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Complete No Day Like Turkey Day!

Discussion in 'Centria' started by Johnny Blaze, Nov 9, 2018.

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  1. Johnny Blaze

    Johnny Blaze Marvel Universe

    Posts:
    400
    Gender:
    Male
    Occupation:
    Ghost Rider//Mechanic
    Race:
    (Super)human
    Age:
    46
    November 22nd-Year 108
    @Billy Hargrove

    It had been twenty three days or so since Billy had started working at Blaze Mechanics and had started living in the Blaze residence (specifically in the spare room they had in the basement). It wasn’t a fucking Hallmark movie for anyone asking: Billy stole something five days in that had the potential to destroy the world for example. The fact that it didn’t was just luck, and the fact that the two had found it in time.

    He didn’t always get along with the kids, either. Luckily for Johnny his kids sort of accepted Billy’s presence after a while. That and Craig barely spoke, while Emma could match Billy’s sarcasm with some of her own. Too much like her mother to ever back down from a pissing contest. All in all though: it settled into a rhythm to the equivalent of normal for the Blaze family, and normal was saying something.

    And just cause there was someone else in the house didn’t mean the Blaze family would change their holiday traditions.

    Late yesterday afternoon: Johnny and Craig dressed in camo and strapped hunting rifles to their back: went off into the woods. They came back late at night with a big fat turkey, which they plucked and cleaned: placed in the fridge after moving around the various condiments like a weird game of jenga. Then the next morning: Johnny got up early and dressed it up: then stuck it in the oven to bake. And indeed: by the time it was past noon: the house was full of smells of a full fledge turkey dinner in the making. Potatoes and corn were boiling on the stove, stuffing was settling in a crockpot, and the turkey was still happily cooking away in its warm little sanctuary. Sharing space temporarily with a pumpkin pie and a sweet potato casserole.

    The basement door opened. Emma turned where she was stationed at the kitchen table mixing together a cranberry sauce, ”Happy Turkey Day, Farafosit.” She chirped, going back to her mixing as Craig settled on the other side, his nose stuck to the screen of his phone.

    Johnny looked up from where he was stirring the potatoes with a fork, ”There’s beer in the fridge.” He told the kid, his own beer behind him: an Amber Ale. Hell: the only thing not handmade in this damn kitchen was the beer and the bread rolls.
     
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  2. Billy wasn't counting the days in this house.
    He knew that it felt right though, being here. More than it's ever felt right to be home around Susan and his father. It was still something he didn't quite know what to make of.
    To say he missed his father wouldn't be quite right, but there was truth to it, and that only made him hate himself a little more for it.

    The Blaze house was no piece of heaven, but he didn't think any home was.
    The kids were shitheads whom he'd rather be without, and Johnny was - well. The fucking ghost rider, for once. Long story.
    But there was still good to be found here - and that was more than what Billy's had for most of his life.
    Shitheads though they may be, sitting down for video games with the kids was undeniably fun. And Emma was a clever thing, sometimes their cutting back and forth banter even made his day - not that he'd ever admit to it.
    Johnny mostly left him alone, which was exactly what he needed.
    And after they've sorta kinda saved the world together, Billy had warmed up to the man a little more than he ever would have thought possible when they've met.

    Billy had settled into being here.
    And he didn't have the urge to fuck off every second day anymore.
    And that was, frankly, saying a lot.

    The mornings were still early, and old habits died hard.
    Billy woke 6am straight each time. But he didn't always startle out of a restless sleep every morning anymore.
    Usually he got up around that time, too. Went out for a morning cigarette, or stepped by the garage to tidy up when there was nothing else to do. On occasion he joined Johnny on the porch in silence.
    On rare occasions, however, he stayed in bed for a while longer, read a book and listened to whatever was happening upstairs.
    And today was one of those.

    Whatever was happening upstairs, a lot was going on by the sounds of it, and Billy didn't feel in the mood to run into whatever shit the rest of them were busy with.
    But eventually he got hungry and pushed himself out of bed regardless.
    In loose (borrowed), gray sweatpants and an unbuttoned, worn shirt, he stepped into the kitchen, more following the smell of food than anything else really. He hadn't made his hair yet, so it was just a mess of untamed curls that he ran a hand through to push out of his face.

    It wasn't until the little smartass happily chirped something about Turkey Day that Billy really caught up with just what day it was.
    Thanksgiving.
    His heart dropped, and for just a moment he paused where he was stood, eyeing the room and the cooking preparations. There was the distinct urge to grab his stuff and get the hell out.
    But this urge was related to a home he was no longer in.

