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Story TIme!

Taken from rivertempest , because this is a fun idea!

If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, (even if we don't speak often or ever) please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me.

It can be anything you want - good or bad - BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.

When you're finished, post this little paragraph in your LJ and see what your friends come up with.



( 6 have spoken — take the speaking stick )
Aug. 6th, 2009 12:43 am (UTC)
My fondest memory is when…

I dragged you along with me when my grandfather’s will was read. For some reason he’d left me a ‘place’.

“A place, Carrie?”

I nodded while skimming the wording. “That’s what it says, Abby… a ‘place’.”

You frowned. “What kind of place?”

My frown matched yours. “Not sure, but there’s an address… in… Scotland?” My eyebrows were high into my hairline. “Wanna go?”

“What, now?”

“Sure, why not? I’ve got two weeks of vacation and I need to use it or lose it.”

“But I-”

I wanted to interrupt your train of thinking, hoping to derail it quickly. “Oh come on! Live a little! I want you to go, I’ll pay for your plane ticket, and we get to stay for free.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and glared at me. “I can’t be bought.”

I rolled my eyes. “I know you can’t, but I’ve got a really good feeling about this, so please?” I pout and bat my eyelashes. “I mean, seriously, how can you turn down two weeks in Scotland?”

You pursed your lips, trying to hide a grin. “Okay, fine… but if we meet up with any Highlanders then I’m going to take a peek under their kilts.”

“You won’t hear any argument from me,” I said gleefully. “You may have to race me to see who tackles him first!”

We slept most of the way over there, and as we stepped off the place, I gave you back your sunglasses that you’d accidentally dropped into my purse the first day we met. Then, we hired a cab to take us to the address, taking in the scenery with combined ‘ooohhs’ and ‘aahhhhs’.

We pulled up to this very old building that was part stone, part wood and the cab sped off, leaving us there. The lawyer had given me a key so I opened the ‘place’ up. We both stood there… dumbfounded.

The WHOLE building was nothing but rows, shelves, and niches of books, surrounded by Tiffany stained-glass windows depicting scenes of everything from the Crusades to the Battle of Culloden. Plus, there were several windows that had comfy alcove seats where a person could sit and read for hours.

“This is some ‘place’,” you whispered, craning your neck to gaze at the painted ceiling.

I silently agreed and we stayed two weeks… reading, laughing, writing… and taking a peek up the kilt of at least three men. ;)
Aug. 7th, 2009 10:16 pm (UTC)
Oh that's right! Yes, you did give me back the sunglasses but they got lost in the kafuffle with that first kilt-wearer we accosted!

I remember it well! He was very tall man and we saw him while we were walking along a little trail through the Highlands and watching the adorably shaggy Highland cattle roaming about. The Scotsman and his collie (who we later learned was named Lassie - I never saw that one coming!) were out tending to the cows and spied us taking pictures of them while plotting how we could work the appearance of one of them into a work of fan fiction.

"Aye there, lasses!" called the man, approaching us in his rather red tartan kilt. "Wouldna frighten the beasts, 'f I were you!"

"He's a MacGillivray!" you whispered to me, after consulting your book, Scottish Tartans and the Men Who Wear Them.

"I'm sorry, Mr. MacGillivray," I said, lowering my camera, but not before snapping off a shot of the man, who, as he approached, proved to be a lovely specimen of maleness. "We didn't mean to frighten them. We just thought they were cute."

The man nodded. "Aye, comely beasts they are," he agreed.

He then introduced himself as Angus MacGillivray and seemed pleased that you had been able to identify his clan from your little tartan book. The three of us chatted for a while, and you and I kept looking at each other surreptitiously, trying to plot without speaking just how we were going to take our peek, because we just couldn't give up this opportunity. We had been talking for a good half hour. Angus had known your grandfather when he (Angus) was a wee lad and remembered him fondly, and was pleased to know the old castle wouldn't be forgotten. We had yet to make our move.

Finally, I had an idea. I recalled a joke one of my patients told me once at work, and figured it just might do the trick.

"Can I tell you a culturally appropriate but terribly politically incorrect joke, Angus?" I asked.

Angus nodded eagerly.

"There once was a Scotsman named Ian MacDougall. Ian was a proper Scotsman and wore his kilt every day even though he was far from his home. Ian, now living in England, was courting a young farm girl named Mary.

"One day, Mary said to Ian, 'Ian, is it true that you Scotsmen where nothing under your kilts?'

"And Ian replied, 'Aye, Mary, 'tis true.'

"Mary began to blush and quietly asked, 'May I take a peek, Ian? So that I might know for certain?'

"And Ian replied, 'Aye, Mary, if ye must'

"So up under the kilt she goes to find out the truth. Now, Mary was a proper girl, brought up to be a godly young lady by her mother, so she received quite a shock when she had a look and found Ian in his altogether and nothing much else beneath the kilt.

