Billy Ray is talking on his phone as he steps in, pushing his trucker hat back and looking annoyed. "Uh uh." he says. "And yer ad mixture?" A pause. "Yeah. Uh huh. Sure, complicated." A pause, listening. "Kay. Lissen, Mister Ha...kay, Mark. Mark, lissen bubba. What yer aimin' fer is Air entrained concrete with a six pass steel trowel, prolly right around five percent." A pause, as he listens, "Uh huh. Lissen, y'hear the accent an' y'see the email address redneckholla@gmail.com an' y'think ah was born outta a barn an' ah'm stupid as all git out. I knows y'gotta break bread wit' this job and ah know everyone's gotta make a little. What ah -won't stand fer is bein' taken to th' back forty without even the common goshdarn courtesy of a those are some nice jeans yer wearin', Billy Ray. You want this job, y'take twenty four hrs and we'll jes' assume this was one of them there life lessons an' mistakes and gimme yer real work order." A pause as he listens, "Ayep. Y'all have yerself a wonderful night there, Mister Mark. Ah look forward to talkin' t'ya further." he hangs up the phone, muttering under his breath and sliding a cigarette from his pack before he realizes where he is and he stops. He's wearing a set of work overalls and boots and from one pocket he pulls a bottle of Bud, opening it with a quick twist and taking a long draw from it.
Sid looked absolutely, completely, and unapologetically hung-dafaq-over. He was wading out of the kitchen damp in a bath towel around his waist, a blue fuzzy bathrobe with white hearts on it where the sleeves were too short, damp curly hair, and sunglasses in orange flip flops. That he could somehow, somehow pull off this look that should be criminal intent to common decency? Was some sort of Arcadian miracle. Sometimes ROmancers got away with the weirdest shit. He looked in teh fridge, reached in and put a chicken leg on a plate and did a doubletake to teh carton of eggs and... wait did he shush them? He shooshed them. He grabbed a napkin, plate, and his phone before nudging the fridge door closed with a foot and shuffled out in slovenly, morning after poetic grace. Billy Ray's entrance and business happenings got the arch of an eyebrow and a faint upnod.
Dielle comes into the Wayhouse trepidatiously. She's wearing a denim mini-skirt and a tight t-shirt with a v-neck and the poop emoji throwing up a rainbow. This is, of course, with her usual cowboy hat and boots. She sees Billy Ray, and upnods to him before he gets off the phone. Then she blinks at the guy in a very interesting outfit. "Damn. Shoulda come by here sooner," she remarks, in her own Southern accent.
Leaning against the counter in the kitchen... Gisa? She doesn't look hung over. She drank just as much as Sid, but she's not hung over. She looks fresh as a damn daisy, watching the shuffling kiddo, and clucks her tongue gently. "Boychik," she sighs easily, and then tips her chin up toward Dielle and Billy Ray in turn. Her eyeflames glitter happily at the rainbow unicorn, most certainly. "Hey, Dee. Billy Ray."
"Miss Dielle, y'know ah got my cooler with m'beer an' cigs, y'want me to get 'em?" asks Billy Ray of Dielle, and a grin at Gisa. "Miss Gisa. Mister Sid, right?" he asks Sid. "Sorry 'bout that. City folk feller thinks he kin use fancy words an' pull one over on ol' Billy Ray. Tryin' to get some bids in fer a new business I wanna break ground on."
Into the east wing of the Wayhouse comes Miranda, heeled boots sounding off against the hardwood floors when she crosses them. "Evening, folk." She says in greeting, offering a slight nod of her head towards those gathered in the house currently.
Dielle sees Gisa belatedly and gives her a big 'hello' grin. "Hey, Gisa, Billy, Guy I Don't Know. Don't bring in the cooler on my account. I got to the point of bein' around alcohol so much that I only drink it on special occasions. But thanks! How is everyone doin'? Oh, hey, Miranda!"
Sid responded to boychik as it were and it grunted. It was more to the point of 'I hear you. I am not yet coherrent. Yeah... that was a bad life choice.' His flip flops pulled up short and looked from Dielle's toes on you and tilted his head, "Ya shoulda. I was totally waiting and everything." He looked to Billy Ray and shrugged, "Duuuude, those bro brahs keep tryin to bust up everyone's game . Don't let em bust your balls over it." He paused and hrmmed! He looked back to Gisa with an appreciating nod before setting his food on teh table and rubbing one eye, skewing his sunglasses momentarily. "What kinda business, mack?"
