Chapter 2
Ainsley's pinkies were beginning to get tired.She shifted positions uncomfortably, causing Eomer to wince.
"Why couldn't you just hold around my waist like any sensible person would do?" he asked irritably.
"I do not make it a habit to embrace random males," she replied in a lofty tone. "Besides, I have strong pinkies."
They rode on in silence for a few minutes.
"By the way," Ainsley said, "Do you think when we get there you'd be allowed to get out of your "Scarborough Fair" character long enough to let me use the phone? I'm kind of lost."
"What do you mean by Scarborough Fair?" asked Eomer, confused.
"Or whatever medeival role-play thing you're doing. I mean, seriously. 'Undergarments?' You people don't have to be that realistic."
"I really don't know what you're talking about," Eomer complained. "Could you just start at the beginning?"
"I don't know the beginning," Ainsley sighed. Then her attention was caught by the city ahead. "Whoa! Nifty mead hall, or whatever. Do you rent that, or what?"
"Um...sir? Did you not hear me?"
"Oh, great. I hate being ignored," she muttered.
The riders reigned in their horses and dismounted. Eomer held his hand up to help Ainsley dismount, but she ignored him and just tumbled off. He looked rather relieved and hurried off with his horse.
She wrapped her cloak tighter and stared around herself.
She noticed the captain and walked over to him, saying, "Excuse me, sir, but where am I supposed to go now? I really ought to be getting home."
"We're not sending you home all wet and in your undergarments, Miss. Come with me, I'll find you a nice inn."
Ainsley was hard put to keep up with the captain's long strides. "Why couldnt you just let me telephone? Or I suppose you didn't bother to install one in your little Medeival Make-Believe?"
"What is this "telephone" you speak of?" asked the captain.
"Oh, never mind," she growled. "This is getting old real quick," she muttered to herself.
They entered a small, cozy inn and the captain pulled a serving girl aside. "Would you mind finding clothes for this young damsel? I fear she'll catch the cold in wet clothes."
The girl courtesied to the captain, then took Ainsley's arm and pulled her aside into a small room. She began searching through a trunk, talking aside in a chatty way.
"So, where are you from?"
"Oh, around here. I'm a little lost, actually." Ainsley replied.
The girl gave her a curious look. "You say you're from around here? But, begging your pardon, you don't look like one of us. You have the hair, to be sure, but I've never seen one with brown eyes like yours. What's your name?"
"Ainsley. Ainsley McDiarmid."
"Pleased to meet you. You can call me Bretta. Now, here's a dress about your size." The girl pulled from the trunk a plain, brown, sackcloth dress.
"I don't tend to wear dresses much." commented Ainsley.
Bretta looked at her incredulously. "What do you wear then, Ainsley? Surely you don't just go around in that?" she pointed at the t-shirt and jeans.
"Surely I do," snapped Ainsley.
"No offense, but you come from a strange clan," said Bretta wide-eyed.
"I AM NOT STRANGE! EVEYBODY WEARS CLOTHES LIKE THIS! COULDN'T YOU JUST STOP WITH YOUR STUPID SCARBOROUGH FAIR MASQUERADE?" she screamed.
Bretta dropped the brown dress on the bed and ran out of the room, presumably, reflected Ainsley, to spread the word that there was a crazy person around.
"Serves them right. I'm not going to play along with their stupid game," Ainsley told herself. She peeled off her wet clothes and put on the brown dress. It was scratchy but warm. She sat on the bed and crossed her arms.
After a while Bretta timidly poked her head around the doorframe. "Oh, good. You're done. Are you all right?"
"I really need to pay my rent," Ainsley answered mildly. "My landlady would rip me apart if I didn't."
"Your rent?" asked Bretta. "You pay for a cot near here?"
"Yes," sighed Ainsley, not bothering to point out that an apartment and a cottage are rather different.
"And it is owned by a woman?"
Ainsley nodded, wondering if these people always echoed each other so much.
She wiggled a little. The dress was rather itchy.
"Are you all right?" asked Bretta concernedly.
Ainsley nodded. "The dress is a little scratchy. I don't think I've ever worn anything of this material before."
As an afterthought she added, "So how many months out of a year do you participate in this?"
"Participate in what?" the other girl said distractedly.
Ainsley waved her hand about vaguely. "This...this masquerade, or whatever. This lifestyle."
Bretta gave her an odd look. "I've been living like this all my life. This isn't a masquerade, Ainsley. I don't know why you think that. Rohan's been like this for centuries."
Ainsley's face turned to a mask of horror as it finally sunk in.
"I...am...surrounded...by...LUNATICS!" she shrieked.
A/N #2: By the way, the review I posted on my own story was an accident.