Renaissance Festival: (noun) 1. A loosely historical re-enactment
celebrating the middle ages, the renaissance, or various works of
science-fiction/fantasy. 2. Where all the geeks go after the
convention is over.

The way we got stared at, you'd think the gas station attendants had never seen a woman in a frilly blouse and bloomers pump gas - or in my case, buy a package of pixie stix and a coke - in their sad little provincial lives. What did they expect, when it's very uncomfortable sitting in a car for more than a few minutes laced into a bodice? I've found it's always fun to react either indifferently or indignantly to those who gave us looks on the weekends we drove up to the Renaissance Festival. The only mundanes who could act appropriately blasé were the toll-booth attendants on I-94 who had certainly seen enough oddly garbed rennies drive through their booths. Either they understood the difficult-to-explain draw of an event which encouraged you to dress like your favorite D&D/historical character, or we bored them.

We parked the car in the makeshift lot just as Sally pulled up, waving and honking excitedly. Oh, great. We thought we'd be safe that weekend, since Nicole's father had warned her that parking her precious Escort in a grass-paved parking lot would cause it to explode. Our Valedictorian friend had believed him wholeheartedly, but apparently, Sally saved the day, and drove them both to the faire. De and I exchanged looks, took a deep breath, pasted smiles on our faces, and got out of the car.

De opened the trunk, and already Nicole's voice began to grate.

"Wow, I didn't think you'd be back this year!" she said, as I pulled a basket full of clothes out of the trunk. I pretended to be engrossed in untangling the skirts when I replied.

"Now why wouldn't I be here? It's a fun place, and besides, where else can I wear these clothes?" I queried, holding up a maroon and black bodice that laced up in three places.

"Well, I just thought that with your ex- working here and all…" Sally cleared her throat loudly, and I looked up from pulling on my hoopskirt and grinned joylessly.

"This was my place before I met him, and it remains my place now."

"So, should I wear the sword?" De averted Nicole's imminent demise once again, "I'm wearing the plumed hat and the breeches, but I fear the sword may be too much."

"Just make sure you peace-tie it," Sally offered, "Or they'll put one of those twisty-ties on it to ensure that you don't get drunk and draw it on anyone."

I transferred my wallet, camera and other necessities into a small basket I could carry with me and threw my loosened bodice over my head as De and I started walking to the front gate. Naturally, Nicole and Sally followed.

As we approached, we could see the comforting sight of more people like us - dressed in many different fashions. Mingling among those more appropriately attired for a 20th century summer day were young girls with older sisters princess-y bridesmaids dresses on. A woman in a near exact reproduction of a gown I've seen in a Holbein painting. People who looked like they had just wandered off the set of "Xena". Fellows in Viking helmets and pelts. Men who could wear a cod-piece with panache, and those who were still somewhat unclear on the concept, and wore long shirts with tights that were far too diaphanous to be appealing. Ah yes - among these people, I felt normal.

"It's just that I don't think it's a good idea when you know he's going to be here," Nicole continued when we stopped in the crowd, "and you know you're not over him."

"Oh really," I started, tugging my laces taut and I turned to a gentleman wearing velour stretch pants and a pirate shirt, "Sir," I said sweetly, "I'm trying to tighten my laces, but I think it takes more hands than I have to do it properly - could you hold these?"

He was more than happy to oblige, so I lifted my ample bosoms and dropped them into his proffered hands. The poor benighted soul blushed to his receding hairline, but still held my chest up most courageously as I finished lacing myself in.

"Thank you, my Lord," I smiled and he stammered a bit and presented me with an awkward bow.

"Sir Scott, at your service, fair maiden," he stammered, as I smiled winsomely in return and turned to face Nicole.

"Still think I'm not over him yet?"

When the gates opened, we flashed our season's passes and wandered right into the first courtyard, where various jugglers, gentry, madrigal singers, pirates, dancers and knaves cavorted for the benefit of the paying public. I scanned the crowd, looking for the familiar faces of people I had worked with in my previous years as a performer. With an untrained eye, it was sometimes difficult to tell the difference between a performer and an enthusiastic patron, but there were ways of knowing. For instance, I wore far too much black to be a performer, who aren't allowed for reasons never fully explained by the costume directors. And even a finely garbed gentleman such as the one I was now feasting my eyes on could be seen as a patron due to his lack of a hat.

De and I said our hellos, but I kept turning toward the man in the sand-colored tunic and leggings, heavy rough-woven cloak and a simply gorgeous pair of leather boots. Some people might have singled him out as being a patron just for the long thin braid he wore down his back, but odd hairstyles are no true indication of patron status.

