"Me goodness, Anus, Bonzi's not been spotted since tha late eighties when Da last encountered him in Greece. What, in Monemvassia, wasn't it?" Murph cried, extracting the heavy Leprechaun log from his Connor Purse. It was an extraordinarily soft leather, but he would never tell Connor that.
"I believe so, Seamus. Wasn't he sitting on a high perch of rocks just watching tha Sea, as I recall?" Connor replied, as Murph began to thumb through the book much to the interest of the onlookers, who closely huddled around them.
"Ah, yes. Here he is. Bonzi O'Lattery, last spotted Monemvassia, Greece, 1982. Blimey, tha little bugger does travel. Oh, here Da mentions he was quite tha trickster." Murph chuckled, smirking at Connor.
"Oh, I believe it." One of the crowd piped up. "Whenever you shined a light on him, he would disappear."
"Aye, they're known ta do that. 'Tis a shame ye didn't have any warning from tha experts on how ta deal with his sort before he visited, because from tha looks of it, he defiled yer nice tree quite a lot." Connor answered.
"What do you mean defiled?" another person in the crowd demanded.
"Well, ye see those lichens there? Seamus will have ta take a closer look at them, of course, but it looks like Bonzi left quite a bit o'scat on yer tree there." Connor said, pointing.
"You mean that goddam leprechaun took a dump on the tree?"
Murph and Connor nodded, trying not to laugh.
"We'll be needin' a sample, of course, fer laboratory testin'." Murph said. "We have a DNA library of the leprechauns on file at tha Institute."
"The Institute?"
"Aye, part of tha conservation effort for tha leprechauns was ta set up an institute devoted ta tha study of them. Its headquarters are based right outside of Dublin. It's not a very large research center but we are very proud ta say it is staffed by fourteen full-time employees, includin forensic scientists, historians and paleontologists ta house and study fossils of leprechaun objects and such. We also have three healthcare providers on hand for tha little folk, when they require medical attention. Tweedle Potfiller had a bad run-in with an RPG when he was over in Syria. If not for tha Institute, we would have lost him. Glad to say old Tweedle's doin' just fine now and livin' in his own little cabin in tha western hills of tha preservation area. Just some minor scarrin'." Murph said as if on cue then looked down at the Leprechaun Log and began scrawling notes, drawing the tree and diagramming the site of Bonzi's appearance.
"I can't believe that goddam leprechaun took a crap on the tree! Little son of a bitch!" insisted the man, who had pointed out to Connor time and again that Murphy had been referring to him as "Anus."
"Now, sir, tha feces of a leprechaun is actually good luck. In tha old country, many people will take a bit of it and put it in a locket or a charm and wear it as a piece of jewelry. Much like tha reliquaries of tha saints." Connor said, drawing Murphy's attention from the book. Now that was a really good one, Murph thought.
"Yes, there's quite a black market fer such in tha old country. We have a special division at tha Institute devoted ta tracking down some of tha more ancient specimens. Among tha Irish, these pieces of jewelry become family heirlooms, ye see. Quite valuable. Often part of a lass' weddin' trousseau or her dowry." Murph added, not looking up from the Leprechaun Log and hoping his voice was not shaking too much with laughter. And the Irish were supposed to be the masters of straight-faced bullshit. How the hell could you keep a straight face with this crap pouring out of your mouth, he wondered.
"And how much do you think you could get for one of those charm pieces?" asked the guy who had been autographing the amateur sketch at the nearby table but had abandoned said table to listen to the tale of The Leprechaun Hunters, once the mention of a potential new money-making enterprise arose. At least Connor had not suggested they chew the lichens like tobacco for good luck.
"They're actually called 'Lucky Charms,' sir." Connor said, and Murph could tell his brother was about to lose it.
"Like the cereal?" a nearby child asked.
"Absolutely, wee one." Murph said. "Odd ye should mention it. We're quite certain that General Mills is in possession of tha largest Lucky Charm collection in North America. We believe it is what made their company grow to be tha massive food conglomerate it is today. Tha Lucky Charms truly do bring luck, ye see. Quite magical. But I am goin' ta have ta climb tha tree ta determine if Bonzi did indeed leave his veritable callin' card, if ye kin?"
"Don't you be stealing the leprechaun shit, mister! It's our tree!" shouted the amateur sketch artist.
Murph suppressed a laugh into a cough, as Connor did the same, and in doing so nearly dropped the camcorder.
"Well, you know there is another magical property associated with leprechaun excrement that these young men I assume just haven't gotten around to explaining yet."
