Numbers Don't Lie

Gil looked at the calculator tape.  He double checked the figures on the sheets Rachel had tossed on his desk three hours ago.  Receipts lined the various envelopes merchants turned in with their profits from their booths and their fees.  While the hefty sum of forty-five percent of their bottom line during fair week seemed unreasonable to some, others had given more and signed their permits without more than a thank you.    Gil blinked shook his head and reached for the coffee cup closest to him.  Lex’s brew was addicting.  With fair over, withdraw would set in.  Perhaps a good thing, who needed a caffeine high squirrel on the loose?

Gil grinned at his own pun.  He reached for the box of envelopes closest to him.  Rachel had out done herself this time.  Each section of town had color-coordinated envelopes.  Foods were green.  Rides were yellow.  Games and Chance were red.  The one that Gil couldn’t make sense of was the blue envelopes that lined the box in his hand.  Taking one envelope out, he read the neat printing on the front, Mystic Falls Fire Department.  The next read Sandy Valley Police and Fire Brigade.  And several others were tagged from various religious groups and charitable organizations.  Gil reached into the box and pulled out an envelope addressed to him.  He arched an eyebrow as he turned the handwritten envelope over.  Breaking the seal, he wondered who’d gotten the churches and other faith believers to donate.  The handwriting on the sheet as he unfolded it looked familiar.

Dear Mayor,

Some of us know our creator works in ways we don’t always understand.  Rather than shunning our neighbors, we seek to embrace our differences and come together in harmony.  Talbot’s Peak is an example of how different folks and species can come together and live in peaceful accord.  What better way to endorse more actions like this than contributing to your community projects.  We’d like to offer your citizens the offer to come worship with us.  We ask they abide by our rules and not bust the place up like they did with that traveling tent revival a few years back.

Thank you,

The Churches and Houses of Worship of Mystic Falls and Sandy Valley

Gil squinted as he kept looking at the writing.  He yanked open the drawer where he kept his staff’s time sheets.  He rummaged under the top two until he found the one he wanted.  Holding the signed time card next to the handwritten letter, he snickered and snorted.  His staff assistant had well kept secrets.  What else was hidden behind those calf length skirts and long sleeved blouses? 

Back across town, Rachel looked at her watch.  With any luck her ride would soon arrive.  Catching the first train heading south made sense.  Her last vacation over five hundred years ago hadn’t offered the luxuries this one did.  A good stiff drink plus the swaying of the car as it traveled would lull her to sleep.  By morning, she’d reach where she could go further, transforming wouldn’t be so conspicuous.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy Weekend Gang!

Our plot thickens!  Rachel is not all she appears to be.  Transforming?  Last vacation 500 years ago?  Do we have a phoenix on our hands?

May the last few days of August find you safe and well.   My thoughts and prayers go out to those helping with the wild fires as well as those needing help in recovering from loss or otherwise.

Remember to share a good book or two with your loves and spice, I know I will!

Smiles,

Solara

'Round & 'Round We Go...

Grease stained one side of his favorite t-shirt from a drippy ride while ketchup, mustard and relish from a kids hastily tossed dog graced the other.  Nick spied at least five different stains on his well worn jeans and one boot suffered a manure bath when he’d been forced to gather plastic cups off the cow chip board.

What made matters worse was that his “partner” on the mop and bucket patrol, soon to be dead Arnold, was spotless.

“Do you think Gil will let us enjoy any of the fair this year?”  Arnold whined.

“Shut up.”  Nick glared at the rangy bull.  How could he not be getting messy?  Did every nasty thing avoid
Arnold and find its way to him?

“Come on, man, talk to me.  You’ve avoided speaking to me all week long even though this stupid punishment pushed us together.”

“Shut up, you rank, manure sniffing son of a beast.  Better?”

This punishment was so grossly unfair Nick couldn’t believe Gil had held firm on his threat.  This bull had the nerve to suggest –in writing- that Nick’s mate should dress in almost nothing to play football so the other males in town could ogle and spank off.  Nick should be given the right to kill Arnold not have to work garbage patrol with him at this… fair.

This awful, distasteful, waste of funds fair.  He’d wanted to like this thing, spend time with Z kicking a few back and getting naked in the funhouse at the adults only time at the fair, but no, he was filthy and would still be on duty.

Nick hated the fair.

“You know the sooner we work out our differences in a peaceful manner, the sooner we’ll be done.  That’s what Gil said.”

“Suck it, Arne.  The fair will end soon and then I’m going to kill you.”

“Whatever happened to love your neighbor?”

Was this guy for real?  “Revenge is bloody, Arnold.  So says the Lupa.”

 “Harsh…”

Nick shook his head and longed for the moment he could leave this place in the dust.  He wanted to go home, strip down, burn his clothes and shower until the fair stink was nothing but a nightmare past.  An added benefit to the night would be finding his mate and fucking her to exhaustion.

