Hungry Friday

[tsameti]

Nighttime, a run down section of Lake street. Low income housing dominates one side of the street, and is faced by cracked asphalt basketball courts and a boarded up laundromat. One fire damaged building has been demolished, the plot it stood on now covered with a hung plastic tarp. Heady smells hang thick in the air, green and potent and foreign.

Thump, thump! Whump, whump! Grobbler's hand pounds against the side of a beat-up plastic cooler, no doubt fished or filched from a yard sale or thrift shop. The huge eggs inside make muffled bumping noises through packed towels against the sides and each other. He heads towards the lot, and begins to hum.

[Thistle]

Betony Rue wasn't sure she should be attending. If anything this event sounded even worse than the Ren Faire. However, she felt a little more obligated to attend this one unfortunately.
She wore her standard appearal of dress, shawl, and bag. She also carried a tall steel pot. Betony Rue was bringing stew as her contribution for the food.
She saw the blue trap and began walking to it.
If they tried to get her to sing, she's boil the flesh off thier arms and scald thier faces with coal hot potatoes.

[tsameti]

Under the tarp a single door stands upright in its frame, strangely lonely without the walls that used to hold it up. The space is terribly dark, but warm red light peeks through the doorjambs along with a slight smoky smell.

Grobbler stands away from the sparking bonfire he's set in the middle of the clearing. The stack of wood will soon burn down to coals, and a large flat smooth stone set in the fire will make for a functional griddle.

Basking in waves of heat, he slurps on a half-empty bottle of malt liquor while he waits for revelers to come through the standing door.

[Thistle]

Betony Rue didn't mind the dark. She had several agreements with it after all. Though that didn't stop it hiding some debris that nearly tripped her. She still managed to make it to the door without falling or tearing something on a nail.
She pushed open the door and looked in.

[Aeolus]

Gristlefist parked his car somewhere at Lake Street - he hoped that he would find it in the same pristine condition he left it here when he comes back, but really, that seemed not likely. He walked around a bit and soon enough found the entrance; he carried a cool bag full of lamb steaks - not exactly low priced, but he liked a bit of luxury - and a sixpack Desperados.
I hope that terrible flyer was no indication for tonight's general tone.. Going through the door he raised the hand carrying the cool bag. "Good evening."

[tsameti]

The door opens into a ragged clearing, peppered by the stubble of cut vegetation. Red-orange pulses cast deep and menacing shadows into the woods, which roil beyond the dense thorn-woven border running the length the great ring.

The sweaty warmth of the great firepit fills the space, trapped under the reaching branches of the Wood. Only a tiny section of the overhang is clear to open sky, and even that is a featureless inky blue.

Tending the fire, the spindle-limbed Grobbler gets to his feet.

He doesn't know Betony Rue very well, maybe having met once or twice at Hobbs' place. She looks awful... but less awful than usual. Halfway between smile and pitying grimace he calls out.

"Hey. You want an egg?"

[tsameti]

"Shit! And another one! Come on, come on in!" He takes another pull. Slurp-swish.

[Thistle]

Betony didn't return Grobbler smile.
"I want to know where to put this down," she respondes none to pleasantly.

[tsameti]

As attendees make their way into the clearing, they are able to discern a large, uneven table on the other side of the fire. A half dozen logs are available as seats around it.

Grobbler simply thumbs at it to indicate food belongs there. Yea... Betony's still kind of a C---, but Grobbler can't blame her after whatever the hell the Fae did to her.

[Aeolus]

Oh please, how cliché can it possibly get? Blaming tradition, Gristlefist brushed the bad mood invoking thoughts of his spoiled mind aside and took a bottle of the sixpack.
"So, when does this officially start?" He grinned widely, only waiting for green lights to get the celebration going. "Ah, excuse my manners, maybe I should introduce myself first. I'm Gristlefist." He added, turning to the woman and then to the purple one.