old man mcgucket, local kook (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gobblewonked) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
victory_road2018-02-12 07:05 pm
gobblewonked) wrote in victory_road2018-02-12 07:05 pm
Open party log, as promised!
Who: Fiddleford McGucket and anyone in Goldenrod who saw his post -- or hears the ruckus.
Where: The junkyard behind the Goldenrod magnet train station.
When: February 13th!
Summary: A WILD BIRTHDAY HOOTENANNY.
Rating: Moonshine.
Notes: Feel free to treat this like a mingle log and tag around!
When Fiddleford McGucket said party streamers, no one knew that what he meant was dozens and dozens of feet of plastic tape pulled out of old casettes and tied to any high-up piece of old rusty metal McGucket could find.
When Fiddleford McGucket said enough beans for everybody, no one could have known that there would be a bean can mountain over six feet tall piled precariously on a tarp.
When Fiddleford McGucket had said moonshine made from a Ribombee, it might have crossed some more fearful minds that he had meant that literally. Thankfully, he didn't. There are two jugs of the honeystuff going around, and if anyone who's obviously less than sixteen or so gets hold of one of them, they'll find the jar lifted out of their grip by a pair of dirty bandaged hands, possibly while McGucket himself is hanging upside-down above their heads from a garbage edifice. It's good, but don't drink too much of it. There's also nonalcoholic cider that's rather more plentiful. McGucket says it's made from apricorns, but no one is sure how he managed it. It tastes funny but it won't put hair on your chest, unless it does. It also looks not so different from that honeyshine. Be careful not to mix them up.
The banjo music, though, is exactly as promised.
The party is centered around a bonfire with a great big old pot hanging above it, full of cooking beans. The empty cans are being fed to McGucket's Trubbish and a wild one or two around. You might spot a Rattata or a spooked Pidove skittering out of a pile of trash, and McGucket himself has had to chase a Stunky away with his hat more than once.
But he greets every single party guest with a broad smile and a hearty handshake, and you're not leaving this party hungry if he can help it -- as long as you like beans.
Where: The junkyard behind the Goldenrod magnet train station.
When: February 13th!
Summary: A WILD BIRTHDAY HOOTENANNY.
Rating: Moonshine.
Notes: Feel free to treat this like a mingle log and tag around!
When Fiddleford McGucket said party streamers, no one knew that what he meant was dozens and dozens of feet of plastic tape pulled out of old casettes and tied to any high-up piece of old rusty metal McGucket could find.
When Fiddleford McGucket said enough beans for everybody, no one could have known that there would be a bean can mountain over six feet tall piled precariously on a tarp.
When Fiddleford McGucket had said moonshine made from a Ribombee, it might have crossed some more fearful minds that he had meant that literally. Thankfully, he didn't. There are two jugs of the honeystuff going around, and if anyone who's obviously less than sixteen or so gets hold of one of them, they'll find the jar lifted out of their grip by a pair of dirty bandaged hands, possibly while McGucket himself is hanging upside-down above their heads from a garbage edifice. It's good, but don't drink too much of it. There's also nonalcoholic cider that's rather more plentiful. McGucket says it's made from apricorns, but no one is sure how he managed it. It tastes funny but it won't put hair on your chest, unless it does. It also looks not so different from that honeyshine. Be careful not to mix them up.
The banjo music, though, is exactly as promised.
The party is centered around a bonfire with a great big old pot hanging above it, full of cooking beans. The empty cans are being fed to McGucket's Trubbish and a wild one or two around. You might spot a Rattata or a spooked Pidove skittering out of a pile of trash, and McGucket himself has had to chase a Stunky away with his hat more than once.
But he greets every single party guest with a broad smile and a hearty handshake, and you're not leaving this party hungry if he can help it -- as long as you like beans.
no subject
"Put it together myself!" Fiddleford announces merrily, approaching Ford with a grin. "With a little help from Buddy over there." He jerks a thumb at the Trubbish, who turns from where he's crunching an empty bean can and waves with a garbage arm. "Mind your manners, now! Don't you go chewin' with your mouth open. We've got company!" Fiddleford admonishes, and Buddy closes his maw a little sheepishly around the can, and swallows.
That done, Fiddleford turns from his beautiful beloved trash son back to Stanford, and holds out a hand to shake. "Good to see you! Please, make yourself at home! Pull up some rusty metal, get yourself some beans -- I got apricorn cider if you want it! Made it special for the little ones, but the batch turned out real nice!"
