Disclaimer- own this, I do not!
Chapter 1
Scottish Fog Sucks...
Ivette groaned as she looked outside at the fog curling around the window panes. "This sucks." She stated matter of factly.
"Language, dear," murmured her mother absently as she tried to operate the propane stove delicately. They had only been in scotland for a week or so, and were adapting rather nicely. They had a whole three weeks to go. Ivette did like scotland, just not the fog. And the wet, and the rain stunk to. But she delt rather nicely all in all. Especially with her camera. Ah, yes, the camera was all powerful, and she adored it just like her right arm. It was precious to her.
Her father strode in with a mile wide grin on his red moon-like face. He was the biggest person she had ever known, and that was no exaggeration. Tall and burly, he seemed to take up the whole little van that they drove. "How can you complain on this glorious day?" he boomed out. Ivette glared significantly at the window. "Ah, well, you canna mind the weather can ye?" He had also adopted the local brougue, and it drove his wife mad.
"I can," muttered her brother as he slouched into the room. "I had a date all planned out for today, and this grey shit is ruining it." He glared at the window as mother berated him for swearing.
Ivette grinned, and when her mother was back at the stove and not paying attention, she pulled a face and whispered, "At least it's not white shit." She whispered, because, although she was eighteen, her mother still held sway, and she was the almighty law.
"Ivette, your language." And she still had it.
Breakfast was set out and every one ate, the disgruntled boy shoving eggs down his gullet until his mother gave him the evil eye. Ivette finished and swooped up her camera while sailing out the door. "I'm gonna go take some pics," she called. "Don't wait on me."
"Wasn't planning on it." was her brothers reply. She grinned and began running down the hill at the base of their rented cottage, barely managing to avoid falling over the low stone wall some idiot had placed there.
Paradise. That was the one word that described the scene surrounding her. The fogged had thinned out to a dancing mist, and gave a glimpse to shadows and ghostly figures moving about. Shck, went the camera, and a lovely moss covered stone boundery wall was captured on film. She had forgotten that she didn't like moisture in the air, in favor of bigger imaginations. Perhaps she went a little too far from where she was planning on going. All she knew, is that when she finally put down her camera (Lucy, she had dubbed it), things looked... different, somehow. Younger. And yet at the same time, the old impression that she had gotten from the scottish landscape.
She stepped forward, and had to crouch for a moment as a dizzy spell hit her. She took a few deep breaths, then carefully stood up. "Woah," She said to the empty air. "That was different." She took a few more steps to clear her head, and froze. A dim clanking sound echoed in her ears, and the hairs stood up on the back of her neck. She was being watched.
"Who's there," She shouted. "I know Ti-bo, and I'm not afraid to use it." She struck an akward karate pose and wobbled a bit on one leg for a moment. Then her demands were met. Fifteen, twenty, thirty men came out of the mist and stared at her. What was weird was not that they were staring at her so intently, although if she had any sense, she probably would have run at that, but it was the fact that the were all wearing... armor? And dresses! Ivette cleared her throat and tried not to look like she was thinking, which was, "Oh my god, I have run into the scottish cross dressers activists." But then she actually looked at the armor and then thought, "Oh, right. Gay rights traveling entertainment troupe (1)!" "Sooo," She said aloud. "Sup?" Silence. "Do you speak english?" One of the men stepped forward and Ivette had to fight the urge to shout, "Huzzah!" He looked just like every movie of those wierdos that prance about and shout about the round table (2).
"Who art thou?" Was the question asked.
"Eh?" was Ivette's clever reply. The man frowned darkly.
"What art thou, art thou a witch to have come throughest the mist unseen?"
Again, Ivette's reply was a lame sounding, "Eh?" Then her brain finally returned from the bathroom break. "Oh! Shakespeare," She cleared her throat and began to communicate. "I ameth the lady ofeth the Americaneth placeth in the westeth." Try saying that five times fast. The men looked at her weirdly, as she grinned stupidly. She was so proud of herself. "See? I do pay attention to my english classes. So what're you guys up to?" Another "Huzzah!" guy moved to the first man's side and whispered something in his ear. Let's us listen in shall we?
"She worketh upon my mind strangely," #2 whispered.
"Aye," Said #1, "We shall haveth to taketh this witch to York for judgement."
"And then?" #1 shrugged.
"I know not what the governer of York would say of this, we shall have to wait."
Fast forward a few miles.
Ivette looked up from the stone ground to see a bug eyed wierdo.
She had been draged through the misty bogs tied up, and that had confused her, but she hadn't complained. She was pretty certain that this was some sort of ritual that they all went through, and was not really worried. But when she had seen the great stone walls she had begun getting uneasy.
Authors note- I cannot write any longer, for my brain has begun leaking out of my ears and I cannot stop it. But do not worry! More shall be written soon. I think. Reviews are obviously welcome!