06-24-2009, 11:44 AM
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ooc: Today is my birthday and I want a party. Get-together for all our new members to meet and greet! Let Svara Thames have the first reply, and then everyone else is welcome to join, no official posting order. Your characters can bring their weapons, horses, whatever they want to show off to each other. Eat, drink, and be merry! =)
Corn meal, sugar, yeast, water.
He found a sack of corn meal in the old abandoned barn, buried beneath the bales of moldy hay and mouse droppings. That was where he found the metal tub, too, only a touch rusty around the edges, with a hole or two that could be plugged up with the right sized rocks. Water was easy; just a trip or two to the river that cut through their swathe of forest, and the tub was full. Sugar was more of a trick, but Halifax revealed itself to be a treasure trove of human leftovers. He had met the red-eyed Lykoi girl there, and she had been looking for sugar. At the time he had dismissed the possibility, but with a more dedicated search, he had discovered a sealed cabinet that the rodents had not detected, and a tin of the white granulated sweets was more than enough for what he was cooking. In the same building - unbeknownst to the king, an abandoned bakery - he sniffed out packets of yeast, integral to the process. If not for the yeast, his gamble would have been for naught.
The process was a familiar one to him - starting a fire beneath the tub of water until the rolling bubbles churned throughout, tipping the sack of corn meal into the makeshift pot, cooking it into a lumpy mash. The sweet scent as he added the sugar filled the cave, and brought a smile to his wicked muzzle, happy to be making more of his beloved addiction. As the mess cooled, he added the yeast, and let the fun begin. It bubbled and stewed on its own, sequestered in the dank cave for several days while Jacquez scouted the human dwellings for the last few pieces of equipment. His pack had been growing exponentially despite missing his presence, and he let himself remain focused on his task. He hadn't brewed moonshine in a long time, and it was important that he remembered all the steps that he had mastered back home. Someone as impatient as he had to keep his mind occupied, so that he did not rush the slow process. Finally, with several old clay jugs tucked under his arm, and a coiled copper tube from the barn that had probably been used for the same purpose back in its human days, the king returned to his brewery.
As the sour mash bubbled up again above the fire, condensation dripping through the tube into the first jug, the collie-dog sat cross-legged and let his mind wander. In the course of time since they had claimed the beach territory, Svara had left her mate, Ruri had come out of her shell, Leroy had completed building his house, Haven had tamed a stallion, and Firefly had grown scarce. They had welcomed many new canines at their borders, male and female, pack animals and loners. It was all highly exciting. Tonight he hoped they all showed up. At some point, the warmth from the fire lulled him to drowsiness, the steady plip-plip of the forming whiskey leading him to drift to sleep. When he awoke with a start, cheek pressed against the cold stone of the cave floor, there was a small puddle of overflowed moonshine near his face. His pink tongue darted out, lapping at the dark amber liquid. He sat up slowly, licking his lips. "Not bad," he said with a spreading smile, considering that he had not had a choice in measuring his materials. The alcohol was sour and strong. It would serve its purpose, and better yet, there was a lot more of it than the dusty bottles he had liberated from the old dive bar in the city. Now he had a way to sustain his drink supply.
The moon had risen by the time he filled the third jug, gathering dry driftwood all the while to start a crackling bonfire on the beach. Fire made everything better. The light danced on the cliff walls as he lugged the sloshing jugs onto the sand, nestling them by the butt of each log that had been arranged for his packmates to sit upon. All they were missing was food... but that wasn't his department. His cheerful followers could always snag some fish in the nearby ocean, roast them on the merry flames. It was a spontaneous gathering; they should know to bring their own food if they had not eaten by this hour. Or so he told himself. Tipping back his noble muzzle, the self-proclaimed king bayed a deep howl, his commanding voice reverberating through the cave system, pealing above the cliff walls. They would hear. They would come, if they wanted to try his tasty moonshine and dance around the bonfire and play in the moonlight. The one-armed Optime slouched comfortably atop one of the smooth logs, looping his claw in the handle of a warm jug. In the meantime, he would start drinking.
