High Fantasy Modern Storyhour - The Long Road (updated December 7)

(For returning readers, read here to see a dragon and a virgin.)

The tedium of the Greyhound bus is pierced by a blues tune coming loud out of one of the passenger's headphones.

"I ain't superstitious.
"Black cat crossed my trail.
"I ain't superstitious,
"but a black cat crossed my trail."

Passengers turn away from the windows. Endless Texas forest passes by on both sides of the two-lane road as thirty people glare at the annoying guy in the third row. They're in no mood for even the slightest disturbance. After their plane being grounded last night for a terrorist threat, and having to submit to riding a Greyhound bus to get to their destination, loud headphones immediately get the passengers to grumbling.

Robert Black is about to get up and confront the guy when suddenly the bus lurches. Brakes squeal on the dozen tires and the bus driver cries out in denial, and then with a crash of metal and shattering glass, the bus stops.

People panic and struggle to open the emergency exits, afraid the bus is about to explode. Robert Black moves calmly to the front exit, stopping to help the bus driver get clear. Near the back of the bus, Scarpedin Jones pops out the side window exit and jumps through, taking stock of the massive car pile-up but ignoring the others who need help getting out of the window. Belladonna Lee lets a handsome young man carry her bag as she tries to maintain her dignity while fleeing. Stuck in the middle of everyone else's panic, John Rourke jumps up, pushes open the roof exit, and swings himself onto the top of the bus.

John is fairly confident the bus won't explode - the collision wasn't that bad - so he takes the moment of calm to light up a cigarette. From the roof of the bus he can see that the Greyhound is only the second vehicle in a line of wrecks. Wondering what caused the car in front of them to stop so suddenly, John scans the road and the treeline.

Just inside the trees on the right side of the road, he spots movement. A man dressed in a fine black suit, with a white flower on his lapel, bends over and picks a black cat up from the ground, then carries the cat away into the forest.

Down at ground level, Scarpedin adjusts his leather duster to make sure his uzi is comfortably hidden in his armpit. The road is a mess, full of confused people. The guy with the headphones has taken them off and is wandering through the crowd. If Scarpedin had to say which famous person the headphones guy looks most like, he'd say Mos Def, that guy who played Ford Prefect in the Hitchhiker's Guide movie. It's a trick Scarpedin learned from the cops - it's much easier to compare a person to a famous actor than to just describe their appearance. Elsewhere in the crowd he sees a Don Cheadle look-alike, a Carrie Elwes, a Noah Wylie, and a young Tom Cruise standing next to a young Catherine Zeta-Jones. Scarpedin smirks and heads toward the hot chick.

Belladonna Lee has just gotten the name of the kind man who has been helping her out -- Terry Abrams -- when a scruffy man in a leather duster comes up. Aside from the expensive coat, he's dressed atrociously, wearing a white wife beater and blue jeans, with a black plastic tube slung behind his back like a map case. The man looks like he's about to flirt with her, but Terry seems to know that Belladonna doesn't want to be bothered. He steps in between her and the ruffian.

"Hey, are you alright?" Terry asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Scarpedin says. He tries to talk around Terry. "Hey, miss-"

"Nice jacket," Terry adds, giving Belladonna enough time to slip off.

Scarpedin glares at the kid in front of him; he couldn't be older than twenty-five. "Thanks. Hey, are you with that chick?"

"Heh," Terry chuckles, "I wish."

Scarpedin laughs, and he decides he likes the kid.

Meanwhile, Belladonna has wandered away to the front of the bus, where the bus driver is inspecting the damage to the Greyhound and to the poor VW Bug it smashed into. A few people are lingering around the bus driver. Belladonna picks the best-dressed and nicest-seeming one -- a twenty-something black man, and asks him sweetly, "Pardon me, sir. Do you know what happened here?"

