This morning they woke me up early and forced me into a car without even doing me the courtesy of letting me drive.
Just because I don't have a license.
They told me I would feel "right at home" at this faire. I suppose that's because of the accents? As it stands, this is what passes for knights in these parts:
Not a bad-looking horse, though, so I met up with him later. His name is Luke.
And aside from his tendency to nibble my hair, we got on quite well.
Got a look at someone calling himself King John, though I overheard rumors he was nothing more than a trumped-up prince. He had someone called Maid Marian with him, and a lackey styling himself the Sheriff of Nottingham.
And then I was strong-armed into visiting some kind of fortuneteller.
She told me I was represented by the King of Wands, which I think sounds rather rude. Not that I trust her anyway.
As we were leaving, we were assaulted by a sort of caterwauling that turned out to be something that considered itself a band.
Though I must say, that more than anything made me feel at home, mostly because it reminded me of John. (He knows why.)
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Much thanks to the Connecticut Renaissance Faire for their hospitality.
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