Post by Cass on Dec 4, 2011 14:40:29 GMT 10
To: Pandora
Message: ...for your continued Ficmas gladness!
From: your still secret snowflake
Title: Three French Hens...or, Wherein the Riders Start a Holiday Trend and No One Helps.
Rating: PG
Wishlist Item: #1 - Evin!
Summary:It’s Midwinter in Corus, and nothing helps. Especially Evin Larse. He makes it worse. Part three of “The Twelve Days of Mischief...or, It Came Upon a Midwinter Weird”.
Three French Hens...or, Wherein the Riders Start a Holiday Trend and No One Helps.
Evin Larse heard a noise.
Evin Larse heard a noise before he hit the baths after a long morning of training.
Evin Larse heard a noise before he hit the baths, but since he was coming from a long morning of training, he dismissed it casually before proceeding to soap his hair and soak himself until his toes were pruny.
The first sign that something might be wrong was the speechless horror on the faces of his fellow Riders when he entered the Mess hall…even though sometimes that would be a sign of intense respect, something about the expressions around him told him that this was not the case.
The second sign that something might be wrong was the fact that each and every Rider in the hall sported a bright, thick shock of brilliant orange hair.
The third sign that something might be wrong started with Miri offering Evin a mirror and ended with Evin deserting his manhood and screaming like a little girl when he saw, reflected all too clearly, his own dearly beloved head of hair dyed the same brilliant orange as everyone elses’.
“Wha-wh-what?” He managed, several horrorstruck moments later.
Miri plucked the mirror from his shaking hands before he could drop it and replied grimly, “It seems the Own have decided to get back at us for the icy yard prank from the other day…”
Evin ran a hand through his hair, absently checking on it to make sure it still remained, whatever its shade, on his head. “Bugger them.”
“What are we going to do?” Padrach asked plaintively. “We can’t show up to the ball tonight looking like this!”
Natan and Tarrus agreed vehemently, and even Elnore had a look on her face that could be described as “downright bloodthirsty”. “Well,” Miri pondered, “there has to be a way to get this stuff out. I mean, somehow they got it in, right?”
Ysbel held up his shampoo. “It’s this; they switched our shampoo out for something with dye in it.”
“So,” Evin clapped his hands, “What we need is to rinse this dye out. Once we do, we can prank them back within an inch of their lives—what do you say?”
“Aye aye, Cap’n!” Farant cheered, and then mentioned, “I have some un-contaminated soap in my bunk; maybe that will work!”
Nine impatient Riders clustered around the baths-room door, in hopes that Farant had indeed discovered the answer to their mysterious plight. However, minutes passed, and very little sounds came from the crack under the door.
“Well?” Evin asked finally, “what happened?”
Slow, heavy footsteps made their way close to the door, and the knob twisted bit by bit. A whimper preceded the sight that waited for the Riders on the other side of the door, and for a second time that morning they were all rendered speechless.
“…I…don’t think this is the answer,” Miri managed, rubbing her eyes and blinking.
Farant whimpered again, and touched his shiny, newly-bald head.
“No, no, definitely not,” Evin muttered hurriedly. “I say we try something else—“
“—wait,” Deni said, still transfixed by Farant’s plight. “I think we should make a pact, that way if anything else happens because of this hair dye, it’ll happen to all of us. Stand together and all, y’know?”
Miri nodded. “Hands in, everyone. No excuses.”
On the count of three, the eight riders still in possession of a full head of hair—albeit an orange head of hair—pledged their united support for one another in the face of potential hairless tragedy. Natan offered Farant his handkerchief, as the mention of his former status brought tears to the bald Rider.
“I’m sure we can find you a hat,” he offered, but the reassurance didn’t exactly comfort Farant.
“What should we try first?” Miri wondered, looking at the assorted items in front of them.
“My mum always used to put peanut butter in my hair when I’d get sticky stuff in it as a child,” Elnore mentioned, “maybe that might help.”
Tarrus grabbed a spoon and scooped a dollop into each Riders’ hand. “On the count of three, then?”
Evin looked at the peanut butter with distaste. “Rub it in for a minute, then dunk your head in the water-trough outside; we can’t keep wasting the bathhouse water.”
Taking a deep breath, Padrach held his peanut butter near his head. “One, two…THREE.” The sound of moist, sticky peanut butter being slapped onto nine heads made Evin wince, but through squinted eyes he could see Miri working the stuff through her formerly-dark brown hair. He tried not to hear the squelching of the nut-butter near his ears, but Padrach’s voice yelling “RINSE!” still came far later than he would have liked, and Evin led the mad dash to the trough.