“You know, man, you didn’t have to stay with me this whole week.”  Arnold scratched at the ground with one clean boot, recharging Nick’s frustration.  “You could chow Gil down in one swallow if you wanted, yet you stayed and did your job.  Why is that?”

Hell, right then, as Nick looked back at the young, lupa, so young bull his friend’s words filled his head.  He’s just so young, Nick, and angry.  His brothers and I have been trying to take on the roll our father should have but couldn’t, but we’re at a loss as to what to do with him.  Zarak looked away, pain evident in his smooth, wrinkle-free face.  His old soul, however, gleamed in his eyes and told a story of loss.

“It’s called honor, Arne, and respect.”  Nick sighed, knowing the bull still didn’t get it. “We destroyed parts of this fucking fair; we owed Gil and the town reparation.”  He could see the next question clearly on the boy’s face before he even spoke.  “And no, money holds no repayment here.  A man does right when he’s done wrong to begin with.”

“Okay.”

Nick looked at Arne, hoping he wasn’t a lost cause because that would kill his friend, Zarak.  In the distance, Ziva made her way towards him which got him moving in her direction.

“Watch out for the…”

Squish.  Nick raised his boot and pulled along with it a sticky, stringy mess.

 “Bubble gum.”

A sniff to his right brought him around to the sweetest little girl he knew.  Miss Rosie.  Human, but more.

“Mister Nick, I’m lost.  My mommy was scolding my brothers and then all kinds of big people moved in front of me and I couldn’t see her anymore.  You’re tall, so could you pick me up so I can look or my mommy?”

Nick lifted the slight little peanut into his arms.  How could he not.  At the same time, Ziva sidled into his other side and grumbled about boudoir pictures and this town full of something he missed, but would find out later.  “Kiss and animal booth is closed.”  Ziva ran her finger tips down the little girls cheek and asked her gently, “Miss Rosie, are you taking good care of Nicky here?”

“Yep.”  The little beauty laughed. “But he gots dirty before I found him.”

“Typical, nothing like lean, mean and clean over there.”  Both ladies laughed, making his heart lighter.

“Speaking of…how in the hell have you stayed so clean, Arne?”  Nick grumped, clutching his mate in one arm and holding little Rosie in the other.

“I’m just lucky that way.”  Arnold preened, turning this way and that just as an unmistakable sound rent the air above.  What seemed like gallons of the foulest, nastiest smelling sewage dropped from the sky only to land smack on top of the once clean bull.  In his hair, down his back, seeping past the neck line of his shirt.  It dripped onto his pants and rolled down into his shoe.  He was covered from head to toe.  Right then, Nick couldn’t have been happier with his food stains, bubble gum foot and manure stink.  At least he wasn’t covered in bile.

The spider-like arms of the right directly above the smelly bull spun wildly, but if Nick wasn’t mistaken it was an aptly named bear who’d done the deed.  Nick owed him one or maybe two movie tickets as Ralph’s love of the cinema was well known.

“Oh gawd, someone puked on me.”  What started as a whine soon turned angry and snorty.  “Someone PUKED on me!”  The bull was getting ready to charge into more trouble unless Nick put a stop to it.

“ARNOLD!”  Nick roared, startling everyone around him, including the bull, but not little Rosie.  She just kissed one cheek and patted the other, filling him with a greater peace.

“Y-yeah?” Arnold responded, somewhat less agitated.

“Go home, clean up, then come back and enjoy the rest of the fair.  I’ll talk to Gil.”

“Are you going to kill me before or after a few beers and rides?”

“Neither, but I am going to work your ass off.”  Nick knew what this boy needed and it wasn’t family guilt.
He needed to respect himself and that started by doing his own thing…namely, a job of his own.  “Monday morning, bright and early, and by that I mean 4am.  Come to the G&B and find me.  There are racks to be filled all over town and I need a strong back to do it.  You’re strong and you’ll be paid.”
Arnold appeared stunned and messy.  “Thanks.”

Nick nodded, and then turned to the little human in his arms.  “Well, Miss Rosie, what’da say we get a big old cotton candy and you and I will ride that awesome carousel over there, while Ziva finds your mama?”

“Yes please!”

“Rosie, how come my roar didn’t scare you, sweetheart?”

“’Cause I’m little red and little reds are not scared of big, bad wolves, silly.”