He stood near the fountain and kept looking around as if he were lost. Whether this was tugging at my heart-strings, or something a bit lower was getting manipulated, I didn't know, but I thought that my expertise might make his experience at the faire a bit less confused.

"My lord, are ye lost? Searching for someone?" I asked in a dusty generic English accent.

"Aye," he replied, "I am searching, but I fear I'll not find the man I seek." His accent was perfect. As if sensing my impending attraction to yet another faire freak, De moseyed over to where we stood.

"Care to introduce me to your new friend?" She asked skeptically, hand resting on the pommel of her sword.

"He doesn't work here," I explained, "and I'm sorry - I didn't get your name."

"Uh… Ben." He didn't sound too sure of his own name, but since none of us use our real names while in garb, I let it slide.

"Danube, meet Ben." He flicked his wrist to flip the sleeve of his cloak out of the way and extended his hand to her. Instead of taking her hand and kissing it, he gave her a firm handshake. He was definitely a newbie at this faire thing. "And I'm Ophelia," I offered, admiring his grip.

"Look, if you need help finding someone, we can do it - we know this place like the back of our hands." I glanced at De, who no longer regarded this man suspiciously. Ben sighed loudly and answered.

"Well, this is a rather wretched hive of scum and villainy to be wandering about aimlessly. Yes, I do believe I could use your help. I'm looking for someone evil. Where am I most likely to find someone bent on destruction?"

De and I grinned simultaneously.

"Have you ever seen a joust?"

We took our seats on the bench nearest the tilt-yard fence. This way, we could also get up and cheer most raucously if the audience was less than energetic. Ben took in the crowd thoughtfully and the knights started charging into the yard on their mounts. There was Matt - er, Sir Matthew, in the blue and gold. I knew him. And Mark, in green and silver, trailed by his squire. I knew him. Oh, yes. The bastard. I spat as Alan followed his knight around the yard. Henry came out next, in gold and black, and last but not least, the largest of the knights, whose side we were on, came flying out of the stable. Lord Morgan, (a.k.a. Jason) resplendent in armor burnished black, with a red plume. Ben gasped and leapt to his feet as Morgan's horse, also decorated in red and black, wheeled around the corner.

"It's him! This is the man who attacked my master! He is Sith!" he shouted, and I saw his hand go to something inside his tunic. Oh dear.

I jumped from my seat on the grass to stop him, and De looked at me in an "I-Told-You-So" tone of voice, and I attempted to get Ben's attention by tugging his little braid.

"Ben, I know the joust is exciting, and it's cool that you get into it this much, but if you draw your weapon, they'll make you peace tie it with a tacky plastic twist-tie. Although I'm sure Jason appreciates your enthusiasm."

Just then, Jason knelt before the Queen's dais and took off his helmet. Ben's grip on whatever sword he had under his cloak loosened and he let out his breath.

"Now I see why Qui-Gon tells me to be patient," he said thoughtfully.

"And he's right," I improvised, taking his arm and leading him back to the bench. De smiled and shook her head.

"But I don't see how they can properly train their Padawans when the knights themselves don't even fight properly," Ben remarked as we walked away from the tiltyard. It was obvious that he was getting into the spirit of the faire, as he never seemed to drop character or accent. This could only be fun for a certain amount of time, but I played along.

"No, the Padawans are rather poorly trained, and ill-behaved, if I do say so myself," I added.

"And the Padawan of Mark - the green and silver one - is scandalously disrespectful, even going so far as to take advantage of many women!" De goaded him, and I giggled.

"A proper Padawan has barely any time for even one woman with all the training he must experience. One who takes advantage of many, and is disrespectful at that is as reprehensible a wretch as lives!" Ben spat.

"If I may," De whispered conspiratorially to Ben, "He hath mis-used Ophelia past the endurance of a block!"

As if on cue, Alan the Wretched began walking our way.

Mistaking my lack of edged weapons pointed at his nether-regions for forgiveness, (or, more likely, forgetting he had done anything wrong) Alan smiled and approached me with open arms. Ben lunged into his path, hand going to his weapon again.

"If you touch her, I will crush you, grind you into tiny pieces, and blast you into oblivion," Ben threatened, the lightness in his voice belying the violent spark in his eye. Alan stood with his mouth gaping open like a trout, too confused to do anything. Luckily for him, De broke out laughing and we all left the wretch standing there alone and confused.

We had to buy him lunch, as he only had "The Republican's Credit Card" or something like that. A likely story, but his performance so far had warranted at least that much pay.

