Hello beautiful people! I am sorry… there is only token action in this. Not nearly as blood-thirsty as we'd all like, but I'll make up for it, I promise!
Also… there's a teensy 'Easer Egg' and a 'Red Herring' in this chapter, which hint at the possible sequel. Will any of you spot it? Review or PM me if you think you know the answer!
(There will be a prize cameo of your choice if you're even 50% right, and I'll PM you if I can – sorry Guests, you're excluded unless you leave a detailed review.)
Disclaimers: I only own Kat and the other OCs, as well as the plot. So hands off!
Warnings: None worthy of mention for this rating… does this even really merit the M rating? *shrugs* Better safe than sorry.
When I awoke I tried to sit up, but a heavy arm curled around me was irrefutable evidence of Tristan's… move.
Oh crap.
I stretched and yawned loudly, then grabbed his wrist and tore his arm away, flinging it back with the blankets and jumping to my feet.
"Wha—?!" Tristan yelped, flailing about and looking around in confusion (a panic). He glared at me and I threw him an evil grin over my shoulder as I got dressed under the modest cover of my cloak. "You bitch," he growled, flopping back onto the pillows with a heavy sigh.
"Not my fault you decided I was some sort of pillow," I retorted. "And get up, I want to spar after breakfast."
That got a reaction. He leapt up, throwing off the blankets and swaying slightly as he recalibrated his brain around this new information.
"What kind of sparring?" he asked looking at me keenly as I flung off the cloak and started wrapping my sash around my waist. Then I laid in my throwing knives and trusty tent peg before clipping the kidney belt in place. I bounced on my toes to make sure nothing rattled or made a noise before hiding the tiny knife in my right boot and settling two dirks on my back. All ready to go. "See you at breakfast," I added as I walked out, leaving Tristan to his own morning routine.
Once at the tavern, I was once again engulfed in a group hug by Verica and Brenna before being ushered upstairs to see Vanora. "At least get me some breakfast!" I exclaimed, trying not to laugh as they propelled me up the stairs.
"Of course, how does bread and cheese sound?"
"Add a hot sweet drink to that and I'll sing your praises from the rooftops."
And then I was shoved through a door and was faced with a scene of… horror.
Vanora was glowing with maternal pride and—upon seeing me—incandescent fury.
"Where," she said in wrathful accents. "Have you been?"
"Um…" my eyes darted around, desperate to find something to distract her… and then I saw it—a tiny bundle on the bed. "Baby!" I exclaimed, pointing at it.
Caught off guard, Vanora's eyes snapped to her son in concern. "What about him?" she asked sharply.
"Congratulations?" I offered cautiously, edging closer.
Vanora seemed to relax—weird—and then smiled at me. "Oh Kat, he's the most precious thing in the world, you've no idea—"
"Yeah, and I don't want one either," I said, holding my hands out in front of me defensively. "Keep it away."
"He," Vanora said coldly, "is called Gilly." And with that she scooped up the infant and walked round the room to place him in my arms. Some latent cavewoman part of me apparently knew how to hold newborn babies, because my arms were moving without instruction from my brain. He was tiny, truly ugly (I'm not sorry, I happen to think all babies look like goblins) and staring up at me gormlessly.
"Um…" I stared down at this tiny life that I was wholly responsible for in that one—seemingly infinite—moment. "Gosh." I really couldn't think of anything to say. So I just entered into the most ill-advised staring contest of my life with the baby and tried to figure out how to escape.
Eventually, Vanora broke the silence. "So, what's with all the new weapons?"
"I'm not just a clerk, Van'," I replied, not looking up. "I also kill people."
"I've known that for ages," Vanora replied dismissively. "Do you really think I wouldn't notice? You move like Tristan and you've got the eyes of a wolf in your skull, girl." She smiled at me. "Which is precisely why I know you'll the perfect woman for him."
"Huh?" My brain was not working properly now that the majority of my attention was riveted on Not Dropping The Goddamned Baby.
