The old home was a solid fixture around Leif. He'd lived in it for the entirety of his rather short life, and understood its foibles just as well as he knew his own; better if he were honest with himself. Ever since the Liminal Exchange program had become public, chaos had seemingly come to rule his life ever since a strange little man in a formal suit had come knocking at his door.

'Not quite true,' his mind corrected. 'Ever since that crazy centaur thought it was a good idea to jump out for a gelding with a broken leg. Pah.'

Ignoring the fond tone of his thoughts, Leif resumed preparations, even as the sun's topmost point broke over the horizon. 'Big fair. Didn't enter anything, but still fun. Maybe do a … no. Didn't have time to enter. Rodeo fun ain't going to work too well anyway.'

Still, he took care to shine the more showy pair of boots he owned, a set with the traditional tapered toes, Cuban heel and tooled leather surfaces. Unlike work boots this set had a lower heel, and the shaft held a deeper dip in front, what he'd heard was part of the 'Stockman' appearance. It was a good fit, that's all he needed to know.

Done polishing, he jammed the objects onto his feet. They felt good, not too tight, but not about to slip free either. Dark jeans overlapped the shaft – if actual horse rides became a thing, he could take a few minutes to tuck the material inside the boot proper.

Leif frowned at his image in the mirror, wishing for a moment that he'd gone to bed at a later time, the better to choose another belt. The one he wore looked too extravagant in his opinion, some sort of multi-colored leather that looked as if it came from a snake that loved corn chips dusted in orange powder. An oval made of silver served as the buckle, and capped the ostentatiousness.

'Oh well. Should be covered by my jacket, mostly.' He reached for the item, slipping it on. This was the easier decision to make, other than jeans. A button-front shirt had to be color-coordinated – from what he was told. But the canvas jacket was already a simple sort of thing, containing enough pockets for the essentials while not bespeaking pretentious leanings. 'There. Now … hat, cap, or no hat?'

His hat stand bore several specimens for perusal. The casual ball cap was a welcome sight anywhere, but the battered Stetson made a statement all its own. His father's Stetson still rested on one side, untouched since the man had left for the city years before, and it would remain untouched. A knit mob cap sat on a little hook, origin unknown, and a few stocking caps still hung in defiance of the summer heat.

'Why are those still there?' he picked up the winter garb, feeling the itchy wool and smooth polyester materials. Shaking his head he wandered back to the closet where such things were stored. It was a moment's work to stash the headgear away, before returning to his problem. 'Eh. Why dilly-dally. A hat's a hat. Ro' seems to like the Stetson, so maybe it's not a bad fashion thing anyway.'

Just as he grabbed the venerable chapeau, there was a knock at his door. Not Wesson's polite rapping, or a centaur's heavy bludgeoning, but a businesslike set of thuds. "Be right there."

Holding the Stetson in one hand, Leif ambled to the door. Its massive weight resisted being opened, the changing season sticking one part of the frame to the wood, but it swung to. "Made it. Wha-"

He stopped. Early dawn ensured the main source of light came from the lamps inside and on the outside walls, flaring like a spotlight.

Just outside the door, in the center of that illumination, Aredhel grinned at him, eyes sparkling. Her mischievous look was just the beginning; a Stetson, far newer than his own, rested on her head, motes of light shimmering from its band. Her long, flowing hair normally worn in semi-elaborate arrangements, was now a simple pair of braids going down her back.

"Hello Leif," she grinned at him again. "How do I look?"

Leif closed his eyes, and sighed. Whatever fashion guides the elf perused had to be influenced by the party-goer's scene. He wasn't sure how Aredhel had managed to get an unbuttoned plaid shirt tied up so short, baring a flat, toned midriff. For that matter, the denim shorts gave no protection for long legs, even if the ornate cowboy boots came halfway up her shins.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to see the elf wink. "Like what you see?"

Before speaking, Leif considered his words. It wasn't that the elf was unattractive, per se, but it was strange to see so much … everything at once. Roanette would've done it in a heartbeat if he ever showed the inclination, and Fanchon's inclinations had proven very European when it came to sunning herself – a surprising bit of education over the summer. Compared to that this was ….

