Since We Are On The Subject Of Dress Up

13 September 2014

Story #756

R. Linda:

You ever go to one of those Ren Faires or King Richard's Faire things? Well, I was told I was going out for a fun night with the fellas. Yeah, before you say anything, I was lied to AGAIN. I thought it was not going to be another night of stupid drinking, carousing, and general tomfoolery, as is usually the case with WHO? You guessed it, the only two idiots I've been going out with lately. Yeah, THOSE two, the Irish Twins or in this case, the Scottish ones, Weasil and Kincaid. I trust too much that one of these days it will not be that kind of evening. I be the forever optimist, but it is slowly wearing out. Oi!

As I was chilling in the backseat of the red speed bucket, AKA Weasil's Mustang, Kincaid threw clothing over the backseat at me. It sounded like bells and felt like velvet and silk, but I couldn't see it in the dark backseat.

"What the hell is THIS?" I said, holding up what looked like a burgundy and black with gold piping JERKIN!

"Jus poot it on," Kincaid threw at me.

Because I ran down me stairs and got into the vehicle without letting the two miscreants get out to come get me, I did not see the attire they were sporting. Well, this taught me never again to do something so stupid as to try to spare me family the stupid remarks the two would make if they were two feet inside me door.

"WOT BE THIS?" I held up what looked like black leggings.

"Yer tights, jus poot 'em on," Kincaid sighed like I was the stupid idiot in the car.

I protested a lot until Kincaid told Weasil to stop the car. He hoisted a meaty green leg up on the dashboard, where I could see he was wearing leggings. I was stunned to see so much fat encased like a sausage in green merryman tights. And I opened me gob and said as much. Stupid laughed, and so did the other one, and onward we went. I should know by now that insults do not work on them.

"Where the feck are we going?" I moaned, undressing to put on the silly stuff BECAUSE I knew if I didn't, I'd be that odd and recognisable civilian I always am.

"We iz going to a new pubee," Weasil said, "it be called da Red Rat Inn, I mean da Red Dragon Inn."

"Oh for joy!" I said with acid tripping off me tongue, as I struggled into the leggings. "Oh, wait a minute, just because the place is called the Red Rat, was it? Or, Drag On Inn? It doesn't mean you must dress like it be someplace out of Lord of the Rings?"

Not a word. They exchanged glances and a slight nod. I leaned over the front seat, and that caused Weasil to tell me it was dress-up time. It was a club for nerds who like to pretend they are a character from Game of Thrones or part of King Arthur's court. I sat back, thinking, and then I looked down.

"I am NOT wearing THIS." I held up a court jester hat with bells on the ends of each isosceles triangle. "NO!"

"Coom on Gabby yer needs ta luke da pat," Kincaid said, his accent not easy to understand when your own is Irish.

"I need to look like a Pat, a Paddy, do ye mean?" I said getting a wee bit of temper up. "Ye tink we Irish are all jesters doo ye?"

"No, it goos wit yer coostoom." Kincaid soothed.

Like I believed him. I knew I was right, even if he pronounced part as pat. There was always an Irish joke in there somewhere, and it was always on me!

"Yer both prats," I mumbled, jamming the stupid-looking thing on me head and feeling the right fool. But then I felt something at me feet, and it had bells. I reached down and held it up to the passing street lights. There was another one on the floor. It was a shoe, but not just any shoe; it had a curled toe with a bell attached.

"OH NO, NO, NO, NO!" I threw the jester's shoe at Kincaid's head.

He picked it up where it had dropped to the floor and, without looking, threw it back, and it hit me in the nose. The bell did, so it hurt.

"Coom on noe, Gabe," Kincaid moaned like I was an errant child or more the brat. "Ye got to look like ya belong or ya won't git in. 'Sides dere wuz no other coostoom."

I sighed, defeated. I slipped me big feet into the big, stupid shoes and caught a glimpse of me head wearing the idiotic hat in the rearview mirror. Yeah, a wonderful sight. NOT. I felt the proper fool. I was dressed for the part, so I don't know what I expected.

I sat there in the dark backseat, fuming that I was a part of the Weasil/Kincaid show, the new Three Stooges. Yup, that's what was going through me mind.

So we pulled up at this place that was a rather badly put-together castle, with crumbly walls and something that looked like an iron grate with chains holding it up from collapse. We walked through this precarious edifice over a wooden plank bridge with a large puddle underneath, doubling as a river. Oh yeah. And then to a thick wooden door with big round bolts that were open, emanating a red fireplace glow from inside, and oh, the noise. The boisterous voices and the banging of pewter cups,  I knew I was in for a time of it, and not a good one.