Robert Black turns as a beautiful young lady addresses him with a soft New Orleans accent. He inclines his head to the bus driver. "Missy here, our driver, says the car in front of us just slammed on its brakes, and she tried to keep from hitting it. Just our luck, huh?"

"What about the driver of the other car?" Belladonna asks.

That driver approaches with the help of one of the Greyhound passengers. She looks very shaken, and she has a cut on her cheek that Robert recognizes as a sign that an airbag saved her life, but otherwise she's unharmed.

"Hey," Robert says, "excuse me, miss, but what happened?"

"What?" the woman says. She stammers, "I- I don't . . . what do you mean?"

"Well, cars don't just suddenly stop in the middle of the road, usually." Robert tries not to be too harsh, but he can't helping being a little sarcastic. "Did you see something? Hit somebody?"

The woman nods slowly. "There was a cat. I didn't want to hit it. It just ran in front of me."

"You stopped for a cat?" Robert frowns, incredulous. He looks at the line of wrecked cars behind them and mutters, "Damn, I hope she killed that f*cking cat."

"A cat?" Belladonna says. "Is it alright?"

A man appears next to her and Robert, like he fell from heaven. In truth, he just jumped off the top of the bus. John Rourke gestures with the cigarette in his mouth at the trees.

"It ran off. We goin' anywhere soon?"

"Doesn't look much like it," Belladonna says, her voice managing to sound sexy even with such a bland statement.

The bus driver, Missy, is fuming over the damage. The front of the bus is crushed inward, the windshield is shattered, and one of the front wheels looks misaligned. Passengers are grumbling again, and it doesn't look like they'll be able to move at more than a limp. Belladonna excuses herself and heads back to talk to Terry.

Back in the thick of the crowd, Scarpedin's bitching about the wreck to Terry. Terry, for his part, looks more nervous than he ought, but Scarpedin's not really paying attention. Belladonna comes up and quietly asks if everything is alright, and Terry smiles and nods away her concern.

Terry asks Scarpedin, "So were you flying to New Orleans too?"

"No. I don't fly." Scarpedin doesn't mention that the airlines wouldn't let him bring an uzi -- especially an illegal uzi -- on a plane.

They stand around for a moment, and Scarpedin notices a man who looks kinda like a bald John Goodman, dressed in a friar's brown robes. That's out of place. He's not supposed to see people dressed like that in the 21st century. Scarpedin wants to know what's up, so he swaggers over to the monk.

"Ho there, sir friar. What brings one of your holy brethren out to these here Texas woods?"

The Goodman-Friar is taken aback, and then he laughs deeply. "Oh, sorry. I wasn't in character yet! Aye, aye, it be a long . . . no wait, that's pirate. Okay, ready.

"My son," he says, trying again, "are ye as well headed to yon Renaissance Festival? Oh, what bountiful joy may be had at King Henry's fair festival. Alas, but this pileup of horseless carriages has verily stopped my pilgrimage."

"Huh?"

The monk hesitates. Dropping out of character he asks, "You're not going to the RenFest?"

Attracted by the monk's outburst, Robert and John each come up, joining Scarpedin, Belladonna, and Terry. Scarpedin has a hard time placing an actor for John; he looks Italian, but nothing like anyone in Godfather.

"What's a 'Renaissance Festival'?" Robert asks.

Missy the bus driver comes up and points. "It's right down the road, and it's where we're headed. I've got to wait for someone to show up to do repairs."

Robert holds up a hand, looking down at the ground as if collecting his thoughts. When he speaks, the rest of the crowd listens, because he's summing up how they all feel.

"Hold on a second," he says. "Last night, our flights get grounded because of some stupid terrorist threat, so we're stuck in the Dallas terminal until 6am. Then the airline generously offers to pay for Greyhound bus tickets down to New Orleans, so we'll be getting there a day late. Then, and stop me if I'm getting this wrong, but then, our bus crashes into a car because a-" he looks around to make sure no children are nearby, "-a stupid f*cking cat jumps in the way, and now you want us to hike our way to some festival where people dress like this guy here," he points at the monk, "and wait for you to fix the bus."

