# Renaissance Unfaire

Author: Tigercougar
Tags: Otter, Performer, actress, fair, monkey, story

A ren faire performer verbally battles a heckler. (Language warning)


 Most
women would sneer if a stranger called them a wench. Me, I curtsy and
say, "Thank you for the complement, kind sir." Why? One, it takes
a lot more than a rude epithet to make me break down in tears. And
two - well, I am
a
wench. Don't
get it wrong, I'm not some hussy cruising the bars to get into
strange men's pants. (Have I done that before, though? No comment.)
I'm a professional. 'Wench' is my (informal) job title. And
by that I mean I'm in the renaissance faire world. I'm a rare breed -
a traveling ren faire performer. You've got to be a little wacko to
do what we do. We spend tons of time on the road, traveling from
faire to faire, dressing up in faux sixteenth century garb. There are
different kinds of performers, people who perform written acts (like
myself), magicians, fire blowers. So many different kinds of people
that put on a show for the happiness of the people that attend our
faires. Am I doing it for the reasons the armchair psychologists
would guess, to get attention I couldn't as a child, because I want
to spend all day playing make-believe, because my dad was a deadbeat?
Well, all of those may play a factor. But I definitely simply love
being on the stage.
 As
I said, I'm a performer. I like doing one-woman shows, shows that
have audience participation. I get a real sense of pride rehearsing a
routine to where I know by heart the beats of a scenario, and what
parts are going to make the audience laugh the most. One popular act
I do is one where I tell a story and let the audience yell out plot
points. People get a kick out of yelling silly things that I include
in my act. I remember talking about how I and my crew of
chickenpox-infected manatees went on a dangerous inland journey for
the Holy Balm of Itchbottom. Or telling the tale of sailing the
seven-and-two-fifths seas to kill the deadly, fifty-foot long Sausage
Serpent. Maybe it's not standup pro level material, but I always get
loud applause at the end of my shows - and a decent haul in my tip
basket, to boot. I'll hear a lot of the same things being yelled out
in response to my setups - "Rancher!" in response to me boarding
a ship named the Jolly _____, for example. Sometimes the crowd is
more clever and gives me material I wouldn't have thought of in a
hundred years. If I can remember these tidbits I may incorporate them
into future acts. I
have a certain amount of creative freedom in composing my act. Some
shows, I'm allowed to push into 'R-rating territory.' Good times,
good people...good tips! Occasionally I will mix things up and create
a show that you could take your Grandma to. (When Grandma likes a
show, she can be surprisingly generous with the tips.) And it is fun
on occasion to see kids become swept up in the adventure you tell. Of
course, I'm no stranger to debauchery - I miss it when it's gone -
but it is nice to occasionally perform an act where I don't have to
worry about the audience member who's drunk off their ass and
yelling. Or even worse, attempting to grope me when I'm being
playfully sultry.
 I've
been on the ren faire circuit for nearly a decade now, have given
hundreds of performances. I've seen everything public and private
that goes on at a ren faire a thousand times now, and it still
doesn't get boring. Lots of people nowadays nerd out about video
games, sports, movies, whatever. Before I got into this business I
used to be one of the people who made fun of the guys who got
obsessed with attending comic book conventions and buying every piece
of merchandise they could (or a lot of the time, could not)
afford.
Well, don't I look like a silly goose now. We all pick our own
"poisons" in life. My poison just happens to be pretending I was
a wench who lived hundreds of years ago.
 Things
always go easier when the audience follows the rules. Most of my
audience members know how to have fun without making a mess of my
act. It's rare to see hecklers. Not the jolly fellows that are part
of the cast who make potshots at random fairegoers, mind you. I mean
routine-killing, insult-hurling patrons who, despite being the least
funny people in the faire, always think that it's them that the
audience wants to see instead of the performer. Fortunately, these
clowns are few and far between, and I can always call out for a
nearby staff member to escort them away. Honestly, I usually don't
have to. A gentle calling out, or even just a stern look, is enough
to get them to realize they're being foolish and to leave me alone.
Even if they get nasty, I actually prefer to not have these 'audience
members' escorted out if I can help it. When some guy (it's usually a
man) tries to make a mockery out of my act, I turn the tables on him
and make him look like the fool. It's just as easy to fend off the
drunkards as the ones who simply voice their displeasure at the most
inappropriate times.

