Author: Angel the Part-time Succubus (Angelia Sparrow)

Email: valarltd@hotmail.com

Rating: G

Summary: Wesley takes the group to his thing: an SCA event

Spoilers; None

Disclaimer: These are not my characters.  They belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and WB.
I receive no monetary gain for these stories.

Distribution: Any and all.  You want it, you got it, just let me know where it is.

Feedback: Here's where I get paid, in applause.

Author's note: Not one of my better ones.  It was written as a response to "The Thing" challenge.
I'm doing my SCA sewing right now for Summer Investiture, and that got me thinking.  Yes, I
know not everyone is wearing the same time-frame of clothes.  I skipped the event part, having
never been to one in the West, and just showed the prep.
 

***
A Grand Adventure
c 1999 Angelia Sparrow
***
 

"Isn't anybody dressed?"  Wesley grumbled pacing Giles' small living room.  "I know it's 5 AM
people, but do let's move!"

"I can't believe this is your thing," Cordelia fumed.  "How does this hat go on?"

"You look absolutely lovely.  And your hair is perfect.  The over-the-ear bun look is quite
becoming."

"I look like Princess Leia on a bad hair day."

"Here, let me do your hat.  See, the split hennon is worn thus."

"Great, now I look like Princess Leia covering a bad hair day with a brocade taco."

"You look lovely."  He kissed her into silence.

"Not bad yourself."  She took in the simple undertunic and fur-trimmed cyclas.  "Never thought
you'd look good in a long dress."

"Wesley!  Help!" came the yell from the bedroom where Buffy and Willow were dressing.

He found the pair in a tangle of clothing.  They had managed the sheer chemises all right, but
they were confused about the rest.  He couldn't help but stare.  "Um, girls, you do know that you
will not be wearing undergarments?  The chemise and pantalettes are your underwear.  And from
what I have overheard, the pantalettes will be far more comfortable than the bikinis you now
wear.  Willow, the green linen kirtle is yours.  Buffy, you wear the pale blue.  They lace in the
front.  And yes, they go over the chemise."

He beat a hasty exit before they could strip.  Xander emerged from the small bathroom.

"This is ridiculous.  I mean look at me! A short satin shirt, puffy velvet pants, a velvet hat, two-
color pantyhose and ye gods!"  He gestured at the belled codpiece that completed his ensemble.

"Cute," Cordy said.  "And how many gym socks did you stuff it with?"

"For your information, it's 100% pure Harris.  With bells on."

"As if.  Can I feel?"

"Cordelia!"  Somehow, both men manage to hit the same note of outrage.

"Do stop complaining, Xander.  It could have been a kilt and linnea."

"You mean the massive amounts of cloth Giles is still fighting?  You're doing this for pure
revenge, don't tell me you aren't, scone guy."

"I don't know.  I think you both look pretty sexy.  Shall I pack the picnic basket and coolers?"

"Please, let me help, dear."  Wesley and Cordelia crowded into Giles' tiny kitchen, and set to
work packing the perishable items, while Xander flopped miserably on the couch.  Oz came out
of the other bedroom.  He was dressed similarly to Xander, but with dagging indistinguishable
from tatters and a few patches.  His guitar was over his shoulder.

"You look good, Xand," he said.

"Don't start.  Was that your sarcastic voice?"

"Nope.  Regular voice.  And you do.  Kinda roguish, romantic and sneaky."

"Not sure I like the sneaky.  You've got the Wandering Minstrel thing going though.  Very cool.
Willow should love it."

Willow and Buffy had finally sorted out their dresses, laced each other up, and put their hair into
the buns Wesley had specified.  Xander sprang off the sofa as they came out.

"My ladies.  My princesses.  Your humble servant."  He tumbled the cap through an ornate bow
he'd seen once in a movie.

The girls giggled at his costume, especially the bells, but allowed him to kiss their hands and
lead them to sit.  Wesley came out of the kitchen to make sure everyone was dressed properly.

"No, no.  Buffy, you must lace it tighter.  This is the under garment that provides the support for
you."  She returned to the bedroom to do it right.  "Very nice, Willow.  Here.  It's called the
Gates of Hell, most appropriate."

Willow put on the rust colored sideless surcoat, with the laces along the sides.  Wesley sat the
green hennon on her head, securing it with hatpins through her bun, and adjusted the cream-
colored butterfly veils

"I thought these hats were pointy," she said.

"A common misconception, perpetrated by cartoons and drawings.  All hennons are truncated
cones, my hat expert tells me."

Willow sat carefully, holding her head still so as not to dislodge her hat.  "Oz, I like yours.  Just
basic brown, with a few patches.  Xander, I wish I had your hat.  It looks more comfortable."

Buffy, finally laced to Wesley's satisfaction, was also handed a surcoat.  Hers was dark blue and
had no laces.  He secured the royal blue hennon to her bun and adjusted the simple sky blue veil
over it.

"So why do Willow's stand up on wires while mine just lays there?" she asked.

"The Gates of Hell that Willow wears is from a slightly later time frame when the butterfly veil
was fashionable.  You wear a simple surcoat, and hence a simple veil.  Mr. Giles, are you lost in
there?"

Indistinguishable, muffled British expletives came from the small bedroom.  Wesley wandered
in and burst into laughter drawing the whole group in.

"Don't say one bloody word!" Ripper snarled as Wesley opened his mouth.  "Just get me out
o'this sodding thing!"

Giles slowly relaxed back into himself as Wesley and Oz disentangled him from the 15 yards of
plaid, and 20 of muslin.  He fought his way into the linnea, finding the headhole and armholes
with help, and then letting them cinch the gathering strings of the sleeves tighter. Wesley pleated
out the kilt, and laid out the belt.  Giles rolled himself into the plaid material, and belted the kilt
about his waist.  The loose end was flung over and secured with a brooch.

"And, Mr. Giles, please do me the favor of being regimental."  He raised one eyebrow and
looked at the other watcher.  "Your boxers.  Leave them off."  Wesley added softly so as not to
distress the others.  Oz's wolf-sharp ears heard, but he let it pass.  "And don't forget to keep your
knees together when you sit..."

The white and grey striped boxers were folded neatly into the laundry hamper, and the Watchers
emerged from the bedroom.

The girls had loaded the coolers in Oz's van, and were waiting for them.  Xander was cursing the
ties on his codpiece from the bathroom.  His attempts were accompanied by faint jingles.

"Very nicely done.  I want a photograph or three before we all leave.  Next to the fireplace if you
please."

"I knew he was doing this to take funny pictures," Buffy mumbled to Willow.

They all squeezed together near the fireplace, and Wesley set up the tripod and self-timer before
joining them.

"Very well.  Everyone to the van.  We are about to embark on a grand adventure.  Forward into
the past!"

He very nearly carried it off with the costume, and the van was loaded with a minimum of
giggling.  He sat in the navigator seat as Oz carefully stowed his guitar and fired up the van.

"Right, drive to Santa Monica first."
 

Slayerettes have gone Forward into the Past since 24 Aug 1999