"Is that a problem?" Missy asks.

"No." Robert is stiff, grinning in polite anger. "I just, you know, wanted to make sure I had all this clear. Well hey, come on. Let's go to the RenFest."

I just started up this modern game a few weeks ago. If any of you are familiar with the Savannah Knights storyhour, this is the same setting, though a different group of gamers. Instead of running it in Savannah, where the old DM Jessie was comfortable, I started out in Texas, my homeland.

I've got a modern fantasy adventure lined up -- mix up Buffy, Hellboy, Predator, and The X-Files, and you've probably got a good bead on my inspirations.

The PCs are:

• Robert Black - Played by my friend Hamid Raoof, who works at Cartoon Network on Adult Swim. Robert looks like Don Cheadle.
• John Rourke - My roommate Neil's character, John is a reflection of Neil's bitterness against organized religion, and his fondness of Vertigo comics.
• Belladonna Lee - Laura Kertz plays Donna-belle, a sweet girl from New Orleans who looks like Catherine Zeta-Jones at 20. Laura likes Gambit from X-Men, so blame her for any similarities to famous mutants.
• Scarpedin Jones - Only a man as crazy as Orinthol Jixiao could play a knight displaced temporally from King Arthur's army to the modern day. O-Ji was quoted as saying at a recent game, "I am Keanu Reeves!"

LOL! I keep visualizing all of this happening in front of my neighborhood, as I live only 15 minutes from the Rennaisance Festival. I have to say that I like it so far. Keep up the good work, you've got me hooked already just from the familiarity!

Nice one Wickett,

I keep getting flashes to the Dungeons and Dragons cartoon. If you have one of those mystery rides at the fayre, I'm a lifetime reader.

The guy who lit a cigarette on top of the bus made me laugh. I like that sort of stuff

Spider.

October 29, 2005
10:07 am

The Texas RenFest is like any other Renaissance Festival, so it was inevitable that Scarpedin would hate it. He left behind this life, adapted to a world with televisions and cel phones and credit cards and denim. Seeing so many normal modern people mingling with knights in armor, wenches in bodices, and peasants in too-clean clothes confuses him.

He might have been able to handle it, though, if he hadn't seen the Elf.

"No f*cking way," he says.

The rest of the group looks at him in curiosity. The bus driver had grouped together Terry, John, Robert, Belladonna, and Scarpedin, and taken down Scarpedin and Bella's cel numbers so they could know when the bus was fixed. They've just gotten into the festival and are absorbing the sights when Scarpedin curses. The other four in the group follow his gaze to a costumed woman, dressed in crimson velvet and black leather. Her hair is white, probably a wig, her skin is midnight black, probably just face paint, and her ears are pointed, almost certainly fake. She's walking past them, oblivious to their staring.

Boldly, Scarpedin strides over to the Elf, approaching her from behind. With a shout he reaches out with both hands and grabs the woman by her ears, yanking the tips. They pull free, and the woman cries out in shock, spinning to see who attacked her. Scarpedin is moving too fast, though, and she doesn't have a chance to look up; she just falls onto his chest, wrapping her arms around him to keep her balance.

Scarpedin frowns for a second, looking at the latex eartip he has in each hand. Then he realizes he's being held and he looks down. The short costumed woman is looking up at him, a smirk on her face. Her green eyes flash in the sunlight, and as she pulls away Scarpedin checks her out. She's actually cute, almost hot, despite the black skin.

"Hello to you too," the woman says. She smiles and holds out a hand expectantly.

He hands back the ears. "Sorry, I thought you were an Elf."

She takes her ears back and tucks them into a pouch. "Don't take things you see here too seriously. But that was quite a way to get a girl's attention. I guess I'll let you buy me a drink."

Belladonna comes over. "What's going on . . . you said your name is Scarpedin?"

