“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Hadeez,” Lily said. Hey, if she was going to ask people to call her Katie, she’d return the favor and call them whatever they wanted to go by.
The girl lifted her chin. “I’ve got your packet from HR right here. You can go pick up your clothes to wear, or go to the Staff Caff. Both close at midnight. We’re also roommates, all the info’s inside, but I’m not off duty until about 2 a.m., so settle in whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks, Hadeez.” Lily pulled out the card identifying her as Katie, a staff member with Staff Childcare, and a neon yellow lanyard that had the word STAFF repeating every few inches. It wasn’t very medieval, but her new roommate seemed to anticipate her thought.
“Puma insisted that staff is easily identifiable from regular attendees who might be also be wearing costumes.”
“Puma’s the head of Operations.” TraceyAnn helpfully explained.
“Which means he’s everywhere and knows everything going on.” Jordy/Hadeez’s pride was evident. “The Ops crew is responsible for making sure the entire Festival runs smoothly.”
“Good person to know.” Lily said, and TraceyAnn’s eyes narrowed. Lily hastily added, “Of course I’m lucky that TraceyAnn has been giving me the scoop on everything.”
The older woman’s face relaxed into a smile, as she boomed, ”I’ve certainly been here long enough.”
Lily smiled at her, and Jordy/Hadeez rolled her eyes. “Well, I’ve gotta get back. See you later, Roomie.”
“Thanks, Hadeez.” Lily said to her disappearing stooped shoulders, as the girl slipped back out.
“Watch out for that one,” TraceyAnn muttered, glaring at the door. “She’s only been here a couple of weeks, but I have a bad feeling about her.”
Lily only smiled. TraceyAnn had a bad feeling about everyone, as far as Lily could tell. She doubted very much that the freckled girl with slumped posture who stood about a whisper over 5 feet had anything on the menace that was Rey.
* * *
Col tried to settle into his seat, his fingers tapping on the wooden table in front of him. His fellowBredhren, except for Tybalt, were already happily “wenching”, chatting up women who wore odd combinations of ancient garb with contemporary touches such as the war-paint that modern women wore on a daily basis.
Ye Olde Taverne had been made up to resemble a place where Conan the Barbarian would kick back a microbrew while listening to the lamentations of his enemies’ women. Some nights, they had live music, from the minstrels that wandered throughout the Faire during the day, to bawdier bands with lyrics that were decidedly less family friendly.
Miller was seated in the bar area, where there was a modern television screen overhead, although it was cleverly camouflaged as were other pieces of technology. Miller had said something about a sports event he wanted to watch, and share in the camaraderie of likeminded folk who supported his team.
The dark wooden beams, with even darker metal accents, helped add to the cozy atmosphere, and the wooden tables and chairs had the look and feel of being crafted by hand, which in fact they were.
Col leaned back against the wall. He never felt comfortable exposing his back in these types of spaces. From where he sat, he could survey any threat coming, from any direction. He was always alert, always vigilant, and trusting in his senses. Until recently.
There was more to his discomfort than just the abduction attempt the other day. As he’d walked to the tavern a little while earlier, he’d felt a strange compulsion to look at one of the buildings in the parking lot – and his eyes had met those of a woman looking through the window. He could barely even make out her form from where he stood, with the streetlamps shining in his eyes, but suddenly, he’d felt as if he had been struck by a thunder-bolt. His heart raced, and every nerve in his body came alive.
And a most unwelcome arousal pumped through his body, taking up residence between his legs.
He shook his head, trying to distract himself from the faint worry that chewed at the edges of his consciousness.You’re going mad,cruel voices whispered to him.You’re a danger to your Bredhren.
He took another huge swig of the cold ale in his glass tankard, letting the herbs and spices of the gruit settle on his tongue. It was another example of Simon’s thoughtfulness, in finding alemongers who took pride in crafting beverages that were reminiscent of an earlier time. Across the low wooden table, piled with emptied bottles and glasses courtesy of the otherBredhrenand their doxies, he saw hisVixar,in conversation with Simon.
He felt pity for Simon, who had said he would have to convert his living room into something equally sturdy as the Taverne. Simon had grumbled about having learned “the hard way” that glass and chrome furniture was a bad idea around theBredhren, but he didn’t explain.
Col wished there was an easy way to learn the ways of this New World. All around him, he saw a mixture of styles, some which looked less foreign than others, but none were exactly as they were in the time from whence he came. He was still unused to people wearing words on their clothing, as Simon did. Many in this Taverne were wearing tee shirts that proclaimed “Gardendale Medieval Faire” as if they needed the reminder as to where they were.
Aylwyn of course was charming wenches right and left with his open, jocular demeanor, and his grasp of the common language, which even Simon did not command. Although right now he was grasping parts of the two wenches seated in his lap that had little to do with speech.
Merek was already leading a wench to the back room, ready to tumble her and return with enough time to perhaps tumble two others. Barric’s rich, deep voice carried over the crowd to make a jape at Merek’s expense, something about Merek’s having forgotten how zippers worked the last time he returned from the back room.
Although that seemed only to add to Merek’s appeal to the wenches.
Tybalt was similarly attractive to the females, and some males too, who found his features pleasing, and his reticence even more of a lure. Only theBredhrenknew his sorrow cut the deepest of all. He was the only one who’d met hisDestine,although he never revealed her name to them. It was too painful for him to speak of. His mate, hisDestine, his truest love was but dust now, lost to all the centuries that had passed while the lastWaryeorsslumbered.
Col finished the dregs that lined the sides of the tankard, smacking his lips.
“Another,Brohder?” Tybalt’s glass was similarly drained. Col didn’t even have to answer him; one of the serving wenches appeared with fresh tankards, filled to the brim. The sides were still cold to the touch as the two took their drinks.
