Though, looking down at the bee graphic on the can of meadIheld,Ibegan to question the anatomical accuracy of the wings.Maybethey were more dragonfly than bee…
I spotted my friends clustered around a wooden bench near the jousting arena, and my heart did that warm, fuzzy thing it always did whenIsaw my favourite people all together.Mybest friendJackwas resplendent in full knight regalia, complete with a foam sword that he kept dramatically unsheathing at random intervals.Hisgirlfriend,Morgan, had gone for a more pared-back approach with a simple medieval dress in deep green, though she’d let me braid flowers into her dark curls thatmorning.Jack’slittle sister,Amy, wore an intricate fairy costume that made her look like she’d stepped out of a fantasy novel, making me suspect thatPhilhad stepped in to help her.They’dbeen dating for a while now – apparently it hadn’t always been the real deal, butI’dgiven up trying to parse out their particular relationship timeline.
Fatima had outdone herself with an elaborate druid costume, complete with a staff she’d carved herself and enough nature-themed accessories that she’d be labelled as a forest on a map if she stood still long enough.Shelooked absolutely breathtaking, which was perfect, sinceI’dconvinced her to let me take her new dating profile photos.Shewas finally ready to get back out there after a big break-up a year and a half ago, andIwas determined to make sure the dating apps knew exactly what a catch she was.
AsIslipped into the circle my friends were making,Icaught the tail end of a debate about which of us would survive longest in an actual medieval society.
“I don’t thinkChloemakes it more than a week,”Greysaid pointedly, peering over the rim of their pewter mug at me.They’ddyed their usually colourful buzz cut in a hypnotic spiral pattern to match their steampunk outfit.Itmade me dizzy to look at it, though perhaps that was all the mead. “Ourlittle chaos gremlin would trip over a tree root and get trampled by a stray goat.”
“Untrue,”Iprotested, crossing my arms, remembering the stickiness only as my arms practically adhered to my chest. “Ihave the nimbleness of a fox and the keen survival instincts of … of…”Iracked my brain for another medieval-sounding animal. “Ofa stoat.”
“Do you even know what a stoat is?”Jackasked.Ishrugged.
“It’s like a mole, right?Ora badger?”
His laugh confirmed my suspicion thatIwas dead wrong.
Phil snorted. “Comeoff it.You’dget banished from the village for seducing all the baker’s daughters, then burned at the stake for heresy.”
That sounded about right. “Andwhat a way to go.”
A heavy drop of mead traced a cold path down my sternum and pooled in the divot of my collarbone.Igrabbed a piece of my skirt again and blotted at it, earning a beleaguered look fromPhilthat turned to pure agony when the piece of fabric came off in my hand.Thatwas whatIgot for cutting corners and using hot glue on the last few strips,Isupposed.Butat least the slit the gap created was conveniently positioned over my leg.SoItied the scrap around the end of the braid holding up half my hair and tried to avoidPhil’sjudgmental gaze.
“Did the naughty wenches go easy on you?”Amyasked, leaning in with a smirk.
“The first two pours, they were gentle.Thethird time, she basically waterboarded me.”
“Don’t you usually pay extra for that sort of thing?”Morganasked.
“No, no, that’s emotional tortureI’minto, not literal.Close, though.”Ilooked over atFatima. “Youabout ready for your close-up?”
Fatima made a great show of rolling her eyes, but we all knew she was actually quite keen.She’dtested some of her dating app prompt answers on us atD&Dlast week, and it was clear she was taking it seriously.ForFatima, that was par for the course– our residentCapricorntook everything as seriously as a heart attack.Othersmight have urged her to lighten up a little bit, but in my opinion, any man put off by her intensity was a loser and thoroughly unworthy of her.
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Isthis your revenge forFatimamaking you theChosenOnein last night’s session?”