"I'm saying that you two are well-suited to each other." She reiterated, finally relieving me of the mini-goblin child. "Here, help me with the sling, would you?" she laid the little monster on the bed and then picked up one of her shawls. After a little effort and much sniping comments, we got Gilly strapped to Vanora, snuggled against her chest. As we were about to leave Verica reappeared with my breakfast, mercifully sparing me any further nonsense about Tristan.
"Late," I muttered, snatching the plate before anyone could take it away from me.
"Stop whining, brat," Verica said with a sharp smile. I stuck my tongue out at her and then took a ridiculously large bite of the still-hot roll. Oh god, that was too hot! Eyes watering, I sucked in an agonised breath and started chewing furiously, hoping to destroy the lava-crouton that was trying affix itself to my hard palate.
"Kation, eat with your mouth closed, that is absolutely disturbing," said a voice from below. Swallowing quickly and wincing at the dough's scorching journey to my unsuspecting stomach, I looked down to see Cador staring up at me with a grin.
I held out the steaming bun. "If you're so brave and tough let's see you take a big bite of this thing then," I challenged.
"Verica, we need more buns," Cador announced. "I'm sensing a competition."
"Good grief," Verica laughed and looped an arm through mine and dragged me downstairs, Vanora on our heels. We were met with the sight of Galahad, Lancelot, Bors, Dagonet, Gaheris and Dinadan sitting together at a long table. They were drinking something that looked hot. Definitely not caffeinated, but I'd take what I could get. Maybe coffee's near-magical powers were psychosomatic after all.
Yeah, right. And squadrons of flying pigs did V-formations over the fort.
I sat down across from Cador at one end of the table, with Bors beside me. I clapped him on the back as I put my plate on the table. "Congratulations on the son," I said.
"It seems human enough, although I didn't check for a tail," was what I didn't add. But by all the gods it was tempting. Babies were a big deal to most people—especially their parents—so I had to bow to the trend if I wanted to avoid being killed violently and all over the place.
"He's going to be a good fighter," Bors said proudly. "Got his mother's eyes."
"And your lungs," Lancelot said, eliciting a collective chuckle from everyone else. Then Tristan appeared with Gawain, who looked a little grey. Brenna immediately offered him a large bowl of porridge which was attacked with every sign of relish—Gawain was the hungry kind, rather than nauseous—including little grunts of satisfaction.
Oh yes, they'd be very happy together.
Just as I had finished my first bun, Verica returned with a whole platter of them. Cador smiled evilly at me through the rising steam and picked one up. "Everyone, I propose a challenge of strength," he announced loudly, silencing all other conversations. "We must all eat one of these delicious buns in as few bites as possible. Other rules are that you aren't allowed to spit anything out, or drink any liquid until the bun is gone."
Everyone took a bun and eyed each other warily, but with much masculine pride and determination. I grabbed one too and wondered if the nerve endings in my mouth had been sufficiently cauterised already.
Only one way to find out…
"Ready?" Cador said. Everyone nodded. I was surprised to see that Tristan was also holding a bun and was giving me a hard stare. He knew something was up… and somehow he knew I was responsible for it.
"Go!"
In a fit of suicidal desperation I took a big bite and once again volcanic levels of agony tore through my head. It was like brain-freeze in reverse. Everything in my skull clenched, but I had to force my jaw to work harder. All around me were little whimpers and gasps of pain as the others also experienced the agony. Not waiting to recover, I swallowed the half-chewed mass and immediately stuffed the next third into my mouth. Peering through a veil of unshed tears, I saw that the rest of the table were suffering just as much as me: their faces a beautiful kaleidoscope of varying hues of pink and red, eyes bulging or screwed up and all jaws working furiously like little machines.
Needless to say I didn't win, but I didn't lose either. I'd probably burned the roof of my mouth right off, leaving only charred bone and other sooty signs of a fire, but I'd managed to beat Dagonet, Galahad and (most importantly in this case) Cador.
