<div style="text-align: center">《 Jeb &amp; Josh, Miles 》<br/>
Location: Miles' place<br/>
Addressing: Kennedy <a class="username" data-user-id="288" data-username="Flannel King" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/288/">Flannel King</a>​</div><br/>"Eh…yeah," Josh drew out the 'yeah' into two syllables as he watched Kennedy process what had happened. "If it makes it any better it was a natural death," he said, feeling a need to comfort the guy after the day the Abendblumian had lived through. "Take your time," he nodded, gave the room one last glance-over, and left Kennedy to his own devices.<br/><br/><div class="bbImageWrapper bbImageAligned--left js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/attachments/jeb-jpg.128836/" title="Jeb.jpg">
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</div>In the kitchen Jeb had made short work of the turkey. It was lean, unlike the plump store bought varieties most people were used to. Jeb just went removed the skin and feathers wholesale. He hated the smell of feathers, anyway, and figured that the fat and flavor that might be in there was wasted after the bird had been hauled around all day.<br/><br/>Every bit of meat was cut free of bone and either set aside for cooking or laid out in thin strips to be dried over the oven racks to make jerkey. Had Loretta been here she would have insisted on cracking the bones open and boiling them for stock, canning the broth in mason jars for later.<br/><br/>But Loretta wasn't here, and Jeb wasn't about to putter around the kitchen like a housewife. The bones, skin, guts and feathers would be buried later. The liver, gizzards, and heart were set aside to be cooked, and he set a small pot of rice and water to boil. It wasn't much, but it was food.<br/><br/>"Took you long enough," he grunted at his brother's return. "What, you two exchange cake recipes or something?" He'd already washed off most of the grime from his face, neck, and arms, up to his elbows.<br/><br/><div class="bbImageWrapper bbImageAligned--right js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/attachments/josh-michal-van-wyngaarden-2-jpg.128837/" title="Josh-Michal Van Wyngaarden 2.JPG">
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</div>"Naw, just giving him the lay of the land," Jeb protested. He went over to the sink and began to wash his face and hands. Black and green face paint sloshed into the sink, mingled with sweat and mud, and blood. "He ain't so bad."<br/><br/>"I never said he was," Jeb protested. He had tossed the pieces of meat meant for tonight into a skillet, added dried onions, garlic, and salt, and began stirring them in a dollop of oil. "I jus' said it took you long enough." The rice began to boil, and he set a lid on the pot before turning the fire down. Setting a timer, he gestured towards the pan. "You think you can manage this?"<br/><br/>"You're doing jus' fine," Josh glanced over at the pan and seemed about to protest being given kitchen duty when Kennedy showed up. If anyone knew his way around a kitchen (and setting places at the table) it was this guy, and soon they had partitioned duties and the place was beginning to look and smell like something that Loretta would have liked.<br/><br/>"Hey," Jeb hadn't bothered to learn Kennedy's name yet. "When the timer goes off, turn off the fires. Think you can manage?"<br/><br/>Then he smacked his brother's arm with the back of his hand. "Come on; we both stink like a graveyard. We need to clean up before Miles comes back and decides we belong in the barn."<br/><br/><div class="bbImageWrapper bbImageAligned--left js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/attachments/images-jpg.128838/" title="images.jpg">
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</div>A few minutes later Miles sauntered back into the room. He, like Kennedy, had taken time to make himself more civilized. His eyes stilled hen he saw the placement of dishes and turkey feathers on the table. Loretta did things like that; made the effort to bring a small bit of beauty into everyday activities. After a moment of contemplation, Miles brought his gaze up to watch the stranger in his home. "I take it you did this?"<br/><br/><div class="bbImageWrapper bbImageAligned--right lazyload js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="/proxy.php?image=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.bourbonbanter.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2016%2F09%2Fbattle-of-the-blantons.jpg&amp;hash=5fd9a86932afac2977fc0d3f68051edd" title="battle-of-the-blantons.jpg">
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</div>He moved across the wide floor to the large kitchen, reaching into a lower cabinet to bring out a heavy bottle of amber, shaped like a faceted globe and topped with a silver horse and rider. It seemed to be among a collection of similar bottles, though the standard favorites, Jack Daniels, Knob, and others, were tucked behind. Miles lined four heavy short glasses in a row and poured two fingers into two of them, then slid one of the two towards Kennedy.<br/><br/>"A toast," he said as he set the bottle down. Miles nodded to the glass. Whether Kennedy normally drank or not wasn't questioned. Tonight he would drink and eat, and the four of them would celebrate being alive for another day.<br/><br/>He lifted his glass. "To new beginnings," he said. "Let the past be the past, and keep moving forward."