Challenge #00228: Ancient Terran Tradition

TOGA TIME!

Of course it happened during Silly Season, the quasi-annual event where all humans just spontaneously went more crazy than normal. Or what passed for normal amongst humans.

Rael, of course, expected some blame. Somehow, being attached as chief translator to a being like Shayde on a strictly working basis meant that he was also capable of controlling her actions.

Sherlock, at least, understood that someone like Shayde was not in the least bit controllable and should have been registered as a cogniscent force of nature. But he still wanted explanations.

For all of his research and fascination with humans and their conflicting histories of conflict… Rael still had no idea how to explain a human or anything they did.

Especially during Silly Season.

But nevertheless, Sherlock persisted.

He pointed to the images on one of the larger monitors. “What the flying hells are they doing?”

Rael stared. Humans, of course. Surrounded at a respectful and safe distance by tourists taking images. The difference between this and an average Silly Season gathering was that this time, the humans were wearing bedsheets and very little else.

“I… think they’re recreating a bacchanal…” Wait. No. There went Hwell barrow swinging on a liana. He was almost naked, but for a pair of what Shayde insisted were ‘tighty whities’. A faint yodel carried through the muted audio.

And there she was. Her bedsheet managed to fit better, and there were glimpses of a bikini underneath, but she, too, was involved. And dancing. And apparently inebriated without imbibing.

“My records show that she started it,” supplied Sherlock. “With a chant of, 'toe-gah, toe-gah, toe-gah’… Do you have any idea what that means?”

“Not in context,” Rael allowed. “A toga is a garment worn by the ancient Terran greek or roman factions, though judging by the head foliage, I would guess this might be roman-influenced. What it has to do with Silly Season, I can only guess.”

Finally, Sherlock got to the meat of the problem. “Are we going to expect property damage?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir.”

“…damn…”

[Muse food remaining: 14 (fic war prompts, 0). Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]