"Eye-catching," he managed. After another heartbeat, he regained control. "A bit much, maybe?"

She gave a theatrical sigh. "Very well, I will change if it makes you feel better."

He stepped aside, making room for her to strut past. Honesty moved him to speak again. "Good seein' you."

"Likewise," she laughed. "I know I was only gone a week, but it felt like years. How have you fared?"

Leif waited in the hallway while she opened a closet, pulling out a pile of fabric. He'd objected to the trio's storing clothing in his home at first, until coming to the realization of the imminent practicality. His missing shirts had made a mysterious return afterwards, although they still vanished with regularity.

"Doing good," he leaned against a wall, speaking to the open air. "Early harvest done. Bumper crops. Can't understand it."

"Oh?" her voice wafted down the hall. "How so?"

He frowned. "Yield is up. Way up. Forty-five bushels per acre in a good year. Looks like over sixty getting ready come harvest. Corn's up past a hundred. Ain't complainin', just …."

"Confused?" the elf's melodic contralto finished for him. "It is no great mystery. The dryads are helping."

Leif blinked.

A sigh of exasperation emanated from the hall. "Wait a few moments. Honestly, any other man would be eager to join me as I changed. It is well that elves are patient."

He didn't dignify that with a response. After almost a full year of exposure to liminals – sometimes in the literal sense – a certain amount of resistance had been built. It was not uncommon to see individuals around the farm wearing what they believed sufficient apparel, leaving it to him to be the voice of reason.

'Sophette's pushing it though, with scraps of … what did she call it? Whatever.' he grumbled internally. 'Really pushing it.'

"And ready!" Aredhel emerged from the room, almost singing the last word. "Better?"

Leif nodded before he could stop himself. The elf had changed into a set of tight jeans over her boots, buttoned the plaid blouse and added some kind of midriff-exposing top beneath that, although a significant amount of décolletage was visible, ensured a larger proportion was covered.

"Good." She carried a satisfied smirk once again. "Shall we go?"

Irritated at himself, Leif paused long enough to settle his hat, then held the door open. It was an old-fashioned gesture, but one that couldn't be dropped any more than gravity's hold. Following Aredhel out he didn't bother locking up; the liminals would get in no matter what lock he used, and the number of humans out this far in the country all knew each other.

"Have you ever been broken into out here?" Aredhel asked.

Leif shrugged. "Once. Usually just boozed flyboys, poking around."

"I see," she adjusted the hat so it rested above her long ears, it didn't look uncomfortable, but it made Leif wonder what sort of contortions fashion made longer-eared folks undergo. "Has anything ever happened? There's nothing in the police reports, outside of a reported boat."

"Five years ago," Leif nodded. "Boat out in the woods."

Barking interrupted his motion, forcing Leif to pause. The hyperactive form of a large dog bounded forward, stopping a hair's breath from his knees.

Leif stooped, ruffling the dog's ears. "Easy Eugene. Take care of Szherezade and the pups, 'kay?"

The dog crooned at the attention, bumping his head against the rancher's inside thigh.

"Sure. No problem." Leif delivered a final pat. The dog hefted up on its hind legs, before starting a retreat, tail wagging. "Skedaddle now. Scat."

They reached a clean pickup without issue, an older model that yet had many years of service left. While the vehicle's flanks were dust-free, it wore age like a compliment. Rust held no sway over its wheel wells, and though infrequent dents testified to experience, the powerful engine rumbled as mellow a tone as its first ignition.

Aredhel settled in the passenger side, the long bench seat giving a tired squeak under her weight. She said nothing as Leif pulled out of the drive, turning left towards town. He liked that about her, the elf understood the value of silence.

The pair rode in silence as the gravel road hummed past. A dust plume rose behind their tailgate, similar to the other dust clouds visible in the distance. Grass, green at the base but browning in the edges from the heat, lined the road on either side. The regular tannish-green color contrasted against the fence posts, establishing barbed-wire protections for long swaths of pastureland.

One unique area caught Leif's attention, drawing his mind back to the conversation.

"Silos out here," he nodded at a chain-link enclosure half a mile ahead, off to one side of the road. "Some have nukes. Some don't."

"But …?"

