#367 Fantasy Folk

The gypsy had invited me to a gathering of her fantasy role-playing group about two years ago.  I hadn't been too interested, because I was thinking, like, the folks that play very intense games involving role playing?  She invited me again two weeks ago to one today (Saturday), and I decided to check it out.  She said to wear any of my ethnic outfits, and "any combination of your outrageous jewelry".

I'm glad I went.  It was interesting, and I really like the people, and the scenery.  Seemed like all the women had long free hair and nice smiles.  The fairies were easy to recognize - they had pointy ears and wings.  Everybody seemed to enjoy everybody else.  (It reminded me of what Mensa used to be like back before the tight-a$$es took control, back when there was an actual Washington DC Mensa kazoo band, with an official banner and everything.) 

The scenery?  Ah, yes.  The scenery.  I may be mature, but I'm not dead.  Strong thewed, long haired, high cheekboned young men striding about in flowing capes and open shirts and sword hilts aglitter, with soft leather boots cross-laced up to the thigh.  Ah, the scenery.... 

Pardon me while I muse on the scenery a bit....

I saw only a little story line role playing, mostly people just tried to stay in their character and era while they visited and caught up on each other's news.  I was amused that they spoke of sending each other "eagle mail", and speaking by "long-distance communication".

There was good food eaten on wooden trenchers, and home-brewed mead.  The gypsy's mead was delicious, smooth and sweet but not too sweet, soft flowery flavor.  I drank only a tiny bit because my past experience with mead involved horrendous headaches the next day, no matter how little I drank.  Late in the evening - too late for me to remedy my error and drink my fill - I found out that it's the sulfides in commercial mead that causes the screaming eyeballs - that homebrew won't hit me that way.  Well, next time I'll know.  I'll indulge.

There were musical people (bards and minstrels) and group singing, songs that everyone seemed to know.  There was an amazing eleven-year-old doumbek prodigy who had finger rolls and snaps down pat, and a feel for improvisation.  He was sitting on the floor of the screened porch playing the doumbek with about 15 adults sitting around the sides talking, when what appeared to be a parental type told him to "knock it off, people want to talk", and made him move out onto the lawn.  When the kid got up and took his drum outside, 2/3 of the people on the porch moved out to the lawn, too, and sat around him talking while he played.  I thought that was pretty neat. 

I left about 11:30.  Singing followed me down the road.  I'd been sprinkled with sparkly fairy dust.  I've been warned that I'll be finding it in my hair, my bed, my clothing, my washing machine, and my food for weeks.

I don't mind.

~~Silk