"There," I panted, taking a large gulp of the milk offered to me by an exasperated looking Vanora. "Now that I've toughened myself up, I'm off. Ta-ra," I winked at Cador and nodded to everyone else as I got to my feet. Tristan drained his own mug of tea and stood too. As we walked back to our room to fetch our weapons, I eyed him up.
Over six feet of highly trained muscle and raw battle instincts, tempered by a razor-sharp mind.
But despite being a foot shorter and much, much lighter than him, I had studied martial arts in an alternate (and supposedly fictional) universe for two hundred years. That rather took size out of the equation.
TRISTAN:
After fetching their swords from her room, they went to the training quadrant behind the Sarmatian barracks. Smiling broadly, she gestured to her other weapons, all still arranged neatly about her person.
"Shall this be a proper fight, or more of a test of each weapon?" she asked after a moment, choosing her words carefully.
"Let's just test your sword work for now," Tristan said warily. She looked far too… calm about this. No, 'calm' wasn't the right word. 'Proactive'?
Keen.
That was it. And Tristan loathed keen beginners. They were dangerous, because you never knew what they'd do.
But without a word, Kation stripped off her long dirks and placed them neatly in a corner with her outer cape-like tunic on top, to hide them from prying eyes. Now her spare frame was revealed, Tristan wondered if she had any fighting muscles at all. Or maybe it was just the way she stood, feet too close together, shoulders slightly hunched, makhaira hanging low at her side, the blade resting against her leg as she watched him steadily.
It was a stance that begged to be corrected. Good thing Tristan was such a merciless sparring partner.
He drew his own sword in one smooth movement and brought it around in a slow arc of readiness, holding it out in front of him. His feet moved without thinking, sliding into a stronger stance as he waited for Kation to bring the fight to him. No need to rush in and miss anything.
Then again… Kat's eyes seemed darker, somehow.
"Hey, what's this?"
Lancelot, carrying a chair, preceded Dagonet and Kahedin who walked slowly towards them. Clearly their resident healer (read: mother hen) had decided that Kahedin could do with some relaxing fresh air.
"Sparring practise by the look of it," Dagonet said, smiling slightly at Tristan. "Training your slave to follow you into battle, huh?"
"Something like that," Tristan replied evenly, keeping an eye on Kat to make sure she didn't pull a fast one on him.
"Had much practise, boy?" Lancelot said, and after setting down the chair for Kahedin, he leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. His smirk was condescending to say the least. Tristan knew that Kat had a few tricks up her sleeve, but suddenly he wanted her to wipe that look of Lancelot's face in a very thorough match.
Kation shrugged. "Some," she said. "Children have been going to war for centuries, after all."
"Oho, been in battle then?" Kahedin said, joining in the teasing.
"Once or twice."
"Bet you pissed yourself."
Kation looked disgusted. "You'll never know," she replied frostily.
Tristan was really starting to resent the audience's participation. "Unless you want to spar too, I suggest you butt out," he growled at them, inwardly seething at their amused expressions. But when his eyes snapped back to Kation, he was pleased to see that her features had been schooled into a mask of blank intent. Yet as he edged closer, Tristan began to feel the first twinges of uncertainty. Kation hadn't said anything or made any move to correct her stance.
"Are you taking this seriously, boy? Do something about your feet!" Lancelot called, only to be hushed by Kahedin.
Kation continued to stare at Tristan, shuffling so that she was standing squarely. But otherwise she hadn't done anything to indicate readiness. Finally, after a long moment, she spoke softly. "Do you want me to take this seriously, or is this just swordplay?"
"Call it a test of ability," Tristan said reasonably. "Try to land a hit on me. Anywhere you like." He was confident he could block it, and teach her something in the process.
KAHEDIN:
After another moment's hesitation, Tristan nodded and closed the gap between them with his usual darting steps, doubtlessly preparing to catch a wild swing with the back of his blade rather than slice her open in one of those twisting moves of his that simultaneously parried and eviscerated his opponents.