I absolutely hated that I jingled when I walked. That damn hat! The equally damn shoes! People knew I was coming; of course, I was the one they looked at first. Well, of course! Weasil was dressed in chain mail and leather with a long sword, looking quite the warlord. The other one was dressed like Robin Hood, but come on! He looked to me like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

So Weasil turns to us and tells us he's got this. Yeah okay. There was a wee woman dressed in a long green skirt that was turned up to the waist to reveal a not-so-white petticoat. She was dressed in a leather corset with a dirty white puffy-sleeved blouse rolled up to her armpits. But the most outstanding thing about her was that she had a chest like Dolly Parton, only bigger! I had to wonder how she kept from tipping over. She was staring into the huge fireplace that was set with what looked like tree trunks burning merrily. It had her in a daze, or it was the mead she had just put down.

In that daze, she held out a hand, and Weasil handed her a pouch full of gold(?) and said, "Tanks, keepie da change. " She proceeded to stuff this down her bosom. We moved on.

Seating ourselves at a long table already nearly full, we were served as a wench came by and offered us, "Red wyne fer ye, gents?" She asked, her infrequent teeth were yellow with rot, her breath was REALLY bad, and as she travelled the whole table, everyone made a face until she stopped smiling. A jack o'lantern had more teeth than the serving wench.

As we started to sip our 'wyne,' a voice came over a loudspeaker and said, "Cool Duke, please visit keyword RDI to learn how to use these rooms."

Don't ask, I hadn't a clue, but there was a lot of laughter as a result. I wondered if this was a Dungeons and Dragons dress-up, but well, I was too engrossed in sipping me 'wyne' to give it much thought.

It was a weird feeling that came over me, and the smell of fire was very pronounced as I suddenly glanced behind me and there was the wee doorkeeper standing in that same daze just behind us, still mesmerised by the roaring and might I say HOT fire. Some guy sitting next to me turned and looked at her, and then took a pouch and handed it to her outstretched hand, saying to her, "Tip money for the serving wench, see she gets it." Then he smiled brightly up at her, waiting for a response.

"The fire looks so much smaller now." She mumbled.

Again, I was clueless here, but OK. And once again, she stuffed the pouch down her front. It dawned on me that that's why she was so top-heavy. Cor! She literally stank of fire, and I realised the dirt on her petticoat and blouse was not dirt but fire ash. Geez, Louise!

Some poor sod was heaving his drunken bulk up to the bar behind us, and the same man who gave the doorkeeper the pouch put his leg out. Down went "Rafe" with a boom. He fell heavily, and the room shook with laughter. I didn't find that funny, and neither did the embarrassed Rafe. Everyone watched him as muffled chuckles broke free as he limped to the bar. Once he was there, the noise and hubbub started anew.

"What is this?" I asked Kincaid, but he shook his head and sipped his 'wyne.'

I caught movement above me, and there was this guy crossing the rafters. He jumped onto a tabletop and, with a broadsword in hand, gave a speech in old English, which I understood not a word, but he got laughs all the way through.

"This is bizarre. More bizarre than usual," I whispered to the man on me left, hoping he felt the same way because he wasn't laughing either.

Then, I noticed the doorkeeper was right behind him, staring into the flames like she would lose it. Me left-seat companion looked up at her and said, "Do you worship fire or something?" I questioned entirely what I wanted to ask, but was too timid to voice it. Her eyes wandered lazily to his face, and she just stared at him, causing him to look away in discomfort. She was a spooky lady, she was.

Meanwhile, the serving wench plunked down goblets of honey mead when we had all finished our first two goblets of 'wyne.' The stuff splashed over the rim of the goblets, and she said to each of us at the long table as she went, "There ya go!" I felt like I was in kindergarten, or worse, a geriatric patient in a mental ward.

When she was done with us, she returned to the bar, but the doorkeeper still stood eerily behind me, not moving, still entranced by the fire. I turned to look at her because something about the rather crazy smile breaking over her face made the hairs on the back of me neck stand up. She was, I think, praying to the fire gods, and as she prayed, her eyes grew brighter and bigger. Oh, this wasn't good, I told meself.

Before I could say anything of alarm, Weasil got up, clinked his already empty goblet on the table and waved to the crowd.