The night before, gathered around a camping table under fairy lights strung across our tent,Fatimahad promoted my chaotic tieflingCalamityfrom comic relief to main character for this particular story arc in ourDungeons&Dragonscampaign.Ithad felt strange and intense, speaking just toFatimaas she pretended to be my demon lord father instead of chatting as a group, andIwasn’t sure if the chaos queen that had started as ajoke character was cut out for the limelight.
I shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, please, you knowIlove a main character moment.”Itdidn’t actually feel true–Iwas actually a bit nervous– but as a tripleLeo, it was my line. “Giveme five minutes,”Isaid toFatima. “Ineed to location-scout.I’lltext you where to meet me.”
Jack andPhilstarted making bets on how many picturesI’dtake beforeFatimagot sick of posing.Theover-under was set at seventy-five.
From over my shoulder,IheardAmyaskFatimaabout the new modules she’d started for theMAcourse she was on, andIfelt a familiar twinge of something sharp in my chest.I’dnoticed it especially when the others talked about all the great things they had going on.Fatima’sMAcourse,Jack’sshiny new architecture qualification,PhilandAmymoving in together…Butme?Istill lived alone.I’donly just finally called it off– for real this time– withLauren, my on again/off again situationship of a year and a half.AndIwas still pretending that the event planning “promotion”I’dgotten at the animal rescue last year was anything other than being a fluffer for rich people with money to throw around.Ihad my friends, which counted for a lot, but it was hard not to feel likeIwas adrift around them; likeIwas a constant reminder of the aimlessness they’d dodged in favour of their bright futures and their happy-ever-after relationships.
The breeze kicked up sepia dust, which stuck to my chest and reminded me of the lifelong dreamI’djust fulfilled of being objectified by busty wenches in corsets.SoIswallowed the feeling likeIalways did and forced a smile asIzig-zagged my way across the fairway, dodgingLARPers, stilt walkers, and merry festivalgoers.
I scanned the area for the best spot for a mini photoshoot;Fatimahad gone the nature route with her costume, soIwanted some greenery.Theproblem was, there was just a solitary tree on the fairway as far asIcould tell, and it was surrounded by people.IfIwanted something picturesque– fantastical, even–I’dneed to go off the beaten path.Ispotted a copse of trees behind the barI’djust come from and ducked past a “cast members only” sign pinned to a piece of thick canvas between two stalls, figuringIcould just play dumb ifIgot caught.I’dhave to convince straitlacedFatimathatI’dgotten permission or something, but that was fine.I’dfigure something out.
The spot was perfect.Thesunlight filtered through the trees, dappling the exposed roots below, one of which arched up out of the ground, creating the perfect seat forFatimato perch on.Itook my phone out and started snapping some test shots, crouching down and then standing on my tiptoes, practising for when my high-strung subject was present.Icould already picture the glint of light off her long, dark hair, perfectly showcasing the braidsI’dhelped her weave.
Then, becauseIhad the spatial awareness of a distracted toddler,Itook a step backwards, and the heel of my too-large boot caught on a bulging tree root.Ipinwheeled, arms flailing, and crashed back into something solid, warm, and vaguely person-shaped.
There was a metallic clang, then the unmistakable splatter of liquid on canvas.Iturned, already mortified, and found myself staring at the back of a woman in all black, her arms held out as if she’d been carrying something.
A keg, it turned out, which was now burst open on a rock, mead geysering from the split at its base.Andthe woman– tall, slender, with light brown waves bunched into a low, loose ponytail– was soaked, drops of amber liquid falling from her still-extended arms.Sheturned around slowly, andIwas confronted with a stormy expression as she glared at me.Meadran down her sleeves, soaked through her trousers, andsplatteredher heavy boots.Itdripped off a gold coin she wore on a chain around her neck as she leaned forward.Shewas all sharp lines and daggered cheekbones, with tawny eyes that looked like they wanted to murder me in several creative ways.
“Oh my god,”Iyelped, hands flying to my face. “Iam so, so sorry.Iwasn’t?—”
The woman looked at me, then at the gushing keg, then back at me.Shespoke, her accent mostlyAmerican, but with a twinge of something familiar.