None of them could have anticipated what happened next. There was, after all, no warning.
One minute Kation was standing there looking like she wished she was back in Arthur's office, and the next moment she had crossed the space between them in a blur of movement. Tristan, to his credit, didn't panic but side-stepped as she closed on him.
Amazingly Kat anticipated the move and mirrored Tristan's action. Darting to the outside, she came up behind him and kicked the back of his right knee, forcing Tristan's leg to fold even as she grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back and down with her. Instinctively trying to regain his balance, Tristan twisted sharply, relinquishing his two-handed grip on his sword and throwing his left arm out to try steadying himself. But Kation was still turning and her swordflashed down in a deadly arc. For one wild moment, Kahedin could have sworn she was trying to cut Tristan's hand off, but the steel tip hammered down at the point where the guard met the blade and the force of the blow knocked the sword from his hand.
And just like that it was over.
Kation hadn't needed to land a hit on him, or even make a show of it—she had made her point. In another second she had let go of her grip on his shoulder and stepped away, face pale but perfectly composed.
"What was that?!" Lancelot screamed incredulously. "That wasn't swordplay!"
No it was not. There had been nothing 'playful' about that. Brief, practical and totally without any form or showmanship. That made it unbearably stylish in its brutality.
Tristan was clearly not happy as he snatched up his sword and turned to glare awfully at Kation, who was looking awkward again. She was actually cringing slightly under his stare. But in the tense silence that followed, he actually nodded. "Good job. Your opponents will always have the advantage of strength and weight."
Now even Kahedin was forced to gawp a little with the others as they stared at the pair. Kation's tiny smile said it all.
"Good gods," Dagonet mumbled in an undertone. "Now there's two of them."
No need to explain that.
Lancelot was shaking his head slowly. "I always knew the boy was wrong in the head," he muttered, pushing a hand through his curls distractedly. "So wrong in the head…" he turned an accusing look on Kahedin. "Did you know about this?"
"No," Kahedin answered. "I've seen Kat throw a knife and climb like a squirrel, but this is new to me." It was true too—while he had known Kation's killer instincts and reflexes he had no idea she could handle a sword so well, even if it was just a little one.
Lancelot shook his head. "All this time, and no one knew. The boy's too fast. Did you see his feet? Unreal. And against Tristan."
The scout was whispering to Kation at a distance from the rest of them, so Kahedin could only guess at what they were saying. But since Tristan actually seemed pleased perhaps he had taken exception to Lancelot's teasing and was glad that Kation had proved that over-confident, womanising git wrong.
"Again?" she asked Tristan. They both looked insanely happy… No, there were other, more accurate ways of describing their expressions: usually so blank-faced, their eyes were glittering brightly as small, confident smiles had etched themselves onto their faces. It was extremely sinister.
Tristan was nodding and that smile grew a little. Kahedin could see how well suited they were. He could actually read genuine affection in Tristan's gaze. And since they were both good people… mostly… or rather, they tried hard to do the right thing as they saw it, he could see how they found comfort in each other's' company.
Kahedin caught half a muttered sentence from Kation before they launched themselves at each other again, blades flashing and feet dancing across the hard-packed earth. The clash of steel rang through the air as they did their damndest to slice each other open. While Tristan had power and force, Kation had that terrifying speed and agility, meaning that both were constantly tested by the need to react in a way that was outside of their comfort zone. Then Kat spun away, leading Tristan further out, her eyes blazing and her mouth set in a hard line of concentration. Tristan bore down on her like the proverbial storm, but Kation kept her head and continued to dodge, refusing to be drawn into tests of strength and instead dancing around him, bouncing constantly on her toes and making it impossible for the scout to predict which way she would leap.
"What is going on here?" Gawain gasped. His voice was near a shout, but since the two combatants were too enthralled in their dance of near-evisceration, they didn't even spare their audience a glance.