It's friendly, but it's acquaintance-friendly. No one watching this would think McGucket knew Ford Pines better than he knew anyone else at this party: it's the same approach he's made to all the other guests. However, Ford is welcome, and there's no sense of rejection in McGucket's manner.
no subject
The reception is also fine. It's as much as he could have hoped for: friendly, but not overly-so. If Fiddleford is convinced that they're being watched then he likely doesn't want to give anyone too much ammunition against him, and friends are ammunition. Ford knows that very well.
"To tell you the truth I'm more interested in that moonshine."
no subject
"Well, if you insist!" He plants the jug right into Ford's hands with decisive energy. "Here you go! Drink up, it's good for you! ...sorta."
no subject
He did kind of forget that moonshine was like a kick in the teeth, though, so the first swig makes his shoulders do a very involuntary kind of shimmy. It's only just a little dissimilar to cosmic sand, honestly. Less sweet, despite the honey. Less shimmery. Same amount of feeling like someone just took a crowbar to his head. Ideal honestly.
"That's... impressive."
Yeah. That gets the sentiment across best, probably.
no subject
"I've been lookin' 'round for a Ribombee so I can keep makin' it, but nobody's got one they want to trade! I'm startin' to think I gotta go up to the national park with a big ol' net and raise me my own from a Cutiefly!"
no subject
An image comes to him, sudden and crystal-clear, of the kind of fiendishly-complicated bee box Fiddleford might build. That would be worth encouraging, he thinks. It certainly is a much more respectable job than being a wanted criminal, but that's not a line of thought for today. And anyway Ford Pines, wanted criminal across the multiverse, can't possibly judge.
Speaking of wanted criminals, a Murkrow descends out of the sky and lands heavily on his shoulder. She leans forward and attempts to shove her beak into the neck of the moonshine jug, but Ford holds it just out of her reach.
"This is not for you."
A second, this one a male, lands on his other shoulder and beaks reproachfully at his sideburn.
"I hope you don't mind some extra guests. They followed me over from Kanto so I don't think I'm going to be rid of them any time soon."
no subject
--except the ones that bring bad luck.
McGucket scrambles back, pointing at them in distress.
"Aaaah!" he yells. "It's one of them bad luck birds! Two bad luck birds! Stanford, you're bein' followed all right -- by terrible danger!!"
no subject
"These two? Terrible danger? Common thugs, more like. They're harmless. So far the worst they've done is steal my food when I'm not looking. Also when I am looking."
He thinks they take particular pleasure in making sure he notices, actually. It's a power move.
"You should probably take your present before one of them tries to steal that too, actually."
He's only halfway joking.
no subject
"I've got my eye on you two," he growls. It is absolutely a threat. They had best mind their manners, or else.
Carefully, moving slowly and deliberately, McGucket reeeeeaches a hand in to take the present. It means moving closer to the Murkrows, but Stanford did bring him a birthday present, and McGucket wants it enough to brave the danger. His fingers wiggle a little.
no subject
The important part is neither of them stop him grabbing that soft, lumpy package. The wrapping paper is patterned with Minior of all different colors, and all that's holding it closed is tape. Stanford Pines has had precious few opportunities in his life to give gifts (more, since he got here) but there wasn't really any way to wrap what he got Fiddleford without it being kind of misshapen.
See, it's a bag of molasses candy. He remembers that argument (he remembers losing), and he thought it was a good olive branch, maybe. Beneath it is a scarf knit to look like a very long, very flattened-out Ekans. There's a lot of things about this world Ford finds charming but the high volume of Pokémon pattern knitwear is definitely one of them, and anyway, Fiddleford is living with one foot in what might be considered 'the elements'. He could probably use a scarf. His beard can only go so far.
He knew better than to get Fiddleford 'foot prisons' McGucket socks.
no subject
"Molasses flavor?" He looks back up at Ford. "Flapjacks and fiddlebanjos, it was worth riskin' bad luck for this here bag of sweets! I didn't know they made 'em here!" McGucket immediately wraps the Ekans scarf around his neck like a sling, pours the entire bag into the new knitwear pouch, and pops one in his mouth. (If they're unwrapped, great. If they are...he still does it.)
"Jean! Jean, you gotta try these sweetamathings! They're molasses flavored!"
He's going to make sure everyone at the party understands about molasses flavor. Sure, it's an acquired taste, but Fiddleford McGucket will help you acquire it.