"Wuzup, everyone!" He shouted as the din receded.

Meanwhile, Kincaid reached over to pet a Russian Wolfhound that had come to sit at the end of our long board or table. Weasil found this act one of disrespect because Kincaid noticed the glare he was getting and abruptly stopped petting the animal and muttered, "Sorry Sor, ye were a-sayin'?"

Just as he finished saying this, the door creaked open and in walked a tall man with a shaved head, black arched eyebrows, trim goatee, wearing one gold earring, a long black leather coat with brass buttons down the front and on the cuffs, white pirate shirt and completing the look, a black baldric and sword. The doorkeeper glided over with her hand out. The man took a seat as he dug out a pouch that jingled and handed it to her. The same action of stuffing it down her bodice, and she turned and glided back to stand behind me. I reckoned it was the closest to the fire she could get, and that just happened to be where I was sitting.

"Hey, Iggy man!" Weasil called to him. Iggy nodded in return and was served a splashing, slamming goblet of mead, which he drained in one gulp. He was an ugly man and a dangerous-looking dude, which made me wonder at Weasil and Kincaid. Kincaid was nodding and smiling at Iggy as the dog nuzzled its head into his side for attention.

The doorkeeper passed Weasil a gold piece with the mark of England on it. Weas left it on the table before him and shouted at Iggy, "Wots up, bro?"

"Howz it goin'?" the Ig asked with a British accent, ignoring the question.

Suddenly and without warning, the doorkeeper passed to the other side of the table and started attacking the fire, grabbing a long iron poker. As she was doing this, the Ig got up and, with a dexterity not often seen in a man his size, cut off two coin pouches from the waists of two smaller men sitting nearby. They sat in awe of him as he took the pouches, poured them out in front of Weasil and grinned.

What was THIS about? I wanted to know.

"Iggy, I thought I wuz goin' nuts in 'ere," Weasil said, all smiles. "Cham-pag-ney for all!" Weasil shouted to the wench at the bar.

And champagne it was, the bubbly was uncorked at the bar and the bottles were trayed to each table by the almost toothless wench.

"Wot's the occasion?" I asked Kincaid as the wench gathered up the coins and put it back into the two pouches. She threw these on one of her trays and disappeared. Kincaid shrugged and went back to the dog, which made me more nervous. Was something in store for me?

Glass after glass of the bubbly was raised, and near the end of the toasts, which went something like this:

"To the drink!"
"To US!"
"To the dog!"
"To sweat and bad breath!"

And up and down the tables it went. All stupid stuff until it got to the doorkeeper, who stood looking into the fire. She took a coin from her bosom and threw it into the leaping flames, and turning to us, she stood, her mouth working and her brow all wrinkled in thought. She said to no one in particular, "Takes a coin to keep it goin'." She frowned and then said slowly, "I can't think of anything good to say." With that, she shrugged and returned her attention to the flames.

OK THEN, moving ever onward.

Iggy said to the assembly, "I can see yer all chillin' here, especially YOU Weas." And he laughed.

"Bro iz phat to see yaz." Weasil said, blushing slightly (as if that was possible).

"Iz there someone else who can tend for a moment so I can join the mates?" the bartender shouted.

A few hands went up, and the more than drunk among us volunteered. I could imagine one of them behind the bar covertly drinking the profits. One able-bodied man did step up, and the bartender took his place at the table behind us. He was immediately served by the wench who again did her slam, splash and leave technique.

About that time, I heard a rather strange sound. It was the wolfhound, purring like a cat. I took a double-take and looked around, but no one seemed to think that was out of the ordinary.

"Iggy dis iz sum kinda roomie," Weasil said gaily. "Dey all got limp wristies."

I sat there me mouth hanging open watching how the assembly took THAT little bit of information. And I can honestly say, not well.

Meanwhile, Kincaid was smiling at the dog, and it looked like the purring dog was smiling back! I looked at me glass, wondering what I was really drinking.

The barkeep got himself up all burly, 6 feet of him. He had his hands on his hips as he glared at the Weasil and said, "Lemme guess, you wanna spar?"

The doorkeeper, whose brain suddenly woke, whipped around and said, "Don't tell me to calm down! Don't tell me to shut up!"

Everyone was silent. The barkeep's eyes were wide with surprise as he sank his big self back into his seat.

"Cool," Weasil whispered, dropping his hand from his sword hilt.