    Thanksgivings at the Hargroves' place had been a holiday anyone would be better off without. The number of times and years he's been forced through that hell, the mere name of the celebration made him sick by now.
    And maybe the tension in his shoulder was visible as Billy forced himself to move already, striding up to the fridge to pull out the first can of beer he could get his hand on and down half of it in one go.
    There was tense, distinct fear that sat in his system, something that wasn't easy to shake after its been imprinted for so many years.
    And even the relaxed, cheerful mood in this kitchen felt all wrong for the Thanksgivings he was familiar with.

    "What's all this about?"
    But maybe, just maybe he was mistaken.
    Maybe it wasn't Thanksgiving - was that even a thing in this fucked up place? - and maybe Emma was just speaking of some other day that happened to be related to turkey for some fucking reason. Hell, she was a kid, fuck knows what went trough that tiny beast's head.
    Billy was willing to take any alternative to the day he simply couldn't imagine being enjoyable.

     
    Johnny Blaze likes this.
  3. Johnny Blaze

    Johnny Blaze Marvel Universe

    Posts:
    400
    Gender:
    Male
    Occupation:
    Ghost Rider//Mechanic
    Race:
    (Super)human
    Age:
    46
    Johnny quietly tapped the fork against the bowl, mentally setting himself for a few more minutes on the potatoes even as he reached over and drank his own beer. He honestly didn’t notice Billy’s uncomfortableness at first. They weren’t exactly dressed up: and hidden secret for Thanksgiving dinner was wearing sweatpants anyway (no uncomfortable jeans to unbutton, don’t you know).

    Emma did though: she noticed the tightness of his shoulders as he chugged down a beer. She thought it was because he was worried he had to cook something. ”Hey sit back and relax. Most of the work is done…. Craig shot the thing. I made this delicious cranberry relish that is freaking superb…. Dad did everything else….”

    "What's all this about?"

    The tightness of the kid’s voice caused Johnny to look over from where he was leaning against the counter. He took another drink of his beer before answering:

    ”It’s uh…. Thanksgiving, kid.” He mentioned at the oven, ”Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes. Dinner is just gonna stick yah into a food coma afterwards.”

    Emma jumped down from the table, taking the bowl of cranberry over to her father who helped her get it on the counter and stuck something over it, ”We ain’t corny either. No weird ‘ah lets all see what we’re thankful for’ cause that’s stupid. Just sit down, eat way too much, and watch as dad goes into coma on the couch.” She shot him a grin, ”His record is at thirty minutes after dinner. We are hoping for a new record today.”

    Johnny snorted, waving a hand, ”Okay well while you an’ yer brother are takin’ bets set the table. T-minus fifteen minutes.”

    ”Whoohoo!” Emma declared, reaching up and grabbing the plates, ”Turkey, turkey, turkey…” She muttered as she took the plates back to the table.
     
    Billy Hargrove likes this.

  4. Of course it was Thanksgiving because what else could it possibly have been. Billy cursed inwardly, and maybe he would have done so outwardly as well if he wouldn't have remembered that his father hated it when he cussed.
    Emma mentioned something about not having to cook, but Billy didn't much care for that anyway.

    It took him another mouthful of beer to really remember that he was not at home anymore. Not that home. Not that fuck-up of a house that was not even attempting to feel like home.
    And that whatever was happening in this kitchen, it felt... cheery, and not strained by enforced conversation.

    It's Thanksgiving, kid
    Billy nodded slowly, turning the can of beer in his hand as he strode into the kitchen unhurriedly. Johnny's given him a lot of chances now. Countless fucking chances, even when it had really seemed like there was no space for them anymore.
    Least he could do was not be a dickhead on Thanksgiving as long as nobody else was a dickhead to him, either.

    With a sigh, Billy rolled his shoulders to chase away the tension there. It only somewhat worked, but it'd do. Downing the rest of his beer and tossing the can into the trash, he stepped up to Johnny's side, glancing at the collection of food preparations all over the kitchen counter. Jesus. That was more than he's ever seen Susan cook - though cooking was too big a word for the crap she's presented them with over the holidays.

    "Uh yeah... forgot 'bout Thanksgiving."
    And it wasn't even really a lie.
    There was a moment of hesitant silence before the teen added:
    "Need a hand?"
    Sure, most of it was pretty much done already, but he didn't trust those tiny shitheads with the plates, either. And now that he's already offered his help - which was a rare fucking occurrence - he wanted to have it not be in vain.

    Soon the table was set and the food served, and Billy decided to just roll with it.
    The door was in reach, and if this day went to shit, he would get up and leave, no compromises.
    However, it didn't come to that.
    What happened instead was another memory the teen would have to somehow arrange in his head, stuff in a box with normal?? written on it.

    Thanksgiving was good.
    The food was fantastic. The kids were actually kinda fun. And Billy actually wound up smiling by the time the day was coming to an end.
    Not that he'd ever admit to it.

    The End

     
    Johnny Blaze likes this.