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Her dress was flowy and the Ren Faire was no place for her. It was noisy and complicated. People bustled and ran between the crowds. The multitude pressed in upon her. It helped little that the earthen floor was an uneven tangle of tree roots, muddy divots, and hard packed dirt. Serafina had lost her footing or tripped herself too many times in the last hour it was a miracle she hadn’t wiped out yet. The treacherous terrain made her hesitant and her passage cumbersome.
On the odd occasion she felt gravel beneath her boots, but those seemed few and far between, and mainly around the areas with the most traffic. Those turned out to the be the mercantile and tavern districts. Here, she rested with a large plastic cup of mead, sitting at one of the many tables. She kept the fingers of one hand pressed against the cup and felt the condensation gather at her fingertips. The touch was cool and gave her something to focus on. The conversation, the bawdy laughter, the constant scuff of wood against floor, against fabric, and against people was a distracting haze that she struggled to pierce.
This one cup of mead was more than enough to sate her thirst, and she’d probably not finish it all. The last thing she needed was her head spinning as she made her way back to the parking lot when she was ready to leave. Blind drunk wasn’t some cliché for her.
Serafina was nursing her drink when someone approached her table, she heard the crunch of stone beneath shoes, and spoke to her. The woman’s voice was young and struck a familiar chord, though with the crowd she couldn’t immediately put a name to it, but she caught the question.
“No, I did not.” She answered plainly, gently abutting the concern and refrained from an explanation. A woman preoccupied with her missing bag would have cared little for a reason why. She turned to the voice. “You are welcome to check.” Her free hand touched along the bench where she sat, feeling for the item, and doubting all the same that it would be in easy reach.
Her dress was flowy and the Ren Faire was no place for her. It was noisy and complicated. People bustled and ran between the crowds. The multitude pressed in upon her. It helped little that the earthen floor was an uneven tangle of tree roots, muddy divots, and hard packed dirt. Serafina had lost her footing or tripped herself too many times in the last hour it was a miracle she hadn’t wiped out yet. The treacherous terrain made her hesitant and her passage cumbersome.
On the odd occasion she felt gravel beneath her boots, but those seemed few and far between, and mainly around the areas with the most traffic. Those turned out to the be the mercantile and tavern districts. Here, she rested with a large plastic cup of mead, sitting at one of the many tables. She kept the fingers of one hand pressed against the cup and felt the condensation gather at her fingertips. The touch was cool and gave her something to focus on. The conversation, the bawdy laughter, the constant scuff of wood against floor, against fabric, and against people was a distracting haze that she struggled to pierce.
This one cup of mead was more than enough to sate her thirst, and she’d probably not finish it all. The last thing she needed was her head spinning as she made her way back to the parking lot when she was ready to leave. Blind drunk wasn’t some cliché for her.
Serafina was nursing her drink when someone approached her table, she heard the crunch of stone beneath shoes, and spoke to her. The woman’s voice was young and struck a familiar chord, though with the crowd she couldn’t immediately put a name to it, but she caught the question.
“No, I did not.” She answered plainly, gently abutting the concern and refrained from an explanation. A woman preoccupied with her missing bag would have cared little for a reason why. She turned to the voice. “You are welcome to check.” Her free hand touched along the bench where she sat, feeling for the item, and doubting all the same that it would be in easy reach.