The doorkeeper came forward and stood just behind me AGAIN! Only she was facing the barkeep. Her look was menacing, but she went no further. He, for his part, looked down at the table. I'd never seen a grown man cringe like that. Just what was her deal? I wanted to ask Weasil, but he slowly sank into his seat across from me with a smug smile on his face as he too looked over at the barkeeper like 'What are you going to do about it, mate', kind of expression.

The room was electric with tension, the fire rose and hissed, and the sparks flew as a log fell. Not a sound other than the crackling logs. I was half turned toward the doorkeeper but could see Weasil out of the corner of me other eye. I need to watch these two, if you know what I mean. Yes, I looked strange, one eye focused in one direction, the other in the opposite direction, and yes, I know me eyes could have permanently stayed that way, and well then I'd look a lot like Marty Feldman!

The tension began to settle as conversation began in a rumble on the other side of the room and soon rolled over to our side. The barkeeper had slinked his way back behind the bar and was busy drying glasses but the doorkeeper was still zeroed in on him with her death stare.

"Who is she?" I asked Kincaid in as soft a voice as I could.

"She's da Ig's sister," Kincaid whispered, not looking at me, but staring into his mead.

"His what?" I exploded and as I rose half out of me seat, everyone near me tried to pull me back down, shushing me as they threw sidelong glances in the direction of Iggy's sister. But she had turned and was looking directly at me with a scowl on her face, and I could see the barkeeper sigh in relief that the focus was off him. He was pouring himself a shot as I was whipped to face the Weasil side of the room, cutting off me view of him and HER. Suddenly, I felt the creature's fingers digging into me shoulder, and wow, that hurt!

"Ye haf a problem do ye?" She hissed into me ear as me mouth wailed a low ouch and me nostrils fought the fire smell.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no," I moaned, the pain quite intense as her skeleton fingers with very long yellow nails dug in.

She threw me away from her and announced to all assembled, "Yer! None of ye are to get apples this day. Notta one of yas."

If I weren't in so much residual pain, I would have shouted, "Apples?" but I was in pain, and thankfully that saved me from the probability of a second shoulder squeeze and a hissing question in me ear.

Thankfully, a door on the other side swung open and everyone cheered and rapped their tankards on the tables as two huge pigs with apples in their mouths were hauled out and set on the two bigger tables (one being me own). With a determined step, the doorkeeper slid her arm between two would-be diners and took the apple out of the pig's mouth. Then she moved to the other table and did the same. You will never guess what she did with those apples; she slid them into her bosom! Yup, two greasy hot apples right down the old dress front. I tell ya, she must have skin of a lizard because she had smoke issuing from her front as she passed by to another table where she took up a pitcher of water and proceeded to pour it not only down the front of her but on the back of the head of the man sitting nearby. He instantly rose up for the ice bucket challenge, he didn't know he was a part of, and his table laughed as the rest of us sat there watching the doorkeeper's bosom sizzle and smoke as the water produced steam from the heat. With all that water, Iggy's sister was overly top-heavy and was struggling not to fall face forward.

The Ig got up with the help of the Weasil and a few others to hold her upright and escort her to the bar where she could hold herself up. I was wondering if this night could get any more bizarre and freaky. I will say I got both miscreants to promise me, as soon as we devoured the pig, that we would leave and get the hell out of the castle. And we did.

I know what you're saying to your computer screen. Why didn't you just leave, then, Gabe? Do you always think of your stomach first? Well, uh, yeah.

I was unnerved enough to tell the Weasil I was driving us home, but he would not let me behind the wheel of the speed bucket. So I had to endure a blow-by-blow of their laughter at ME for botching up the evening. I would have reached over the front seat and bashed their heads together if that console wasn't between them. I spoke not a word but sat there with me arms folded across me chest, tsking a lot and did not realise as I walked into me own home that I was still dressed like the fool. I didn't have long to remember it as Mam was the only one up with a cuppa watching the telly on a very low volume, not to wake the house. When she saw me, she turned the volume up and guess what? Yeah, all the sleepers in the house awoke to see yours truly in jester dress. Rubbing eyes, double takes, laughter, giggles, pointing, yeah, that's what I came home to.

They told me not to; it was just too priceless when I tried to explain.

So thanks a lot, Weasil and Robby, for making me endure a semi-nightmare, dressed like a complete idiot in the process, and then be insulted royally by me own ones. Geez.

I hope it is snowing heavily in Colorado, and the two miscreants will leave here and go ski off a mountain. SIGH.

Gabe
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