Choose Your Own Misadventure - 6

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Lorcan took a deep breath and gave himself one last mental shake before stepping out of the crowd to smile at Jena.

“Don’t stare at her breasts, no matter how magnificent they are. Women don’t understand you’re giving them a compliment,” Lord Cumberbatch advised.

Jena looked up from her tiny notebook and grinned at him. “Lorcan! You haven’t seen a carved wooden otter, have you? Old Lady Carter’s asked me to find hers after it was stolen from her front porch.”

Lorcan shook his head. “No I have not. Did you check out on the dance floor?”

“That’s how you’re asking her to dance? Good grief.”

“Not yet I haven’t. Do you think that would be a good place to look?” Jena had a knowing look on her heart-shaped face.

Lorcan nodded happily. “I’ll go with you to help.”

Jena slid the diminutive notepad into a pocket and held out her arm for Lorcan to link arms with her and walk out onto the dance floor. Lorcan felt giddy, talking to girls had never worked out this well for him – ever! They had just reached the outside of the designated dancing area when a deep voice shouted at them from behind.

“What the hell are you doing with my girl?”

Lorcan turned around just in time to see a hairy-knuckled fist collide with his nose. He tried valiantly not to let the punch knock him off his feet right in front of Jena, but to no avail. Lorcan went down, sprawled out on the cobblestones where he was immediately kicked in the ear by some enthusiastic and oblivious dancers.

“Percy!” Jena shrieked. “How many times do I have to tell you: we are not courting! I solved a case for your mother last year and we’ve barely spoken since then except for times like this when I’m yelling at you for being a brute!”

The purple spots began to fade from Lorcan’s vision and he was finally able to get a good look at Percy. He was a mammoth of a lad with shoulders twice as broad as Lorcan’s and shaggy dark hair that hung down in front of his eyes. Lorcan did not like his chances for staying upright if he stood, so he remained sitting on the ground.

“But, Jena! I love you! You’re so smart and pretty and…and…um…” Percy scratched his head with one of his massive hands.

“And do you think someone who is smart and pretty would enjoy watching you punch strangers in the face?” Jena had her arms crossed in front of her chest and was tapping her foot vexedly.

“Well, um…but he was gonna dance with you!” Lorcan found it hard to truly feel angry at Percy. After all, he was a giant dimwit who obviously had no idea how to impress a girl like Jena. Not that Lorcan knew how to either, but he was less violent about it.

“Which is well within his rights as a young man my age! Now run along back to your mother so she can scold you for this.” Jena pointed towards the long tables set up with food and alcohol.

Percy hung his shaggy head. “Yes, Jena.”

After the very melancholy Percy had shuffled off, Jena knelt down beside Lorcan. “Oh dear, your nose is bleeding! Here, let me help you up.” She hauled Lorcan to his feet.

“I checked the ground over there and didn’t see any wooden otters,” Lorcan informed her. His head was doing a fair bit of spinning now that he was up and moving.

Jena chuckled. “Good work. I’ll cross that off my list of places to search. Hey, why is your ear all red?”

“Some of the dancers kicked me accidentally. At least, I hope it was accidentally. Otherwise, I think I might have to go home before all this escalates and I get stabbed.”

“How charming. I’m sure the poor girl is only seconds away from swooning,” Lord Cumberbatch’s voice was thick with disdain. He seemed to disapprove of everything Lorcan said to any woman.

“I hope not, because I won’t be able to catch her,” Lorcan muttered before remembering that only he could hear what Cumberbatch said.

“What?” Jena asked worriedly.

“Oh, nothing.”

Jena bit her lower lip anxiously. No doubt, she thought he was experiencing the adverse effects of his recent head trauma. “I think you need to sit down. Here we are.” She got Lorcan seated on a bench outside the tailor’s shop.

“That’s much better.” Lorcan let out a sigh of relief. His head was still pounding, but the world was much less spinny now.

“I’m so sorry about Percy, he’s usually harmless. Something must have gotten him worked up,” Jena explained. Lorcan finally noticed that she was holding onto his arm and sitting with her body pressed up against his. He began to blush.

“I…I, uh…that’s okay, I guess,” was all Lorcan could think to say.

“Let me go get something to clean your face. I’ll be right back, I promise.” Jena gave his arm one last squeeze and then hurried off.

Lorcan leaned back against the tailor’s shop, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. That had not gone at all the way he had hoped. Not that it hadn’t gone the way he had expected, but still.

When Lorcan opened his eyes he was staring up at a mismatched set of eyes peaking down at him from over the edge of the tailor’s roof. “Vera?” Lorcan asked, incredibly perplexed.

Vera leaned down further and grinned at him. “I saw you get punched by that big guy. Want me to set him on fire for you?”