"They're sparring." Dagonet said, looking resigned and unhappy. He always hated to see youngsters fighting.
"This is absurd, Kat will be beaten to within an inch of his life!" Gawain went on, trying to move forward, but Lancelot wisely caught his arm and held him back.
"I'd think twice," he said softly. "Those two are enjoying themselves and won't appreciate the interruption."
"She's having fun?" Gawain hissed, astonished and appalled as they watched the two continue their
"She said something about a 'super-awesome time'," Kahedin muttered, shaking his head. In another moment, Tristan had succeeded in landing a hammer-like blow to Kation's lower back with the flat of his blade. She staggered, then went into a roll, twisting round as she did so. Something flashed in her hand and Tristan froze, his sword checked in its overhead swing at Kation. In the momentary tableau they saw the small throwing knife in the girl's hand, ready to be hurled at Tristan if he intended to complete that blow.
And then she sprang onto her feet, tucking the knife away smoothly in the back of her wide belt and putting her sword away in its scabbard. "Fun!" She said cheerfully, slightly out of breath from all the exertion and ignoring the abject stares from everyone else. This extraordinary behaviour had better not become the norm, or the knights might start to walk in dread of 'Tristan's shadow'.
Looking back on it, after that fairly satisfying sparring match with Tristan the next few weeks passed in a sort of hectic blur of agonisingly tense waiting around doing the daily chores, interspersed with brief bouts of violent activity. The Batavians had been invited to the party…
"No way!"
"You can't be serious!"
"I'd rather eat my horse than let those bastards anywhere near this place!"
Arthur pinched his nose and then glared at me. I was leaning against the wall behind Tristan's chair, smirking since the scout was the only one who hadn't said a word of protest.
And so the knights were eager to train me up as an excuse to show off for when the Germans arrived…
"Now see here kitten, when I said I'd like to do some sparring with you, I didn't mean a death match!" Gawain howled, brandishing his axe in front of him defensively as I spun my dirks in my hands and advanced upon him.
And…
"If you're going to be sitting on a horse all day, you might as well sit there in pain!" Cador laughed maniacally, watching me do press-ups on the hard flagstones. Tears were mingling with the sweat that dripped off my nose and I grunted with each repetition. This was, indeed, pain.
Also…
"So, how do you feel about lances?" Dinadan asked me, his tone deceptively innocent.
I ran from the building.
Worse still, fatherhood had reduced Bors into a sentimental fool and all he was now extremely reluctant to stray too far from Vanora… this meant the rest of the knights were whinged at to swap patrol duties. It didn't work, but it made the daily grind of life at the fort that little bit more annoying. But worse than that was my unofficial job as babysitter. Apparently I had a natural aptitude for it…
"He won't stop crying!" Bors yelled over the infant's screaming and holding him out to his mother, who rolled her eyes at me and pointed at me. My hands were supposed to be full of carrots, but I was forced to set them down on a table in order to take the baby. I was supposed to be helping in the kitchen, but as soon as I had settled the tiny thing against my shoulder and cuddled him close with a deep hum in the back of my throat, Gilly hiccoughed explosively and then quietened with small grizzles of resentment against his sire.
Bors swore at me foully and stomped out. I rolled my eyes at Vanora and followed him out to the main part of the tavern, looking for Tristan who was sitting with Gawain, Galahad and the twins. Bors was looming over them and complaining loudly about his efforts.
It was simplicity itself to sneak up on him. "I would suggest practise, an even temper and a gentler voice," I said softly, right behind him.
Bors jumped and whirled around to glare down at me. "What the hell do you mean by that?" he growled.
"Babies are like horses," I said, while internally wondering if that was a fair description. "They pick up on a person's mood. If you're nervous, distracted, fidgety and noisy, Gilly will probably draw some alarming conclusions about the soundness of your mind."