Sid cracked a half smile to Miranda and nudged teh chair at teh end of the table out with a toe. There was a faint grunt of greeting. Food now. Conversation next. He paused, "Awwww stuffing. I forgot the coffee." He pointed to Dielle and miranda like you? you? It was the difference between the caraffe and the keurig.
"Dielle, this is Sid. Sid, this is Dielle. Dielle is my best girlfriend, and Sid is... " The hollows in which Gisa's eyeflames burn narrow slightly, as she looks for the best way to explain what Sid is. "Sid is my grandson, only not by blood," she finally says. "My bubbuleh." She stays leaned against the counter, watching everyone come in and mill about and freet. "Hello, Miranda. Good to see you again." Billy Ray's comments catch up with the golem, and she grunts. "Yes, well. People think if someone does not talk like them, maybe they are not as smart."
"Indeed Miss Gisa," agrees Billy Ray as he approaches the table, "Mind?" he asks Sid, before - assuming it's yes - he'll sit down, not sittingd own if it's no. He takes a long draw from his beer. "Ah'm a gunsmith an' inventor b' trade. Had a job here but the fella ah think is off doin' some other things. So ah'm gonna open my own range - gun range, archery range, sword makin' gun makin', custom ammo, that kinda thing. Somewheres outta town," he adds. "But it's a whole," his hand waves, "Thing." A pause, considering, "Lissen, ah came on kinda strong th' other night wit' yer sister an' you, bubba. This town, it's gotta mix of Freehold an' non Freehold folks. Ain't used t'that, that's my fault. Didn't mean no disrespect at all, knowwhatImean?"
"No thank you." Miranda says at the gestured offer of coffee from Sid, and she starts her way over to find herself a seat at the table, "Quite the little gathering here this evening, hmmn?"
Dielle nods at Sid, like coffee could be her life-blood right now. "Nice t'meet'cha, Sid," she says, before giving Gisa another large grin. Then she goes and finds a chair, and sits in it nicely. "Always a struggle not to sit like I got jeans on," she says with a grin, as she gives the skirt a tug while she sits. "And talkin' Southern /always/ means people automatically assume your IQ is about 80. Just a fact of life."
Sid paused, and looked to Gisa with a nod. "Close enough." He started a pot of coffee in case. He looked to Gisa and said "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Fruit salad? Bagel?" He nodded as Billy offered to sit and tiredly answered MIranda with that sort of ease taht might make one guess he was a lounge singer at the Sands in Vegas back when. he wasn't though and likely couldn't carry a tune i na wheelbarrow. "Miranda," he looked over the top of his sunglasses, "I would never ever start a party withut you as far as you know. Promise." He eyed the coffee pot accusingly because coffee was never on demand and fianlly back to the gunsmith taking a deep breath. "Did a hell of a job. You know a half hour before you showed up? Twenty minutes before we found out we weren't the only person in our whole grass damp family of fourty still alive? Just got done talking her off a ledge too when that happened. Good times." He didn't look pissed as he was. Right now he looked a bit like he was trying to remain standing. He took a deep breath pouring a cup of coffee and smooched Gisa's cheek giving it two pats. "You're too good to me, bubbe." He waded over to the table and waved a hand at Billy Ray. "Water. Bridge. And those jackrabbits on the phone? Been there." He looked to Miranda and then back to Billy Ray. "Think we all get judged unfairly from time to time."
"Fair 'nuff bubba, fair nuff. And yeah. Ah think he meant well, an' t'be honest, it's y'know, possible ah didn't make it clear this trucker cap an' Bud may hide th' fact ah can still tell 'em what the ASTM C494 says the most appropriate makeup fer an air entrenched admixture type G looks like." A wry grin as he settles into his seat and takes a long draw from his Bud. "Y'all need anything, lemme know, kay?" he says. A grin at Dielle, "Tha's true, Miss Dielle, that's too true. Heya, Miss Miranda."
