“Help! I’m trapped in a Craft Show.”
How many aisles must a man walk down? How many different booths could stock yarn? And what the hell was tatting?
Maisy stopped at yet another booth that sold merchandise almost identical to the last booth.
“…uuuuuuuuuuuugh…” groaned Paul, designated human packhorse. “My feet hurt. How big is this show floor? Can I please put this crap in our room and go for a coffee?“
“Hmm?” Maisy looked up from an array of beaded… somethings. “Let me guess. Your amuse-by date expired.”
“I’m hungry and I’m tired and I need caffeine,” Paul whined. “I wanna go…”
“Why would anyone want to leave?” smiled the person in the booth. “We have everything you want.”
Maisy smiled. “Fine. Go put that lot up and get caffeinated. Ping me if you need to find me. I’ll put up a flag.”
“All the crap, here, you could make a flag.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
laughed as he strode through the crowds at FiddleCon. There were doors near the corners that lead to the elevators that would take him either
up to the rooms or out to the streets. As he recalled, there was a nice
little bistro across the road that sold all things sugar-dusted and
As long as he walked towards a corner, he’d be fine.
Five turns later, he almost walked straight into Maisy. “How’d you get ahead of me?”
“I thought you were going to our room?”
trying. I’ll see you again.” This time, he walked faster. Kept his eye on the corner that should have been his destination. And walked into
“I stood exactly still,” she said. “You have a lousy sense of direction.”
“Fine. I’ll head straight for a wall. Can’t miss one of them.”
Ten ‘streets’ later, he was facing a very confused Maisy. “But… I was watching you. How–?”
“The better question is ‘how do we get out of here?’“
stall-keepers all turned towards them. Each with an identical, plastic smile. “Why would anyone want to leave?“ they asked in creepy unison.
“We have everything you want.”
…the feast was about to begin…