It was nice to get away for a while, first just the two of them, him and Vega; and then to keep company and socialize with others who didn't happen to be their family. Not that Arlo didn't appreciate the benefits of having family around. He did, very much, and found a great deal of value in the unquestioned loyalty, support and fellowship. But sometimes, especially starting the moment they'd learned that Vega was expecting, it could become just a little too much. And very, very quickly.
Of course if Arlo's own mother had still be around, she'd be fussing over Vega as much as allowed, but in her own quiet way. He always missed her, still, every trial. But lately more so. She'd have loved the idea of becoming a grandmother. As for Jonas, Arlo's own mortal father, he must have been feeling it too and had been a little more quiet, more sentimental than usual lately. Be all that as it may, it was good to rub elbows with others for a handful of breaks, and set all that fussing aside for a while.
"You don't like my singing?" he'd teased her along the way when she suggested that he should handle the telling of stories, and her, the songs and lullabies. Of course they both knew which of them was the better singer. By far. And it wasn't him. "I like you too," he said, grinning and bumping her shoulder gently, fondly when she revealed that she liked being her just fine. "I mean, you're alright. Passable even," he teased again before ducking out of the way before she could dig her knuckles into his shoulder or forearm.
Arlo didn't really know Doran, though he knew enough to match name to face, and what Vega had told him. As for Sir Chip, Arlo knew him less but any potential friend of Vega's was a potential friend of his. "Evening," he said, smiling when they arrived and he extended his hand to both Kisaik and Doran in turn. "Thank you for the invite. I'd build us a fire but it appears that Vega has beat me to it." So that said, he found himself the wide edge of a log to sit on, and settled in.
He smiled again, proudly, when Vega announced their impending parenthood to the pair gathered with them alongside the fire. To be honest, it wouldn't surprise him if the whole island already knew. Once they'd told the rest of the family, could either of the twin sisters in law be trusted not to blab it all over the island? Another good reason, Arlo figured, that they'd decided to wait. "I don't know about the best," he said when Vega praised his talent at telling stories. After all, Idalos was a big place, and he descended from one of the most prolific storytellers there was. "But I guess I can take a jab at spinning the first yarn of the evening."
Though to be honest he'd have been more content to go last, or second or third for that matter. Leave it to Vega to volunteer him without a second thought. "If no one objects, that is?" he asked, already contemplating what story he might tell. He'd made up a number of stories in his time, from very early on. Some had come straight from his own imagination, and others in the wake of some adventure or other he'd had. Or misadventure, which was just as often, as not. But recalling a conversation he'd had with Jonas early that trial, Arlo grinned at the memory.
"When I was a kid," he told them all, "I used to duck out from the farm chores that my father Jonas had lined up for me, and stole away with my friends to make trouble and tell stories. Tall tales and the like. But the best ones were always stories about ghosts and fantastical beasts. The ones we told each other to prove that we were fearless, but the same ones that kept us up at night, worrying about monsters under the bed. But the one I've always loved most, the one that cost me the most sleep was the one that my mortal father Jonas passed down to me, long before I was ready."
"It's a little early in the trial for stories about ghosts and monsters. They're always better under the moonlight," Arlo admitted. "But, since I was prematurely volunteered," he said with a mock frown at Vega before going on. "Now most stories the likes of this one are myth mixed with legend. But my father swears to be that this one is true, and that the antagonist of the story is real. Therefore, a cautionary tale passed down from his father to him, his father before him and on and on. It's said the story, and the living legend itself, is older than time and that the first Creede to tell it, had seen the beast with his very own eyes and survived it."
"Forgive the rhyming and unusual syntax," Arlo added before the story began in earnest. "The first Creede considered himself a poet of sorts. Nonetheless, take care and beware..." he said, tone serious and foreboding.
"Fair warning to the faint of heart,
This tale is true, each fright'ning part.
T'is rare the man that lives to tell,
But mark my words, and hear them well," Arlo began, his voice and tone settling into the somewhat foreboding nature of the story, his eyes meeting those of each of those gathered in turn, as if to warn each of them personally.
"There lives a beast so vile to see,
Observed by few, but one is me.
And all who've seen him, those of us,
Have named him…Skeeterwampulus.
Moon and star shone bright that night,
This fearsome beastie took his flight;
Before mine eyes, 'cross fields of gold,
A sight to make men's blood run cold.
Through stalks of waving wheat he lumbered,
Whilst each farmhouse gently slumbered.
No silence broke to mark his passing;
Save my heart, it's frightful beating.
Shorter than a man by two,
With eyes that glowed cerulean blue,
And claws that dripped with crimson streams,
That spoke of oft' nightmarish dreams.
Hunched shoulders broad, but body slight,
With scaly wings to lend him flight.
No clothing worn across his back,
Instead was cloaked with hair of black.
He gleamed like satin in the night,
Sharp teeth, tipped scarlet, flashing bright.
And grinning from a maw so broad,
There came a ghastly, slav'ring flood.
His head, tri-cornered, beady eyed,
But t'was his nose, the worst was spied.
A hollow lance was in it's stead,
Of length to fill a soul with dread.
With scaly skin and sharpened tip,
It drooped and curved so he might sip;
The lifeblood from both man and beast.
…A grisly, ghastly, wretched feast.
So t'was not wisdom made me follow,
But trouble that I tend to borrow.
I shadowed him through field and wood,
And kept his pace as best I could.
T'was then I saw a fright'ning site,
And realized then my likely plight.
My homestead was his destination,
The barn, in fact, exact location.
He slipped inside, and I just after,
Up he crept, towards loft and rafter.
Into predawn shadows peering,
Eyes met mine, expression sneering.
So it was, he roosted there,
In fresh cut hay and musty air.
He grinned at me, fangs flashing bright,
And said, 'I've had my fill tonight.'
And so, my friends, I've lived to tell,
And wise are those who hear me well.
Beware of hayloft, barn and rafter,
Best before, than mourn it after.
And so, though few have seen this sight
Take one last warning from our plight.
Do not disturb, say those of us,
The nap of Skeeterwampulus."
And when Arlo was done, finally, with his story, a family inheritance one might say, he glanced at Vega and winked. "I'll take you up on that deal. You the singer and me the storyteller. And one trial I'll pass the legend down to our own son or daughter, to pass down to theirs. But, I promise not to tell it until he or she is old enough not to lay awake and worry about monsters under the bed."
