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(The next day, Time skipped to the party.)
The Bent Penny didn't look like the Bent Penny.
It looked like a festival had taken a bath, combed its hair, and put on its best smile. Paper ribbons looped from beam to beam like lazy snakes—blue, white, and a warm gold that made the room glow. A cloth banner hung over the big table, hand-painted letters wobbly and proud: HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOHN. In the corner, a flower-stringed broom stood like a soldier who'd been forgiven. Lanterns that usually behaved themselves burned a brighter kind of kind.