"Oh, please don't use the plastic fork, Ben," I begged, "you're in such a good costume that to see you with a paper plate and plastic fork is a total bungee cord," Ben regarded me quizzically. "You know - to snap you back to the 20th century." I took a scrap of cloth out of my basket and tucked it around his plate so you couldn't see any paper peeking through. We had no extra utensils with us to replace the fork, but De generously handed her eating dagger to him.

"I'm eating chicken-on-a-stick," she explained, "and he needs the dagger more than I do."

He looked at the dagger thoughtfully, and then skewered a piece of beef with a precision that told me he was used to eating with knives. I watched him eat until De elbowed me in the ribs.

"Have some mead!" I offered, pushing my tankard to Ben, who looked rather thirsty. He drank the sweet honey wine in gulps before he realized its full effects, and passed it back to me with a grin.

"Danger. Nicole and Sally alert!" she mumbled. I looked over at the beer tent, and sure enough Nicole and Sally were in line. Nicole had traded her shorts and T-shirt for a chain-mail bra and a pair of harem pants. She wore a mail headband which seemed to squash her hair and the upper part of her face, and topped off the ensemble with a pair of Ray Bans. Behind her was Sally, in a much more appropriate pair of breeches and peasant blouse. Beside Sally was Sir Scott, the Bosom-Holder. He turned and saw me, and waving wildly, alerted Sally and Nicole of our presence. De visibly slumped on her bench, but alas, was not invisible to the gruesome-twosome - or was that threesome?

Scott sat down on the side of me not being currently occupied by Ben and tried to look into my eyes, a feat which is rare among men who don't constantly see women in low cut blouses and gravity-defying bodices. Still, he managed pretty well. He attempted conversation.

"I hope you haven't, uh, been needing to, uh, readjust your bodice too much," he stammered. I was bored with the conversation.

"Don't worry your fuzzy little head over it," I said as I tousled his buzz-cut, "I'm fine, and I was just leaving to shop. Ta ta!"

We showed Ben where the privies were, and then stopped by the shops around the area to pick up a few things we had been coveting for years. Both of us bought leather gauntlets, impractical as they are, since they looked so cool. We bought some honey and candles from a local candle-maker. De bought a new hat and I bought something I'd had my eye on for some time - it was much cheaper than the gauntlets, although there were only a few places I could think to wear them. Still, a cute pair of horns set on a headband had always been what I wanted. I tied them on and De rolled her eyes.

It wasn't long before Ben came out, but he took one look at me and blanched. He stood stock still in front of the privies and stared at me. I turned to De frantically and asked if I had anything hanging out of my nose.

"The horns!" he said at last, approaching us cautiously.

"Oh please don't tell me you're one of those bible-thumpers," I said, rolling my eyes. "Look, I'm not a Satanist. I'm not into Black Magic. These are just pretend." De untied them for me and I took them off.

"No, I'm sorry," Ben replied, obviously relieved, "My instincts didn't tell me you were of the Dark Side. I should have listened to them Still, an odd choice."

"I'm an odd kinda girl!" I grinned and Ben took the horns out of my hand and replaced them with his own hand.

"Have you found who you're looking for?" I asked, since unless evil was located in the privy, he seemed to have forgotten his original quest.

"No, I've just decided that sometimes even the most obedient of Padawans needs to stop and enjoy life when there is nothing that can be done to fight the Dark Side." He grinned a lopsided grin at me and I thought I might melt.

What I'm sure was a dippy smile on my part was cut short when I saw De rolling her eyes in my direction. We were all cut off when that old charmer, Sir John Harington, turned and gave a courtly bow to De. What made him so fixated on her to the exclusion of all others I'll never know. It was always a source of irritation to me when he'd come and play all Courtly and Noble and Romantical with her and totally ignore me. Well, this time I was with a male-type, so there!

Now it should be said that Sir John was a stunning man indeed, (unlike his doppelganger, Rick, who was a little dumpy) and already a crowd had begun forming around us. Sensing this as a good moment to Play with Patrons, Sir John began his demonstration, using De, as usual, as the target.

"Men - the gentlemanly art of kissing hands has long been a lost art which must needs be revived. Observe what I do," and Sir John took De's hand gently and lowered his lips to her knuckles, eyes not leaving hers. He kissed, De fluttered obligingly and not taking his eyes from her, continued his lecture, "Eye contact is the most important thing. The eyes communicate what the lips cannot dare say." And he lowered his lips once again to her hand.