"Yeah." Scarpedin nods. He tries to play off his odd behavior. "What? It's nothing. I'm just having some fun."

"Hello miss," Donna-belle says with a N'awlins drawl to the dark Elf. "I hope this man isn't causing you too much of a problem."

The dark Elf leans close to Scarpedin and wraps her arm around his. "You think I'd dress like this if I didn't want attention? Hi, I'm Serena."

A chorus of names come from the rest of the group.

"Belladonna. A pleasure."

"John."

"Terry, hi."

"I'm Robert." Robert smiles politely, his normalcy a little out of place at the RenFest. "Hey, this is a big place, and we know we'll be here in a while. Why don't we go our own ways and then meet up some place? Sound good?"

"Okay," John says. He's smoking again, the third cigarette since they first met him.

Terry says, "The bus driver told us to stay together."

Robert waves off the concern. "We're all adults here. Let's just pick some place to meet up."

They consult a festival map and ask for suggestions, and Serena tells them the Ded Bob Show is pretty good, so they decide to meet there at noon.

John and Bella have formed a bit of a rapport since she's the only one who doesn't seem to mind him smoking, so they head off toward the largest collection of shops. Serena, quite pleased with her catch, drags Scarpedin off to buy her things. Terry and Robert are the last two left, and Terry opens his mouth to start a conversation with his RenFest companion. Robert cuts him off.

"I'd like to be by myself," Robert says, "if you don't mind. No offense, you know, but I wasn't really looking for someone to hang out with."

"I don't really want to go alone," Terry says.

Terry's voice is nervous -- a fearful nervous that seems out of place -- which Robert notes with interest. He follows a quick glance of Terry's eyes, and sees two people from the bus watching them. One is the short and stocky black man who was listening to the loud music on the iPod when the wreck occured, and the other is a tall blonde man. Earlier at the wreck, Robert noticed the two men exchanging a lot of meaningful glances from across the crowd, but they had not sat together on the bus.

"Well, then hey," Robert says, pretending not to have noticed the men. "Why don't you go catch up with 'Scarpedin'?" Robert laughs at the bizarre name.

Terry doesn't seem to want to, but Robert leaves anyway, looking for a dark, private place. When he glances back he sees the two men following Terry in the other direction, as Robert expected.

October 29, 2005
10:24 am

Terry has joined up with Scarpedin and Serena. Scarpedin doesn't like the company.

"So why are you following me?" he asks.

Serena laughs. "Don't give him a hard time. Ren Fests are more fun, the more people you have."

Terry shrugs. "You don't have to worry about competition, if that's what it is. I just am a little, well, nervous."

Scarpedin glares. "What do you mean? Is somebody following you? I mean, I know that guy from the bus who looks like Mos Def has been hanging around."

"Who?" Terry asks.

Scarpedin points. Behind them, standing near one of the innumerable stalls selling turkey legs and mead, the black man with the iPod looks away suddenly, rubbing the back of his neck to seem inconspicuous. A crowd of women in bustiers walk between them, and when they pass the man who looks like Mos Def is gone.

It only takes them a moment to see that he has run to hide in a nearby store.

"Whoever he is," Serena says, "he's incompetent. So is this a game you guys are up to?"

Terry shakes his head. "No game. Um . . . I don't want to say too much, but yeah, there are some guys after me."

"And why?" Scarpedin stands tall and intimidating, demanding an answer.

"Ah, dammit." Terry grimaces. "I'm not going to get into it, but . . . well, two days ago, someone close to me was killed, and I've been on the run."

Serena puts a hand to her mouth. "Seriously? Have you told the cops?"

"Yes, cops." Scarpedin grins, thinking he's caught Terry in a lie. "Why haven't you told the cops, Terry?"

"Look, forget I said anything."

Terry starts to walk away, and Scarpedin shrugs. A moment later, though, Terry is back, and he looks worried.

