all that glitters is gold [AFTERPARTY]

[sixfingeredstan]

[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....

Comments

[terribibble]

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

Show me.

[whistlenotchirp]

[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.]

[terribibble]

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

Don't know, that sounds right to me.

[whistlenotchirp]

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

[terribibble]

What.

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

[whistlenotchirp]

[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.

[terribibble]

[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.

[whistlenotchirp]

[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????

[terribibble]

[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.

[whistlenotchirp]

[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.]

[terribibble]

[Oh wow]

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

[whistlenotchirp]

Yeah its a classic.

[terribibble]

I can see why. Very distinct melody.

[whistlenotchirp]

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

[terribibble]

Oh, believe me, I understand that just fine. I spend quite a bit of time keepin' my banjo in tune.

[whistlenotchirp]

An man's instrument will...

Give a man a banjo and....

You know.

[He kinda wants to just lie down on the table.]

[terribibble]

I... I don't know if I do know, but I can understand the sentiment.

You goin' to need help gettin' to your room?

[He's a little concerned that if Jiminy falls in again he won't be able to get back out.]

[whistlenotchirp]

Naaaaaaaaaah, I'm alright. I'm still up an' at 'em.

[He swings an arm around or two to demonstrate.]

[terribibble]

[Y'know. They should get the cricket drunk more often. He's actually kind of passable drunk.]

Alright, alright. I can see that. Glad you liked the moonshine at any rate.

[whistlenotchirp]

I wouldn't know. Drinking's for fools, and I'm no fool.