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

[kindaruledatit]

...Hey yeah, no one sang for once.

[She sipped her cup mindfully.] I'm actually... really thankful for that. Dang, that got so annoying after only two times.

[But then the meat of the matter hits.] But now the ghost host dude is dead, and that other fat guy too. Too bad we couldn't get any answers from him.

[whistlenotchirp]

Yeeeeeeaaaaahhhhh. I'm getting real confused at all these.... people doing.... things. Answers would be nice.

Where's Taaaaaaaaaaaaarzan? He got turned into a fat brit, he should be not a fat brit and be a big jungle man resting after a long day.

[kindaruledatit]

Dude, I know, right? Answers would be great right about now. Except we're just stuck here, and no one is telling us anything.

[And now, they lost the one ghost that actually seemed to want to help them. Sucks.]

...Hey, yeah. You and Tarzan were like, [she searches for the right word...] friends? Right?

[whistlenotchirp]

Yeah! Besties! [He reconsiders.] No, Pinoc's my bestie. Buuuut Tarzan's up there. He's a good.

[kindaruledatit]

[Pfffff. Bestie. Never did she suspect a word like that from him.]

Wow man, you're like, really drunk right now, aren't you?

[whistlenotchirp]

[A prolonged gasp.]

No! No I don't drink! Drinkin's for... bad! An-An' I gotta do... the good stuff. Gotta be a good rolllllll model.

[kindaruledatit]

Sure, dude. Whatever.

[And she takes a drink of her cup that very clearly smells like the alcohol they're serving here. Phew, it kind of stings.]

You know me, I can keep a secret.

[whistlenotchirp]

That's true. Yer good at secrets.

[He's a little too soaked in alcohol himself to know quite yet. Hesits down slowly next to her.]

...Pssssssssssst. Weennnnndddyyyyyy.

[kindaruledatit]

[She's not drunk enough yet for this, is she?

She kind of acknowledges him with a nod when he dies down, leaning down just slightly.]

...Yeah?

[whistlenotchirp]

I think I know a seeeeeeeeeecret.

[So much stage whispering]

[kindaruledatit]

[She props her head on her hand, like this is oh so special. Which might be the booze talking.]

A secret, huh? What? Like, another one?

[whistlenotchirp]

Yeah! I figured it out with caaaaaaareful observation.

[kindaruledatit]

Oookay. [Another sip. She feels like she might need this.]

Well, if you want, you can lay that secret on me. I won't tell a soul.

[whistlenotchirp]

[He leans in close to reveal his Dramatic Secret.]

I think Ford.

Might be into fellas.

[kindaruledatit]

[....siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip]

No way.

[There is no surprise in her voice.]

[whistlenotchirp]

[He nods ethusiastically.]

But don't tell Frenchie. They're weird about that sorta thing. He wouldn't understand.

[kindaruledatit]

[Nods slowly.]

Yeaaaah. Hey, can I tell you a secret?

[whistlenotchirp]

Sure! You're good people. I won't tell a soul whatever about whatever.

[kindaruledatit]

Okay.

[She downs the rest of her cup. There isn't much left in it anyway.]

I don't think Lefou will mind that much.

[whistlenotchirp]

[He considers this point.]

Welllllll, I guess the french are more lenient than the british. But they're also murdery. Its good to avoid murdery.

[kindaruledatit]

I honestly don't think Lefou would murder someone.

[...]

I don't think he can.

[whistlenotchirp]

That's what they said before the Rench Fevolution. And then it all went to pieces. Like... a lotta pieces. Of bodies.

[kindaruledatit]

[She didn't expect a history lesson. Maybe she needs more alcohol.]

Ha! C'mon! I don't think he's gonna start taking off people's heads or anything.

[Now giving head? That might be something else entirely.]

Why all the dislike about him?

[whistlenotchirp]

Ugh. The French. Think they're so great, with-with-with their French. Taking half of Italy. Not so high and mighty without their Napolean now.

[kindaruledatit]

[She wasn't expecting this. Not at all.]

Whoa, dude. Sounds kind of like you've got a few issues with them.

[She raises her (empty) cup.] But, come on! That's all totally in the past in my time! It's different!