"Actually," he says, ". . . Scarpedin, right? Something about you seems a little . . . well, for some reason I think you might actually understand this. I . . . I can't go to the cops because the people who are after me . . . have powers."

Scarpedin hesitates, wanting to ask but afraid he knows the answer. "What kind of powers, Terry?"

". . . Magic powers?" Terry says.

"Dammit!"


It takes a few minutes for Scarpedin to settle down, but once he does, Terry can't get him to stop asking questions. He demands to know if Terry can do magic too. Serena just watches in amusement, not believing any of it. Finally, fed up with being asked so many questions, Terry gives Scarpedin what he wants.

Scarpedin feels a tap on his shoulder, and he turns to see who it is. Terry is standing behind him, when a moment before he was standing in front of him.

"Whoa," Scarpedin asks, "how did you do that?"

Terry glares. "Hey, you told me to do magic."

"Sh*t, I knew you were a wizard. Terry frikkin' Potter."

Terry rolls his eyes. "To hell with you."

"What else can you do?" Scarpedin asks. "I knew something was weird about you. First the Elf, then the black cat, and now Hogwarts."

"I don't need this," Terry says. "Look, I just wanted someone to escort me and make sure that guy from the bus doesn't get too close."

There is a change in Scarpedin, a tensing of anger. Something old and long-denied struggles within him, and he almost growls.

"'Escort'? Dammit, you would use that term. F*cking code of chivalry!"

Serena raises a hand. "Wait a sec. Did I just see you disappear?"

Scarpedin ignores her as his tantrum continues. "Fine! I'll protect you! I'll do my duty to the wizard! God, I told myself I wouldn't get involved in this again!"

Terry frowns. "You alright man? Hey, honestly, maybe I'll go ask someone else for protection."

Serena snaps her finger. "Oh, I've got it! Scarpedin's a knight. Well, if you're going to act like a knight, we might as well get you dressed like a knight."

"No." Scarpedin's deep voice is full of confliction. "I'm not a knight. I don't wear armor. I don't joust. I don't buy things with silver coins. I wear denim. I . . . dammit, I drive a motorcycle. And I have a credit card. No."

Serena and Terry have backed away a little, but Scarpedin shrugs.

"Nevermind," he says. "Sure, Terry. Fine. I'll protect you."

"Like a knight?" Terry asks.

In the distance, trumpets sound. Serena smiles.

"Hey," she says, "the joust. Let's go check it out."

"No way," Scarpedin says. "I need to see Terry here do more magic. Can you, like, shoot fireballs from your eyes?"

Terry smiles. "I'll show you magic if you joust, 'Sir Knight.'"

"Fine," Scarpedin growls. "Let's go."

Scarpedin leads the way toward the joust, and Terry looks to Serena with surprise. "I wasn't serious," he says.

Serena just grins.


Elsewhere in the Ren Fest, things are not quite as interesting for Robert, John, and Belladonna. John and Belladonna shop for curios, Belladonna showing a great interest in herbalism shops. John chain-smokes, declining food when Bella brings up the topic. More to Belladonna's consternation, though, John also declines bourbon when Belladonna finds a vendor who's selling it. Feeling charitable, Belladonna buys a round for everyone nearby, and then she and John wander over to the joust, which seems to be drawing a crowd.

Robert's quarry did not follow him into the ambush, so he gave up and just wandered the festival, amused at how these people spend their lives. Eventually the sound of trumpets lures him to the joust. In the distance he hears cheers from people drinking free bourbon, but his attention is focused on a familiar face on one of the horses.

"How'd you manage this?" Robert asks.

Scarpedin, mounted on the red knight's strong horse, shrugs. The jousting field is separated from the audience by a low wooden fence, with the seats divided into sections for each of the 8 knights. On the far side of the jousting field, a second floor stage seats the Ren Fest's king and queen, plus attendants. The red knight, looking remarkably Texan with his helmet off, laughs at Scarpedin. Terry and Serena stand in the front row of the seats for the red knight's audience.

