nexus_crossings | Jamming in the Afternoon

Cooking did not happen too often in Mantis’s home. It was messy. It was hot. It took time. He was going to be all day with this latest project. Wandering into the industrial area of the Nexus will allow people to see an unusual sight. Rather than wearing his usual mask, Mantis had a scarf wrapped around his face vaguely similar to how one might imagine a ninja might look. He was seated in front of a portable stove with a pot cooking away over the flame. Next to him were several packages of fruits, empty mason jars, bags of sugar, and massive jugs of water. He sat in a folding chair situated beneath the shade of a large umbrella with a pile of long grass on his lap. Every so often, he’d pick up a piece and add it to a growing weaving project in his hands.

One might recognize the simple operation as a jam making jamboree. It’s an old, but fun way to make the most of a day and a harvest of fruit. Perhaps those who know him might be able to recognize his somewhat gaunt frame as he lounges back in the shade. Some who do not might be curious in general. Pale grey eyes dart up every so often to the cooking pot, but he’s not about to get up and rush for anyone or anything. He gets the jam stirring every so often with a flick of his wrist and a well-used wooden spoon.

There are a lot of jars, in spite of himself. With how time-consuming this was, that jam was going to last him a while. He wouldn’t have to buy any, wouldn’t have to borrow any, and that left him with visions of a personal hoard of sugar-sweet goodness. He sighs as he keeps with making his grass-woven project and sniffs the air. The question was half asked to the air around him, but it does deserve to be answered: “What should I do with these first?”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Mantis sees the stiffness of his gait and nods quietly. Everyone has their own way to move past injuries, past and recent, and the man is clearly able to get by with a fair bit of mobility. The comments about moonshine and fruit liquor give him a very country kind of impression. This is a man who is clearly used to living on the more outward fringes of a polite society.

"I never made fruit liquor, but I did try moonshine in the past. Turning off the main road, going off the dirt path, slipping through hundreds of yards of trees, and then you finally get to the still. Some of the strongest stuff I ever drank, though, so worth it."

He likes that. Cricket knows his limp is obvious, and people who try too hard to pretend it isn't a thing are mildly annoying sometimes. Best to acknowledge it and move on with life. In turn, he's fond of assessing a new person's practical skills. Not everyone comes from a world where you have to make your own things, and that's okay, but he usually gets along well with those who work with their hands.

He smiles a little and nods at the cart he's been pulling behind him. "I got a business going here. White lightning, mostly, and apple and blackberry liquor. Just un-aged right now, but I got some in barrels. Should be able to tap it in another six months or so."

"It's good to have some stuff stored up for winter here. Last year was a'ight, but the one before was harsh. You best keep enough on hand for a couple months, if you got the space for't."

Mantis has met more than a few people who've lost limbs or have been otherwise rendered permanently injured. Cricket didn't seem to be stopped at all by it, so why make a big deal of it? He smiles back a little at the grin, unseen as it is.

"I'm interested in that. Homemade alcohol is not as appreciated as it used to be, especially the fruit based ones."

Mantis gets up from his seat and heads over to the pot. He stirs the contents and brings them up with a spoon set to the side. It's a stewing apricot jam, and thankfully not smelling of caramel. "I have the space. The way I heard things explained, some Father Frost type decided to bring Russia to the Nexus. I've got plants growing on the roof that I'm going to harvest to store as well."

"Well, there's always someone who's got the fancy stuff," Cricket shrugs. "I ain't gonna out-class some jasper with a 200-year-old winery on th' shores of Avalon or nothin', but I do a'ight. I have a lot of contacts in the local bars now."

He follows Mantis over to the pot idly and breathes in the steam from a polite distance. "I reckon I'd barter a little, if you want to try it. Ought to have plenty of blackberry until the middle of October before the berries run out, and I always have apple and white lightning."

"Wouldn't call him 'some type' of nothing," he says thoughtfully, regarding Reynard. "He's the actual spirit of Winter. Had some kind of point he wanted to get across, I think, but I don't know that we learned it."

"Fancy is for showing off. I don't need something that's fermented for fifty years to achieve the level of drunk that makes me feel good about an evening at home."

Mantis stirs the contents around some more before setting the spoon down. Nearly there, but not quite. A couple of waiting jars float up to his side and he produces a marker from his pocket to start writing on labels for them.

"I've had half a mind to give them away to the interested, but since you're peddling alcohol, let's make a trade. I've got all kinds of berries and larger fruits that I've been handling in batches."

Mantis looks up from the pot at the description. "Sounds like a bit of a bastard, but nature spirits are rarely patient types in the old stories where I come from. They're usually older than people and are not fond of what people do to the world."

Cricket laughs appreciatively at that assessment. "That's about how I see it. Some people can't handle 'shine, though, and I ain't judging that, but I sure like folks who can handle and enjoy it."

He blinks at the floating jars, having not quite expected telekinesis, or magic, or whatever that is. He's seen that kind of thing around the house though; living with Loki is full of those kinds of surprises. After the initial surprise, he seems to think nothing of it. "You could give extras to one of the food banks around, if you don't want 'em yourself. I'd recommend you hold onto just a little more than you think you need, myself, but you sure are making plenty. I'm happy to trade."

His head tilts, made thoughtful by the mention of old stories. "I reckon that's accurate. Not sure the Old Man would mind bein' called a bastard, to be honest with you, but it's hard to know for sure."

There's a moment of hesitation, and he adds: "We used to be right careful where I grew up. You live in the mountains, you know it don't take but one bad harvest, one storm, one rockslide, to wipe out everything you got. We used to save fruit and shine for the Apple Tree Man, and I still do it here. Even if there ain't a spirit listening, it's smart to remember we're a little bit fragile. And the Nexus is maybe more wild in some ways than the worlds most of us come from."

"But if you know them old stories, you know how it works. Be polite to spirits and listen to nature, and you'll be better for it. Winter gave me a gift once, and I ain't gonna forget that."

"I'm partial to vodka, stereotype be damned. It can mix with everything and comes from one of the easiest vegetables to grow."

Mantis doesn't even think of using his powers around people anymore. Only two men in the whole of the Nexus ever reacted in a truly negative way to how he used them for making his life easier and he's not about to stop for the sake of appearances.

"As long as you don't call them a bastard to their face, it doesn't matter. Things like them know they're less than welcome in a polite society, and that's the first reason we're polite to them at all." He looks up from the jars and nods. "It's hard to break out of those kinds of habits, isn't it? Once you get started on leaving offerings for the season changers, it teaches you to save your stocks no matter what season is coming next."

Jamming in the Afternoon

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject