To read the previous adventures of Sabine, click here. To support us on Patreon, click here. The story continues below. Flailock Von Macington leaned on the great brick wall of the fjordside mansion. He was
To read the previous adventures of Sabine, click here. To support us on Patreon, click here. The story continues below.
Flailock Von Macington leaned on the great brick wall of the fjordside mansion. He was a stern-faced man of nearly eight feet, and a flail with the weight of a horse sat at his side. In Flailock’s hand was a list of names or qualifications permitted to enter the house he was guarding. Ever since the musicians started playing, the guests were arriving at a quick, constant clip.
An already red-faced young man dressed in suspenders and an actor’s oversized codpiece moseyed up to the door. Perhaps a half dozen of his companions approached in similarly gaudy outfits that hugged their crotches or applied points to their chests. Though one stuck to the middle and shrunk in a blue cloak.
“Name?”
“Alexander Sclottz.” The young man hiccupped.
Flailock looked back at the list for just a moment. “Sclottz, party of seven. Go on in.” He opened the door and instantly a blast of raucous noise traveled outward.
The doorman watched the first half of the group enter the building. Then, without interrupting anyone else’s flow, he plunged his hand into the middle of the line of bodies, plucked the tiny one in blue he’d noticed up by her cloak, and raised her to eye level.
“Gah!” Sabine gagged and kicked in midair. “What’s your problem?”
The last of the Sclottz party, who didn’t even notice she was gone, entered the mansion. Flailock shut the door and glared toward the woman, a redhead, he could confirm. “Your name on the list?”
“Um, I’m… I’m the daughter of Will Comb?”
Flailock didn’t look back down at his list. “Will Comb?”
She laughed nervously. “See… see, you just said ‘welcome.’ So now that means—”
The giant man turned on his heels, faced the fjord, and took a running start. She screamed until his chuck landed her in the water with a loud splash. Flailock took his place back at the door and silently wondered why that girl seemed so familiar.
I told you just trying to slip in with that crowd was a waste of time, Dahkhal said. You should have used my idea.
Sabine pushed up to the surface of the water, gasped for air, and said, “We did the demeaning thing in the last job. I’m not picking another fight in a damned two piece!”
I’ll bet you wish you were wearing one about now, Dahkhal said. And my idea was perfect for a raucous party like this. You go up there, a length of chain in hand, say there’s been a noise complaint, tell them your name is Guardswoman Naughty Knickers—”
Further down the fjord, at the back of the mansion, came a splash, followed by a round of cheers. Without any other direction at the ready, Sabine swam toward it. A cadre of young men and women stood on a torchlit balcony over the water. Each of them held a stein of booze in one hand and pumped fists with the other. One man from the group, also still in his partying clothes, kicked to hold his head above water. On the patio overhead, one of the attendees lowered a rope ladder and got a look at Sabine treading water a second after he did.
“Oi, Silfde, somebody else is in the water with Cam.”
“Ooh, ooh, ooh! Can I get rid of this one?” A chubby man next to the speaker drew a bow and arrow and held both items over one of the torches. “Wait, which one of these was I s’pposed to light again?”
A man at the center, probably the group’s leader, stepped out from the rest. He was most distinguishable by the horned helmet he wore. With one hand he grabbed his friend threatening unintentional arson and thrust him off the porch. A scream belted out of him for a moment before he hit the lake with his face and stomach.
The rest of the crowd looked to the one in the horned helmet, no one totally sure what to make of the moment before he pumped his fist and shouted, “Belly flop! Belly flop!” Then the rest of them and, in moments, even his friend in the water when he came up for air, joined him. “Belly flop! Belly flop!”
After a few seconds of that, he snapped his fingers and pointed to Sabine. “You down there. Are you the MPDG we requested?”
Someone from his group said, “Course she is, lookit that haircut.”
Sabine started to ask, “MPD—”
Say yes. Dahkhal said. And for the good of the charade, keep the top of your ears covered and act like you’ve slept with ten different men you barely knew. Actually, you have done that, no need to act.
“Why would I—”
He just gave you the best excuse you’ll have all night! Don’t look this gift horse in the mouth, just roll with it. And if they question anything the rest of the night, just shrug your shoulders and say, “I’m so quirksome!”
Still with no idea what she was being told, Sabine called up, “Yes, I’m the MPDG. I jumped in with my clothes on cause—um— I’m so quirksome.”
The entourage echoed back, “She’s so quirksome!” and they finished lowering the rope ladder. First the man who’d initially fallen in climbed up, followed by the “belly flopper,” then Sabine. Up on the porch the shouting inebriated crowd pated all three of their backs and pushed mugs of mead into their hands.
After a sip, Sabine scanned the group and fixed her eyes on the man in the horned helm. “You’re Silfde Struct then, right?”
“Damn straight.” Silfde threw an arm around one of his guests, a blond with powdery makeup on his face, dressed in little but a set of leafy green underpants. “This is Fabian, he’s a fey like you.” As he spoke, Silfde poked the pointy tips of his friend’s ears.
“Wait—Silf—no.” Fabian pushed his hand away. “Not in front of the pixie. That’s, like, feyface or some such, it’s disrespectful.” He pulled the tips of the ears off, they were just costume pieces, and held them tight in a closed hand.
“All right team, back inside now.” Silfde raised his hands and gestured them toward the mansion.
The rest of the guests followed Silfde back inside, but Sabine hung back, intent to strategize by herself. Or she would have, if Fabian wasn’t still hanging over her.
“You know the ears were all just good fun, right?”
Sabine tried to suppress a glare at him. “Yes. All good fun. No offense taken.”
“Good. Thanks.” Fabian swayed back and forth as he considered his next words. “You wanna touch tongues?”
A glare and a cringe of disgust came to the surface. “What?”
“I mean, it’s a party right?” Fabian smirked. “You find me admirable, I find you admirable. It’s okay, I don’t mind that you’re all old.”
“I’m not old—”
Fabian reached over and brushed a few hairs off of Sabine’s ears. Then his eyes went wide. “Oi, wait, these aren’t pointed. You aren’t a pixie at all—” His voice rose high and fast, as if he intended to shout to his friends.
Sabine brought up a knee and hit him square between the legs. Fabian shrieked and keeled downward. The pointed ear tips fell from his hand, Sabine dropped and grabbed them.
Looks like there’s a rug by the door, Dahkhal said. Roll him up.
With a run, Sabine grabbed the flooring by the door and knocked Fabian onto it. He was lanky and drunk, he didn’t stand a chance. Sabine slipped the tips over her ears and finished her roll up right as Silfde stepped back outside and stared.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Sabine looked up at her unknown enemy and, after a moment’s consideration, said, “I’m so quirksome?”
A few seconds passed as it seemed Silfde considered that. Then another wide smile crossed his lips, and he leaned back inside to shout, “Oh yeah, she’s manic all right! MPDG!”
His partygoers chanted back, “MPDG! MPDG!”
As Sabine followed him inside, annoyance rolled over her as she realized the abbreviation’s meaning and the role she had to play: Manic Pixie Dream Girl.
Unknown to anyone but Silfde, at that same moment, an ethereal hand started making notes within his father’s book of rites. Underneath the explanation for The Ultimate Party was the instruction, Offer up six elements described in the back of this tome to complete the ritual. Below that were six lines for documentation. One already read, He who is man stumbles to become like fish, and the unseen hand just finished writing, The worlds above and below are rearranged such that the floor wraps around one’s being. Two steps were finished, only four remained.
To Be Continued…
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