foolishmortals | all that glitters is gold [AFTERPARTY]

[It's been a very long, and very upsetting morning, and honestly, Ford is feeling goddamn drained. All the events of the day have hit him like a ton of bricks. And as much as he wants nothing more than to sleep for about a week...well. There's work to do.

After talking it over with Fiddleford, his first mission is hitting the kitchen and scraping together all the eggs, potatoes, and onions he can find. It takes him a good few hours, but eventually he's got five big casserole dishes full of kugel, steaming hot, fresh out of the oven. He stacks up a big pile of plates, forks, and serving utensils and carries it all into the lounge in trips.

Next is the business of the still. Between the two of them, the two Fords manage to get it into the lounge and set it up on a table where it's easy to access. Ford also pilfers a big glass jug of apple juice for the kids and puts it nearby. All the adults are free to partake of a cup of Fiddleford's sugar shine. They'll be needing it, tonight.

Lastly, are the notes. Ford writes them all out in his neat, block lettering, and slips one under each door—pausing at the doors of the deceased with a sad frown each time.

The lounge is quiet while they wait for everyone to arrive, save for the sounds of banjo music....

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Hey! Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!

[He waves his finger at Fidds blearily.]

Youuuuu may be a skinny Brit! But Ah got my eye on you.

[The accents are all blurring together.]

Hey, now. I'm not plannin' anythin' more evil than some more banjo music. You got any requests? Cricket folk songs I could pick a backin' to?

[He's honestly all about this. Can we get Jiminy Cricket to sing? Nothing is going to lighten the mood more than this.]

Thossssse are are our songs! Not your songs.

That's a little... intolerant of you, don't you think?

[Jiminy Cricket, moral center, being intolerant. Incredible.]

[Oh like this is new.]

Jusssst facts. Can't be recreated by yooou people.

You sayin' I'm not good enough to play your fancy cricket music?

[He's going to die and this will be what kills him, helped along by the moonshine. Good god he needed this tonight.]

Just ain't possible. You-you don't have the... [He waves his hand around, trying to grasp the word out of the air.] Throat... stuff...

Y'mean I can't chirp, on account of bein' a human?

Yeah! That!

... Don't cricket's make their music with their legs?

[They do not, but he is not a bug specialist.]

Shows how [Hic] much you know! We do it, with-with this throat thing. In our throats.

I am just about a hundred percent sure that's not right.

Show me.

[He opens his mouth.

He closes it and frowns.]

No, its more like....

[He tries again.]

No that-that's not it.

[He does it a third time

He's gonna keep going until he's interrupted.]

[Okay he may be nicely buzzed but like. He knows what a cricket sounds like.]

Don't know, that sounds right to me.

No- I'm- I'm not getting the pitch right. Its gotta have more.... Stuff in it.

What.

[He crams about as much disbelief into one syllable as he possibly can.]

[He snorts.]

Yooouu don't know tratitional kicket songs. You don't get it. Its gotta be like-

[He makes the noise again before cutting himself off.]

Dammit.

[Fiddleford lets out a soft whistle. Hooboy, this is just getting funnier, except how funny it is is kind of getting overtaken by how honestly curious he is about what Jiminy is trying to do.]

Don't hurt yourself there.

[He makes the chirping a couple more times before giving up.]

I don't remememember how the song goes. Ma would sing it sometimes. But its sorta kind of not really like that????

[He tries to imagine baby Jiminy Cricket in his baby cricket crib being rocked to sleep by his quaint cricket mother and isn't sure if he should be charmed or absolutely hysterical.]

Well -- well sing me one you do remember. Now you've got me all curious.

[That's absurd, he isn't some wealthy high-brow cricket, he was raised under a rock like a proper working man cricket. Get out of here with your crib nonsense.]

Well, alright, how about...

[He starts chirping again.

It sounds exactly the same.]

[Oh wow]

Well that's just... that's lovely.

Yeah its a classic.

I can see why. Very distinct melody.

You- you see why the pitch has to be right? It isn't right if it isn't right.

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