![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
indriSUMMARY: Giles and Ethan, the electric Kool-Aid funky Satan groove year, in the early seventies. Rated M. Spoilers to Band Candy. Acknowledgements and disclaimers.
45.
Ethan couldn't see all that well, what with the scant moonlight and the jumble of people, but he spotted Old May. She was seventy if she was a day, had a hip operation a few years ago, and walked with a very distinctive gait. So when he saw her heading away from the Henge and the stages, he turned to see where she was going. And when he saw Bob Mac and Singh the Younger headed in that direction too, he became very interested. Was this the mysterious event Evelyn had hinted at?
He and Rupert picked their way through the tarpaulins, rush mats, and old coats that people had out to sit on, stepping carefully over sleeping children, picnic baskets, and shawl-wrapped festival goers. Ethan pointed out the three wizards to Rupert. "They're all fairly powerful and fairly sociable for their kind. They might even come to the festival for the music. I heard Bob Mac sang in music halls back in the 1890s or something."
"That can't be right," said Rupert. "Can it?"
"Old May's with a coven in Devon, if I remember right. The other two come up from London. They're here every year, as far as I know."
The three had reached the edge of the tents and parked cars. "We'll lose sight of them if we don't hurry." But they seemed to be fairly clearly headed towards the intersection of two nearby roads.
There was a large campervan coming up the A303. It was moving slowly and its lights were dimmed. Old May stood out in front of it and pointed it in the direction of a plausible park. Ethan couldn't see where the other two had got to.
The campervan pulled up obediently. Its interior lights were on, but you couldn't see what was inside because of tinted plastic stuck to the windows. A party of six people stepped out: four men and two women. They wore jeans, t-shirts and wooden beads. One of the men wore a bandana. They'd freeze their tits off in this weather.
"I think I know what this is," said Rupert, without taking his eyes from the distant group. Ethan watched, fascinated, as Rupert slipped into a sort of fighting stance. He was reaching for something in his pocket.
Then Bob Mac stepped out from behind the campervan. He had a bucket and a garden sprayer. He squeezed the trigger and sprayed the new arrivals. They screamed. They smoked. They clawed at their wet arms and faces. What the hell was going on? Was that acid? One of the men fell to the ground and Bob Mac poured the bucket over him. There was more screaming.
The other five ran towards the cover and safety of the rows of tents and caravans. Straight towards Ethan and Rupert, in fact.
45.
Ethan couldn't see all that well, what with the scant moonlight and the jumble of people, but he spotted Old May. She was seventy if she was a day, had a hip operation a few years ago, and walked with a very distinctive gait. So when he saw her heading away from the Henge and the stages, he turned to see where she was going. And when he saw Bob Mac and Singh the Younger headed in that direction too, he became very interested. Was this the mysterious event Evelyn had hinted at?
He and Rupert picked their way through the tarpaulins, rush mats, and old coats that people had out to sit on, stepping carefully over sleeping children, picnic baskets, and shawl-wrapped festival goers. Ethan pointed out the three wizards to Rupert. "They're all fairly powerful and fairly sociable for their kind. They might even come to the festival for the music. I heard Bob Mac sang in music halls back in the 1890s or something."
"That can't be right," said Rupert. "Can it?"
"Old May's with a coven in Devon, if I remember right. The other two come up from London. They're here every year, as far as I know."
The three had reached the edge of the tents and parked cars. "We'll lose sight of them if we don't hurry." But they seemed to be fairly clearly headed towards the intersection of two nearby roads.
There was a large campervan coming up the A303. It was moving slowly and its lights were dimmed. Old May stood out in front of it and pointed it in the direction of a plausible park. Ethan couldn't see where the other two had got to.
The campervan pulled up obediently. Its interior lights were on, but you couldn't see what was inside because of tinted plastic stuck to the windows. A party of six people stepped out: four men and two women. They wore jeans, t-shirts and wooden beads. One of the men wore a bandana. They'd freeze their tits off in this weather.
"I think I know what this is," said Rupert, without taking his eyes from the distant group. Ethan watched, fascinated, as Rupert slipped into a sort of fighting stance. He was reaching for something in his pocket.
Then Bob Mac stepped out from behind the campervan. He had a bucket and a garden sprayer. He squeezed the trigger and sprayed the new arrivals. They screamed. They smoked. They clawed at their wet arms and faces. What the hell was going on? Was that acid? One of the men fell to the ground and Bob Mac poured the bucket over him. There was more screaming.
The other five ran towards the cover and safety of the rows of tents and caravans. Straight towards Ethan and Rupert, in fact.
