Time: Monday, 16 August
Place: The Fiendish Glow
Follows: I Need a Drink!
[The Fiendish Glow, Monday, 16 August, some time between 0400 and 0600 Eastern Daylight Time]
A kilted man stumbled into The Fiendish Glow. Casting his glance around, he caught sight of the buxom nearly-redhead he was looking for. "Ach, there ye are, lass!" he murmured, placing his arm around her possessively and nearly knocking her off her feet.
"Chris?" Heather looked at the dirty, sweaty newcomer. His eyes were bloodshot and his pupils didn't seem to be able to follow her as she talked. "Chris, m'love, wha' happened tae ye?"
"Uggh. Hurt me head again a' the games. Durn sheaf caught me head on... an' then I got trampled on during the tug-o'-war. Good thing it warn't the caber," he said, managing a weak smile. Being hit with a 17kg sheaf of "hay" was bad enough -- but a 55kg "telephone pole" was another class of injury entirely. "Went tae Larry's fer 'is all-night ceilidh -- watched alla Scottisth movizz 'e 'ad, nearly twinny o'em... watch Brave'ar' ree, four times... Verre tired," he said, ensconcing his head in his fiancee's bosom. "Ye small nice... " He turned his head to breathe. "Hoozat?" he asked, spying the half-dressed redhead following the other togaed Glow Worm.
"That's Roy, he's Sukh's entertainment." MacCousin left out the part about the great neck massages and foot rubs Roy gave. "And this is Brenda, Pen and Sukh. Everyone, this is Chris, my fiancé. Sorry for his appearance. He's been through a lot this weekend. Ya'll have been to the Highland Games before. He does the demonstrations of the games that Celtic Warriors used to do."
Chris returned to something of a standing position and instead of shaking the proffered hands, kissed the backs of them in courtly fashion. Never too tired to lather on the charm, that one was....
Brenda reached behind the bar and fiddled with something in the refrigerator. "Here, drink this," she said, placing a pewter tankard in the would-be Scotsman's hand and signalling the man's wife-to-be.
"Whazzinit?" he asked.
"Drink it," Brenda and Heather said together.
He lifted the vessel and peered cautiously at its contents. "'syellow," he murmured.
"Drink it. All of it."
Outnumbered four to one, he drained the tankard and banged it down on the nearest flat surface. "Wha' wa' that?"
"Dragon's P**," Brenda said. The others looked at her askance. "Lemonade and salt. I found out about it on one of the Rennie newsgroups... it's supposed to be better than that bottled sports-drink stuff if you're dehydrated.
"Dragon's P***?" Chris asked. Heather rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.
"C'mon, let's take a walk," she said, half-dragging her fiance towards the upstairs living quarters. "You need to get yourself cleaned up, and then we have some things to discuss."
"So there are really vampires in Toronto?" It had taken five minutes of preamble and ten minutes of convincing for Heather to get Chris to believe it. At first he thought it was an odd sort of joke. He was used to her usual ones.
"Well not right now," Heather repeated. "They all became mortal, but it's a temporary kind of thing. They could turn back any minute."
"So how do ye' know about this?"
"Uhm, well," Heather turned away for a moment. "I haven't been completely honest with you." She sighed. "I'm what is called a Nunkies Addict. We kind of have this drooling thing for one of them."
"That's your secret society?" Chris looked surprised. "I thought it would be something more impressive?"
"I can't help it if I'm addicted to LaCroix."
"LaCroix? Well I suppose it's better than someone from God and Faer forbid, England. How do you know your safe with him."
"Well I've been an addict for over three years, and he's not really French, he's a Roman."
"Three years? We've dated for six and you've never even mentioned this before. And he's Roman? That's even worse. You know what they did to the Celts and Picts. What if he won't let you go?"
MacHeather rolled her eyes. "Nunkies will let me go. Chris, you aren't making sense. You need to get some sleep."
"Whaddaya mean, I'm not makin' sense. You're the one who, just before our wedding, goes and tells me that you have a 'thing' for another man -- an' that he's usually a vampire -- but he'll let you go and marry someone else, namely me... If anyone's not makin' any sense around here, it's you."
An awkward silence fell over the couple as they tried to regain a semblance of civility.
"You have told him about our wedding?" Chris asked, finally.
Heather nodded.
"And???"
MacCousin rolled her eyes again. "He didn't say much about it. Just wanted to make sure it was what I wanted."
"What if he demands something in return for you -- like a dowry or something." Which'd maketwoof 'em, Chris thought, remembering Heather's father's demands. You're probably a great addict, right?"
"Uh, well actually Nunkies isn't too thrilled with me at the moment."
"Why?"
"Because Sukh and I, well we've become renegade addicts, but we can discuss that little crossover later."
"But you're his addict, right?"
"Right."
"So why would he let you go?"
Heather grinned. "Because it's what I want. Let's get you showered and into a spare bed so you can get some sleep, and hopefully make more sense later.
Chris fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow. He did not sleep easy though. His dreams were full of vampires. Even worse were their vicious demands.
He woke up shivering. "Prima nocte," he murmured to himself.
Prima nocte: Latin for "First Night". In the old days it may have been called that or anything else, but it still meant the same thing. A Lord (or any higher-up) would demand that he be given the first night with the new bride.
Okay I know lots of people are going to say, "Heather, Prima nocte was a Victorian invention." Well, maybe the name was, but the act did happen, a lot more than people like to think.
Also bear in mind, Chris hasn't had a whole lot of sleep, so like a lot of folks, his imagination is running away with him.
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NEXT STORY: EXPERIENCE IS A
TERRIBLE THING TO WASTE
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