Leif gave a dry chuckle. "Most folks here can guess. But the soldier boys see empty land."

Her eyebrows rose. "And then they decide no one is around."

"Yep," he turned off the state road onto another, gravel crunching under the vehicle. His voice dropped to an almost mocking tone. "Shenanigans."


Their arrival in the State Fair was well-timed. The sun had risen past its first few degrees, and the morning traffic was at its usual capacity. There was little-to-no restriction that prevented their passage to the fairgrounds, on the outskirts of town.

"Heard from your ma?" Leif checked the parking spot, and locked the truck's doors. This wasn't the countryside, although he'd been told the urban regions were trustworthy.

Aredhel took his arm, resting her hand in the crook of its elbow. "I receive letters every week. They are doing well."

"Gramps stayin' civil?" Leif checked his blind spots, and continued towards the fairground gates.

"I think," the elf glanced at him from the corner of her eye, "you do not wish to know the full account of their activities."

Leif remained silent, but raised an eyebrow.

"Spriggan have great endurance," Aredhel said slowly. "Which leaves mother with few regrets in –"

"Hold that thought," Leif interrupted. "Two."

The gate keeper was a young man whom couldn't stop grinning at them, even as he checked Leif's identification. "That'll be, wait a sec. You Larsen? That lucky babe rancher way out in the boondocks?"

Leif turned to give the youth a dead-eye'd stare. A muscle below his eye twitched. "How's school, son?"

The gatekeeper gave him a puzzled look. "It's summer, no school during summer except for the try hards and re-tards."

Turning his gaze on the booth, Leif took his time evaluating the cheap furniture, tiny fan blowing ineffectively in one corner, and the young man's ticket-filled fingers. His smile, which had been a thing of easy affability, hardened. "Which are you?"

The youth's face went red, and he finished snapping off two tickets. "Thank you, sir. Have a good day."

Leif's grin hung on for a moment too long, channeling nothing but cold courtesy. "Same."

Entering the fairground was a quiet event, less joyful than he'd hoped. He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. The smell of buttered popcorn and roasting meats filled his nostrils. Familiar odors of a more pungent nature slapped at his senses, exhaust from diesel-fed engines, power generators feeding every booth needing power. The sound of tractor engines was audible over the humming murmur of pedestrian chatter, a balm to his nerves.

He opened his eyes once more, and smiled. "Sorry."

Aredhel squeezed his arm. "Just say the word, and that IRS will be asked to perform an audit on that boy."

"Audit." Leif blinked. "Audit?"

The elf straightened her hair with one hand. "Evisceration is a frowned upon in modern societies. An audit is considered much more socially acceptable."

He had to think about that, comparing the young, effeminate woman at his side with the casually mentioned brutality. The contrast was discombobulating.

"No, silly," Aredhel gave his shoulder a gentle slap, eyes rolling. "Evisceration isn't even in the old stories about elves. Not that we're allergic to iron or anything either, but still. Did you think we'd be interested in that?"

Leif considered his next words with care. "Not … sure?"

Her hand tightened its grip, while she laughed. "I suppose it's no worse than you threatening to geld and brand those centaurs for harassing Sophette. Really, Leif. You know how much emphasis centaurs put on threats of violence. If the Chiron hadn't backed you up, you would've had to start sharpening the knives."

"Needles," Leif corrected absent-mindedly. "Immunocastration, if'n you want to breed them later. Cutting ain't reversible."

It took almost fifteen seconds of stunned silence before his partner's surprise sank in. Leif turned his attention to the elf, whom still looked surprised, but also curious. He shrugged.

"And," her voice was still light, but no longer teasing. "The branding irons?"

"In the back shed," he shrugged. "Couple types. Fire. Freezing. Chemical. But fire's what people think of most. Inquisition an' all that."

"Of course," she still had a half-smile that looked a touch queasy. "You really are an interesting fellow, aren't you?"

He wasn't sure what to make of that. "Um."

"Never mind," Aredhel pulled on his arm, guiding him around a small train of schoolchildren. "Just a word of caution, if I may? Do not speak of this around Roanette or Sophette. The centaurs have a saying: 'Diamonds are forever, but so is a crippling injury.' Translated, of course, but the meaning still comes through I trust?"

