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

[She nods, pulling the music from her pocket and smoothing it out over her thigh. It's messy, because she didn't have the energy to rewrite it nicely, but it's complete.]

I know the song, but I don't really . . . play strings.

[He nods. He gets it, he really does. He wouldn't be playing right now if he didn't want so desperately to do something to remember the people they've lost.]

Yeah... yeah. I could teach you.

Is it kind of like a guitar? [Honestly that is the only stringed instrument she's ever played and it was electric.] Nick taught me a little about guitar.

[That's a hecking lie. They were halfway to canoodling, very little learning was involved.]

[Girl, if he wasn't so drained already from everything that's happened today he might take the time to warn you about teenage boys named Nick who want to 'teach you a little about guitar'. But that's none of his business and also he's exhausted.]

Sure is! The only big difference is the number of strings and the key it's tuned to. Most banjos (mine included) are tuned to open G; guitars favor an E setup. But you can apply whatever you know about guitar to a banjo just fine when it comes to basics.

[It's fine. She made the boy hate her because she spent six weeks lying to him, there's nothing to worry about.

She plays all the strings real quick to check the tuning and stops to play one particular string a couple times, her brow furrowed.]

This one is C, not D. [That's not right.] Is it because I have less strings?

... Ah. Course. Should've noticed. He plays four string.

[Makes sense. Wander is smaller. He has fewer fingers.]

I figure that's fine. So long as you know what notes you're workin' with, and you've obviously got that part down.

[Of course it does. Having a good ear isn't instrument-exclusive.]

I don't have much four string experience myself but we can puzzle it out together.

I'd probably be kicked out of school if I couldn't tell notes apart.

[It's said like a joke, but the laughter after it is slightly nervous. She might not have exactly been kicked out of Amadeus, but her father made her run scales until she knew every note on a piano backwards and forwards. She's never done anything but music.]

Thank you for being patient with me.

Well of course I'm goin' to be patient with you, if you're goin' off of nothin' more than piano and just a couple attempts at guitar there's goin' to be a learnin' curve.

[It'd be real fuckin' rude of him if he wasn't patient, wouldn't it?]

I. I guess? [Learning???? Curves????? That seems fake.] I don't know, I'm so used to having to be the best that it feels strange to have someone just be . . . nice.

["Julia was the up and coming star of Amadeus before she threw her entire future away for a rock band and a boy." isn't an exaggeration. It's just fact, as far as she's concerned.]

Well that's... hm.

[That sounds wrong, somehow.]

Doesn't make sense to try and teach someone somethin' if you already expect them to be the best at it. That's not how teachin' works.

[In another world -- another universe -- he would have made a good teacher. Did make a good teacher, actually, if Ford's journal is to believed.]

[It's not a gift. It's a duty.

Intellectually, Julia knows he's right. Thirteen years of her father telling her otherwise tell her that he's wrong.]

My father says you can only become your best self if you expect to become your best self. [Again. You're not trying hard enough.] Anyway, um. How . . . do I hold it properly?

Well... well yes, but bein' your best self and bein' the best aren't exactly the same sort of...

[She makes an attempt at redirecting the conversation and he lets it happen, mainly because he isn't sure why he's getting so worked up over this. Except for how wrong it is. He isn't going to insult a girl's father to her face but... yikes.]

Like this. [He rearranges his banjo a little to demonstrate.] Hands here and here.

[You'd think a summer of hearing other people talk about their fathers would tell Julia that maybe hers isn't like. A shining example of parenting? But nah. He loves her and just wants her to be her best, it's fine.]

Okay. [She copies him, although it takes her a second given that Wander's banjo is a little odd.] Then it plays kind of like guitar where the griffs make different notes?

Mmhm. There's also a couple different ways to pick but given I don't think Wander left behind any fingerpicks and if he did they probably wouldn't fit you I guess we're goin' to have to teach you clawhammer.

[Which is fine, that's what he's been doing. Betty didn't come out of the machine with picks either and he didn't use them much even when he had access to them, frankly.]

Clawhammer? [What. That sounds bad.] What's that?

[Sometimes Julia isn't sure how much of what she doesn't understand is because she doesn't know English and how much is because apparently even people who can speak English speak Different Englishes.]

Oh, it's -- it's a style of pickin' that doesn't require wearin' any fingerpicks like most folks do. It's just bare fingers right on the strings.

[He demonstrates with a quick couple of plucks of his own banjo.]

all that glitters is gold [AFTERPARTY]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

this is where ink reveals he doesn't music and is definitely not a music teacher

look i barely know how a banjo works it's fine

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject