Well, it's been a while since I had the chance to use Melissa's phone for new posts, and it's all stupid Tark's fault. Here's what happened:
Two days after the dreadful field trip to the Dwarf mines, my hair still reeked of burning dwarf poo. I'd tried everything to get the smell out--washing it in spring water, rubbing it with rose petals, and even considering plastering it with pine sap. Nothing worked. It was like the smell had soaked in! I finally decided to sneak out and get a drop of human shampoo from Melissa's bathroom. Her hair always smells wonderful!
Just as I was tiptoeing out of my bedroom that night, our front door crashed open and Tark walked in. I say walked, but it was more like staggered. He was singing 'Where Art Thy Trousers, oh Mighty Oberon' at the top of his voice, and there was a huge bump on his forehead. Once he figured out which side of the door he was on, he slammed it, turned around, and threw up all over Dad's overcoat that was hanging in the hallway. Absolutely classic!
It turned out that one of Tark's dim-witted associates had gotten ahold of his father's secret stash of vintage fermented honey, and they'd all snuck out and had quite the party. As I've said before, honey itself is intoxicating to fairies, and fermented honey is at least ten times stronger! The older it is, the more potent it gets, too. Tark and his pals had gotten completely drunk.
Dad went absolutely berserk. I've never seen him so angry. Of course, as an officer of the Honey Control Board, he was horrifically embarrassed! It doesn't look good for one of their officers, especially the one who came up with their latest ad campaign, to have a son who's part of what was to become a very public underage drinking story! He stormed all over the house, shouted at Tark (who was wayyyy past caring at the time) and blew the special whistle that summons messenger bats to rouse the other parents and alert them to the problem.
It turned out that there had been eight kids at the party, and they had all gotten drunker than gnomes on holiday. Several of them were still in the clearing where they'd met, completely passed out. Two of them had decided it would be a good idea to put their underwear on their heads and knock on Mayor Clearwater's door shouting "Bottoms' Up, Mr. Mayor!" The mayor was not amused. After writing some rude things about our school principal on the trees around the clearing, Tark had decided to fly home. He ran into several trees on the way. He was covered with bumps and bruises, but it could have been a lot worse. Drunk fairies often snap their necks flying into trees, or get caught by cats.
All eight boys (girls have much more sense) are now grounded for, like, EVER! They woke up with some truly magnificent hangovers, too. The whole thing would have been hysterically funny if it hadn't put my parents on such high alert. There was just no chance of sneaking out for ages! My hair is actually smelling normal now, without having to take any of Melissa's shampoo. I might try some anyway.
Showing posts with label Dwarves. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dwarves. Show all posts
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Field Trip, Part Two
Just when you think a school field trip can’t get any worse than going to the aphid hatchery yet again, the Powers That Be outdo themselves. Our trip to the Olympic Range Dwarf Mines was truly the most awful idea they have had to date, and I suspect Mrs. Elderberry of being the evil mastermind behind it all.
I’ll admit when we first learned that we were going there, I was a little excited. I was visualizing piles of gold, sparkling gemstones, and maybe a little gift shop where I could maybe buy myself a teensy, inexpensive little tiara to wear to the school dance. Dad squashed that idea out of the gate by refusing to even consider giving me an advance on my allowance, stating that I “already have drawers full of jewelry that she never wears” and would “be wanting more money the next week, anyway.” Honestly. Parents!
In the end it wouldn’t have mattered if he had given me a little spare change, because there was no gift shop. Nor were there any piles of gold. No sparkling gemstones either. Instead, after we all nearly froze to death riding on the stupid cranes for an hour and a half, we got to tour a big, dark, smelly cave. Seriously. A cave!!!
We walked for what must have been miles through the dank shafts, lit only by the occasional torch, seeing the important work that the Dwarves do chipping through mounds and mounds of dirt. Very exciting, I don’t think!
We listened to endless lectures by an ancient Dwarf called Toadfoot, who droned on and on and ON about such fascinating topics as Olympic geology and rock stratums. Or was it strata? I don’t know, I was too numb with cold and boredom to care. We saw a few lumpy things that Toadfoot claimed were diamonds, but they looked just like boring old rocks to me!