Nick laughed, and hugged this little human to him.  She was a part of his pack from this day forward, one for being so precocious and two for making him laugh at the fair.  Yeah, maybe the fair wasn’t too bad after all.
~~~

Ha!  So this post got away from me today and went from my goal of 800 words to nearly 1200.  Ah well, hope you enjoy.

Have a wonderful weekend!

Serena

Best in Show

Laurie dug her hand into the shoe box on the coffee table and came up with half a dozen blue ribbons. “Geez. How many are in here?”

“I dunno.” From the kitchen came the sounds of Digger rummaging around in the fridge. “Where the scat’s the—”

“Look in the door.”

“Oh yeah.”

The rummaging stopped. Laurie sighed. “My boyfriend, the mighty hunter. Can’t find things he put in his own refrigerator. It’s a good thing you grow your own food.”

“Correction.” Digger came into the living room with two bottles of Lexor’s Pale Ale. He handed the unopened one to Laurie and took a swig from the other. “I grow vegetables to lure in my own food. There’s a difference. You can’t hunt a leaf of lettuce.”

“You sure can grow one, though.” She held up the blue ribbon that proved it. “Did you win every produce exhibit at the fair?”

“Not every one. Some horse won for sweet corn. The judge was a horse, so I think it was fixed. I didn’t enter for cabbage because I didn’t grow any, and my peppers sucked this year. Even Lorelei said so.”

“That didn’t stop her from eating them.” Laurie picked another blue ribbon out of the box. “’Best Flower Arrangement’?”

Digger’s face got red. “You weren’t supposed to see that one.”

“Well, you do have that beautiful flower garden.” She spotted a flash of third-place yellow in the box. “What happened here?”

“Oh, that was Baked Goods. Meat Pie. They didn’t tell me it was supposed to be ground chuck and not woodchuck.” Digger shrugged. “Tasted fine to me.”

“Ooooh, this one’s huge! Best in Show?”

“For the zucchini, yeah. I wanted to cook it for you, but Louie offered me cash for the whole display. He said he wanted to use ‘em in a special. I couldn’t turn him down.” He raised his bottle to her. “You’re drinking your fried zucchini dinner. Enjoy.”

“We should make a display out of these. Hang it over the fireplace.”

“What for? Because I’m good at growing bunny bait? Most of that’s your doing, or tips from Lorelei. Why don’t you take those home with you? I feel funny just looking at them. Like I cheated or something.”

“It’s your garden and your efforts. You earned these.”

He wasn’t buying it, she could tell. Wolves weren’t supposed to enjoy gardening, or growing things, or digging in the dirt. The pack as a whole considered it unlupine.

Well, Laurie had an answer to that. She put down her bottle and picked up the biggest blue ribbon, the Best in Show. “I only want this one, and I know just where to put it. Right where it belongs.”

Before Digger could protest, Laurie knelt in front of him and unbuttoned his fly. She fixed the blue ribbon to the place of honor. “There we go. Biggest zucchini in Talbot’s Peak.” She gave his “zucchini” a squeeze. “And so firm!”

Digger made a low, growly noise.

“Taste … mmmmm, salty. Look! It’s growing as we speak. We’re going to need a bigger ribbon. Shall I check the radishes while I’m down here?”

His assent came out as a croak.

“Zucchini in heart of palm,” Laurie murmured in between licks. “With radishes on the side.” She sucked enthusiastically until the sauce arrived. “Now that was worthy of Best in Show. You, sir, are one hell of a gardener.”

“Gimme a couple of minutes and I’ll be ready to plow your field. Oops! Looks like the growing season’s started already.” He tugged her blouse up over her head. “We won’t be needing this.”

She yanked at his trousers. “Or these.”

Suffice to say, Digger claimed yet another prize. As the saying goes, farmers do it dirty.

Living to the Kilt...

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

For Talbot's Peak fair week, I had an entirely different flash scene in mind. However, that was before Scottish, sexy, kilt-wearing shapeshifters got the best of me.

Well, no surprise there ~grinz~

This scene follows last week's post, Wearin' Their Kilts at the Talbot's Peak Fair. Hope you enjoy...
~~~~~~

Living to the Kilt...

Tripping to a halt, Patrice slowly lowered her camera. Lusty Scotsmen in Talbot's Peak? Who knew?

'Course, she'd just moved to Mystic Falls, Montana. Upon his passing, her beloved uncle had kindly willed his small retirement house to her.

Hearing about the 'first annual' fair, Patrice had decided to unpack her camera, and give it a whirl. Check out the lay of the land, so to speak.

At the sight of several manly men in kilts, Patrice couldn't help it. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stared like an infatuated teenager. To her credit she didn't drop her older, but expensive camera.

Gah, those kilts looked real, even if they weren't. Obviously the hunky Highlanders 'manned' the 'Scots Best of Breed Tavern' booth that was behind them.

Instead of serving customers, two of the out-of-time-appearing Scotsmen played a game of hopscotch with a group of younger children -- excited, giggling kids with flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

Patrice ogled, while giving them brownie points for the tender, playful way they  interacted with the youngsters. Almost in the manner of a family dog, she thought.

How odd...that thought followed on the heels of the first... then was lost as she watched the brawnier Scotsman, the one with the gorgeous sable and tan locks, swing one of the children onto the first square.

When it was his turn, Patrice murmured before she could stop herself, "Everybody pray for a good stiff wind."

But what holy, unholy inspiration! Already, she was damp in her so-called nether region.

With each hop on the squares, the brawny, but noble Scotsman's kilt flipped upward, revealing rock-hard, fine-fine thighs. Patrice clutched her camera hard. Was she actually drooling over the flex of  his thigh muscles?

"Lassie," a voice boomed toward her. "Why don't ya come join in the game?"

Patrice tore her gaze away long enough to locate the baritone gruff voice.

"Lassie, come on over." The giant Highlander sporting a wild black mane of hair, waved her closer. "Have a pint of ale. Plenty of Scottish shortbread 'n fixin's."

Patrice followed her feet. She had no choice. They moved her toward the booth, closer...closer to him, her kilt-wearing dream come true -- who now mock wrestled with one of the boys.

"Duff's the name." The Scottish giant pulled out a heavy wooden chair. "Give your feet a rest, lass. I'll have me boys serve ya, once the parent's come for the wee ones. Won't be much longer."

Patrice knew she sat, knew she nodded. "Ale sounds good. My throat's gone dry," she semi-croaked.

"Comin' up, lass. Good timin' must be on your side, showin' up now," Duff continued, as he poured golden ale into a tall glass. "Plenty o' lassies lining up for Donnie and Dristan. Tonight is a dancin' party."

"I bet," Patrice mumbled, taking hold of the ale Duff placed before her. "How much?" she remembered to ask.

"On the house. All you have to do is answer one question, lass."

Wary, about to take a sip, Patrice asked, "What's that?"

"Have a fondness for dogs?"

Thrown, but seeing no harm in the question -- after several moments of thought -- Patrice answered. "Sure, I like dogs. Why not? Why do you ask?"

"Go ahead. Take a sip, lass. If the ale's not to your taste, I have several other brews on hand."

What met her lips, then her mouth...well, delicious was hardly an apt description for the unusual ale. Patrice downed several more swallows.

"It's an old recipe." Duff spoke as if he read her thoughts. "Been in the family for several generations."

"You ought to bottle this stuff...oh, you did." Patrice grimaced at her words. What a way to make a good impression. To cover herself, she made a show of placing her camera inside her carry-all bag.

"Any particular dog breeds catch your fancy, lass?"

Duff's unexpected question caught Patrice mid-sip, and she nearly choked. "Have a litter of pups?" she managed to ask.

Even as she spoke, her gaze had been captured by Donnie and Dristan as they said their 'goodbyes' to the children. Although, which one was which, she didn't know. Not yet. She damn well intended to find out.

"No litter, lass. Are ya lookin' for a pup?" Duff set a plate of what looked like biscotti, but was likely something Scottish, in front of her.

"I want to settle in before I think about getting a pup...just moved to Mystic Falls," Patrice added, while wondering why she felt compelled to answer.

"Only been in this fair land of Montana for about nine months, meself. The tavern's between town and the Pleasure Club. A lovely forest glade, if yer so inclined."

Pleasure Club? Patrice felt her brows shoot upward. What the hell? What had she gotten herself into? Better question, what did she 'want' to get herself into?

Anything! that had to do with the two Highlander hunks striding toward her, both of them with the sexiest pair legs she'd ever had the 'pleasure' of seeing.

However, if she had her choice...

"Dristan," her choice introduced himself in a brogue that did terrible-wonderful things to her womanly parts. He extended his hand American-style, but Patrice got the distinct feeling he'd just learned this social expectation.

"Patrice." Willing her hand to quit its sudden shaking, she reached out.

Dristan enfolded her hand as if he'd been given a gift. Patrice quivered inside, then flushed hot -- yeah, as if she'd turned the shower up to its highest heat level and stepped inside.

"A pleasure to meet ya, lass." 

"Looks like you have a fondness for collies, Patrice lass." Duff barked a laugh that sounded like he enjoyed an inside joke.

"Pay him no mind." The one who had to be Donnie gave her an exaggerated wink. "You'll excuse me. Customers are arrivin'."

"So they are, Donnie bonnie lad."

From the corner of her eye, Patrice watched Duff whip around fast, surprisingly fast given his enormous size. And, an even greater surprise to her, Dristan still held her hand. More like he caressed her hand with his.

"Now you just stay seated, me beautiful lass," he intimately crooned, "while I help serve. I'm Duff's partner. You'll understand my responsibility in the matter."

Patrice could only nod as Dristan let go of her hand. Feeling dumbfounded, but like she floated on a whole sky full of clouds, she watched him pivot toward the bar.

Whatever...she knew one thing. Her butt wouldn't be moving from this chair. Her gaze wouldn't be straying from Dristan, or his kilt-covered assets.

"Living to the kilt," she murmured to herself, as she lifted the glass of ale to her lips. "Why not live to the kilt?"

~~~~~~

 
Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Let the Chips Fall ...

Before his mother’s remarriage, but especially after, Hannibal Ewing had never been one to ascribe positive attributes to a wolf. But even he had to admit Dante had pegged this one right on the nose. Must have something to do with all those predator genes.

He and his partner, Hoover, approached the two human cowboys lounging by the fence that marked the Cow Chip Bingo field. The wolf was happy enough to let the bighorn shifter take the lead. Hannibal didn’t mind. Humans didn’t make him nervous. Very little did.

The cowboys took one look at Hannibal’s size and defensive-tackle build and banished any thoughts of resistance on the spot. Hannibal swallowed a snort. So that’s why Dante had asked him to put in some time as fair security. Chalk up another one for the wolf boy and his knowledge of human and inhuman nature. “Morning, boys. Enjoying the fair?”

“We ain’t done nothing,” one of them blurted. His buddy thrust an elbow at his ribs.

“Never said you did,” Hannibal said mildly. “But some of the other fairgoers aren’t as conscientious as you two. We’ve been getting word people have been trying to rig the games. Not to mention the personal side bets.”

Hannibal rested his arm on the fence. The rail groaned beneath its weight. Both cowboys grew a little paler. “Now, we don’t mind the bets too much. That’s between the people involved, and nobody gets hurt except the loser. We just want to make sure everything stays on the up-and-up. That’s what we’re about.”

“Us too,” the beefier of the two cowboys, not the blurter, said. “Fairs are meant to be fun. No argument there.”

Hannibal mmm-hmmmed and gazed out over the field. The grass had been spray-painted into a huge Bingo board of lettered and numbered squares. A dozen cattle roamed about, cropping grass and twitching their tails. A baker’s dozen.

“Take Cow Chip Bingo,” Hannibal said. “Simple game. Cow roams around, fills up on grass, then does as Nature intended. Guess correctly where it’ll land and collect your cash. Depending on the number of players—and we’ve been having a lot—the payoffs can get pretty sweet. That’s not even counting the side bets.”

The cowboys looked mighty uncomfortable. Neither faced the field.

“Hoover,” Hannibal addressed his partner, “how many head did Brand drop off from the Flying F last night?”

“Twelve. I checked ‘em out myself.”

“How many in that field right now?”

Hoover did a head count. “Thirteen.”

“Well, well. “ Hannibal smiled down at the fidgety cowboys. “Looks like we’ve got us an extra.”

Hoover balanced himself on the fence and studied the cattle. His nose, keen enough to distinguish shifter from non-shifter, settled on a target. “That one.”

Hannibal nodded. He’d already been entertaining suspicions. Every other bovine on the board had caught his and Hoover’s shifter scents, and paused to stare before quietly but emphatically edging away from their section of fence. Every one but the big roan longhorn. That one munched grass and gazed off into the distance and flicked his tail at flies, the very picture of nonchalance.

“Brandon must have miscounted,” Hannibal said. “Hoover, do you see a Flying F brand?”

“Maybe it’s on the other side,” one of the cowboys hastily suggested.

“We’d better check. Just to be safe.” Hannibal unclipped his walkie-talkie. “Elliot, Dale, I need a hand at Cow Chip Bingo. We may have to do some cattle branding.”

The longhorn bellowed. In a blink he changed from bull to human. “No way, man! You’re not burning anything into me!”

The blurty cowboy swore. “Way to blow it, Colby.”

“Sue me. I’m not into the torture scene.”

“How’d you know?” the other cowboy asked Hannibal.

“C’mon. Bovine shifter loads up on a fiber-heavy breakfast, joins the herd, then just ‘happens’ to dump his load on a prearranged square. His partners outside the fence walk away winners. Maybe multiple times, considering how many bets we’re told you two laid down. That, and my mother runs the diner where your partner stuffed himself this morning. This may be our first fair, but it’s not our first rodeo.”

“Uh, guys?” The bull-shifter danced from foot to foot. “Now that the jig’s up, okay if I … ?”

“Behind those trees.” Hannibal pointed. The shifter vaulted the fence and charged away post haste.

“What about us?” the beefy cowboy said.

“Since we caught you in time, there’s no harm done. Just make sure you tell your marks you’ve changed your mind about the bets. Then go enjoy the fair. Have fun. Oh, and see to it you’re back here this evening. You wanted to clean up so bad, you can clean up the field for tomorrow. Don’t try to duck out. We’ll be watching.”

The one cowboy started to protest. Beefy elbowed him again. Both nodded glumly.

“Cancel the branding,” Hannibal said into his radio as he and Hoover walked away. Hannibal returned the device to his belt. “I don’t know how he does it. Dante called this even before the fair opened. Who the scat even thinks about scamming Cow Chip Bingo?”

“Humans,” Hoover said. “They’ll scam anything. Look what they did to their sports.”

On their way back toward the midway they encountered the longhorn again. Hannibal flicked a glance at the naked man’s impressive, bull-sized dookey. “You’re gonna have to cover that up,” he advised him. “We’ve got humans here, and they brought their kids. There’s a tent by the entrance with donated clothes. Stuff like this happens a lot in the Peak.”

“I was you, I’d go with a kilt,” Hoover added.

“Good idea. Thanks. Guess the game’s over, huh?” The bull shrugged. “Well, I’m still getting my cotton candy. And Bud and Lou are buying. I left my wallet in the truck.”

WELCOME TO TALBOT’S PEAK’S FIRST ANNUAL FAIR

Gil looked up at the banner marking the entrance the fair.  Six weeks of hard work and lengthy hours with three more to go until the fair officially opened.  Rides lined the outer edges of the town limits with kiddie rides coordinated off from the adult ones.  Too many of the teens decided helping out meant taking turns straddling the kiddie cars and attempting to use them like bumper cars.  That attraction had almost lost out until someone suggested a pint-sized demolition derby.  Several parents spent hours standing in line to register their entries.  Shaking his head, Gill walked down the street checking off items on the list his clipboard held.

Two streets over began the concession stands.  Shooting games were at the far end well away from the hustle and bustle of the main crowd.   Dante agreed to keep an eye on the booth along with the police chief from Sandy Valley.  Mystic Falls’ finest would police the crowd near the blow gun dart booth.  Too many temptations and a fracas could ensue.  Too bad those teens couldn’t put the same energy and enthusiasm into their Friday night football games.  Bored high schoolers were another problem for another time.  Fair opened in less than two hours.