“Huh? Percy? No, that’s fine. Thanks for the offer, though.” Lorcan hoped that Vera was just joking, but she looked pretty serious about her offer.

Vera frowned. “Really? You’re sure?”

Lorcan nodded. “No fires, please.”

“Wolves then? Or bees? I love bees!” Vera nodded encouragingly.

“Um…no. Not a big fan of bees, myself. I got stung too many times as a kid, I think.”

“Oh. Boo! Well, here’s your girlfriend’s stupid otter.” Vera dropped a foot tall wooden otter down for Lorcan to catch.

Lorcan looked at the otter in his hands. “How did you get this?”

“It’s all part of the plan!” Vera slid back up the roof and disappeared.

Lorcan was left staring up at the tailor’s eaves, holding a wooden otter until Jena returned.

“Old Lady Carter’s otter! Where did you find it?” Jena gasped.

“A friend gave it to me,” Lorcan told her, not sure how else to describe what had transpired.

“You, a friend? Who exactly is this friend of yours?” Jena looked at him skeptically. It was rather well known in town that Lorcan didn’t socialize much outside of his family.

“Well, more of an acquaintance, I guess,” Lorcan admitted. He handed Jena the otter.

“And where did this acquaintance of yours get it?” Jena turned the otter over in her hands, making sure it was the same one she was looking for.

“I have no idea,” Lorcan told her. “She dropped it down to me from the roof and then left.”

“Well, that isn’t suspicious at all,” Jena said sarcastically. “Who was she?”

“Her name is Vera and I guess she’s new in town. I only just met her at the festival. Thomas found her while he was tormenting Julian and introduced us.”

“Curious. I’ll have to investigate this Vera character.” Jena began tending to Lorcan’s bloody nose. “This probably isn’t how you imagined spending the badger festival, is it?”

Lorcan shrugged. “This is far from the worst festival I’ve been to.” He smiled at Jena.

 “I do remember when you got thrown into the rose bushes.” Jena snickered. “Sorry! I shouldn’t laugh at that. It must have been really painful.”

“Oh it was, but it’s still a hilarious story. Now.” Lorcan leaned a little closer to Jena as she wiped the blood off his face.

“Well, it’s good that you can laugh about it now.” Jena pressed her chest a bit more against his arm and looked up at Lorcan expectantly.

Lorcan’s heart thumped in his chest and he felt dizzy, but dammit, nothing was going to stop him from kissing Jena! He leaned forward to meet her waiting lips…

…and was hit square in the side of the head with a blackberry pie.

An impressively drunk Uncle Pete hooted with laughter and slapped his thighs. So fierce were his gales of laughter, he fell over and continued laughing on the ground.

“Damn, I really didn’t think he could make that throw, drunk as he was.” Grandpa handed a few copper coins to Great Uncle Mort.

“Never bet against a drunk relative ruining a man’s courting!” Mort cackled as he pocketed the coins. “Good choice, lad!” he bellowed at Lorcan. “Marvelous…assets!” Mort mimed having giant breasts and guffawed some more.

“See, I told you he wasn’t a fairy!” Grandpa shouted at his brother.

“Bah! Seeing that girl’s honka-honkas was well worth two coppers!” Mort reached into his pocket and handed Grandpa two coins.

Jena, her face beet red, handed Lorcan the rest of the napkins she had brought for his nose, mumbled something about having to go, and took off in a hurry with Old Lady Carter’s otter.

Lorcan sat on the bench, covered in pie and still bleeding from his nose. Grandpa and Great Uncle Mort picked Pete up and stumbled on their drunken, merry way.

“Well, I don’t think that could have gone worse,” Cumberbatch said.

“Shut up,” Lorcan grumbled.

“Ready for a drink yet?”

“No! I said shut up!” Lorcan was so annoyed with Lord Cumberbatch choosing right now to pester him, that he failed to notice Luciana walking up to his bench.

“You’re shouting at yourself again,” Luciana reminded him in her usual emotionless tone. She handed him a towel.

“How much of that did you see?” Lorcan asked. He gratefully took the towel and began wiping pie from his face.

“Almost all of it. I missed how you got the otter while I was pawning Thomas off on Albert.”

“Fantastic,” Lorcan groaned. “I’ve had quite enough humiliation for today. I’m heading back to the still. You stay here and spend some time with Evie, I’ll be fine on my own.”

Luciana shook her head. “The villagers are all talking about wolves howling at the base of Weyrd Mountain, dozens of them. I’m not letting someone as accident prone as you walk through a forest full of wolves alone.”

“Wolves? Really? What the hell else is going to go wrong?”

Should Lorcan brave the wolf-infested forest or stay at the festival with his drunken relatives?

1)      Wolves!

2)      Drunken Relatives!