"'Oh, Ian, it's gruesome!' she cried.

"And Ian laughed and said, 'Look again, Mary. It's grew some more!"

We all laughed, Angus most heartily.

Then he clasped us both on the shoulders and said, "I'll give ye points for creativity! Now get on and take your peek!"

Which we did. Gotta love a natural redhead.

And as the two of us, giggling, removed our faces from the curtain of MacGillivray tartan, we heard this awful screeching noise. Turns out, Angus's wife, Jenny, was not too pleased about our sight-seeing efforts and decided to dissuade us from further explorations by running at us with a pitchfork.

Well, we high-tailed it out of there, to Angus's laughter and a chorus of frightened mooing (with some barking from Lassie and more shrieks from Jenny). My sunglasses were lost but that was okay - we were in Scotland and I didn't really need them, and plus, not blonde and not Paris, so . . . no real loss.

It was worth it, anyway, for a closer look at Angus MacGillivray!

Edited at 2009-08-07 10:16 pm (UTC)
Aug. 7th, 2009 12:18 am (UTC)
Abby looked around the vampire convention wondering what she had gotten herself into. Everywhere she looked was Spikes. A sea of Spikes. Abby started to drool just as she felt someone shake her shoulder.

"Wake up, Abby. It's time to watch the JM marathon. I have the popcorn." Mary shook Abby's shoulder again. "Carrie's already cued up School Hard. Hurry up."
Aug. 7th, 2009 11:15 pm (UTC)
Abby dragged herself out of the fog of sleep, rubbing the drool off her chin that she suspected had more to do with the dream than her being asleep. Mary and Carrie (hey, should Abby change her name to Laura?) were looking at her expectantly while the season 2 version of the title sequence played on the big screen television.

"I'm awake, really," Abby mumbled. "You wouldn't believe the dream I had!"

Since the episode was only at the part about Buffy and Sheila and Parent Teacher night, Carrie and Mary both looked at Abby eagerly for details.

Abby told them, and Mary swooned. "A sea of Spikes! I wish we all were there right now!"

Suddenly, in a puff of purple smoke, a vengeance demon appeared in her veiny face and purple feathery unitard. "Wish granted!" she said, before vanishing into another cloud of floating purple glitter.

Mary, Carrie, and Abby looked at each other with wide eyes as the room and everything in it started to change just as Spike's voice from the TV said, "Home, sweet home."

Before they knew it, they had materialized smack-dab in the middle of Abby's dream, except that it felt far too real to be a dream. And indeed, everywhere around them were Spikes.

Abby pouted. "In my dream they were real Spikes. These guys are just dressed-up look-a-likes."

"Some of them are very pretty look-a-likes," Mary noted, as the three of them began walking through the croud.

Other people were there, too, but nobody they knew. It seemed that they really were at a vampire convention but so far hadn't figured out if they were in a world where vampires were real (meaning that some of the people here might actually be fangy folk in disguise) or if it was just your run-of-the-mill wannabes congregating for fun. But seeing as how a vengeance demon sent them here in the first place, they were leaning heavily toward option number one.

This was proven when one of them bit Mary, who was fortunately saved by a suspiciously strong young woman who they suspected was a slayer.

"Sorry," she said. "They're not supposed to do that." She shook the vampire roughly. "In order to get into the convention, they sign a no-bite contract. Isn't that right?"

The vampire mumbled his apologies and the slayer let him go and returned to her supervisory duties.

Now that we were looking, we could see a variety of humans chatting with what were very obviously vampires. Every single Spike wannabe was a human, to the dismay of Mary, Carrie, and Abby.

"This is kind of . . . anti-climactic, isn't it?" Mary said, once the fright of being dinner had passed.

All the vampires in the building reminded them of that one on Bargaining wearing the Hanson t-shirt and they so weren't interested.

Then a voice whispered from behind them. "Looking for the real thing, loves?"

Very very slowly, the three women turned around to find Spike -- really Spike!!! -- peeking out from behind a curtained-off area.

The three looked at each other, wondering which incarnation of Spike this was and whether or not it was wise to join him behind the curtain.

But then common sense flew out the window and they remembered who they were looking at, and they gleefully followed him, enjoying (probably too much) his soft, rumbly laugh.

Mary, Carrie, and Abby have all agreed that what happens at Vampire Convention stays at Vampire Convention, but put it this way . . . they keep wishing themselves back there in the hopes that another convenient vengeance demon passing by will grant them their wish!

Edited at 2009-08-07 11:17 pm (UTC)
Aug. 8th, 2009 12:04 pm (UTC)
You know, that bite mark was really hard to explain. I'm not sure my hubby fell for the wild puppy story.
Aug. 9th, 2009 01:09 am (UTC)
Which bite mark? ;)
( 6 have spoken — take the speaking stick )


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