Bors looked ready to explode, his face was puce and a vein throbbed in his temple. Hands flexing into fists at his side, he opened his mouth to scream, but I flicked my eyes meaningfully at Gilly who was contentedly watching the goings on of the tavern while sucking on his own pudgy fist. Bors let out a huge sigh and sat down looking almost defeated. "Here, let him hear your heart," I said and put the Gilly on his chest, carefully arranging Bors' arms just so. "If he starts to whine just rub his back and hum. Absolutely no shouting." This final point I strengthened with a stern look at the rest of the knights. "That goes for you lot too. Be good uncles."
They looked like I'd ruined their evening, but I honestly didn't care. I didn't want to be responsible for the little goblin either and I had no obligation to be his nanny since no one was paying me.
I retreated to the kitchen for the rest of the evening. Gilly eventually started to cry from tiredness and Vanora took both him and Bors off to bed early, leaving Brenna in charge. I was put to work as a knife-man, cutting up anything that was put in front of me before shoving it into various pots, pans and bowls for others to deal with. Nice and easy.
Because of the nature of this task, I had time to think. In particular, I had time to ponder the problem of Tristan. He had been increasingly… attentive. While still a heartless taskmaster, he was taking a greater interest in my day-to-day affairs despite not doing anything to make them more pleasant. Most of the time I was running errands or helping Amandus and Mato. Occasionally Arthur needed my mad skills with paperwork, but otherwise preferred to leave me alone. And since the rest of the fort had either seen or heard of my ability to hold my own against the ferocious Sarmatians, I was generally given a wide berth. This was an extremely satisfying reputation; anyone mad enough to challenge Tristan was clearly to be avoided. Or kept happy.
But now Vanora was convinced that we'd make a cute couple.
… Ridiculous.
Keep him at a fully-dressed, completely professional distance, I had once thought grimly. But that plan had already been shot down by having to strip him to his underwear to save his life on our very first day of acquaintance. Oh, he was good-looking enough, I supposed. On reflection, his handsomeness had struck me when I'd first found him—but since I'd been living with him for so long, his features were now simply familiar, no longer noticeably remarkable.
Another, more treacherous part of me said that I did indeed find cold-eyed, arrogant bastards attractive since I had managed to live with Tristan for nearly five months without murdering him.
Urgh… I did not need this. I had to focus. The Batavians were arriving at the end of the week and I had volunteered to go and escort them to the fort. Or rather, I had told everyone that's what I'd do. Needless to say, the response was mixed: Gawain had a fit of overprotective madness, Kahedin was sour and resigned about my new behaviour (I had the feeling he was entering Gawain's camp of hoping I'd become a lady), and Tristan was indifferent… in public anyway. I had the creeping feeling of certainty that there would be a lecture waiting for me when we were alone.
That same night, after I had finally finished my extra duties in the tavern, I had hoped to crawl into bed and sleep. As I mounted the stairs I heard a feminine giggle from the shadows above.
This wasn't an unusual occurrence—the knights were constantly picking up women. Usually I just marched past with my ears shut to the (often raucous) noises and fell asleep with a blanket over my head. Tristan seemed inhuman to such things and seemed capable of sleeping through anything.
Thus not paying attention I pushed open the door to our room, stopped, stepped backwards and quickly shut it again.
So much for Tristan having a heart of stone and mud in his veins.
Also, he had a really nice arse.
In a sort of speechless autopilot, I went to one of the empty rooms, grabbed a couple of extra blankets, and headed for the stables. On my way down, I nearly bumped straight into Kahedin who had finally managed to regain some autonomy.
"Not another argument!" he said in despair. "And to think you had been doing so well together…"
"We didn't have a fight, and we're not a couple." I said through gritted teeth. (Do not despair readers, I had not been rendered speechless for long.)
"Then why are you looking for somewhere to sleep?"
"Someone has company." I explained after a moment's hesitation.
