Cindy and the Prince stroll slowly toward the royal carriage. Arm in arm they meander, the Prince holding Cindy's hand lightly as it rests on his arm. He is recalling an adventure. Cindy is listening and looking at the moon. It is very beautiful tonight, this quarter moon waxing. The night sky looms cloudless and the stars twinkle in greater number than ever before.

So many stars out tonight. Such a beautiful sky. Such a nice nip in the air. Just cool enough to need that fancy jacket that everybody in Clear Lake owns. Well, they are on their way to the Outpost now, and she doubts that anyone at the Outpost will be duplicating her costume. Besides, who needs that jacket? The shoulders are a big hit.

Something niggles at the back of Cindy's consciousness but it does not come forward and make itself known. The Prince changes stories. She tries to follow it but her mind keeps wandering. Back to the stars. Back to the wide, open spaces. Back to a friend she'd love to see. He always drifts into her mind at the most inopportune times. Like right now, for instance. Here she is with the Handsome Prince, having a wonderful time, playing the belle of the ball, and who pops into her head but that other one. The one who would stuff her with rice and nuoc mam instead of chicken and lasagna, and who'd make her drunk with wonder instead of wine. The one she'd really like to be walking and talking with right now.

The niggling continues. Finally Cindy snaps out of her reverie to realize her slip is gradually making its way down her hips to the ground. She tries to grasp it through the dress with her free hand and give it a little tug without the Prince noticing. He is nothing, however, if not observant.

"You got an itch or something? Can I help scratch it?

She laughs. "No, no itches, but I'm losing my slip!"

"Well, let it slide on down to the ground," he says with a provocative smile, "and you can step right out of it."

(The Prince fancies himself a Lothario, a Don Juan. He is all talk, trust me.)

They are beside the carriage now. Cindy reaches up under the long skirt and gives the slip a good jerk skyward. There. That's better. Wonder why my Fairy Godmothers didn't zap up a new slip to go with this outfit? Should I have asked? Am I expected to *remember* that the elastic is shot?

The Prince opens the door of the carriage and helps Cindy inside. He checks to ensure her dress is clear of the door. Then he takes his place beside her and they are away.

To the Outpost, James!

Yes, lawzie, to the Outpost. Cindy smiles to herself. There is a bard, you see, a dashing, romantic bard whom she knew once upon a time, in another fairy tale. Sir Lightnin. Sir Lightnin of Lewie. He was the one who broke her heart in that other story. Well, it is rumored that Sir Lightnin is appearing live and in person this very night at ... where else? The Outpost.

To the Outpost, James!

Hell yeah, to the Outpost.

The carriage moves out. Cindy retrieves a cigarette from her purse and the Prince is right there with the flame. She inhales deeply, holding the smoke in her lungs for a long time. The Prince looks in her eyes and smiles. She smiles back. She reaches for his hand and gives it a little squeeze. Then she lets the smoke escape slowly from her mouth, pulling it right back through her nose at the same time in one giant circle of smoke inhalation, looks out the window at the moon, and thinks of another.

.... continued here