[open] SWEET SIXTEEN PARTY - YOU'RE INVITED!

[Spear + Spark]

Puckwudgies, the little people of the forest. His mother told him tales of these woodland fairies that are given to mischief and small bouts of magic. Why is he thinking of them now? Maybe because he's just woken up to the sweet smell of flowers in the fall and flowers should not retain their sweetness in this season - it's not possible or plausibe, but then, nothing magical is.

What is also not possible is the fact that Spear no longer looks like a stallion but a man, tall and upright, lean but muscled. His hair is black and streaming down his back, a feather tied into it, and beneath his mismatched eyes is two smears of warpaint on each cheek. Stranger still, the loincloth - yes, a loincloth because no savage can walk around completely naked. It's just uncouth and the puckwudgies would have a field day with his manly bits dangling out. So they've clothed him and put moccasins on his feet - two feet, instead of four. Oh hell!

He hears laughter and turns his head in it's direction, he sees nothing at first but glimmers of a great fire through the trees. So he's in a forest, maybe The Forest? Great, he thinks, there's a bonfire going on. He heads towards it when he hears more laughter follow him, surround him actually, from above and below even. Damn puckwudgies! So mischievous and then, he feels the back of his loincloth start to lift and a breeze blows against his bare butt. He slaps a hand down his backside only to feel a sharp sting. Damn thing bit him! More laughter. Then a puckwudgie appears and takes his hand, the bite disappears and he feels pleasantly tingly afterwards, like it drugged him via it's teeth.

"Come with me," the fairy thing says to him. "We are celebrating!"

He lets it lead him in the direction of the bonfire, finally able to hear chanting up ahead. Spear recognizes the word that is said over and over, "Beqanna." It is endless, and their feet and drums keep rhythm to the sound of the chanting. It draws him in, as does the earthen bowl thrust in his head. "Drink," it - she, maybe? - bids him and he does, downs it in one gulp. It burns his throat and settles in the pit of his stomach, hot and delicious - alcohol. He drinks more, is thrust into the midst of the dancing and chanting until his own voice joins in, "Beqanna! Beqanna! Beqanna!"

This goes on long into the night, long until the first faint rays of the dawn comes - sunrise, and they all stop and cheer and he is compelled to yell out amongst them, "Happy Birthday Beqanna!" just as the sun crests the horizon and the fire collapses in a flurry of sparks. Beqanna, land of the sunrise, has been honored by their drunken antics all night long and he is glad to have taken part, except for the loincloth incident earlier...

word count: 498
(only Spear is participating but they have a joint account)