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Private 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:
    367
    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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