Mountain High Avenue marked the start of the alley way leading to the food concessions along with the entrance that lead back to Main Street and the adult beverage department.  Louie assured him all forty cases of Full Moonlight Ale were safely packed and ready to sell.  Forty cases, plus another thirty-five  each from Mystic Falls and Sandy Valley, should keep the crowd buzzed until the curfew crew began making their rounds.  Come moonrise, Gil knew better than to leave some of the Peak’s randier citizens unchaperoned.  Another reason putting them on the cleanup crew made sense.

With an hour left until opening, Gil walked back to his office.  His job would finish for the afternoon once he cut the ribbon as he declared the Fair underway.    A quiet nap with Blackie curled up in his lap eased back in his recliner sounded delicious.  No one would be whining for some special trinket, no unnecessary phone calls . . .Gil stopped dead in his tracks.  On the steps of City Hall, fourteen large boxes sat blocking the entrance to his office.

“Rachel,” Gill bellowed, trying to push two of the boxes aside.  He caught sight of the shipping label that read attention Mayor Gil.    “What the nuts is this?”

Rachel, his less than sweet, staff assistant peered at him over one of the boxes.  She cracked her gum, pushed her glasses up on top of her head, and pointed at him.  “Got dumber, eh?”

Gil counted to ten nuts before he replied.  The cantankerous battleax refused to retire and firing her made less sense.  She knew where too many bodies were hidden and all the assorted pasts of the Peak’s elite denizens.   

“Actually Rachel, no. Someone else did leaving a delivery on the front steps.” Gil worked his way around another box trying to read the side.  He waited for her sarcastic comeback as she circled the opposite way around the same box.  

Quiet ensued.  Rachel’s eyes widened.  She shook her head and pointed at him.  “Ah, shit be twisted!  You better have ordered enough tomato juice and scrub brushes to match.”

Gil scooted around the box until he stood next to Rachel.  His eyes got wider as he read the printing on the side.  Count-one thousand skunk hats.  Imprinting-Punked a Skunk.  Gil counted the number of cases again.  Fourteen times one thousand equaled…. “Oh holy boiled peanuts no! That game made the forbidden list.”  

Gil slumped against on the box.  An hour before the fair opened and fourteen thousand skunk hats to dispose of.  How was he going to accomplish this?  So much for a quiet afternoon or that nap.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Welcome to Fair Week at Talbot's Peak!  Looks like Gil has more skunkish issues to deal with before fair officially opens.  Good luck GIl!  Will be interesting what or how he decides to dispose of the hats.

The dog days of Summer are upon us.  I hope the storms making their way across the country haven't clobbered you.  Keep safe and dry!  Remember to share a good book or two with your loves and spice!  I know I will!

Smiles,

Solara

Murphy's Peak!

Gil admired the change that had taken place all over Talbot’s Peak.  Rides, booths and assorted attractions filled the town.

The finishing touches were going on now under foreman Hank’s critical eye, including the assembly of a dirt ring the equine residents in town requested for riderless barrel races and other rodeo skills.
Though the fair was a go and tomorrow they’d kick it off with a ‘please let it be tasteful’ bang, still Gil watched and worried.

“Arnold!” Foreman Hank yelled.  “Get your ass over to the G&B kissing booth.  They have a holding pen they need setup.”

“Ah, send Andy over there would ya?”

“I told you to go, boy.  Fencing is your thing, is it not?”

Obvious trepidation filled the young oxen’s face as he nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

“Then get on up there.”

Gil’s nuts climbed up high even as his inner squirrel screamed out a warning that trouble was imminent.  He followed the young beast of burden up the street, wondering what could make him so apprehensive about helping Nick out and whether the green and yellow bruises around his eye had anything to do with his current state of worry.

“Oh Lupa.” Ziva moaned.  “No way, go on Arnold, get.”

“I can’t.” Oxen boy snorted.  “Hank sent me.”

Ziva threw her hands up and growled.  “One black eye will mean nothing if Nick finds out.”

“I’m not going to say anything!”  Arnold’s voice climbed several pitches making Gil cringe.

This was like watching a horrifying accident.  You knew you should look away or do something to help, but you just couldn’t muster up the juice to take action.  Nick was closing in on the pair, but neither of them could see him coming.

“Damn straight you won’t or, trust me; you’ll be wishing all you were getting was a black eye.”

“I know, I know, Ziv…ah, Ms. Wilk.”  Arnold touched the eye as he spoke.  “I still say you’d make a fine tight end in the Legends League, or a blocker.”

“YOU!” Nick roared.  His lion imitation spot on if you asked Gil.

“Nick no!” Ziva threw herself on top of her irate man and looked over to the panicked ox/man who was still too young to control his shifts.  “Arnold, run!”

Gil watched the nightmare ensue.  Nick threw Ziva off, gently, of course, the way he did everything that pertained to Ziva and shot off, in wolf form, after the bellowing oxen.  He nipped at the beasts hooves, knocking him into one booth after another.

Java Joes lost the bottom of the J on the fluttering banner and now looked like lava Joes, Miss Elly and Vernon’s Cake and Steak booth had a huge hole in the front and the ladies of the Doomed Love clubs booth, well that was one actually improved by the mess.  Their sign went from ‘Snap up you match’  to
‘Sn   atch’ a sure winner in Gils mind.

Hank blew past him to tackle Nick mid-leap and two of Arnold’s brothers grabbed the skittish ox by the horns and dragged him down.  A crowd gathered around the rodeo ring hooting and hollering, and making bets on the side.

“What the NUTS is going on here?”  Gil yelled, hands on hips and stomping one foot.

 Ziva limped over to the growling wolf currently underneath the fair foreman. “Nicholas Taggert McMahon, I told you that had been taken care of now shift back and stand down.”

Nick came back to his naked human form and pushed at six-foot-six of laughing horse.  “Get off…” came a wispy demand, followed by the gulping of air when Hank moved.

“Are you okay?” Ziva whispered.

“Fine.  A black eye?”

“Yes.”

“Not enough.”  Nick pointed over at the cowering oxen. “Now it’s my turn.”

“No.”

“ENOUGH!”  Gil thundered, as much as squirrel shifters could thunder anyway.  “I don’t care what’s going on here.  All I want is the mess cleaned up and you…” he pointed at Nick.  “And you…” again he pointed at Arnold.  “Will be here every day of the fair at prime kiddie ride time with a bucket and mop.”

“What?” “How come?”  Nick and Arnold spoke at once.

“Welcome to the Bucket Brigade.  Stop by my office later for your official name tags.”  Gil smiled for what seemed like the first time today.  He couldn’t wait to see their faces when they got a load of the name tags he was dreaming up just for this occasion.


