“Oh good.” Sophie felt relieved. She was sure that if she knew what she’d eaten was bug larva she would have been sick all over the table.
“Fleeta pudding is made from the mature insects themselves,” Magistrate Licklow added helpfully. “See? If you look closely you can see some of the legs—they add texture.” He poked at his own pudding, exposing a long, hairy chitinous leg. Plucking it out of the brown mass, he popped it into his mouth and crunched it up with obvious enjoyment. “Wonderful!”
Sophie’s stomach did a slow forward roll. Bugs. I just ate a spoonful of bug guts and there are legs in there too. The horrible, hairy many-jointed leg reminded her of the insects that lived in her native Tampa. Everyone called them palmetto bugs, but really they were just huge roaches that could fly. No matter how clean the house was, they still got in—especially during the rainy season. It was always horrifying to open a closet or push back the shower curtain and suddenly be confronted by one. But what kind of sick person would try making a pudding out of them? Oh my God, I’m going to puke. I can’t help it…
The only thing that saved her was her tharp. Ever since she had been seated at the table it had been making her itch. While she had tasted the bug pudding it had stopped for some reason. But now it started again, so fiercely that it actually took her mind off her stomach.
Sophie shifted in her chair. What is wrong with this thing? The worst part was that the itching was centered in some very private and delicate places. Ignorant of the Tranq Prime culture as she was, she was fairly sure it would be rude to scratch those areas in public. Putting her hands in her lap, she balled them into fists. Her tharp sleeves jerked and twitched as she clenched her teeth and told herself, I must not scratch. I must not puke. I must not—
“Well, well, my dear, I’m sure I find your, ah, offer most tempting. I mean, you’re quite a lovely female for an alien but I am a mated male,” said a low voice in her ear.
Sophie’s eyes flew open and she saw that Magistrate Licklow was frowning at her.
“I’m sorry, what?” She looked at him uncertainly as she felt the sleeves of her tharp twitch again.
“I’m just saying that while I appreciate your offer of, ah, intimate relations, I must politely decline.” He cleared his throat. “So please stop touching me.”
“But I’m not!” Sophie was appalled. “What would make you think I was doing…doing something like that?”
“Because you are.” He was beginning to look red in the face—clearly something was happening beneath the table but Sophie had no idea what. Her hands were still fisted in her lap with the long sleeves of her tharp hanging down almost to the ground. They still seemed to be twitching a little but it was hard to tell when she was itching so abominably. Her knees were together and her feet were up on the bottom rung of her chair, so it wasn’t like she was playing footsie with the Magistrate. What was he talking about?
“I’m not,” she said earnestly. “I promise you. I would never—”
“Oh, shocking!” Unfortunately Lady Whitethorn had picked up on what was going on—or what the Magistrate thought was going on, anyway—and she was glaring at Sophie.
“No, really,” Sophie protested. “I don’t know what’s happening but I promise I have nothing to do with it. I’m not touching anybody, see?” She held her hands up high as proof…and the top of her tharp fell down to her navel exposing her bare breasts to the entire table.
There was a collective gasp and the other people seated at the table—none of which she’d been introduced to—apparently couldn’t decide if they ought to stare or look away. All eyes were fixed on her and for one awful moment Sophie was frozen to the spot.
Then her paralysis broke and she snatched hastily for the moss green tharp. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” she gasped.
Both Lady Whitethorn and the Magistrate Licklow were still glaring at her. “I suppose it’s a quaint Earth custom to show your dining companions your endowments,” Lady Whitethorn remarked acidly.
“No, honestly it’s not.” Sophie was still having trouble getting the tharp to stay in place. It kept wanting to slip down and expose her again. “That wasn’t on purpose.” But her words fell on deaf ears.
“Young lady, it may be considered proper to expose yourself and make sexual advances on your dinner companions on your planet but here on Tranq Prime, it is not.” Still giving her a dirty look, the Magistrate moved his chair very pointedly to the right, putting some space between them.
“But—” Sophie began helplessly.
“What’s going on? Is there a problem?” Zeelah suddenly appeared with a worried look on her face.