Murph turned around and saw a tall, middle-aged woman he guessed to be in her mid-forties with smooth honey-colored skin, a raised brow and a smirk on her face. It was true, he thought. Leave it to a beautiful woman to make my mind go blank. And why are they always smirking at me? Because they know I'm full of shit. Oh Christ, here she comes, gliding toward me in her jeans and brown turtleneck sweater that fits in all the right places. Dammit, her smirk is getting bigger.
"What other magical properties?" demanded a creepy Lepreclown, also approaching Murphy.
Murphy shot Connor a desperate look as the Goddess of Crichton, Alabama peered over his shoulder and examined the Leprechaun Log, then chuckled. Connor's knowing look brought a blush to his cheeks. Dammit! And then the goddess was eyeing his crappy diagram of the tree.
"Would ye be talkin' about tha capacity of tha leprechaun leavins to regenerate if ye don't scrape them away in their entirety, ma'am?" Connor asked her with a wink.
"Yes, I am, Anus." She answered in a voice brimming with laughter. With one long brown finger, she pointed to the tree Murphy had drawn and whispered, "If you were one of my students, I'd give you a gold star for that drawing."
Murphy felt his cheeks burn.
"Mrs. Langtry, how does the poop come back by itself?" asked a small child in the crowd, who rushed up to her.
"Well, Amber, why don't you ask Seamus here? I am sure he would be happy to explain it to you, now wouldn't you, Seamus?" said the lovely Mrs. Langtry, who Murph guessed was the little girl's teacher.
Never one to back away from a challenge, Murph cleared his throat and spoke, despite the fact he had begun to sweat profusely. "Well, it's quite simple to understand if ye believe in tha leprechauns and their magic. Wherever they go, they leave a bit of themselves. Of course, it may be in tha form of fecal matter, but even their fecal matter is magical. So, wee one, when a leprechaun chooses a spot as his sanctuary, whether permanent or temporary, he will mark it, and from then on, his charms will remain, if we humans don't take steps ta completely remove his precious magic from that place. Tha leprechauns are a generous folk with their magic--can be a bit stingy with their gold though--but they don't mind sharin' their magic manure. So, if ye take care of that tree there and don't scrape too much of tha leavins of Bonzi away, what he left will always return in time and grow perhaps, should ye be very lucky."
"So just how much can you take?" demanded another Lepreclown. Weeping creeping jesus, they were creepy.
"About half of it, I'd say. But only from tha edges, wouldn't ye agree, Mrs. Langtry?" Murph smirked into her face.
"Definitely."
"But first, I've got ta determine if tha feces is really there."
And thus began the climb.
The shoes clearly had no traction. And his wool cardigan kept getting hung up on the bark of the tree. And, no, it was not funny that someone's loose dog stuck its nose in the seat of his pants when he was trying to shimmy up to the lowest limb. Oh, but everyone let out a laugh at that. At least Fido didn't take a bite out of his bum. And that stupid Hanna Hat kept falling in his eyes. He threw it down on the ground. Two little kids started fighting over who got to try it on first. Connor yelled up at him that the limb he was getting ready to step on would not support his weight—
He had taken bigger falls, but in front of much smaller crowds. He knew he could not yell his usual string of obscenities in front of the children and the lovely Mrs. Langtry. Most of the crowd was agreeing that Anus should climb the tree. Apparently, Anus looked like he could climb a tree better. Someone said Anus' butt wasn't as big.
"Perhaps ye need some rope, Seamus." Connor suggested with a grin, as Murph got back to his feet again from the muddy spot in which he had fallen. Oh, you and your fucking rope, Connor, he thought.
He broke four branches on the way to "The Bonzi Branch," which fortunately was sturdy enough to hold him. Despite being covered in mud from his fall, with leaves in his sweater and hair and smudges of dirt on his face, he had reached his goal. He was sitting in The Leprechaun Tree.
The crowd let out a cheer. Connor snapped pictures as Murph grinned for the camera.
But when he looked down and saw so many Lepreclowns staring back at him from so far below, a mixture of nausea and total panic set in.
A/N: Regarding someone being so tacky as to say that Murph's posterior is larger than Connor's, this does not reflect my personal opinion or knowledge. This comes from a video I saw on youtube with Norman Reedus talking about filming BDS comparing his backside to SPF's. I just couldn't resist. Thanks for reading and reviews are always appreciated and enjoyed. Beware of those creepy lepreclowns! Cheers, Bel.
