Greater Easthaven Playing the Fool

[Mina Straus]

Mina couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to the ren faire. It had to have been when she was a child and with her parents. She had a memory of a turkey leg the size of her arm, and not being able to eat it all. Now, she bit into a spit-roasted drumstick that was definitely bigger than a chicken leg, but not as large as she remembered. The dark meat, juicy and glistening, tore away in tender bits. She chewed, sucking air past her lips to cool her mouth.

Warm fat dribbled from the rend, across crispy flesh and down the pale bone to be absorbed in the paper napkin which held the turkey leg. She could feel the damp warmth against her skin where it soaked through. Just as long as she didn’t dribble any on her clothes, she’d be happy. To this, she swallowed and took another bite, leaning forward as she did.

Mina strolled as she ate, taking in the sights. A lute played from somewhere distant, plucking out a sweet melody. The tune familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She watched a troop of knights in full plate tromp past in ringing steel; they were cosplayers, or maybe LARPers, she didn’t really know the difference but assumed there had to be one. Or maybe it was just a different word for the same thing. There was a name for that, too, but her sleep-deprived brain couldn’t pin the word down.

The napkin wrapped around the turkey bone was sodden now, the fat congealing into something unpleasant in her fist. Mina took another bite, the meat cooler now. Laughter drew her forward and brought her to stage show; a jester in motley danced on stage and juggled knives. He joked with the audience as he did. It was a bawdy juvenile kind of humor that adults understood but children still laughed at.

The joke caught Mina by surprise and she laughed around a mouthful of turkey, coughing as some started down the wrong pipe. The corners of her eyes prickled with tears and she felt her face redden as she coughed the bit of meat into her palm.

Glancing to the person she found herself beside. “Almost died there.” She said, and chuckled through her embarrassment.

[Mathus Dascălu]

Although the Renaissance Faire was not his scene, it was also not not his scene. Mathus was best described as Renaissance Faire "Neutral"--he didn't dress up, but he also didn't disdain the day's activities. He'd come with a group, friends and families from his local parish, but had excused himself to take a tour around all the attractions alone. Amidst the costumed crowds, he found his mind wandering, playing down fanciful paths and wondering if this is what it would be like to walk a street in a fantasy world. What would his class be? He didn't know enough to say, but surely a werewolf made a formidable ally to any party.

But that was neither here nor there, not when there was food to be had. Naturally, the werewolf had fallen on the turkey legs like a, well, hungry wolf, and was already finishing up his second as he approached the stage. He tossed the bone in a nearby trashcan, and watched the show as he wiped his hands.

There was an actual jester was dancing about on the stage, showing off some fairly impressive feats of dexterity. Still, as distracting as it was, the sound of the woman next to him choking on her mouthful didn't escape him. The man looked over with clear concern, even going so far as to reach out a hand, hovering it behind her in case she needed a good slap on the back. She recovered before it came to that, though, and he smiled broadly, amused by the touch of morbid humor.

“You are in luck, I'm a doctor,” he said, his Romanian accent thick in his words. “But I would need to find your insurance card first.”

[Mina Straus]

Tear-brimmed and reddening, her eyes widened in mild surprise at finding a doctor amongst all this tomfoolery. Or maybe it took a second longer to pierce his accent. Mina’s mind raced and she stared dumbfounded for the moment, trying to conjure a comeback. She coughed, working the tickle from her throat.

The jester made another joke and the crowd burbled with laughter. Mina glanced towards the stage and then back to the doctor. Eventually, she smirked, bleary and exhausted. “I’ll remember that for my next bite.” Mina rasped, and chuckled at her own joke, not really thinking it funny but needing to show she was making light of the situation.

[Mathus Dascălu]

In the silence that followed, Mathus ignored the awkward twist in the bottom of his belly, grinning through it as the woman stared at him. It wouldn't have been the first time a joke didn't quite land--or perhaps she didn't hear him over the crowd, or couldn't understand him. Either way, it wasn't the end of the world, and he'd move on, but first was getting through the moment.

Fortunately, a moment later, she smiled, and the awkwardness of his cold open was replaced with quiet relief. He'd lowered his hand by now, slipping it back in his pocket, as he chuckled slightly and nodded. It wasn't a funny joke, and he didn't pretend it was (in fairness, his reply wasn't funny either), but he remained at a friendly distance. Absently, the werewolf noted that she looked particularly tired too, with dark circles under her eyes and other marks of ill-health.

“Good. But you are feeling okay?” he checked in, more soberly. “I can find you water.”

[Mina Straus]

His question held a quietly concerned quality she’d heard more often than she liked from others. Mina disliked the attention but knew the worry came from a good place, so unless she was looking to be rude, there was little to say. She smiled lightly, recognizing his concern, but showing whatever ailed her wasn’t something for him to be worried about.

Mina went to speak again, but her voice came out as little more than a rasp. That smile turned a bit self-conscious and she discreetly cleared her throat behind it. There was still a tickle right at the back. She thought to power through but relented. He’d offered, after all, and it seemed better that she was inconveniencing a doctor. She nodded.

“Actually, yeah.” She coughed and cleared her throat again, the tickle sharpening.