~~~

Note to self:  Don't piss off the squirrel in charge during fair time.  Yeesh!

Have a great weekend and enjoy our upcoming Talbot's Peak Fair.

Serena

Wearin' Their Kilts at the Talbot's Peak Fair

Late Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

Apologies for the delayed posting. A lightning storm moved in when I was just beginning this flash scene, and since I had to shut the computer down, there was no way to finish in a timely manner.

However, Duff McDuff, my Scottie dog shapeshifter, returns in this scene. He has a dual purpose for having a food and drink booth at the fair. He'll be offering a friendly paw to the fine folks of the Peak, and advertising his Scots Best of Breed Tavern. Also, he'll be introducing Donnie and Dristan, his new partners -- and so much more than their outward appearance. As is always true in Talbot's Peak.

Read on, if you will...
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Wearin' Their Kilts at the Talbot's Peak Fair

Duff McDuff threw his arm around the stout shoulders of his last customer, walking the wolf hybrid shifter to the door. The man's Scottish blood hummed, bold as the wind blowing over the heather moors.

Duff opened the oak wood door wide, letting the forest-rich, night air pour inside his tavern. He gave Dante's longtime, biker buddy a hearty slap on the back before wishing him 'goodnight'. Given the tough as a Dire wolf shifter could handle himself, and was headed to the Pleasure Club -- not a great distance -- he didn't concern himself about the man's safe passage.

"Donnie me bonnie lad," Duff barked, as he turned, "yer stirrin' the fire like a crone with a pot of o' special brew."

"The fire's not complainin', as you can well see, ya old growly Scottie dog." Donnie straightened, whipped his lean length around, and winked. A grin spread across his face, long as a bean pole, but uncommonly handsome.

Certainly, the maidens had not a whit's problem stroking the Scottish Deerhound's human face, or his dog face, either -- for that matter.

"Not enough spirit in that wee fire to do any complainin'." Dristan smirked good-naturedly at Donnie.

In a show of playful temper, Donnie brandished the fire poker at Dristan before placing it in its proper place.