The only mildly interesting thing that happened was when Goober Flitwing, one of my dimmer classmates, tripped over his own feet and fell into an underground lake and had to be hauled out with ropes. At least he got to go sit in the front office for the rest of the trip! The rest of us had to soldier on, and I personally had gotten wet all the way through from all of Goober’s thrashing around in the water. Next time I see him, I‘m going to give him a good kick in the shins!
The most utterly appalling thing about the mines was the smell. Old Toadfoot took great pride in explaining the inner working of the Mine’s furnace, which is used to refine any gold they happen to find while they’re endlessly digging in the dirt. He explained, in quite unnecessary detail, the various types of dung that are used to produce various levels of heat for different types of metals. You heard that right, folks! Fairy gold is produced by burning dung. Dung from horses, dung from cattle, and even, I am sorry to say, from the Dwarves themselves! Toadfoot actually seemed proud of this last bit, stating that Dwarf dung burns hotter than any other type on the planet. Lovely.
He could have spared himself a lot of trouble by not telling us this, because there was no doubt in anybody’s mind about what the furnace was burning. The ungodly stench of superheated Dwarf dung filled every tunnel, every cavern, every nook and every crevice. It permeated our skin, hair, and clothing, and by the time we were allowed out of our underground prison we all reeked of the sweet, sweet aroma of burning poo. Even the cranes seemed to wrinkle their noses when we climbed back aboard.
Back at home, I scrubbed and scrubbed trying to get the filthy smell off, but so far nothing seems to be working. When I snuck into Melissa’s house to write this, BoBo the cat didn’t even try to catch me—he just slunk off and buried his nose in his cat bed.
I just can’t wait for tomorrows’ classes. Some of the older students didn’t have to go, including my older brother and a few of his cronies. They aren’t going to smell like the rest of us, and I’m sure they are going to have a great deal of fun at our expense! Oh, noooo, I just had a horrible thought--what if I run into Vik smelling like this? I can only hope we don’t cross paths until the smell wears off. Stupid field trips!!!!
I’ll admit when we first learned that we were going there, I was a little excited. I was visualizing piles of gold, sparkling gemstones, and maybe a little gift shop where I could maybe buy myself a teensy, inexpensive little tiara to wear to the school dance. Dad squashed that idea out of the gate by refusing to even consider giving me an advance on my allowance, stating that I “already have drawers full of jewelry that she never wears” and would “be wanting more money the next week, anyway.” Honestly. Parents!
In the end it wouldn’t have mattered if he had given me a little spare change, because there was no gift shop. Nor were there any piles of gold. No sparkling gemstones either. Instead, after we all nearly froze to death riding on the stupid cranes for an hour and a half, we got to tour a big, dark, smelly cave. Seriously. A cave!!!
We walked for what must have been miles through the dank shafts, lit only by the occasional torch, seeing the important work that the Dwarves do chipping through mounds and mounds of dirt. Very exciting, I don’t think!
We listened to endless lectures by an ancient Dwarf called Toadfoot, who droned on and on and ON about such fascinating topics as Olympic geology and rock stratums. Or was it strata? I don’t know, I was too numb with cold and boredom to care. We saw a few lumpy things that Toadfoot claimed were diamonds, but they looked just like boring old rocks to me!
The only mildly interesting thing that happened was when Goober Flitwing, one of my dimmer classmates, tripped over his own feet and fell into an underground lake and had to be hauled out with ropes. At least he got to go sit in the front office for the rest of the trip! The rest of us had to soldier on, and I personally had gotten wet all the way through from all of Goober’s thrashing around in the water. Next time I see him, I‘m going to give him a good kick in the shins!
The most utterly appalling thing about the mines was the smell. Old Toadfoot took great pride in explaining the inner working of the Mine’s furnace, which is used to refine any gold they happen to find while they’re endlessly digging in the dirt. He explained, in quite unnecessary detail, the various types of dung that are used to produce various levels of heat for different types of metals. You heard that right, folks! Fairy gold is produced by burning dung. Dung from horses, dung from cattle, and even, I am sorry to say, from the Dwarves themselves! Toadfoot actually seemed proud of this last bit, stating that Dwarf dung burns hotter than any other type on the planet. Lovely.