“No problem at all, Zeelah,” Lady Whitethorn said coldly. “Your important guest has just been entertaining us by fondling a public official and exposing herself to the entire dinner table. And that was after she doused my favorite tharp in woo.”
“No I didn’t,” Sophie exclaimed. “I mean, my tharp fell down and I did spill woo on Lady Whitethorn but I didn’t fondle anyone.”
“You most certainly did!” Magistrate Licklow frowned. “It was terrible, Zeelah—she wouldn’t leave me alone even after I told her I was mated.”
“Really,” Lady Whitethorn sniffed. “I can’t believe you brought this person here to insult us like this. It’s inexcusable.”
“I’m sure Sophia didn’t intend to insult anyone.” Zeelah looked at Sophie warningly. “Did you, my dear?”
Up until now, Sophie’s tharp had been itching so badly she thought she was going to scream if it didn’t stop. But now, suddenly, it began to tickle her instead and Sophie was very ticklish.
“I…I…” It felt like a thousand tiny fingers were poking her in the ribs in just the right way. A snort of laughter escaped her and then another.
Lady Whitethorn gave her an incredulous look. “Are you actually laughing? You find this situation amusing?”
“N-no, no of course n-not. I…I…” But Sophie couldn’t go on. She dissolved into helpless giggles as the tickling became even stronger.
Zeelah took her by the arm and pulled her off the high chair. “My goddess, what is wrong with you? Are you drunk? How much woo did you have?”
“I…I only had half…half a glass of…of woo,” Sophie gasped through her giggles. It felt like the tiny little fingers were squeezing her just above her knees—another terribly ticklish spot. “Please…can’t…can’t…” But she was doubled over laughing and couldn’t go on. It was dreadful, like some kind of nightmare, but she couldn’t stop, even though she knew she was adding insult to injury and offending her dinner companions and Sylvan’s aunt even more than she already had.
“Sophia? Are you all right?” The deep familiar voice in her ear made her look up.
Still laughing, she shook her head. “Sylvan…help…”
“I will if I can.” He sounded bewildered. “What happened to her?” he asked his aunt.
A barrage of answers greeted his question and Sophie got to hear all over again how she had groped Magistrate Licklow and flashed the entire table. She wanted to protest that none of it was her fault but she couldn’t stop laughing. By now her stomach hurt and her eyes were streaming but still the tickling went on. What was causing it? Was it a reaction to the steaming dog poop-looking food or the pale blue woo? Or was she just going crazy?
“All right, all right, thank you, everyone,” she heard Sylvan saying. “I’ll take care of Sophia and you can all go back to the feast.”
Sophie looked up to thank him, if she could stop laughing long enough, that was…and the tickling stopped abruptly. “Oh, thank God…” She sagged in relief and Sylvan caught her gently.
“Are you all right?” he asked again, looking at her anxiously.
“I am now.” Her words fell in complete silence and she realized that every eye in the entire grotto was trained on them. Oh my God, she thought dismally. She had caused such a scene that every single person at the feast had stopped to watch.
“Is you
r little friend quite all right, Sylvan?” It was Feenah, looking even more lovely close up. Standing, she was almost as tall as Sylvan. Her figure was so slender and perfect Sophie could almost feel her own hips growing wider by comparison.
“I think so.” Sylvan was still looking at Sophie with a perplexed expression on his face. “She seems to be now, anyway.”
“Is it normal for people from her planet to have fits?” Feenah asked in a soft, musical voice. “Or is it just her own little peculiarity?”
Sophie straightened up and glared at her. “I do not have fits.”
“Oh dear!” Feenah opened her crystal blue eyes wide in apparent concern. “Now I’ve upset her. Oh, the poor little thing!’
“Listen,” Sophie began, looking up at her. “Just because I’m not a freaking Amazon is no reason—”
“Stay away from her, my dear,” Lady Whitethorn was fluttering around her daughter anxiously. “I know she seems perfectly harmless, but I do believe she’s insane. She poured woo all over my lovely tharp and molested poor Magistrate Licklow.”
