Christmas Pant-O(ne)

After a judicious bit of stalking, I found the Hot Dad™ in the gym down the road. Feigning interest in joining, I was taken on a brief tour of the gym. As the personal trainer led myself and two others around the facility, I paused next to a mirrored glass partition by the cycle machines. On the other side of the glass was the object of my would-be affections, astride a cycle. I leaned forward, pressing my head against the cool glass in the hopes of getting a better view of his well defined thighs.
A sudden cracking sound, like that of breaking glass, roused me from my fantasy. I had the feeling of falling forward but didn't hit the ground amidst a shower of glass, to my surprise. No one came running to my aid. In fact, no one even seemed to have noticed. I continued falling on my horizontal trajectory in what felt like slow motion, getting ever closer to the Hot Dad™, who was starting to blur somewhat.

CLONK!

Ow! Something had stopped my fall. I rubbed my forehead then put my hands out to the invisible barrier in front of me. Whatever it was, it wasn't readily viewable, even with my witch's eyeballs. I stared out at the Hot Dad™, only, horror or horrors, he wasn't there. Instead, there was a fat man in fancy dress sitting astride the cycle. Oh shit! It was SID!

"Hey!" a strident female Canuck voice shouted. "You're not supposed to rest your belly on the handlebars!"

Oh no. Not again. I was falling over the Cusp and into the Other Realm. I'd only just got over the Hallowe'en fiasco, too. And now, here I was, trapped in a world of reflections, just like MirrorMe. I stared out of what I now realised was a reflection in a window pane and rolled my eyes as SID and MJ bickered.

SID's bike had disappeared and been replaced with a horse. MJ had come into view, wearing an elaborate dress that looked like it had come from the set of a lavish period drama, attended by a lady-in-waiting. The gym was no more. Instead, there was a courtyard, full of bustle (mainly MJ's, it has to be said - her dress really was quite remarkable, more a small outbuilding than an item of clothing). In the far corner, two men, one burly, the other not so, were talking by what looked like an armoury or smithy. I strained to hear what they were saying.

"So. What do you think of my tabard? Striking, no?" the smaller one asked as he minced capered around the other.

"'s a bit plain" the burly one eventually replied, taking the time out from sharpening a hunting knife.

"Plain?! Did you not notice the exquisite needlework? And just look at my darling shoes!"

"Oh, f'fooks sakes" the big one muttered under his breath before audibly adding, "It'd be better with stripes."

Darling shoes? Stripes? They could only be CyberPete and Tazzy. Dear gods...

"You! Huntsman. Did you dispose of that dratted girl?" MJ imperiously asked Tazzy. She'd somehow managed to glide up to them unnoticed, despite her enormous bustle.

"Oh, er... Yes, my Lady" Tazzy replied, unnerved by her sudden appearance. "We got rid of her just like you said." He unslung a small bag from his shoulder and gave it to MJ.

MJ looked furious as she snatched the bloodied leather bag from him. "We?" she demanded.

"Umm... Yes. My apprentice came along" and Tazzy indicated the younger man who was prancing around near the blacksmith's anvil.

"You trust him?"

"Yes, my Lady. He won't say a word. Besides, he really likes you. Seems to be a little in awe of you, actually." MJ preened a little at this. "He'll make a good huntsman" Tazzy added.

MJ snorted. "He's not a huntsman yet. And I'm aware of his reputation: He just hunts men." She smiled at her little joke, then swept past Tazzy towards the castle and SID, the heart in the bag in her clutches.

- - -

Meanwhile, in the forest, a girl sat upon a fallen log and cried. She was so absorbed in her tears that she didn't notice the rustling of leaves as something, or some things, approached her.

"Oink! Who are you? And stop your snivelling."

The girl looked up, startled. There before her stood seven little men, all identical except for the clothes they wore.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Aren't you..." She was going to say adorable, but a closer look at the funny little men made it an untruth. Eventually, she plumped for "peculiar."

"Hey!" the first little man cried indignantly. "At least I'm not a Canuck. Which I take it you are judging by your moronic accent?"

"It's not moronic!" the girl retorted. "And it's certainly better than your weird Scottish/northern thing you've got going on." Then, remembering her manners and upbringing, she reluctantly introduced herself. "My name is Dinah. And you are?"

"I'm Piggy" the little man said huffily. "And these are my brothers Poofy, Stripey, Ginger, Meany, Moany and Cunty."

"Ah. How, um... nice to meet you?" Dinah floundered, aghast at the unfortunate names. "I don't suppose you could help me? I'm lost."

To be continued...