The water, under its thin crust of ice, slapped his face, and Evin scrubbed his head, bumping elbows with Natan in their haste to get out of the cold. After wiping streaming water from his eyes, Evin looked blearily around.
“Unless I am grossly mistaken, that has done absolutely nothing,” he commented. Eight Riders bearing orange hair grimaced back at him, and then ducked quickly.
“What?” he asked, irritated, before he felt as sharp jerk on his head. “What the—?” Another jerk sent him stumbling back towards the Mess, trailing several birds who flapped awkwardly after him.
Miri, the last person into their blessedly bird free Mess, fell to her knees laughing at the look on Evin’s face. “They—they smelled—‘nut butter—your hair—think, food!”
Scowling at her, Evin rubbed his scalp. “Blasted birds.”
“At the very least,” Ysbel offered, “I don’t think that’s a side effect of the dye…you must smell like food to them.”
This only caused Miri to laugh harder. Somehow, she managed to force out one other sentence: “Or maybe you’re just very attractive to the local wildlife?”
Elnore bit her lip, and Natan snickered.
“Fine. What should we try next?”
The Riders had very little luck; Tarrus’ suggestion of using oil caused their hair to dry in ringlets, which, Evin thought as he studied his reflection in the mirror, was so not a good look on him.
It was only after Deni’s suggestion of using warm tea—“honest, it really might help”—that Evin realized the extent to which they were screwed.
“Well, we are sure to be the light of the party,” he sighed grimly, inspecting his hair again in the mirror. It glowed faintly but steadily.
Tarrus, holding the candle he had just blown out, cursed. “The dye must have been made by someone with the Gift; that’s the only explanation for these side effects…”
“But no one in Dom’s squad has the Gift,” Miri protested.
“Then they must have bought someone’s allegiance,” Evin pointed out. “Either way, we have to get this out before tonight’s Ball…”
“It SPARKLES!” Padrach cried, clutching at his head. “HOW CAN IT BE SPARKLING?!”
Ysbel, ignoring him, leaned closer to the mirror. “I don’t know, its kind of a nice effect—“
“No, no, no,” Evin cut her off. “It is not a nice effect, and putting egg whites in our hair has done nothing for the underlying problem, as our hair is all still orange!”
“—Wait.” Miri grabbed Evin’s arm. “What if we try to dye it back? That should work, right?”
“YES.” Evin grabbed Miri by the shoulders. “You are a genius!”
“Alright, so the one on the left,” Miri motioned to the correct pot, “Is for if you have light hair—it has calendula in it, and it should make your hair light and proper again. The one on the right is for if you have dark hair,” she pointed, “And the black walnut shells should make your hair dark again. Any questions?”
Evin held out his cup. “Please, now.”
The feeling of steeping his head in a warm, soothing mixture of hot water and calendula was intensely relaxing, and Evin much enjoyed the sensation. It was for this exact reason that it took a moment for what he was seeing to register with his mind.
“Miri,” he said, voice strangled, “you—your hair, it’s—“
“Your hair is RED,” she screeched, pointing.
Evin grabbed his hair, yanking one curl in front of his eyes so he could see it. “Yours is GREEN!” he retaliated.
“It still sparkles…” Padrach moaned, sporting his own head of glossy green hair.
“I hate mages.” Natan groaned.
Whatever Baird expected to see in his doorway, it most likely wasn’t a group of the Queen’s Riders with holiday-themed hair.
“We need your help,” Evin announced. The chief healer looked him over and bit back a giggle, turning a faint shade of red.
“Please,” Miri begged, even as Evin moved into the room so the other Riders could enter the room. “No, really, help.”
The movement caused the sparkles in the Riders’ red and green hair to shimmer in the light of the late afternoon pouring through the windows. Baird bit his knuckle, snorting delicately.
“Will you help or not?!” Evin asked, dismayed and outraged, which apparently was the last straw. Baird moved to sit in his chair but missed, sinking to the ground instead. The Riders watched, bemused, as Baird held his stomach and laughed soundlessly on the floor.
“…I think we just killed the chief healer,” Miri mentioned nervously. Baird rolled on the floor, crying in his mirth.
“Something in there’s definitely broken,” Deni agreed skeptically.
“I hate mages,” Natan groaned.
Suffice it to say, the attendees to the Midwinter’s Ball that evening was astounded and incredulous; the sheer amount of festivity lingering in the air around the Queen’s Riders was close to smothering. However, they were commended by Queen Thayet for their attention to the holiday and “truly embodying the Midwinter Spirit”, and Evin Larse had been rumored to have stuck his tongue out at one Domitan of Masbolle following said comment.
In the back of the room, one Baird of Queenscove snorted into his handkerchief quietly.