Serena says, "He looks great. He's going to joust."

The red knight shakes his head. "No way. He might be good on a horse, but he can't joust without armor, and . . . heh . . . 'less you got a few thousand bucks, you ain't gonna find armor for him."

"Loan me yours," Scarpedin says.

Robert asks, "You want to do this?"

Scarpedin harrumphs. "Yeah. You got a problem with that?"

"Oh, no, no." Robert chuckles. "You're jousting. That's cute."

The red knights says, "Y'can't have my armor."

Scarpedin looks down at Terry. "Can't you fix this, Terry? Come on, Terry. Make him give me his armor. Use your magic, Terry."

Robert turns a casual, curious eye to Terry.

"Hey, Scarpedin," Terry says. "We kinda need to keep a low profile about that, y'know? It attracts attention."

"What are you talking about?" Scarpedin shakes the reigns. "I need armor if I'm going to joust. Just, like, charm him or something."

Robert interrupts. "Excuse me. You can do magic?"

Terry forces on a smile, starts to answer, then shakes his head. He leans close to Scarpedin and says, "You're going to get me killed."

"I'm protecting you from those other knights," Scarpedin says, waving grandly to the green, brown, and black knights. "Just make him give me some damned armor so I can joust."

The red knight is confused. "What the hell you talkin' bout, man?"

Rolling his eyes, Terry concentrates and

suddenly, everyone finds something else to do.

Cel phones go off and people answer them. Children cry out and distract parents' attentions. Ice cream drips and gets on pants. People hear their name called and look to see who it was. Like a wave sweeping across the crowd, everyone looks away for just one moment. Everyone except Serena, Scarpedin, and Robert. And when that moment ends and everyone goes back to whatever they were paying attention to before, Scarpedin is wearing red plate armor.

"Um. . . ," Robert says. He nods and says, "Hm."

Scarpedin cackles. "I told you. C'mon, Terry, do some more tricks, man."

Robert turns to Terry. "I could have sworn he wasn't wearing armor a second ago. In fact, I will swear that he wasn't."

Belladonna arrives just then with John. She sees Robert's confusion and asks, "What's the problem, boys?"

Grinning atop his horse, Scarpedin says, "Terry can do magic, and Robert's not handling it well."

Robert puts on a face of complete acceptance. "Oh, no. I'm fine. He can do magic. I'm fine with that.

"What I'm not so sure about is . . . you're going to joust? Yeah, that's what I'm worrying about right now."

To Scarpedin, Terry says, "You'll be fine. The armor's just an illusion, but I also put on a defensive spell to deflect attacks."

Terry looks around nervously. Serena's enthralled. Belladonna is asking Robert to explain, and Robert has the look people get when they just accept the impossible with a bit of crazy disbelief. John smokes a cigarette, impassive.

Scarpedin pats the horse and gestures toward the other knights. "Well, I'm gonna joust now. Wish me luck."

Serena stands up on the wooden fence, takes a silver pin out of her hair, and tucks it behind Scarpedin's ear. She smiles.

"A lady's favor. Good luck."

A chorus of 'good lucks' come up. No one quite pays attention to the real red knight, who has some objections. The joust is about to start, and they don't have time to change riders.

Trumpets blare, and Scarpedin Jones, knight of King Arthur's court turned modern biker from New Mexico, jousts for the glory of England. The Texans don't stand a chance.


End of first session.

I'm really enjoying your writing here Wickett. some great turns of dialogue have actually made me laugh out loud once or twice (and I'm not one of those LOL people). some clever, bared down descriptions make this one hell of a smooth read.

Keep it up.

Oh, and love the modern application of magic. The mass distraction was a nice moment. Ice-cream on trousers, calling names etc.

Write more! I am hungry for another update.