Some performers are pissed for days when it happens. Me, I put it
out of my mind unless it's particularly worth remembering. Of the
several incidents I was heckled that I'd consider memorable, the most
memorable one was when it was me versus, of all species, an otter. It
happened during a summer faire held in the outskirts of a mid-sized
Midwestern city. It was early afternoon and not terribly busy, but I
had a small crowd willing to give my show a chance. Up to the point
where this guy interrupted me, everyone who watched me was being
perfectly polite.
"So the whale-sized goose took off with us riding atop it. We
climbed higher and higher, clinging to the goose's feathers for our
lives. We wondered where it was going to take us! Suddenly it swooped
down and we realized it was taking us to the land of. . . ." "Shit!"
 The
sudden curse was followed by the sort of uproarious laughter only
uttered by a guy who thinks his own shit doesn't stink. He
was, as I said, an otter, a river otter to be specific. Even from the
stage I could see that his jersey had some sort of giant stain on it
- some food he bought at the concession area
he'd spilled on himself? He was literally slapping his knees like the
yokels I used to see on the country comedy shows my grandma would put
on the TV when I visited her as a kid. Then he settled down, shook
his head and looked up at me with the most condescending expression
I'd ever seen.
My non-otter audience of six was shocked. A Malinois exclaimed,
"What?!" as his ears pinned back. A goat woman eyed the otter
with a look that showed equal parts horror and disgust.
He continued to stare at me, daring me to respond. Respond, I was
going to. I've always hated the cynical type, the people who take any
opportunity possible to 'darken' some lighthearted fun. If they can't
be happy, no one else can, either. It's all about them and their
misery. Well, I wasn't having it. I almost wished my act was
uncensored. I could've given the man a stream of obscenities that
would've made him break down and cry. But for the sake of the
adolescent quarter horse colt in the seats who was looking at him
with an "Uh-oh!" face - and for the sake of my job - I
decided to stick to more civilized talk.
I growled underneath my breath, then deadpanned, "Sir, would you
please not interfere with the show?" My hands were clasping my
period dress in frustration. Of course I knew that he wasn't going to
comply. The
otter snickered as he looked to the rest of the crowd, I assume to
look for approving faces. He found none, but he said, "Hey, I'm
just adding some entertainment to this turdpile." 'Turdpile?'
Interesting word. It reminded me of my days in elementary school,
when my classmates and I first learned to curse and would shout
obscenities in fun at each other when the adults weren't looking.
There were a few of my colleagues hanging out not far from my stage
who heard the commotion. They gave the otter looks that, if the
disruptor weren't so damned dense, would've cut him like daggers.
One, a panda, looked up at me and pointed over his shoulder with a
stuck out thumb - making it clear that he was willing to play
bouncer if need be. I politely waved him off and smiled. He gave me a
confused look, then looked to the otter. He must've suspected that I
had a plan to handle this. He suspected correctly.
"You're interrupting my act," I said curtly. "The other people
in the seats came to see a performance, not to see you be rude to the
performer. Think of them, please, and don't try to stop what I'm
doing up here."
Why did I even bother? 'Interrupting my act' was obviously the
otter's game plan. He gave me a cruel grin. "Who cares what you're
doing? It sucks." He looked at my unhappy expression and sneered.
"If you're mad about it, why don't you throw some monkey shit at
me, sis? Hah!" Oh.
This
bullshit
again.

