foolishmortals | all that glitters is gold [AFTERPARTY]

Entry tags:

round 1,
week 4

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....

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[Well, now, that's one Ford hasn't heard in many, many years. And even with the pronouns the way they are, he's content to let the warmth bloom in his stomach, hearing Fiddleford sing those words just about anywhere in his vicinity. It makes him want to hope, despite everything, that things can turn out okay for the two of them. Just so he can keep hearing things like this for awhile longer.]

Nearly forgot about that one.

Yeah, well. I could barely play it between you puttin' on Rivendell over and over.

[See? This is good. This is nice. They can just keep thinking about better times and not the times they're in currently.]

[Ford chuckles, lets his eyes shut again. This is just what he needs. Just some nice reminiscence.]

I paid the price for that. Nearly wore straight through the vinyl.

And I'm sure the whole dorm would've been over the moon if you had.

Oh, come on. I know there was at least one other Rush fan on our floor. Todd, probably.

[Lord knows the guy smoked enough marijuana.]

Wish I had a way to listen to some of those records now.

[Which in Ford's mind, is a half-baked wish that he could make his boyfriend a mixtape.]

Todd liked anythin' if you played it loud enough.

[Man, he misses Todd. The Wexlers. Laura Goldstein.

In retrospect he sure did hang out almost exclusively with Hillel house kids, didn't he?]

I guess you're just goin' to have to settle for banjo covers for the time bein'.

It still counts.

[Ford Pines, shockingly, was very good for Fiddleford's social life. It amazes him to this day.

He manages a fond smile.]

I don't mind.

[Fiddleford was always a fairly personable guy in college, it just helped to have an in to a certain facet of the Backupsmore population he wouldn't have had otherwise. As it turns out, the Jews threw real good parties.]

Y'know funny enough neither do I. It's been... it's helpin'. Don't know where I'd be right now if I couldn't play.

[It's an outlet, and a safe one, and he desperately needs that right now. He saw a man get beheaded today, for god's sake, and it's the first time he's really seen any of the murders that have happened in this house. He's avoided the bodies where possible and he's looked away from the executions. This time he had no warning.]

[See, Ford helped.]

I'm very glad you got your banjo back. It's good for you to keep busy right now.

[Look, he's been very worried ever since the trial. That was...a lot going on at once. They all almost got blown up, for Christ's sake. That would have anyone shaken up.]

Mmhm. It's keepin' me from, y'know.

[Breaking down completely into a little ball of anxiety. He'll have to deal with nightmares tonight -- more than he's already having. If he even manages to get to sleep. He can at least have something nice now.

He's quiet for a long few moments, idly picking out notes but not actually playing a proper melody. It's just something to do with his hands. Then he says, in a low voice:]

Can I stay with you tonight? Just. Y'know. Bring my blankets in and camp out. If it wouldn't be an imposition.

[Ford nods, making a soft noise of understanding. He's thinking more along the lines of 'tearing his hair out and finding the materials to make a new memory ray,' but he's trying to have more confidence in Fiddleford's ability to adapt.

Which is perhaps why he's so surprised at what follows. Ford blinks a few times, visibly taken aback.]

Of—of course you can. [How do you act casual when your boyfriend just asked if he can stay in your room?] I can sleep on the floor.

[That's casual and something a straight man would say, right?]

[He won't even let himself think about making a new ray, much as the sight of Lawrence's head toppling from his neck makes him wish he had access to it right now. He can't. He can't. The short term relief is not worth what it will do to him.]

That'd work fine. Not like you haven't slept in stranger places. Remember that week you just didn't leave the library and I had to keep stealin' food from the dinin' hall for you?

[The joke here is there were like three weeks like that at least.]

[If they weren't in public, Ford would absolutely say something whiny, but instead he just averts his gaze and laughs.]

I think that was more than once. But I'm sure my old bones can handle one more night on the floor.

[Is Fiddleford really going to make him sleep on the floor. Is that really going to happen.]

[Well he was planning to sleep on the floor, actually, since it's Ford's room and all. He waits until it's late and makes very, very sure that the hallway is empty (as far as he can tell) before stealing across it with a pillow and his comforter tucked under one arm. Obvious as they may be to some people, he still doesn't want to be seen going into Ford's room late at night carrying things that make it very clear he intends to stay there. He feels like he's sneaking out to meet a girl, except he never actually did that in Tennessee because the nearest girl was several miles away.

He also brings a jar of moonshine. You know. Just in case they want a nightcap.]

Thanks. For lettin' me come over.

[Ford, on the other hand, was planning on letting Fiddleford have the bed...if he wasn't willing to actually share it. It's not that he has expectations or anything, but he has to admit the prospect of sharing a bed with Fiddleford sounds...nice. Cozy. And if not? Ford can sleep on the floor. It's not that big a deal. He's slept in far more uncomfortable places.

Still, he can't help that tumultuous feeling in his stomach when Fiddleford finally slips through his door. Are these butterflies? It's been a long damn time since he's had butterflies. He steels himself, and shrugs one shoulder, perched on the edge of his bed in his sweater and slacks, his boots in the corner.]

No trouble at all. I—you need your sleep, after all.

Yeah. Don't think I've slept a full night since I showed up here.

[The nights he's managed to sleep at all he hasn't been able to stay asleep for more than a couple hours at a time.

He sets his blanket and pillow on the floor. The blanket he folds over on itself to make a sort of makeshift sleeping bag. See? It'll be fine. He plops himself down on top of it, legs crossed.]

I'm not used to sleepin' alone, y'know. Always slept with my brothers as a kid and then I had you for a roommate and then -- and then I had my -- well y'know. [Wife. Ex-wife.] Point is I think it might help to have company.

[Ford watches Fiddleford set up his little sleeping arrangement with a furrowed brow; while he talks, he gets up, bends down, and pulls the comforting right out from underneath Fiddleford, laying it across the bed instead.]

No, no. You take the bed. I'm sleeping on the floor, remember?

[And clearly he couldn't think of a better way to illustrate that point.]

You're not going to get a good night's rest without something soft underneath you.

[What the fuckle he just set that up nice]

But it's your room.

[Sorry, the Tactless Wonder over here didn't consider that.]

Right. So I'm deciding to give you my bed.

[HE'S BEING NICE....THIS IS HOW YOU BE NICE.]

Well then at least take the covers off your bed so you have somethin' to sleep on! I don't need two comforters, for god's sake.

[Ford, come on. It's nice to be comfortable but he doesn't need that much comfort.]

Well...[Okay, he has a point.] Fine. If you're sure.

[He pulls off his own comforter and, after a moment's hesitation, the pillow. These get dumped unceremoniously on the floor. He's not too worried about it, clearly.]

There. Now, you go on and get comfortable.

[Ughhhh why does Ford have to make this so much more of a production than it needed to be.

I mean, that's a hypothetical question. Ford is incapable of not making things into a production.

He doesn't actually make a move to stand up from where he's sitting on the floor, though he does pull his own pillow out from under Ford's comforter. He's going to need that.]

Just feels... unfair, is all. Kickin' you out of your bed.

[Ford frowns at Fiddleford from the other side of the bed, which is quickly becoming no-man's land.]

You're not kicking me out. I'm kicking myself out. That's different.

Well -- well, right, but --

[His need to not be a bother is desperately warring with his need to accept hospitality when it's offered and it's doing his pour Southern heart a real big concern.]

But nothing. Take the bed. Please.

[He gestures with one hand. Go on. It's comfortable.]

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t - t - t - TIMESKIP

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