Page 17 of Talk Nerdy To Me
Chapter 9
BASE
What the actual fuck is going on in the park?
It looks like Lord of the Rings just exploded on a random Sunday evening. It’s really hard to get some quiet writing time in when people are walking by in full-on renaissance gear and elf ears.
“Save the queen!” a bunch of people shout from the back entrance.
“Kill the queen!” is shouted from the group walking by in front of me.
What the…
Propping up my guitar, I lean forward, studying this random little gathering, as tents start popping up all over the park. I’m scratching my head at their words and interactions, trying to figure out if this is for real right now.
I’ve traveled a lot, and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen so many men in tights. Ever.
My eyebrows almost hit my hairline when I spot a familiar face among the ever-growing gathering.
Dale Sterling.
In a leather tunic.
And…tights.
Dale Sterling picking a wedgie while in tights…
I look around, wondering if I’ve somehow landed in an alternate universe.
Since I’m clearly too distracted to try and write new music right now, I put my acoustic back in its case and jog over to Dale. His eyes flick toward me as I approach, then away, then back again, before they widen with a satisfying amount of horror.
He groans while pinching the bridge of his nose, and my smile spreads before I can stop it.
“Apparently I sat down in modern-day Sterling Shore, and woke up in medieval Camel-toe-lot,” I tell him as he shakes his head, refusing to look at me again.
“She swore I wouldn’t see anyone who wasn’t a part of this,” he mutters almost too low for me to hear.
“So...um…nice…tights,” I say with a growing grin.
“They’re leggings,” he bites out. Then he groans and scrubs a hand over his face, before adding, “As if that makes it any better.”
I’m trying not to smile mockingly. Really, I am. But that’s a lot of man to squeeze into some small tights—I mean, leggings.
My grin only grows, regardless of my attempts to stow it.
Another familiar face comes into view—only she’s wearing a royal gown and a crown to match…
“So what am I looking at?” I ask him.
“Currently, you’re looking at my fiancée,” he states, deadpan.
Five guys are standing on crates, making music with their mouths—only it’s not very good. Another is rapping, but again, not…good at all.
“Yo, the queen rode in with all her merry men, and the last thing the elf prince said was I’ll have you again…”
Cringing and looking away from the train wreck of loud spitting instead of beat-boxing, I look over at Dale and quirk an eyebrow.
“The park is closed off for this. How did you get in without dressing the damn part?” he asks.