“For the last time,” Sophie said through gritted teeth. “I did not grope, fondle or molest anyone!”
The conversation around them, which had gradually begun to pick up, died abruptly again. Again Sophie felt like she was caught in the middle of a nightmare—the kind where you’re naked in front of everyone and can’t get away.
“Please,” she begged, looking up at Sylvan. “Please, can’t we just go? I have to get out of here.”
“Of course.” He swung her up into his arms, but before he could go anywhere, his aunt was at his elbow.
“You can’t take her back to our domicile,” she hissed. “I won’t have her in my home—not after this…this outburst. I won’t have it. She’s not welcome!”
“Oh yes she is!” Nadiah shouldered her way through the small crowd that had gathered between the tables. “She drank from the cup of hospitality, Mamam. You can’t kick her out.”
“What?” Zeelah rounded on her daughter in furry. “You let her drink from the cup?”
Nadiah raised her chin. “I did. And if you try to get rid of her now I’ll tell everyone how you’re an oathbreaker.”
“Why you…”
“Now, now my dear.” Grennly was suddenly there too, taking his wife by the arm. “I’m sure everything will be fine,” he said loudly. Then he murmured, “You’re only making things worse. Let Sylvan get rid of the blasted female and let’s go back to the feast.”
Zeelah looked like she’d been sucking a lemon but she finally nodded. “Of course.” Then she turned to Sylvan. “Take her back but keep her out of my sight. I’ll never live down this day. Never.” Grabbing Nadiah by the arm, she marched her away. As they left, Sophie heard her saying, “As for you, young lady, all your privileges are revoked for the foreseeable future.”
“Mamam!” Nadiah protested as they moved through the maze of tables.
“Well I suppose you’d better see your little friend home,” Feenah smiled winsomely up at Sylvan. Thankfully, her mother, Lady Whitethorn, had seated herself again and was talking in hushed whispers to Magistrate Licklow. “But I hope you’ll come back for the dance. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you and I was so hoping to be able to catch up a little more.”
Sylvan frowned. “I must see to Sophia first. She may be unwell.”
Feenah made a sympathetic face. “I’m sure the poor little darling just needs to rest. Didn’t you say she almost expired coming from your ship to the grotto?”
Sophie felt like she was going to explode with irritation. “My planet doesn’t get as cold as yours,” she told Feenah, pointedly.
“It’s true,” Sylvan said. “Sophie is not used to such extreme temperatures.”
“Of course she’s not—she’s so delicate.” Feenah made a kissy face at her that made Sophie’s hand itch to slap her perfect cheek. “And adorable too.” She looked up at Sylvan. “Why don’t you get your little pet bedded down for the night and come back for some fun?”
Sophie was fuming now. “I’m not a pet. I—” Just then the itching started again and she stiffened in Sylvan’s arms. “Sylvan, get me out of here now.”
Sylvan looked concerned. “I’m sorry, Feenah but I must go.”
“All right, but come back as soon as you can.” Feenah gave him a seductive smile. “I promise I’ll save a dance for you…Tanar.”
Sophie wanted to say something—what the hell did Tanar mean anyway—but the itching had turned to tickling again and she was trying not to laugh. Oh God, please—is this ever going to be over? Grimly she held in her giggles until Sylvan had carried her out of the grotto. Then, only a few feet away from the lighted archway she lost it completely.
“Sophia? Sophia, are you all right?” Sylvan was at a complete loss as to what to do. Sophia appeared to be having some kind of hysterics and in all his medical training, he’d never heard of a disease that manifested with uncontrolled laughter. Was it some kind of Earth pathology? “Sophia, please!” He shook her slightly and she writhed in his grasp.
“Put…down,” she gasped between gales of hysterical laughter. “Put me…d-down.”
“No.” Sylvan held her firmly. “I won’t let you go until I know what’s wrong.” Luckily the feasting grotto wasn’t far from his mother’s sister’s domicile. He was at least able to carry Sophia into the main corridor before she started writhing so wildly he couldn’t keep hold of her anymore. There, despite everything he could do, she shimmied out of his arms. Sylvan was forced to go to his knees to keep from dropping her. Then, to his dismay, she started ripping at her tharp.
