Amy Ramallae of the Tribe of Monaghan.
Gerald seemed to be impressed by the inn and the theme, which made me smile.
Many tourists only saw the furs, the bikinis and the maid uniforms, but not only did I know, that Gerald knew, that there was more to us then that (I made sure of that), it was nice to show him a facet of our culture and history, which not everyone saw.
The closest waitress welcomed us with a bow, speaking in Selkie: “Greetings, Milord, Milady.” She rose and smiled. “Please follow me to your table.”
We indeed did and I couldn't help but watch the waitresses and waiters at work.
Their long, flowing dresses lend themselves to a very fluid style of movement, quite graceful and, if I were honest, enchanting. I wondered if BI had something like that on offer, too...
...either way, when we arrived at our table, I ordered two cuppas of tea and a basket of Scipeáil. The waitress nodded and left us with a menu for the more substantial breakfast.
I smiled at Gerald.
“The people here are cute.”, I said with a smile, “I wonder if BI has such dresses on offer...”
Pina Fonsa of the Tribe of Dundalk.
Of course, the officer let us in and I quickly found out, that I was not the only one, who could sneak.
Elin was on top of us before I could even blink.
That is, Elin was on top of Amadeus before I could even blink, hugging the wheelchair bound man gently and carefully. The former was owed to the... well, 'affection' she felt for him was definitely too strong of a term, but she did like him.
The latter was owed to her armour.
The woman with the high-standing dog ears was not a competitor today, but she had been invited by her old school, the Droire Girls' High School of Riverwood, to observe from the VIP-Area. Also, she was a one of Tralee's... well, I knew for a fact, that she was anything but a maiden.
As such, she was not only allowed to wear her Tribe's Gwisgwanaeth, Tralee's version of the Geansai, she did so with a passion. The Gwisgwanaeth was ancient, of the Tribes, which dwelled in the Great Woods, made of and styled after the animals in their surroundings. Ancient, and not-so-ancient, warriors believed, that the power and spirit of the animals would pass onto them, empower them in battle.
Elin's was styled after a Sealsaill, a Woodstalker – a fearsome animal, ferocious, protective of their young and both quick and deadly, as well as silent, which was quite a surprise considering its size, from tip of the snout to the tip of the tail between sixteen and twenty-five metres.
Elin's armour was well-crafted, the scaled leather bands holding her (considerable, no I am not jealous despite being a lot less hilly, thank you very much) bust were two different bands, one with the more or less original scales and leather, lined with a red trim, while the other was decorated with rather large fangs, originals from the Woodstalker. Her left arm, her sword arm, was adorned with more scaled leather, from the shoulders down, pauldron and rerebrace from normal, smooth leather, no couter, but a vambrace of thick, but slim plates. Her hands were clad in dark brown leather gloves.
Between her two argumentation amplifiers, a leather strap ran, holding her shield adorned with the feathers of a Woodstalker, and a sheath for a surprisingly usual longsword.
Held up by a thick leather belt, a pair of almost black plates protected and emphasized her hips, but also protected her chaps from pooling at the ankles, as the bands holding them up were underneath these plates. Of course, they, too, were of dark Woodstalker Leather with a red trim and the scales protecting her legs.
Additionally, plates, much akin to the ones protecting her sword arm, protected her lower legs, while heavy leather boots completed the ensemble.
She disengaged with a smile.
“Hello, Amadeus. I am glad to see you in good health.”, she said and gave herself a nice little twirl. “What do you think?”
Alaina Raméis of the Tribe of Cavan.
“Just call me Alaina.”, I replied and motioned her to follow me, “I'm not too much for ceremony when speaking to fellow transmitters of wisdom.”
Quite a few students greeted us (or rather me), while I pondered Penelope's form of address: Professor. Well, I was many things, but I didn't have a Habilitation. Maybe it was custom around her parts to address teachers as Professors?
There were such places, Teressien, for instance.
After a group of Cubs, kids fresh in Elementary School, greeted us politely (“Good Morning, Miss Raméis and Miss... uh...”, they chorused in unison before I provided “Miss Delalande” in a stage whisper), I turned to Penelope.
“Francois du Pont, you said?”, I asked rhetorically, smiled, “I heard only good thing about that school.” I leaned over slightly. “Some of my boys and girls have friends in the Sensha-Do Team, so of course I heard of yours by osmosis. An SPG with a cruiser-sized gun, I heard?”
Eithne Moronai of the Tribe of Tralee.
I nodded.
Of course she was in the same situation as I was, only more exposed.
“Eithne Moronai of the Tribe of Tralee.”, I answered, bowed my head, “Iris Boarding School Complex. And a leading member of the Iris Boarding School Vulpine Appreciation Society.” I let a beat pass. “The pleasure is mine. Please, just call me Eithne, Marybell.”
Faye Coimedaí of the Tribe of Cork.
I nodded – a good question.
“Sensha-Do, Tankery or whatever term you prefer is not a Selkie Sport.”, I began, “There are several lines of tradition, ours is the Teressian. The story goes, that in the 1920s, a bunch of rich kids bought tanks from surpluses of the Princess' Army and began to tinker with them, drive them around and occasionally engage in shooting competitions. Firearm shooting sports are far more common in Teressien then around here.