"Now, we need a volunteer to show the proper technique. You, sirrah, and your ladyfriend," he indicated Ben and me. Under any other circumstances, I would hate Sir John for his assumptions, but I had no quarrel with him at this moment. Ben gave me a gentle reverence and took my fingertips in hand. He slowly lowered his face to my fingers, but true to form, did not even for a millisecond look away. I stopped breathing as his lips got closer to my knuckles, but just as they were about to graze my skin, he deftly turned my hand over, and placed his soft lips on the tender skin of my wrist. They lingered there for what seemed an eternity, his eyes not leaving mine, and I felt his hot breath as he began kissing his way up my arm.

A giggle broke the silence and the spell was broken. I blushed, Ben took his lips off my arm, and straightened up. He kept looking into my eyes though, and gave me the cocky grin that made me feel like falling right into his arms. Slowly patrons began to wander off, and even Sir John and De melted away. Ben led me to the base of a huge oak tree.

"So what have you got in the basket," he asked.

I pulled out a recent purchase, unscrewed the lid, and, lacking a suitable utensil, plunged my finger into the jar. "It's whipped honey," I said, as it dribbled off my finger-tip and into my mouth.

"May I try?" he asked, and took my hand again, this time placing my honey-covered finger in his mouth and sucking the sweet liquid off.

Oh dear god. I cannot feel like this in public. I cannot make the noises I want to make with all these people standing around!

His tongue swirled around my finger, warm and soft. I withdrew it quickly and pressed my mouth to his. He was sweet, tasting of honey and mead. His tongue thrust gently into my mouth as we kissed passionately. My left hand reached for the side of his face, caressed his hair, flitted behind his ear and came to rest on the long, narrow braid. He removed his lips from mine and covered my left hand with his, squeezing my hand tight around the braid.

"I have been distracted," he sighed, "and have hardly begun to look for the man I promised my master I would find." His face fell, and I could tell he was nearly as disappointed as I.

He gently placed my hands back in my lap and pushed his braid behind him. "I must leave now," he said, rising up.

"Sure," I said, trying desperately to be cool. Such was the nature of Faire lust - fleeting and not altogether satisfying, "It's just about closing time anyway."

He helped me up and I wondered how good I was at hiding my heartbreak. One last chance, I thought.

"You can at least walk me to the car," I smiled, "Surely your master won't begrudge you that."

"Yes, a few more moments won't hurt," he said, obviously happy to have an excuse for perhaps a little more snogging.

We wandered out, his arm around my waist, my heart beating double-time. Most of the patrons had left and the parking lot was sparsely populated. I did see Nicole in her normal clothes, packing up Sally's car. With them was Sir Scott, who spotted the two of us and turned away without saying anything. It was getting a bit chilly, and I was glad for Ben's warm body to lean against.

De looked up as she dug through her trunk for an appropriate jacket.

"Nice of you to join us," she said, and waved over her shoulder to the gruesome threesome as they pulled out. "I didn't want to mention it before they left, but how would you feel about hitting Perkins tonight? And you can bring your friend," she smirked.

Perkins sounded like a good idea. I was hungry as hell, and it was worth asking Ben - I had gotten him to come this far into the parking-lot.

"What do you think, Ben?" I asked, hoping he had as little willpower as I did, "You must be hungry. Dinner's on me."

Ben looked thoughtful. I might have him! I shivered a bit as I started thinking hard. I had never wanted to be telepathic more than I did at that instant.

Come on, Ben, you're hungry, you want to join us for dinner, and then later maybe some sex. It'll be fun, I promise.

Seeing me shiver, De tossed me the pleated black cloak I had kept in the costume hamper of her trunk. I put it on and pulled the hood over my head and turned to face Ben, smiling as seductively as I knew how.

Ben gasped and took a step back.

"Where did you get that?" he said coldly. It weirded me out a little.

"Oh this old thing?" I chuckled.

"Who gave you that cloak?!" Ben demanded, his hand reaching for the weapon underneath his own cloak. I stared at him. How could I answer? I wanted to cry. I stepped forward to assure him that I cared - to comfort him, but he took another step back.

"Are you Sith?" he asked quietly, his eyes not meeting mine.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I replied, gulping and slipping out of the cloak.

"Please, tell me truly," he whispered, his voice breaking, "are you Sith?"

His eyes met mine, and I answered truthfully, "No. I am not."

"You speak the truth." He stated, his shoulders falling as he turned and walked away.

We stood there for a few moments silently, and then finally I scooped the cloak off the ground and stuffed it back in the trunk. On some days, I remember Ben as another mentally unbalanced faire guy that I should never have gotten involved with. On other days, I can't remember anything but the honey.