“Sophia, stop! We’re still in public,” he protested. “At least wait until we get inside the domicile.”
“Can’t wait. Have to…have to get it off!”
She seemed so upset that Sylvan actually helped her, tugging at the moss green tharp, until it parted of its own accord and released her.
The minute Sophie got free of it she stopped laughing and sank to her knees, breathing hard. “Oh my God…wait a minute. Just wait a minute,” she gasped when Sylvan started toward her. “Just let me…catch my breath.”
She was distractingly naked but he was too worried about her to become aroused. At least the hysterics seemed to have stopped—but for how long? “Sophia?” he asked tentatively.
She looked up. “Okay. I can go inside now.” She struggled to get to her feet but Sylvan was already there, scooping her up again. Sophie laid her head on his chest like a tired child, still breathing hard.
Sylvan felt his heart squeeze in his chest. Gods, but she was so beautiful, so fragile! What if there was something seriously wrong? Thankful that Grennly had given him a key, he pulled it out and opened the door while holding her mostly one-handed. Then, still cradling her to his chest, he took her back to her room.
“Sundress.” Sophie lifted her head and looked around. “I want my sundress.”
Sylvan found the discarded garment and helped her put it on. Once she was covered and sitting up on the sleeping platform she seemed to feel better.
“Thanks,” she murmured. “And I’m sorry about all…that. Everything that happened.”
“What did happen?” Sylvan asked, sitting beside her. “Are you feeling all right now?”
“Much better.” She took a deep breath. “I think it was the dress. The tharp, I mean. But how can that be?”
Sylvan frowned. “What was it doing?”
“Tickling me. Making me itch unbearably. And the sleeves kept twitching too.” She shivered. “Do you think I’m allergic to the fabric, er fur it’s made of?”
“It’s not made of anything,” Sylvan said. “It’s a sentient being—well, semi-sentient, anyway. But I’ve never heard of anyone being allergic to one before.”
“What?” She looked shocked. “You mean I’ve been wearing something that’s alive all this time? Like…like some kind of animal?”
“Of course. An animal with somewhat limite
d intelligence, but very useful nonetheless.” He looked at the moss green tharp which still dangled limply from his hand. “This one seems brighter than most but still—”
“You let me wear an animal? A live animal and you didn’t tell me?”
“I don’t understand why you’re upset.” Sylvan shook his head. “Don’t your people wear furs too? I know they do—I’ve seen females wearing fur coats and the like.”
“But they’re dead.”
“So you’d rather wear a dead animal than a live one?” Sylvan was still trying to understand.
“A dead animal can’t hurt you or tickle you until you laugh uncontrollably like a maniac.” Sophie crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, her eyes blazing. “Or spill a glass of…of woo on the person beside you. Or fondle the other person beside you. Or decide to come down in the middle of a very public function and flash your ta-tas to everybody in the entire room!”
Sylvan frowned grimly. “I wondered what in the world Lady Whitethorn and Magistrate Licklow were talking about. I knew you wouldn’t…” He cleared his throat. “Make advances to someone who didn’t care to receive them.”
“Of course I wouldn’t!” Sophie exclaimed, her cheeks turning bright red. “I don’t understand, Sylvan—why didn’t you tell me about the tharp? That was awful.” Her voice broke on the last word.
Sylvan felt terrible. “I’m so sorry, Sophia,” he said. “I thought Nadiah would explain to you while she was getting you dressed. She was supposed to be certain that you were matched to a tharp that was compatible to you.” He held up the tharp and frowned at it. “Which this one clearly is not.”
Sophie sniffed. “She did say something about it not being the right one for me but I thought she didn’t like the color. I had no idea it would do such appalling things.”
“A mischievous tharp can be a lot of trouble but I’ve never heard of one behaving as badly as this one.” Sylvan frowned at the now quiescent animal again. “It must really dislike you.”
“Well the feeling is mutual, I assure you! Get rid of it!” Sophie drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “I just can’t believe this. I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life.”
Brides of the Kindred Volume One: Books 1-4 Page 75