Revelry Before Ruin
Every drink raised to the flames that night was a toast to a storm none of ‘em saw comin’.
That night, the fire didn’t just crackle. It roared.
The stumps were all claimed early. Someone had hauled a few in from down the ridge just to make room. The war barn lanterns glowed like warded fireflies, and the smell of smoked meat and charred marshroot hung in the air. From the holler’s edge to the war circle, goblins had gathered, kin and strangers alike, the Raiders blendin’ right in. The strain from the last war was forgotten in the moment as everyone gathered around the fire pit for a night of drinks and fun.
Pa was there. He didn’t spend much time around the fireside normally.
No early rise. No muttered war plan. No belt at his hip. Just a glass in hand, a crooked grin, and a bad idea on his tongue.
“We need drinks!” one of the Raiders declared. “Who’s buying?”
“Pa is buying,” another chimed in.
Pa shook his head. “We don’t buy shine. Ma and I make our own.”
Everyone cheered. Drinks were poured, passed around, with laughter and banter getting more and more rambunctious the more drinks were consumed. Ma sat back, sipping her tea, watching the commotion with amusement.
“Ma,” Pa said, loud enough to carry, “ain’t it about time you tried that Crown?”
Ma squinted at him like he’d asked her to ride a hog bareback through the traps.
“You mean that salted caramel mess you mix with cream soda like a fourteen year old with a fake ID?”
The firepit erupted. Uncle Kinxy howled.
“It’s tasty,” Pa told her. “It’s my favorite drink. You should try it and tell us all what you think.”
“You’ll love it,” one of the Raiders added, already pourin’ with a flourish. “A little sweet, a little smooth, and dangerously easy to finish. Kinda like you tonight, Ma.”
Uncle Kinxy immediately clapped both hands over his ears and nearly fell backward off the barrel.
“LA-LA-LA! I’m gonna be sick, y’all! I’m too young for such language!! That’s MA, you can’t say that!”
The firepit exploded. Someone shouted for a recording. Bacon oinked in protest.
Pa didn’t flinch.
He just took a slow sip of his own drink, looked straight into the fire, and said without a hint of hurry: “He’s not wrong. We’ll sort that out once she sobers up.”
The fire cracked loud, like it knew that line was gonna be repeated for seasons to come.
Ma didn’t miss a beat. She turned to Pa, deadpan as ever, and quipped: “Sober now, Pa.”
Then she gave him a wink and a grin.
Pa’s eyes never left hers. That slow grin curled in like smoke through the trees.
He raised his mug, took a long sip while still locked in on her eyes, then spoke low, just loud enough to travel through firelight and silence: “Then I reckon it’s time we get to sortin’.”
Silence. For a breath. Everyone at the fire exchanged glances at this turn of events.
And then,
“GOT DAYUM,” one of the raiders wheezed, nearly falling off his stump.
Another clapped his hand to his chest. “I ain’t even drunk and I need to lie down.”
C-Note let out a slow whistle. “I thought we came here to war, but y’all out here winnin’ in other ways.”
Uncle Kinxy made a strangled sound from behind the barrel. “Y’ALL I CAN STILL HEAR YOU. STOOOP.”
Ma turned to Kinxy. “Go to bed with the littles if you can’t handle being with the grown ups, Kinx.”
The fire cracked again, like it was laughing too.
C-Note held up the jar, no shame in sight, chuckling. “Kidding! Mostly. Cheers, Ma.”
And So It Went…
One drink in, Ma was smirkin’.
Two drinks in, she was swayin’.
Three drinks in, she was tellin’ everyone that she wouldn’t be able to do her war attacks in the morning, causing Uncle Kinxy to scowl.
By the fourth, she was leadin’ a toast about somethin’ nobody remembers, but everyone clapped for anyway.
Bacon tried to steal someone’s shine jar. He’d had enough of the noise.
And the moon seemed to lean a little closer to catch what came next.
At some point, someone began talking about a new attack troop called Root Rider that could break through fences with ease.
Pa didn’t miss a beat and said, “Well, depends how you ride it, I s’pose.”
Ma, half sloshed and dead serious, blinked in confusion and said, “I still don’t know what they’re riding. First time I saw one, I thought she was ridin’ on a big ol’ tongue. I swear that’s what it looks like.”
Silence. Then everyone at the firepit lost it.
Uncle Kinxy dropped his head into his hands. “Why?? Why would you say that?”
One of the Raiders cackled, “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with ridin’ tongue, Ma!”
Another chimed in, “Or root! Root ridin’ is kinda nice.”
One Raider laughed low, “We just need to know which one you like ridin’ better.”
Ma blinked, half-confused. “What?”
Pa smirked into his drink: “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’.”
That about set the firepit off again. Logs rocked with laughter.
“Somebody pull out that kettle from the fire before it boils dry,” Ma muttered, innocently trying to redirect.
“I hate pullin’ out, Ma,” Pa fired back without lookin’ up.
The pit twitched, Raiders choking back laughter, shoulders shaking.
Ma didn’t flinch. Met his eyes. “Well that explains why we’re buried in goblins now, don’t it?”
Chaos.
One raider dropped his jug. C-Note wheezed so hard he tipped over.
Uncle Kinxy screamed into the woods, yelling, “I CAN’T LISTEN TO THIS, I’M A BOY, THERE ARE RULES!”
C-Note was crying now, wiping his eyes. “Ma… Ma, I love you. But you set that man up like a ladder to sin.”
Pa finally looked up from his mug, slow and deliberate. Grin spreading like wildfire, he gave Ma that look. No words. Just a nod. And a long sip.
Then he stood, stretched, and said, “Guess it’s time for us to turn in for the night.”
And from somewhere behind the logs:
“Are we… are we witnessin’ foreplay?”
The firepit erupted again.
Ma just shook her head. “Perverts.” She muttered.
And with that, she followed Pa into the night, leavin’ a trail of stunned raiders, spilled shine, and Uncle Kinxy somewhere in the woods, prayin’ for deliverance.
The Morning After
The sun hadn’t made it high yet. Fog clung to the trees like breath on a mirror. Ma sat on the porch alone, feet tucked under her, hands wrapped around her mug. The rocker creaked slow beneath her, steady as a heartbeat.
Her limbs were heavy in that softened way, the kind that settles in after a night of bein’ thoroughly…..sorted.
She let it be, rocked slow, let the peace of it curl through her.
And yet…
Somethin’ was off.
Down by the firepit, C-Note and a few of his raiders were still sittin’ like they’d never left. Coffee in hand. Feet kicked out. Talkin’ low and laughin’ just enough to make it seem like home.
But it wasn’t.
Not really.
She looked past them, listened deeper.
No Ellie Mae ramblin’ about troop counts.
No Looty stumblin’ through with hair a mess and some wild story.
No Alexis, no Nickie, no Mo. Not even JT bangin’ pans.
The holler was quiet.
Too quiet.
And that peace in her belly?
It started to turn into a sinking realization.
It sat like warm cider left too long, still sweet, but just startin’ to sour.
Ma rocked once more and let her eyes linger on the firepit, on the stumps that weren’t filled by kin.
“Reckon even a good night can cast a long shadow,” she murmured, the words vanishing into the steam from her mug.
The rocker creaked beneath her, slow and steady, like it was keepin’ time with her thoughts.
Inside the cabin, a faint rustlin’ told her Pa was up.
Ma let the corner of her mouth lift, just a touch, then drew a long breath and rose to her feet.
There was breakfast to make, and a holler that needed stirrin’ back to life.
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