Kerri F


Delli saved dressing me for last. For the other sylphs, she estimated sizes and threw clothes at them. She had me sit on Cher’s chair (with a handkerchief thrown over it as a tarp) and looked me over while searching out clean clothes for everyone else.

“How about a kilt?” she finally asked.

“Do I get to wear something under it?” I replied. I’d heard about Scottish men and their kilts.

“I was thinking of a pair of shorts with the legs folded up and stitched in place, and a kilt over them.”

“I could just wear the shorts,” I protested.

“I always see you in shorts. I think you’ll look dashing in a skirt. It hides the stumps so people can look you in the face.”

“I’m not afraid of my amputations!”

“You’re not. Everyone else is,” Delli told me. “Look, you’re supposed to be one of the happy stories, right? A new career and everything. You lost your legs pre-sylphing. The fact that you walk around on your hands means no one will MISS the fact that you’ve overcome adversity, but maybe we don’t put that out there, front and center.”

“Maybe…” I said thoughtfully. DID I dress to accentuate my stumps? It sounded antagonistic. Like something Nolan would do, not me.

She came up with a kilt with an Argyle tartan pattern. “It brings out your eyes,” Delli promised me. “Plus, it’s the only kilt I have.”

Along with a white blouse, a black vest, and black shorts, I examined myself in the mirrors. The sexy mirrors, ha!

“I almost look like a highland games dancer,” I mused. “That means Nolan’s going to put me in a glass of ice and call me a Scotch on the Rocks.”

“Then you kick him in the balls,” Delli advised. I knew I liked her.

Pet ran into the garage, then, calling for me. “Kerri, everyone says you need to… Wow! You look NICE! And you need to come see something.”

I looked to Delli, who shrugged and held out her hand. I used it to swing down to the floor and followed Pet outside.

The kilt was just long enough to hide my stumps, but not so long that it dragged as I motivated along. Delli wasn’t half bad at her job.

Outside, all the sylphs were gathered at one end of the table. They were looking down to the floor and pointing. When I joined them, I looked over to see that Nolan was curled up on the floor, sleeping.

“Didn’t you guys get a room?” Delli asked her.

“Yes, they did, I know they did!” Butters insisted.

“Yeah. We unpacked and everything.”

“That must be where he got the pillow,” Annie said.

We all turned as the door opened. Deliah came in with breakfast, yay, followed by Conrad with a tray of drinks.

They set the trays down and Deliah scurried off to open the restaurant. Conrad stood and gazed at my sleeping owner.

He shook his head. “Poor guy.”

“What?” I asked.

“We came back from Paddy’s and he realized he would be sleeping alone for the first time in twelve years.” He reached down to shake Nolan’s shoulder. “So he decided to sleep in here, where he’d be close to you. Poor guy’s totally dependent on his sylph.”

Nolan mumbled something and rolled over.

“That’s adorable,” Cher said.

“He’s whipped,” Annie said, winking at me.

“Yes, he is,” Conrad agreed. “Every time I looked in on you guys last night, he’d scooted a foot closer to the crate.”

“Every time?” Electra asked with a big smile. “How many times did you ‘look in on’ us last night, Conrad?”

“Um, well…” He tugged at his shirt. “No more than once an hour. I, uh, I couldn’t sleep. The people next door were making a horrible racket.”

“Your room is next to the gift shop,” Butters said.

“They were closed at 9 last night,” Pipkin pointed out.

“And they’re closed today,” Butters finished. “All day.”

“Okay, maybe not a racket,” Conrad muttered. Electra started walking over to where he stood. The other sylphs moved towards the food.

I lay flat on the table and leaned head and shoulders over the edge. “NOLAN!” I called. “WAKE UP I NEED YOU!”

He surged to his feet, looking around blearily. “What? What? What do you need?”

I sat up. “How do I look?”

“I- Huh.” He stared down at me for a moment. “You look nice. Is that the Soote tartan?”

“No, it’s Argyle because- Wait, WHAT?”

“Soote. It’s a Scottish name. I was wondering if that was your-“

“How do YOU know that and I don’t?” I asked.

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “I read it somewhere, but you never, ever, ever talk about your family, so…” He shrugged again. “We can look it up when we get home, okay?”

“So, I AM a little Scot,” I said.

“And if I buy you a diamond studded stool, you can be a little Scot on the Rock.” He stood and offered his hand.

“Oh, that’s much better,” I complimented.



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Index

116. Electra F

118. Electra G