-> >> Gisa to Here << <-==============================================
Rolled 3 Successes
< 1 2 3 4 5 8 9 10 >
=============================-> >> Resolve + Survival No Flags << <-
"Bagel with cream cheese," Gisa answers Sid, still leaned against the counter against one hip. She eyes the satyr, amusement dancing in her eyepits along with the eyeflames. When Sid kisses her cheek, familiar as family? Warmth floods through his veins, and the air around Gisa loses some of its match-strike sharpness, warms up briefly, and smells more like warm, heavy petrichor, the scent of rain on a late Spring morning. Who had a hangover? Sid doesn't anymore, that is for very certain. "And some coffee, bubbuleh. Eat yourself some real food, or I'll start cooking." One of her ceramic hands rises to gently pat him on the shoulder, reassuringly. "Dee's one of the cleverer folks I know, I think. She doesn't miss a trick, in any case."
"Oh, of course not, you wouldn't want to party without me now would you?" Miranda says with a quick smile flashed towards Sid then Billy shortly after, lounging back just a little in her seat, "So is there any planned festivities tonight, or is it sit around the wayhouse evening?"
Dielle snorts, at Gisa's words. She is so not with the believing of that. Not a woman who can take a compliment gracefully, that's for sure. "I think we're just all hangin' out. Nothin' big goin' on that I know of."
Billy Ray grins, "Nuttin', cept bitchin' bout folks takin' others for granted an' not bein' right 'bout things," he says as he drains his beer. "An' runnin' outta beer!"
Sid sighed and turned around and acually pulled out a pan and looked throught eh fridge getting particular about what followed. Okay, he was cooking. Satyr could cook? Huh. Might be safer if he cooked with pants and a proper shirt on. "Miranda, it's like you've met me. Of course no. You're like... my other favourite enabler. I don't know that anything was planned other than Lucky and I trying not to outdrink one another two nights in a row... no one won that one. No one."
Miranda hmmns softly and moves to slip from her seat, "Well, I think I'm going to head off to the bar then." She says with a quick smile, "If any of you want to come by later, I may still be about." With that, she moves to take her leave.
Dielle watches Miranda go and shrugs a bit, and looks back. "So...Sid, what was that "grass damp" bit you mentioned? I'm a little confused. Sorry to ask so late, things been filtering through after the fact, the last few days. Waaaay after the fact."
Billy Ray's phone goes off and he grunts and eyes it, "Alright. That's the boss of the fella ah just yelled at," he tells Dielle and Sid with a grin, rising to his feet. "Lemme take this outside." he adds as he heads for the door.
Dielle watches Miranda go and shrugs a bit, and looks back. "So...Sid, what was that "grass damp" bit you mentioned? I'm a little confused. Sorry to ask so late, things been filtering through after the fact, the last few days. Waaaay after the fact." Then she glances at Billy and she looks very confused. "Later?" she says to him.
Sid was cooking something small at least. At least the hangover was burning off. He was even whistling a bit. When Dielle asked though his bread went limp. He sighed and stuffed it into the toaster. "I um... it's a carry over." The Dusk's mantle thrummed and in a way it looked like the counter cracked and the paint on teh cupboard peeled a bit. It was the Dusk though. He gathered his food and composed his frustrationa nd said, in spite of that, casually, "I did time on a kid's show for... way too fascinatingly long. I can't..." He smiled tersely, "Yeah... let's just say my keeper didn't like my choice of language."
"Sid can't curse. He meant something else that goes 'gee dee,'" explains the golem, as if Sid didn't explain it well enough himself. "He can talk about a mutter flabber who stole his grass damp parking spot, that baster, that master flucker, that etc etc etc. But he can't say 'motherfucking bastard.'" Gisa's shoulders rise and fall as she takes her coffee and takes a sip of it. Lots of cream, no sugar for the Dawn golem.
Dielle tilts her head. "Can you curse in other languages? One of my friends in New York swore almost exclusively in Chinese because of this show he used to watch." She nods at Gisa, then gets herself some coffee and adds lots of both cream and sugar. It's like melted coffee ice cream.
Sid's shoulders fell and a wry grin was given to his surrogate grandmother, "Thaaaaanks, That's, heh, not inaccurate. Yeah nah, I love me some Firefly. I can't even say Gunga Din... Girro... yeah it's just... Yeah nah that stuck up Bentley got me good. So how you fine ladies meet? Optimists recovery club?" A.k.a. Dawn Court meeting.
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