Time: Monday, 23 August

Follows: The Green-Eyed Monster, Take One: Showers are for Sloshing

[The Fiendish Glow, Monday, 23 August, mid-morning]

"Heather! Heather! Where are ye, lass?" Chris sprang out of his bedroom with his breaccan faile(1) wrapped around him like the blanket it probably once was, looking for something that had obviously gotten misplaced.

"Calm down!" Pen replied, trying to hand him a cup of herbal tea made from the stuff Lora'd stashed in the cabinets the last time she was up.

"Where is that lassie o' mine?" he asked. "I've got to see aboot the band t'day, and that cat o' hers..."

"...Left with her to go to the Shrine," Brenda finished.

"That Nunkumpoopies thing agin?"

"It's the 1920th anniversary of the major eruption of Mount Vesuvius, so they're celebrating."

"Why would they be celebrating the eruption of a volcano tha' buried ain toon in ash, an' t'other in mud?"

"Because it's the day that their beloved 'Nunkies' was made into a vampire."

"Sae... their celebratin' a vampire who's no' a vampire ennamore?

"You got it," the women shrugged.

"An' what role does Lucius have there?"

"Something about companionship," Brenda shrugged. "Heather's afraid he'll get too lonely without his cat friends to play with."

Chris rolled his eyes. "He's got other cats here to play with, not to mention that teddy bear of yours..." The barely-decent man paused a moment. "Come to think of it, where is that little dental problem of yours?"

"Last I remember, he was in the office, cruising the Internet from my notebook. I just hope he isn't trying to charge a 'Neck of the Week' subscription or anything..."

"Why -- does he have your credit card number?" Pen teased.

"Worse -- he has my computer."

"Really? When's the last time you checked your e-mail?"

"Yesterday evening.... and he wasn't there... hmm... and he's not in my room, I don't trust him there... wherever could he be??????"

[ Late afternoon, in the office]

"Well, that's the last headquarters," Brenda sighed. "None of them have seen the vampbear -- although they all seem interested in him for one reason or another..."

"Don't worry," said Pen. "He'll show up by the end of the war?"

"How can you be sure about that?"

"Everything's suposed to go back to normal. For you, having the vampbear is normal. You can't go home without him."

"Thanks, Pen."

The tall woman giggled maniacally as she put in a call to someone at the Shrine.

[Early that evening]

*Click click fwap**fwap**fwap**fwap**fwap**fwap**fwap**fwap**fwap**fwap*

"Kewl!" Now, to save Murron from the evil Longshanks...

"Whatcha doin?" Brenda asked.

"SSSshhhhhhh! She's about to be made toast if I don't.... damn!" Chris stood up, swiped at the keyboard, downed his Glen Livet, and closed the application.

"*^(*#^%^%!! Longshanks always manages to kill her... or worse... just like that nuncumpoop'll do tae m'Heather..."

"So that's what this is all about," Pen said, entering the room. "Some stupid, archaic notion of female virginity."

"Nae, some notion of bein' honorable an' keepin' ane's promise," Chris said, stalking out of the office.

[Somewhat later, in the bar]

"Ye still haven't figured oat your problems yet, have ye, laddie?" Father Andrew asked.

"If ye mean, 'is she still seein' this Nuncumpoopies o' hairs, she's supposed tae be thair noo," Chris answered, taking another swig of Glen Livet. "It's their annual celebration conversion thingie, an' she they're all supposed tae pay homage tae the laird... I dinna ken wha' the lasses are up to -- my Haither e'en took the cat wi' hair."

"She tuk the caet with her? This soands like it cood be serious," Father Andrew mused. "What do you know about this 'Nunkies' fellow?"

"He's old and he's a vampire -- 'course now, when none o' the vamps are vamps, that dinna mean mooch," Chris rambled between gulps of Glen Livet, "bu' the lasses all flock tae him, want tae be wi' him... I hear tell they're a' hypnotized by his voice an' start wearin' peach togas, expensive designer clothes they canna afford, an' non-sensible shoes that give them foot problems the rest o' their lives. Ach! 'Twill drive a man tae the poorhouse it will..."

"Hypnotism, eh? Do you think Heather's following 'Nunkies' of her own free will, or has she been programmed to follow him?"

"I ken no'. A' times she seems okay, bu' then when she talks o' Nunkies, her een glaze o'er, an' it's like she's addicted to his abuse." Chris shrugged. He ignored the empty glass and went straight for the bottle. "I guess that's why they call themselves 'Nunkies addicts'."

An' you're not gettin' addicted to that Scotch yourself, are you? the ex-vampire thought. Aloud, he said only, "D'ya think gettin' her away froam 'Nunkies' will help?"

"It'll keep her from getting sacrificed on the altar like some sort of ancient barbecue! It'll keep him away from bein' able to demand prima nocte!" the kilted one grew bolder as an idea formed in his head as he drank deeply from the bottle. "Heck, we've been betrothed, she's mine -- I should be able to tak' her awa' like they did in days of auld... she'll think it's romantic tha' I think that much o' her, I'm sure!"

"Well, I tell you what, young man," Father Andrew said, scribbling on a cocktail napkin before handing it to the young man. "I have a suyfehouse out in the countryside. If you want, you muy take her there for a couple of days. That should be long enough to take care of any problems the two of you need to resolve before your wedding."

A sheep-eyed Chris weaved as he read the directions. "Sssoondssh like a plannnn," he said, trying to remember the Metro directions for the Shrine.

There's a chance for them, yet -- if they get there safely, Father Andrew told himself as he removed a small black book from his shirt pocket and verified the phone number he was about to dial...

The breaccan faile, or "great kilt" is the traditional garment worn by Scots highlanders. It consists of a single rectangle of cloth, approximately a body-length wide by approximately eight meters long. To fix it to wear, one lays the width of the fabric so that it is bisected by a sturdy belt. Then pleats are folded into the length of the fabric. When the pleating is complete, the wearer lies down on the pleated fabric such that the belt is approximately at his waist. The folded fabric is brought across the front of the body, the belt is buckled, and the wearer stands up. The result at this point looks a bit like a double-kilt. Depending upon the weather, the overlaid fabric can either rest as a second kilt, be brought across the shoulder like today's plaides, or brought across the head and both shoulders against the rain.

Murron may be, and Longshanks is, a historical person who appears as a character in Paramount Pictures' 1995 production, Braveheart. There really is a Braveheart PC game, but I don't recall the correct title, and I have absolutely no idea whether or not these characters appear in it.