Taking his time, Duff strode toward his two warrior comrades from the olden days of epic battles and magnificent magickal chaos.

"Lads, it's summer here in Montana. I'ma takin' the chill off the stones. Givin' the place a proper atmosphere. Don't want me guests to be sweatin' like hogs on a spit."

"Not a pretty picture, Duff," Kyrbella trilled from the kitchen doorway.

Pleased his wee fae-fox shifter had ventured this close to Donnie and Dristan, Duff paused in his steps. "Will ya join us, love?"

With his heart glowing like the bright moon above, Duff smiled. "I promise the lads won't bite," he encouraged in a tender tone.

"No..." her fae light flickered, a sign of Kyrbella's distress. Duff knew little about the small-statured woman he'd rescued, the woman who now held every beat of his heart in the palm of her tiny hand.

"I wanted you to know," she softly voiced, "there are still helpings of tatties, and the onion herb stew is hot." His Kyrbella had taken to religiously watching over the vigor of his health.

"Thankee, love."

She shimmered just for him, beautiful as a rainbow, his fae-fox woman. With another burst of radiance, she disappeared. Most likely he'd find her at the spinning wheel, or weaving the fine delicate cloth she favored.

Duff scowled at the curious, trouble-about-to-happen expressions on Dristan and Donnie's mugs. He knew it well from their days together, an age now lost to history.

"No questions," he mouthed, then curled his lip in fierce Scottie dog warning.

"Yer like cats wantin' to know what could turn 'em stiff as a house plank," Duff continued, closing in on the hearth. "Ye only need to know it was Kyrbella's magick which assisted me in bringing both of you lads through the mists of time -- dense as bowl of over-cooked porridge, I tell ya."

Dristan nodded once, eyeing him with the noble wisdom that was his collie dog nature. "A second chance at life is worth more than a pot o' gold. I'ma agreein', Duff."

"Lot of fine shapeshifter lasses you'll be meetin' at the fair in Talbot's Peak proper," Duff tempted in a lighter tone. He propped a boot on the hearth. Gazing into the flames, he enjoyed their gentle dance in the bed of peat moss.

"The modern kilts arrived," Donnie laid on the brogue. "They'll do, but nothin' like the sweet heavy wool we rolled in, dressing our loins for battle, for livin' in the wild clan lands...once upon a time."

"Once upon a time," Dristan echoed. Sadness laced his voice for all that had been lost to them -- the good sweet life that could have been.

Despite their many victories, their fight to live as a free people, the dark shroud cast by the evil ones had overcome the world.

"The breath of freedom blows from our lungs, just in our livin', in the fight we'll be givin' alongside Dante, and his clan of warriors," Duff solemnly reminded.

"I smell it, Duff, when I run the land in this haven for the shifter-likes of us, for other supernatural beings. The breath of freedom splendidly, savagely whirls like the winds of the White Goddess," Donnie spoke as poet. "Besides," he continued a moment later, "I'll be showin' off me sexy legs to the pantin' ladies when we're servin' real Scotch shortbread -- the old recipe."

"I'll be outdoing ya, spinning me kilt high, when I'm servin' Apple and Bramble Pie, then dancin' with the single maids," Dristan bantered.

In his mind's eye, Duff saw the collie shifter's thick ruff stand, giving him a majestic appearance. Still entranced by the tame fire, Duff grinned to himself. It was a true sweetness to have Donnie and Dristan by his side again. Thank the Great One Above.

"The Fruit and Nut bread tastes like the loveliest dream," Duff straightened, then stretched mightily for moments. "My Kyrbella added a touch o' love magick, so be aware, lads."

"Ya didn't say, Duff, ya big-hearted dog, what liquor stocks you'll be offering the fine shifters and other fair folk, at the fair," Donnie sang in a lilt, the tone he used when courtin' the ladies. "That is, once the wee ones are slumberin' and dreamin'."

"A bit of golden ale, the kind the maids favor. A couple of dark hefty brews for the lads. See for yourself." Duff gestured toward the cases he'd stacked in the far corner that very morning.

Dristan aimed his nose and took several long sniffs. "Heavenly...just a bit 'o heaven in me nostrils. The Scotch," he began, then offered an appreciative, human-sounding bark.

"Yup, lads," Duff proudly woofed. "The Scotch has been aged in me original oak barrels."

"When the stag gods ruled the forests," Donnie spoke like a bard of old.

"When the dragon race still flew the mist-curtained skies," Dristan roughly crooned.

"When the battles were fought without a stitch of clothing," Duff reminisced, a tear in his eye.

"How old are ye?" Dristan and Donnie barked the words in concert.

Seeing both of their brows raised high, the true surprise in their gazes, he winked -- his little tease before answering. 

"Scottie dogs rule in that realm, me bonnie canine lads. We're older on Earth than most of the wolf kind." Duff savored their astonishment for a bit. "Why doncha go don those kilts, me boys. Let's have a proper look at ya before I let you loose on the ladies."

~~~~~~

 
Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance
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