Out of all the species in the world, none get spat on more than us,
the monkeys and apes. There's tons of species out there I don't find
attractive. Platypuses, for one. And moles. But they don't get people
to flat out shudder at the sight of them like what's happened to me
several times, even as a child. We get singled out by members of
other species because we look a lot like those long-extinct peoples,
the humans. The humans built marvelous technology, but couldn't
overcome their reptilian war-brains and destroyed each other. I guess
some members of other species think we're going to do the same. Also,
a lot of them think we're ugly. Unfair; being a capuchin, I'd say I'm
one of the cuter examples of monkeykind.

And all of this venom from an otter, no less! Never thought I'd see
the day. I always thought otters were happy, friendly folk. Who
pissed in this guy's cereal? Oh well. Either way, I wasn't gonna let
him step on my tail. "No, sir," I said with dripping sarcasm. "I
don't play with my own feces. You can't project your personal hobbies
onto everyone else." My crowd collectively gasped. Their agape jaws
practically screamed out, "Oh, snap!"
The otter's face first showed confusion, and then anger when the
insult had registered. I huffed a laugh; 'River Boy' didn't like
that. He grimaced and bared his teeth. "You can't talk to me that
way!" (Oh, the hypocrisy.) "You're just an ugly cunt!"
Oh, my. "Oh, no!" I gave a fake sniffle. "Not the 'C-word!'"
I mockingly wrapped my arms around myself and whimpered. "What ever
did I do to deserve this?" The audience eyed me with what must have
been amazement that I didn't go off on the guy. I didn't see the
need. I could tell this man was all talk - he looked so flustered
that I gambled he'd imminently leave the area in a huff. The light of
mockery was in my eyes. Some more false despair, and then I put my
hands on my hips and looked at him with mock pity.
 The
otter had gotten so bombastic, curling his tail to accentuate his
anger, that, honestly, I felt more amusement than offense. "Are you
my ex, already died and reincarnated? Sir-" I nonchalantly
plucked a piece of lint from my costume and flicked it away - I
could've asked my friend behind you to kick you out of this faire."
I pointed to the panda. The otter followed my fingers and eyed the
bulky-looking ursine with slight alarm. "But honestly, why bother?
Do you realize your mouthing off is going to do nothing to stop my
act?"
"What makes you so sure?" asked the otter in a voice filled with
equal parts anger and confusion. The
crowd was getting angry now. "We're trying to enjoy the show!"
said the she-goat.

"You're just being an ass, dude," added a black panther. "Why
are you messing with the performer? You think she thinks this is
funny?" (Little did the panther know that at this point, I thought
it funny indeed.)
Even the quarter horse colt gulped and said, "I like her story. I
wanted her to finish. . . ."
Giving the rest of the audience the stinkeye, my otter 'friend'
leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. He looked at me
silently for a moment, then literally growled as if he were a German
Shepherd. "Fucking idiots." He was too quiet for me to actually
hear the words, but he enunciated them clearly enough for me to read
his lips.

My inner monologue ran. 'Not much of a fight. Guess you're going to
just sit there and stew away until my show time's up. Hah. Maybe I
should be grateful that you saved me some work today.'

He shook his head and got up. He gave me a look that said, 'Piss
off,' quite clearly, but he was the one who turned tail and walked
away. My colleagues gave the man mock applause for his 'performance,'
all but the panda, who gave the otter a scowl and a thumbs down when
he passed him.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," said the she-goat, shaking her
head. "Alright, dear! You can finish your show now."

I got mildly flustered; the last person to call me 'Dear' was my mom
during my high school years. But I smiled. "You got it, sis! Now,
uh, where was I?" The last minutes had legitimately made me forget
my place in my performance.

". . . Whale-sized goose?" called out the colt.

"Oh, yeah," I said, happy at the boy's ability to pay attention
as well as at the satisfaction that I could continue my act. I
cleared my throat and continued my show with pride. "We realized it
was taking us to the land of. . . ."

Source: https://sofurry.com/view/881773