couple plus every batch. I got a feelin' that this silver linin' might not hang around for one reason or another. Mathis giveth and she taketh away... But maybe we'll have a good wind. Open the windows, let it all air out so it's maybe a little less dangerous."

"Easy now Marshal. Let's save the honky tonk talk for when we're alone." Doc smirks and whittles down his shine until the glass is more than half empty, less than half full, an unfortunate state however you look at it.

"This stuff ain't just good for drinking. Can't tell when we'll be needing sommin' highly flammable. We should keep a few bottles stashed away, not here in case this place goes up in smoke."

011 » moonshine mingle [open]

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OOC: tldr; Raylan told the sweaty detoxing guy to shower and told Doc so he wasn't surprsied.

no worries... he won't walk in on him 😆

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