Corn meal, sugar, yeast, water.
He found a sack of corn meal in the old abandoned barn, buried beneath the bales of moldy hay and mouse droppings. That was where he found the metal tub, too, only a touch rusty around the edges, with a hole or two that could be plugged up with the right sized rocks. Water was easy; just a trip or two to the river that cut through their swathe of forest, and the tub was full. Sugar was more of a trick, but Halifax revealed itself to be a treasure trove of human leftovers. He had met the red-eyed Lykoi girl there, and she had been looking for sugar. At the time he had dismissed the possibility, but with a more dedicated search, he had discovered a sealed cabinet that the rodents had not detected, and a tin of the white granulated sweets was more than enough for what he was cooking. In the same building - unbeknownst to the king, an abandoned bakery - he sniffed out packets of yeast, integral to the process. If not for the yeast, his gamble would have been for naught.
The process was a familiar one to him - starting a fire beneath the tub of water until the rolling bubbles churned throughout, tipping the sack of corn meal into the makeshift pot, cooking it into a lumpy mash. The sweet scent as he added the sugar filled the cave, and brought a smile to his wicked muzzle, happy to be making more of his beloved addiction. As the mess cooled, he added the yeast, and let the fun begin. It bubbled and stewed on its own, sequestered in the dank cave for several days while Jacquez scouted the human dwellings for the last few pieces of equipment. His pack had been growing exponentially despite missing his presence, and he let himself remain focused on his task. He hadn't brewed moonshine in a long time, and it was important that he remembered all the steps that he had mastered back home. Someone as impatient as he had to keep his mind occupied, so that he did not rush the slow process. Finally, with several old clay jugs tucked under his arm, and a coiled copper tube from the barn that had probably been used for the same purpose back in its human days, the king returned to his brewery.
As the sour mash bubbled up again above the fire, condensation dripping through the tube into the first jug, the collie-dog sat cross-legged and let his mind wander. In the course of time since they had claimed the beach territory, Svara had left her mate, Ruri had come out of her shell, Leroy had completed building his house, Haven had tamed a stallion, and Firefly had grown scarce. They had welcomed many new canines at their borders, male and female, pack animals and loners. It was all highly exciting. Tonight he hoped they all showed up. At some point, the warmth from the fire lulled him to drowsiness, the steady plip-plip of the forming whiskey leading him to drift to sleep. When he awoke with a start, cheek pressed against the cold stone of the cave floor, there was a small puddle of overflowed moonshine near his face. His pink tongue darted out, lapping at the dark amber liquid. He sat up slowly, licking his lips. "Not bad," he said with a spreading smile, considering that he had not had a choice in measuring his materials. The alcohol was sour and strong. It would serve its purpose, and better yet, there was a lot more of it than the dusty bottles he had liberated from the old dive bar in the city. Now he had a way to sustain his drink supply.
The moon had risen by the time he filled the third jug, gathering dry driftwood all the while to start a crackling bonfire on the beach. Fire made everything better. The light danced on the cliff walls as he lugged the sloshing jugs onto the sand, nestling them by the butt of each log that had been arranged for his packmates to sit upon. All they were missing was food... but that wasn't his department. His cheerful followers could always snag some fish in the nearby ocean, roast them on the merry flames. It was a spontaneous gathering; they should know to bring their own food if they had not eaten by this hour. Or so he told himself. Tipping back his noble muzzle, the self-proclaimed king bayed a deep howl, his commanding voice reverberating through the cave system, pealing above the cliff walls. They would hear. They would come, if they wanted to try his tasty moonshine and dance around the bonfire and play in the moonlight. The one-armed Optime slouched comfortably atop one of the smooth logs, looping his claw in the handle of a warm jug. In the meantime, he would start drinking.