Spider

I'm not doing an update tonight yet, but I just wanted to post an idea I had. Some day I need to have a psychic paleontologist who discovers fossils of an ancient sentient dinosaur hero, whose death was so violent and tragic that the psychic pain has survived aeons, providing a clue to a cataclysm 65 million years in the making.

I'm glad you like it. I'm trying to balance the necessary 'getting to know you' conversations with more interesting, action-oriented events. Thankfully, O-Ji and Hamid (the players of Scarpedin and Robert) are just naturally entertaining.

(Due to a power outage, I lost my previous attempt to write this segment. I'm going to be a bit briefer than usual, out of irritation.)

October 29, 2005
11:45 am

Cheers follow the group as they leave the jousting field. Scarpedin carries a brass chalice given to him by King Henry as a reward -- with it, he can get unlimited refills of any soda or beer at the festival. It was the least they could do for Scarpedin exciting the crowd as much as he did; seriously, no one had ever managed to jump their horse over the divider fence and hit his opponent from the opposite side before.

"That was just cool," Serena says for the fourth time.

"It was easy," Scarpedin says. "But it would've been easier if Terry here had held up his weight. That magic was weak, man."

John, smoking perhaps his eighth cigarette today, asks Terry, "What's he talking about?"

Terry laughs, lying poorly. "Nothing. Nothing. I just, ah, gave him some advice."

John shrugs, already losing interest.

"Despite the fact that we're all already, y'know, together," Robert says, "I think we should keep with our schedule. Our schedule, where we said we'd meet at this Ded Bob show at noon."

Belladonna asks, "Why does it matter, Robert? We're all together, you said yourself."

"Because I like to keep to schedules," Robert says. "When I say, 'I'm gonna be at the Ded Bob show at noon,' I want anyone I tell," and then he mutters, "and anyone who overhears it, to know that I'll be there at that time."

"It is a good show," Serena says.

Robert gestures as if to present Serena as evidence that they should listen to him, which they do.

As they head toward Ded Bob's stage, they pass a recreation of a historical coin mint. Belladonna is talking about how crude some of the knights at the joust were being, when a loud voice gets their attention.

"Ohhhh, you ara werry good ata jackusu," squeals a Japanese man. "I trury appureciatedo praying wishu!"

The Japanese man is dressed in a fine gray business suit, and looks in his early thirties. He's sitting spread-legged on the ground in front of the mint, and across from him is a ten-year-old kid. They've just finished a game of jacks, and the kid walks away looking frustrated that he lost.

"Holy sh*t Terry!" Scarpedin says. "Something's wrong with that guy. Is he magic or something?"

"Calm down," Terry whispers. "I'm supposed to keep this discreet, you know?"

John considers the two of them. "There you go with 'magic' again. Seriously, what's up?"

Robert shakes his head. "It's nothing. They're just talking about magic. You should ignore them."

Suddenly, the Japanese man looks at the group and grins widely. "Hey! American touristsu! You a wanta pray a game?"

"Sure," Robert says. "This is probably the third weirdest thing I've seen today. Why shouldn't I play a game with an insane Japanese man at a Renaissance festival? What game?"

"Jackusu!" He starts setting up the jacks on the dirt. "You pray good, win prize!"

Meanwhile, the rest of the group is intrigued by Scarpedin's pestering of Terry about magic. Scarpedin wants Terry to explain his powers to the rest of the group, and Terry is reticent. Finally Terry does a demonstration of his 'appear behind you and tap you on your shoulder' trick.

Belladonna is intrigued but not frightened. "My nanny told me a bit about voodoo when I was growing up."

"Well," Terry says, "this isn't voodoo. It's more, um, British, I guess."

"You're from Chicago?" John asks. Terry nods, and John grunts with amusement.

Serena, the dark elf, is having trouble adapting to the existence of magic. She keeps shaking her head and squinting, like she's trying to disbelieve what she's seeing. Scarpedin just grins and tells Terry to do more tricks.

