The Tale of the Leprechaun

The Santa Barbara Irish Faire was a mixed event - historical on one side, modern in the rest. We mingled with each other, trying to keep the customers coming over. So when I saw an over-tanned git in shorts and sneakers trying to pick a fight with a Mel Gibson poster, I slid over and offered the loan of my sword. We chatted back and forth for a bit and I wandered off thinking, "He doesn't quite get it, but it's nice to see a customer trying."

Later on, Jeff, another guy, and I put together a troll gig. Jeff put on a mask and hid under the bridge [a dry streambed cut through the park]. We then went "fishing" off the bridge for the troll. After much silliness, the promoters pulled the plug on the gig, but not before the git mentioned above got in on it. [Said git will hereafter be known as "the Leprechaun".]

When I next saw the Leprechaun, he was in our camp, having sweet-talked someone into loaning him a kilt. He was starting to annoy the women of the clan. He wasn't doing anything blatant (that would entitle us to stab him), just being really thick-headed and persistent; getting right in their faces in a very annoying way. I rescued Donna, of Cry of Players, by jumping into their chat. After she made her break, I wound up talking to the Leprechaun for a bit. It started to sink in my head that this guy was sex-obssesed.

After lunch, which the Leprechaun had also talked his way into, I wound up showing him and a body-builder friend of his some of the basic stage fighting moves, just to keep him occupied. This let me find out a couple more things about him. His conversation was strange - it was as if he had a big bunch of prepared speeches, but he would never think of something new to say. Because of this, he was always somewhat off the mark. And second, this guy had no goal in his life other than to get laid that night.

As soon as faire ended, we had the kilt off of him and had sent him packing, but we knew he'd be back in the morning. Those who'd given him favors promised to never do it again. Various men promised to provide interruptions as needed. That's when Jeff came up with an idea.

"Let's you and me hit on him." Obviously, that was perfect. You have to choose your weapon to match your target - a rapier for a man in a silk shirt, a broadsword for one in chainmail, and for one with testosterone overload - well, you get the idea. So we made our plans, set up some background strategies, and warned the clans of what we were up to.

Sunday morning he showed up, dropped off the cooler of beer (a payment for his meal), and vanished into the faire. We watched this silently, thinking, "Okay, if he behaves himself, we'll leave him alone." A little while later as I was entertaining a customer, Jean came up and said, "Linda needs you." Bill ended up finishing my broadsword vs. rapier lecture as I headed for the ravine behind our encampment.

The dry streambed was a shady spot, perfect for Linda to get some peace and quiet. That is, until the Leprechaun pulled up a rock and got nose-to-nose with her. Jeff and I dropped in on opposite sides of the unhappy couple. The Leprechaun cheerfully gave each of us a bottle from his six-pack of cheap potato beer. This started me on my usual rant about the virtues of Guinness and why no man should drink beer he can see through. After a few minutes of this, Linda made her escape and I shifted gears.

"You might've noticed the women avoidin' you a bit, and I wanted to apologize to you for that. You see, I asked them to leave you to me." This started him on his stock upon-being-chastised speech, "Well, I understand that different people have their own parameters, and if I've transgressed someone's parameters..."

"Please," I said, putting my hand on his thigh, "it's so hard for me to come out and say this, that if I stop I might not be able to start again." He slid away from me as Jeff moved closer on the other side. "There's something about you that's causing me to have feelings that I haven't felt before." And I reached for him again.

After a few moments of this, he'd backed away to face me straight on. So, I put a hand on each knee and leaned forward, still babbling away.

And the Leprechaun was running up the side of the gully toward the encampment; Jeff and I in pursuit. He went to ground in Phil and Diane's A-frame tent, sitting in the middle of the bed. We sat down flanking him, with one arm across his back each, the other on his knee or thigh.

"Look,' he said,"this just isn't something I want to do. I don't like it."

"Have you ever tried it?" I asked.

"Um,no."

"Then how do you know you don't like it?"

"Well, I've never been run over by a Mack truck and ground into hamburger under its tires, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like it."

I leaned over to make eye contact with Jeff. "He's comparing us to a Mack truck," trying to sound pleased with the compliment.

Next our victim starting claiming that all he had to do was scream and the crowd would come rescue him. "No they wouldn't -- they'd think it was part of the show."

He went on about how what we wanted to do was against the law and he was legally entitled to kill to defend himself. "Oh, but that's the law in your California, but we're in Leix now, and what our Chief allows us to do is the law."

His protests that the witnesses in the crowd would back his side were countered by Jeff. "All I have to do is kick out those two poles and we'll have all the privacy you could ever want."

Now he started to really panic. "You do that and I'll kill you both. I swear, I'll kill you both." He even claimed to be a lawyer to back up his right to do this.

I squeezed him a little tighter and looked at Jeff again, "Here we are, two trained warriors, and him a man of letters, and he claims he can kill us both with his bare hands." I looked the Leprechaun in the eye,"It's the manliness like that that draws us to you."

The Leprechaun was up and moving. Jeff got a handshake that he tried to turn into a kiss, but the Leprechaun shook him free and scooted into the crowd. I shouted, "But we don't even know your name! What's your name? What's your address? How can we find you again?" as he disappeared.

While this had been going on, about half of the faire folk had been watching from good vantage points without tipping the guy off that this had been a set-up. Jeff and I were welcomed with applause, laughter, and mugs of beer and forced to retell the highlights. We even started speculating whether he'd be back for his cooler.

He did come back and a tip sent me over to the kitchen where he was complaining to Sue Du, "Well, maybe some people think it's funny for me to have a taste of my own medicine, but..." As soon as he saw me, he stiffened and started walking backwards.

I approached slowly, "Hi. Look... I rushed you. I know. And, I'm sorry. But... I think that there could still be something between us, if you give it a chance."

"You know, I think you were lying to me. I think that you have had those kinds of feelings before."

"Not feelings this strong... can we keep in touch? Can I give you my number?"

Snidely. "You can offer me your number."

"All right, I'm offering you my number. Will you call me?"

"No."

Pause. This bit's obviously finished; I need an exit line. Angrily, "Whatever happened to basic politeness!" And I stormed off to the Cry of Players tent, fell to the ground, and laughed myself sick. Meanwhile, Jeff had arrived at the kitchen and goosed the bejasus out of the bastard. With that we were done with him and his cooler, mostly. His body-builder friend had started hanging out at the historic/modern boundary, with the dogs he neglected shamefully. The Leprechaun kept hanging around the modern side of the faire, after going home to get a knife to defend himself. He brandished all 1.5 inches of it while trying to pick up Sharee, saying, "I'm prepared to defend myself."

Jeff and I did have a back-up plan. If the Leprechaun had gone for my propositions, we would've insisted that neither Jeff nor I could be left out. If that didn't bother him, we'd go over to the pavilion and collect the rope and manacles. If he still wanted to play, we'd take him out to the woods, tie him up, and bash his head in with a rock. Okay, okay... we'd've just tied him up and left him there.

Leprechaun? Oh, yeah. Turned out that he'd shown up in a leprechaun outfit the last two years and been just as annoying. So the clan tied him to a tree and said "We won't untie you until you tell us where your pot of gold is." And there he stayed for the rest of the day.

We'll see if he comes back next year.

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