"Oh…" Kahedin looked stunned and then incredibly angry. But seeing my uncomfortable expression, he gave me a sympathetic grimace. "Well, I'd invite you to stay with me, but I think Tristan might get round to wondering where you are. And then in a fit of jealousy he'd kill us while we slept locked in a tangle of limbs, naked and—"
He didn't get any further because I clapped a hand over his mouth. But I could feel his unrepentant grin under my fingers and couldn't help but smirk back. He was good at cheering me up. "Oh no, he'd wake us up and make us suffer." I replied casually, removing my hand.
"Huh. I guess you're right. Enjoy the stables, kitten." He patted me on the head and went to his room. I sighed and went to Tagiytei's stall—he was a better guardian than the rest of the fort combined. The horse greeted me with his usual slightly violent brand of affection before letting me sleep. I would have liked to persuade him to lie down with me, but he preferred to stand guard.
Randomly, my last thoughts before drifting away were that Tristan's ratty red tunic had to die. It was now more patches and stubbornness than whole fabric. But the obstinate prat kept on sending it to the washer-women and demanding it to be re-dyed red. I was tempted to ask him if it symbolised some emotional baggage that he wasn't ready to let go of.
A vision of the horrifying human pretzel I'd witnessed earlier flashed through my mind again. I shuddered and felt spite rise in defence of my sanity.
All the more reason to burn it, I thought savagely and drifted off to thoughts of arson. However, my treacherous brain saw fit to supply me with a very unhelpful dream/memory indeed…
I was in a café with my friends Emma, Jack, Sam and Luke. We had been chatting about inconsequential matters for some time when Emma suddenly stared at me in a distinctly calculating manner. "Tal'," she said, drawing the syllable of my nickname out into a near whine. "We need to talk."
"About what?" I asked, cheerfully taking an enormous bite of my double-chocolate muffin.
"Boys."
I choked on the half-chewed mouthful and began coughing explosively into a napkin. "Wh-what?" I squawked, looking about in alarm as all four of my friends wore looks of grave intent. Was this some sort of conspiracy?
"Yes." Sam added. "Consider this an intervention."
I wiped at my slightly watering eyes with the back of my hand and took a gulp of lukewarm coffee. "Excuse me?" and my voice dropped into the tone that in Narnia had made centaurs flinch and soldiers pray that I would be distracted by a dire emergency.
But these were my fellow postgraduates—hardened and undeterred by such horror-inducing tones of doom.
"It's for your own good," Sam added. I was amazed by their stubbornness.
"Please don't do this," I drawled. "I don't need your help."
"Oh you do—you've just been fobbing us off with 'Oh, you can't rush these things' and similar nice phrases." Emma said, her sweet voice laced with annoyance. "But we know you're just happy in your loneliness and that is not acceptable!"
"So we challenge you," Jack said. "Yes, challenge you, Natalya Trelawney, to bring a date to the department's Christmas postgrad' party. Failure to comply will result in a cessation of muffins, coffee and our peerless company until the New Year."
"Don't set an official challenge at me," I begged. "Friends don't do that to each other."
"Only true friends would," Emma said. "Now find a date and bring him to the party, or suffer the consequences."
"Fine, challenge accepted." I said, my tone deceptively light as I turned away with every affectation of nonchalance.
Fucking traitors.
After a pause, I felt I had to add something. "He's going to be so fucking awesome that you'll all weep with envy. Even you, straight male friends." I added pointing at Jack and Luke. They smiled indulgently but said nothing. Clearly they were all convinced I would either be unsuccessful or humiliate myself.
Then Barney the dinosaur rushed into the café with Big Bird, Denethor and Hawkeye in tow and all of them seemed to have become rage-zombies. So we were forced to kill them with our teaspoons and a (what-the-hell-is-this-doing-here?) shovel… Before I woke up with a start.
It was dawn and I had to set out to meet the Batavians.
*Thunderclap*
So… what on earth happened there? What was Tristan thinking? Let me know if you liked it anyway.