On the ground, Robert is making casual small talk with the strange Japanese man, distracting him while playing jacks. Robert wins just barely, and the Japanese man claps in congratulations.

"Anazha gamu! You are a werry goodo prayer!"

Robert says, "Wait a sec, you said I'd win a prize."

"I buy you tahki rego!"

"A turkey leg?" Robert asks. "Well, okay, not quite what I was expecting."

Scarpedin is hiding behind Terry, pointing at the Japanese man. "C'mon, Terry. What's up with him?"

Terry rolls his eyes, then concentrates on a spell. The Japanese man suddenly sits up straight and laughs, and Terry shakes his head.

"I can't get anything on him. He resisted the spell. I dunno . . . he's kinda creepy."

"F*cking elf!" Scarpedin says. He starts to reach for the map case slung over his shoulder, but Serena pokes him. He looks at her, notices she has on elf ears again, and he shrugs an apology.

Robert glances from the Japanese man to the group, then back to the Japanese man. "Hey, what's your name?"

Ignoring the Japanese man, Belladonna asks Terry, "Wait, you can use magic to see things? Can you talk to spirits? See the future?"

The Japanese man grins widely and laughs deeply, avoiding Robert's question. "Ho ho. I'ma justa Jyapanese touristo. I rike American gamesu! Boardo gamu to . . . ano, gomenasai. Nihongo ga? Iie? Sumimasen. Hai! Yes, ah, American boardo gamu, cardo gamu, and jackusu gamu!"

Terry, distracted by the strange man's shouting, tries to answer Belladonna. "Future, no. But yeah, I can talk to spirits."

"Like with a ouija board?" she asks.

At that, the Japanese man sits up straight, throws a hand into the air, and shouts, "Hai! Wiji-wiji! My a namu isa Wiji-wiji! Preasure to meetchu! Anazha gamu?"

"What game?" Robert asks. "And I still want that turkey leg. I won it fair and square."

Wiji-wiji ponders, then claps his hands and nods. "We pray Scrabburu!"

Robert looks around. "Scrabble? I don't see a Scrabble board."

"In pocketo. Reacha in pocketo, puru outa tokensu."

Scarpedin is freaking out again, and Terry steps clear of him to watch the exchange with Wiji-wiji more closely. Robert, resigned to not understanding what's going on, reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a handle of Scrabble tiles.

"Huh." He looks at them for a long moment. "You know, I'm pretty sure," he laughs, "yeah, I'm really sure I didn't wake up this morning and think to myself, 'Y'know, I really hope I can find some Scrabble tiles to put in my pants today.'"

"Pray," Wiji-wiji says. He gestures for Robert to toss the tiles into the air.

"Just . . . throw them in the air?" Robert asks.

Terry nods in understanding. "It's a divination. Don't worry, you should be safe."

Robert smirks. "Yeah, thanks for your opinion. Anyway."

With a shrug, Robert tosses the Scrabble tiles into the air, then steps back. They manage to all fall very close to each other, forming a rough line that spells out "M.A.R.I.E. L.A.V.E.A.U."

"I've heard that name before," says Belladonna. "Something to do with voodoo."

Wiji-wiji looks at the ground and the tiles, then back up at Robert, an amazed smile on his face. Then he grins knowingly and wags a finger at Robert. "You a prayed beforu! Nice husturu! You werry good prayer! Here. You won a prize!"

From the breast pocket of his well-tailored, modern business suit, Wiji-wiji pulls out a thin golden oval coin, a Japanese ryo, at least two hundred years old. Robert takes it, and then Wiji-wiji stands up, bows to them all, and turns away. A few of the group call after him in curiosity, but the strange little Japanese man steps into the crowd gathered at the coin mint and quickly vanishes from sight.

Very nice. I like the idea of throwing in real fantasy creatures at a Ren Faire. It's likely also easy for members on this board to identify with.

But I've never heard of any which serve Bourbon.