"Wow, look at all the boys! And I don't know any of them. I knew I should have gone to the Co-Ed Naked Padawan Party instead." I muttered as I dumped my tray of brownies next to this huge pile of carrots. "Did anyone bring beer to go with these?"
"Beer?" Elizabeth look at me warily, darted her eyes to the carrot batons, and looked up again.
"Carrots and beer, yeah, oh, nevermind. Hey, is that a Graeco-Roman wrestler?"
I asked as I surreptitiously brushed few flakes of glitter off the dessert and eyed up a piece of manhood walking by in a loincloth. (a/n: no, I don't know who that was. I'm having enough problems pretending to be myself here.)
Elizabeth and I, slightly distracted by the scenery, snapped out of our reverie as the sudden thwap of abused fruit assailed our ears. Looking down, I spied a squashed apple, its juice trickling onto the floor and heading for my bare feet. The sound of hurried footsteps and a frustrated shriek made me look up quickly.
Skidding to a halt just short of the apple, Wes appeared next to us, panting and handing Elizabeth another, unhurt apple.
"Here, you like health food." He smiled, speaking between breaths.
"What happened?" Elizabeth asked, shoving the apple back into his hands as Antigone stalked up to Wes.
"Nothing!" Wes shrugged and took a step closer to the food.
"Him!" Antigone huffed at the same time.
The four of us stood there, staring at each other as Hobbie walked up to us, rubbing his left thigh with one hand, holding what appeared to be an offending apple in the other. Pressing his lips together in a thin line, he deftly aimed the apple at Wes' shoulder and knocked his pal off balance. Silence still held us as we watched the little drama play out. I glanced at Antigone. She glared at Wes and Hobbie. Hobbie started to nervously finger the lace that edged the cuffs of his shirt. Visions of Naked Padawans started to dance in my head as discomfort coupled itself with silence.
"Well, look at that, Mar'E, people you know!" Elizabeth stated cheerfully. With a collective sigh of relief, we all broke down and smiled.
"Glimmer Girl!!" Antigone chirped, ignoring the grin of triumph on Wes' face. "You came as, ermm, yourself?"
She stopped, swept her eyes over my blue-green-silver shimmery sateen and glitter clad body and gave me questioning look.
"No, that would just be silly," I replied, shaking my sea-shell anklet in her direction, "I'm a Naiad."
"Oh, of course." Wes rolled his eyes at me.
"A water nymph. And let me guess what you are!" I pointed to Hobbie. "Lord Percy from Blackadder?"
"Who?" He frowned at me.
"Umm, Sir Walter Raleigh? Christopher Marlowe - right?" I egged him on, pressing one blue enameled nail to his chest.
"I knew you wouldn't guess. Hamlet." Hobbie sighed and lifted my finger from his waistcoat.
"Oh, and I wasn't even half-way through my list of renowned Elizabethans! OK, Hamlet, so then that makes Wes, Yorick?"
As I only got a few hard looks in response, I gave up at that point. Some days the wit does not flow like a fountain. After conversing for a bit, and determining that An'Arie had not yet arrived, I decided to take a walk over to the punch bowls. Getting a woefully small cupful of punch for Antigone, Hobbie and myself, I looked around the place. A certain musty, gray gloom hung about the corners of the hall. Otherwise, however, the sounds of errant musical notes and ringing laughter filled the place. It was, I must say, rather on the cheerful side. Casting a lingering look at the ceiling, which, I may add, was absolutely void of a disco ball, I thought a moment.
"Do you think," I turned to Antigone, "We could scrounge up a few candles?" "I guess, I'll have to take a look." She answered, running one finger around the edge of her cup.
"Candles?" Hobbie asked.
"Yes." I replied, wondering which part of that he didn't understand.
"Are you sure that's a good idea, something might burn." He stated and placed his cup down.
"Oh, gods, of course something will burn, the wick! Go on, smile, Hobbie." I
raised an eyebrow. "You ought to have come as Eeyore."
Continued in the Intermission