He could have spared himself a lot of trouble by not telling us this, because there was no doubt in anybody’s mind about what the furnace was burning. The ungodly stench of superheated Dwarf dung filled every tunnel, every cavern, every nook and every crevice. It permeated our skin, hair, and clothing, and by the time we were allowed out of our underground prison we all reeked of the sweet, sweet aroma of burning poo. Even the cranes seemed to wrinkle their noses when we climbed back aboard.
Back at home, I scrubbed and scrubbed trying to get the filthy smell off, but so far nothing seems to be working. When I snuck into Melissa’s house to write this, BoBo the cat didn’t even try to catch me—he just slunk off and buried his nose in his cat bed.
I just can’t wait for tomorrows’ classes. Some of the older students didn’t have to go, including my older brother and a few of his cronies. They aren’t going to smell like the rest of us, and I’m sure they are going to have a great deal of fun at our expense! Oh, noooo, I just had a horrible thought--what if I run into Vik smelling like this? I can only hope we don’t cross paths until the smell wears off. Stupid field trips!!!!
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Field Trip
Some good news, at last! Today we were given permission slips for our parents to sign for a field trip next week. I know, I know, all school field trips are terribly dull, but, hey, it's better than listening to another long lecture on fairy lore or some other unbearable topic. And this one might actually be interesting--we're all going to pile onto great blue herons and ride to the Olympic Range Dwarf Mine.
I should explain how the whole bird-riding thing works. When fairies need to go further or faster than they can go by flying themselves, they ride on birds. Now, many birds see fairies as something that belong on a menu, so only certain types of birds can be trusted--and they have to be paid in whatever type of food they like best (except fairy, obviously!)
For short trips we like to use bats, since we're too big for bats to eat but they are willing to carry us for tokens they can exchange for passes to our insect farms. Most of the bat trade goes to fairies who have been out drinking honey, which is intoxicating to fairies. (I've heard that it doesn't have the same effect on humans, but that you have your own fun beverages.) For fairies, nectar is OK to drink any time, but mix it with bee spit and it makes us go completely loopy. Drunk fairies have a way of flying into trees and buzzing cats, which is a recipe for disaster! The Honey Control Board, of which my father is unfortunately a member, has tried over the years to convince fairies to hire bats to take them home after a big night out. This is the origin of those annoying "Drink a Vat, Call a Bat" ads that earned me the charming nickname BatButt. Why couldn't my father have a different, less embarrassing job?
For groups, we usually hire cranes or herons, who can carry up to 20 fairies at a time in exchange for fish. The school is hiring herons for our trip next week. I wish they didn't smell so, well, fishy! Still, anything to get out of class!
I'm kind of excited to see the Olympic Mine, because that's where they say Queen Maeve's crown was forged. I'm sure they've got lots of beautiful treasures! I wonder if they have a gift shop? I could use a little tiara for the upcoming spring ball...
I should explain how the whole bird-riding thing works. When fairies need to go further or faster than they can go by flying themselves, they ride on birds. Now, many birds see fairies as something that belong on a menu, so only certain types of birds can be trusted--and they have to be paid in whatever type of food they like best (except fairy, obviously!)
For short trips we like to use bats, since we're too big for bats to eat but they are willing to carry us for tokens they can exchange for passes to our insect farms. Most of the bat trade goes to fairies who have been out drinking honey, which is intoxicating to fairies. (I've heard that it doesn't have the same effect on humans, but that you have your own fun beverages.) For fairies, nectar is OK to drink any time, but mix it with bee spit and it makes us go completely loopy. Drunk fairies have a way of flying into trees and buzzing cats, which is a recipe for disaster! The Honey Control Board, of which my father is unfortunately a member, has tried over the years to convince fairies to hire bats to take them home after a big night out. This is the origin of those annoying "Drink a Vat, Call a Bat" ads that earned me the charming nickname BatButt. Why couldn't my father have a different, less embarrassing job?
For groups, we usually hire cranes or herons, who can carry up to 20 fairies at a time in exchange for fish. The school is hiring herons for our trip next week. I wish they didn't smell so, well, fishy! Still, anything to get out of class!
I'm kind of excited to see the Olympic Mine, because that's where they say Queen Maeve's crown was forged. I'm sure they've got lots of beautiful treasures! I wonder if they have a gift shop? I could use a little tiara for the upcoming spring ball...
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