"Yeah …" Leif managed. He tried to wrap his mind around it, then gave up for later. "Right."

Taking charge once more he guided their path towards the food area, where the delightful view of seasoned meats, cheap popcorn and overpriced beverages met his gaze. He smiled. "Wanna bite?"

She shrugged. "We have not eaten this morning. It is approaching noon, is it not?"

Leif squinted at the sun. "Eh, hour or two. Get something, then something else later. Tractor races are done already, but there's the exhibits, booths, Midway, got a few numbers on the stage this afternoon."

The elf listened with a serious expression. "American culture, yes. I will learn as much as I can. I've experienced Renaissance Fairs – I always receive compliments on my costume," her wink drew no reaction from the rancher. "The last, largest event I attended was the World's Fair in Munich. I was too young to understand much, but I loved the excitement, the energy. There were so many people, and I had a great deal of fun just walking around and watching them."

Leif side stepped them around another cluster of gossiping visitors. He was amused to see a strong mixture of non-human members in the group, talking and laughing with each other as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Let's eat." He pointed out a food tent.

Inside was typical fair fare, which Leif ordered. The tent's open-air status meant he could feel the hot wind come through, and jostle shoulders with other guests. The same thing was being done with the elf, he noticed; several young men were in close proximity, pushed by the crowd it seemed. Their smirks suggested otherwise.

Shifting, Leif rearranged his feet, so Aredhel slipped before him. Her back bumped against his chest when the next customer took an unexpected backward step, an action he oddly didn't mind. A quick look to one side showed the young men were no longer smirking, a fact he took as both warning and encouragement. The mental juxtaposition was pushed aside for later analysis, an event which would be quite filled if things continued the way they were.

Carrying their orders to the outside tables, Leif took a few moments to people-watch. The crowds had swelled in the short hour they'd spent, more coming through the gates. A general atmosphere of festivities filled the air, something he'd missed.

"Does it bother you?" Aredhel took a bite of her pulled pork sandwich. Barbecue sauce escaped from the thick construct's far end, landing in her tray next to a pile of coleslaw.

Leif cocked an eyebrow. "Sauce a bit thick. Typical though."

"No," she paused, covering her mouth for a moment. "That is what you feared, the gatekeeper's reaction. Back when Operative Wesson invited you to join the Initiative a year ago. Roanette told me of your resistance, and I've seen how careful you are; the gatekeeper did not respect your ranch, and that was part of what you feared."

A thick mouthful gave time for Leif to formulate a response. He'd been right, the barbecue sauce had been mixed into the meat with little care for the subtle nuance that was barbecue, but the flavor overall wasn't bad. He preferred to add the sauce after cooking the meat, but that ran the risk of dry meat, covered in salty-sweet deception. The current arrangement prevented neophyte mistakes at the cost of flavor.

"You're … not wrong," he considered. "But. Didn't mind folks before. Don't see that changing now."

Aredhel looked thoughtful. "Do you fear that one of us will stray? Human relationships often destabilize if one spouse is away from home on a frequent basis. 'Dear John' letters, are one possible symptom. Infidelity is frequent, something you are concerned about as well, am I correct?"

Leif's next bite tore a vicious incision into his burger. "'Course. Two reasons for divorce, I think. Adultery, and abuse."

"Ah," she nodded sagaciously. "Your caution is based upon that. Once married, you do not see 'irreconcilable differences' as a valid option?"

He let his silence speak for him.

He thought he caught a murmured "That's why …." from her side of the table, but kept any observations to himself. To do otherwise would be rude.

After dining, they began touring the fair. Leif consciously spent less time with the tractor display than he would've, and perhaps a touch more in venues in which he'd never found much interest. Explaining the history behind canning process methods proved enjoyable, however, and the art projects were beginning to show a subtle appeal. Being able to speak with an individual capable of explaining the various methods assisted that a great deal.

By late afternoon they'd watched the talent show where representatives from counties across the state of Montana participated, followed by the more professional music program on the main stage.

'Huh,' Leif observed his companion in her energetic actions for one of the performing bands. 'She reacts to the audience a lot. Feeds off crowds. Why is she staying out on a farm if she likes people so much?'