In 1938, a bunch of students here at the Iris founded the Motor-Vehicle Appreciation Society, which, well, appreciated motor-vehicles. Cars, motorcycles and so on.” I smiled. I had seen old photographs, a bunch of kids of their time, who, too, tinkered and raced and got into mishaps and shenanigans. “They received a bunch of old tankettes in 1940, in order to help with their Younger Militia duties. A few halftracks followed in 1955, together with the first actual tanks. That was, when the Tankery Section was born, founded by the daughter of the Teressian Ambassador at the time, who had tinkered and shot back home.” I smiled slightly. “At first the Army was not thrilled, but they came around when the Tankery Section was joined by the kids of a few rather high-ranking individuals. Two years later, in their first real match, the team was wiped out, but the sport had caught on.”
I let a beat pass.
“In 1995, today's team was founded. The wife of the current Supreme Commander of the SDF was one of the founding mothers and she is still... well, the closest term in English is Colonel-in-Chief.”, I finished my tale, “So, if you want my advice, first you need a bunch of kids very much into heavy machinery and shooting at things with big guns. A bit of aid from your Army might also help.”
At the Freagra Inn – At Miles' and Agnes' Table.
The waitress nodded and jotted down a few notes.
“Got it, thank you.”, she replied and then added with a bow, “I'll be back shortly.”
A Traditional Selkie Breakfast did not go quite like that, but that neither an issue for her, nor for the cook. Granted, the toast was wheat bread, the sausages of pig meat, but the potatoes were fresh. The eggs were roasted from both sides, as were the potatoes.
There was a lot of grease, too.
The waitress came floating back not too long after Miles had departed.
“There you go, Milady, Mi...lord?” She placed his plate onto the table and smiled at the young woman with only eggs and sausages on her plate, no potatoes, like ordered. “Shall I fetch your wayward travelling companion, Milady? Otherwise, his food might get cold.”
At the Freagra Inn – Bar.
Miles was indeed the most easily seen man at the bar, as he approached it.
He was not the tallest, but there was only one man taller then him, if only by a few centimeters: A redhead, tall and broad shouldered, a fur trimmed coat hanging from the crossguard of a massive two-handed sword next to him. He wore armour as he sipped his tea with the morning newspaper (the Silver Bay Herald, its headline reading Plushie War escalating!, accompanied by an image of an assortment of stuffed animals).
Curiously enough, there was a girl sitting next to him, her red hair not only in a similar shade to the young man's, but also bound back with a pretty, green bow, silver thread interwoven into it. A similar band of cloth adorned the young man's right upper arm. And, similarly to her seat neighbour, the girl was nursing a lemonade and read the newspaper, though in her case not the main news, but the Kids' Page.
The young man did not react to Miles greeting the barman, but the girl looked up, blushed as red as her hair and dove back into her paper.
Unbothered by the display, the barman nodded.
“Sure, friend, I do not mind.”, he said turned to the other man. He, in turn, was a few many centimetres shorter then Miles, but carried himself with a smile and self-confidence. “Cider, Ale, Milk Spirit, Lager, March Beer, Summer Beer or Blieferlner?”
Alaina Deanhanna of the Tribe of Wicklow.
I smiled slightly.
“We have bows for beginners, too.”, I offered, “And in plural, so need to fight over who gets first shot.”
I motioned for them to follow me, but, halfway to my little workshop, I stopped them.
A girl on horseback thundered by, stopped at the shooting line, jumped out of the saddle, crossbow in hand – short moment to take aim, then the bolt raced down the range. The girl didn't even look if she hit or not, before the bolt thunked into the target, she already had her one leg in the stirrup again, the other in the air swinging over the equine's back.
With a well-practised move, she hung her crossbow into a tensioner on her saddle, leaned down to used her mass to force the the string back into the notch and the crossbow tense, but not loaded.
Prepared as such, she hung the device on a hook on her saddle and thundered off to her starting position.
The entire sequence had taken less then fifteen seconds.
“I can't provide you with horses, though.”, I told the two in no uncertain terms.
As we arrived in my workshop, I nodded to an Iris-Girl standing there with a broken thumb ring in her hand. “I'll be with you in a second.”
I turned to the two lads.
“Alright, first things first, any prior experiences or preferences?”, I asked.
Next to us was a wall positively covered in bows, crossbows and even the odd arbalest. The devices ranged from small, handy crossbows, which one could make ready to fire with bare hands to large, massive windlass crossbows, from compact composite bows as Selkie-Horsem*n preferred them since ages long past to longbows longer then the two lads put together.
None of them were tense, their bowstrings hanging loose.
To any enthusiast of the sport, it would induce bliss.
I knew, it did with me – one could even miss the price tags.
At the Freagra Inn.
The waitress was unpertubed by the expression.
It was more a challenge to her, to wipe that frown away with excellent service, good food and better drink. She was sure, that he had noticed the dagger, which was fine by her. It was her insurance, that no hands would wander where they did not belong.
The lad seemed decent enough, though.
Either way, once she had led him to a free table, not too far away from Miles' and Agnes', and he had sat down, she presented him with a menu.
“Would you like something to drink while you peruse the menu, Milord?”, she asked politely, reaching for her notepad and pen on the other side from her dagger.
