lucetilogs | so pile your boots up in the corner -- hang your jacket from the door

Who: anyone invited to house seven's thanksgivingstravaganza -- as well as anyone walking by who might be curious about all the brouhaha.
What: giving thanks!
When: forward dated to november 24th due to predicted holiday hiatuses!
Where: house seven!
Summary: friends, food, fondness. family. festivities.
Rating: g for goin' up.

House Seven was decked out in soft oranges and browns. Gentle reds and yellows. The table was shoved up against a wall and dish upon dish of delicious Thanksgiving dinner-bits adorned it. Plates to one side, a pile of cutlery. Feel free to line up and pile your arms high with roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, carrots and green beans, cranberry sauce, sinful gravy. Stuffing. Steamed broccoli. The amount of food would almost be laughable had the guest list not been so long. Chatter abounded.

It was, by all accounts, a fairly casual gathering. No ceremony (Buffy, by this point, was all ceremony'd out after some fiercely dedicated meal-prepping) to stand on and no customs to keep. Just food and friendship. The only thing customary about Buffy Summers would be her delighted, enchanted grin throughout the evening. Very little pleased her more than a social event that was going well.

Mix! Mingle! Make merry!

(ooc; threadjack into oblivion and don't forget to add your character to the entry tags! have fun! note that this is forward-dated. i'll be tagging around myself later this evening. )

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Buffy was not planning on having this conversation. Not here. Not with him. So: "...Have you tried the gravy?"

"A little."

Was this fast becoming a stock answer? Maybe. She had snubbed him twice now, and he was fast withdrawing.

"I have tried everything in fact. It is all quite impressive."

"You've taste-tested everything. There's a difference."

"I fail to see it."

"That? That might actually be the problem with you."

"That I do not see it.

Really.

And which 'it' would it be that I am blind to in this instance?"

He'll accomodate her analysis for now. He owes her that much for the way that he treated her before.

"The difference. Duh. Are you at least enjoying the food?"

She had questions for him. They would have to wait until the appropriate time.

Enjoying it? Well, not exactly. Despite having lived for a huge chunk of his life in a land of lushious fruit and strong spices he finds that many of the items on this particular spread are too strongly flavoured for his tastes. Many of them resemble the fare that he would expect to be served back in England, but with a corrupting difference. In short, none of it was quite bland enough.

"It is all quite agreeable, yes. Mashed potatoes are a particular favorite of mine."

Not these mashed potatoes, mind you.

"They're the best when smothered in gravy. I don't care about the calories; it's all good."

She nabbed a roll from the nearby table and tore into it -- halving it with her fingers.

"...Calories, Miss Summers?"

Now here was a vegetable he'd never heard of. Or perhaps a spice? Perhaps that was what he sensed in the mashed potatoes - the thing that just about put him off. Calories.

"You know -- the things that'll thwart my attempts to keep a girlish figure."

Regardless of her vanity, Norrington has always been of the opinion that Mrs. Summers could benifit from consuming a few more callories. The admiral has a small amount of mashed potato on his plate - less than a spoonful. It has a dribbling of gravy over the top. He does consider offering it to the young lady - to add to her calorie count - but no. He scoops it up and pops the fork into his own mouth instead.

"If this is to be an annual occurance, perhaps it might be for the best if I knew the particulars of this thanksgiving celebration. So if you would be so accomodating - just what is it that we are we celebrating today?"

"Us. Everyone. Friends, family -- anyone around you. It's about...being thankful and appreciative. But it's also about cultural ignorance and privilege. And yams."

"Very well, allow me to rephrase myself -- why? What event in your world brought this universal culture of thankfulness about?"

"...Do we really have to get into that? It's not a pretty story."

She preferred her version.

He had hoped this it would lighten the mood somewhat. She seemed happy enough to discuss all other facets of the event - surely its source must be pure. Surely she must long to gloat over it.

Apparently not.

"It likely has no relevance here anyway. We are, in effect, a people without a past. We must party, whatever the cause. Regardless of cause."

"...That's how I see it. Most people here don't even know what Thanksgiving is. Or where the US of A is. I'm okay with that; it's not about the day or the place. It's about...us. And all of us together are really the one big thing to be thankful for here in Luceti. At least we have a community."

"U. S. of A? This is an abbreviation, but more than that I cannot guess."

"United States of America. My home. Where I'm from. Keep up, Admiral."

"A defensive lot, are you?"

Edited 2011-12-14 03:51 (UTC)

"Well. You know what they say about the best defense, right?"

"So -- an offensive lot?"

"And Bingo was his name-o."

"Was it?"

Time to have some fun.

"According to the song? Yep."

(no subject)

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