The concluding thought was offsetting in the extreme. 'Folks move when they can, unless they like the place.'

Aredhel's enthusiastic clapping jostled his shoulder as she leaned against him, to get a better view around the standing people in front. 'She can move. Probably got more money than half the farmers in the state combined, or access at least. She wants to stay. Stayed about a year. Maybe … it would work?'

As the sun was descending, Leif made the reluctant decision to leave. Enjoyable though the evening was, there were many miles to cover before the ranch would be in sight.

Fairs at evening displayed a different side of themselves. This far north the sun rose by six and set after ten, but the mountains blocked some of the time, lending an earlier gloaming for the carnival workers. Ferris wheels spun their slow motions while their perpendicular-arranged cousins whirled along the ground. Food vendors advertised their wares through flashing lights and fans placed to expel scent-laden air out of their stations.

Aredhel's arm felt comfortable in his grasp, an almost natural sensation. With its placement, she must've felt his stride hitch at the unexpected music coming from one of the larger barns.

"Is there something wrong?"

Leif strained his ears, and caught the sound of a fiddle playing country reels. Distant, regular clapping suggested it to be part of a square dance, a common enough occurrence at the fair. Memories stirred up, and he had to smile at some. "No, sorry. Ready for home?"

The elf cocked an eyebrow. "You were a square-dancer, weren't you?"

His jaw went slack.

"Oh, please." Her laughter was like tiny bells in the breeze. "We did research on you. Your mother has your trophies still."

Leif's eyebrows went down. "My folks." His tone was matter-of-fact, lacking emotion to those less familiar with him.

"Of course we did. In this country the prospective groom seeks out the father-of-the-bride for permission to court, or at least it was the tradition. Roanette, Fanchon and myself sought out the same permission. We had a nice talk. Your mother is very sweet, and proud of you; she was kind enough to show us her trophy collection and pictures."

At this point his steps were random, wandering in the general direction of the familiar music. The elf seemed to be guiding him in that direction, anyway.

"They're supportive, but refuse to push in either direction. It's one of the most endearing yet frustrating traits of your family, you know."

"Huh." In retrospect there were more erudite things that could've been said.

By the time he'd thought of something that would not insult anyone, it was far too late. Smooth violins and the deeper thumping of a plucked double bass met his ears, close enough so the audience's rhythmic clapping was almost deafening. Startled, he looked up to see the open barn door stretching wide, soft yellow light spilling across the gravel road. He froze.

"I'm not asking you to marry me, yet," Aredhel rolled her eyes as he hesitated. "We will need to talk about things, but that's for later. Right now I just want to dance with someone I like. Will you let me?"

Leif looked down, struggling to keep a smile from betraying the happy sensation bubbling deep inside. 'Got standards. Can't go getting soppy after all this time. But maybe a little somethin' wouldn't hurt ….'

Stepping back, he let go of the elf's arm, putting distance between them. While her expression wavered between surprise and disappointment, he doffed his hat, holding it to one side in the proper starting position. "Ma'am, would you honor me with a dance?"

Aredhel's expression morphed to pure glee. Somehow she managed to make a curtsey work in jeans. "I am flattered. Of course!"

Leif chuckled, offering his elbow to her once more, and the pair entered the barn, pushing through the mass of observers and heavy-breathing participants taking a break. There was a queue for the competitive side, but they moved in a different direction, finding a spot on the open floor and an available second pair with which to work.

'Hmm,' the music started up, an accordion joining the usual ensemble. 'A full year. Still here. Very serious. We will need to talk.' A loud interruption came from the gray-haired caller standing by the musicians. On instinct Leif's arms moved to the right position, holding the lithe elf. 'Later. Much later.'


A/N: It wouldn't be fair to have shown a date with two of the three Primary LI's, would it? No, and the results are here. It's that time of year again with county fairs and state fairs going on around the nation. If you are able to attend one, I would gently encourage you to do so; they are not to everyone's taste, but the experience is richer than New York Cheesecake on a golden platter.

Thank you once again for your kind attention. I hope you have enjoyed this at least half as much as I have!