Chillin’ at the Orkneys

My good friend Cake called me up one day and asked if I wanted to go the Orkney Islands with her. Now, I’m from Norway, and used to a bit of weather, but the Orkneys …

I put on my coat and came along. She tp’ed me, and suddendly we stood in a bar together. What a great place to start. We took one for the road. Cake was clever: She ordered whiskey. I, for some reason, took a cold beer. Guess I have a northern image to protect.

It’s very easy for a Norwegian to feel at home at the Orkneys. The nature looks like the rugged parts of our Atlantic coast. Then there’s the fact that we inhabited the islands in the 8th century. Someone lived there already, the Picts, and there are different theories on how heartily the meeting was. Theories range from genocide to peaceful interaction. Some has suggested that the Vikings colonised the islands by eradicating all the male members of the Pictish population …

Cake and me had more peaceful intentions. We came to make them happy, as Cake knew from earlier expeditions that the Orkneyers were a bit sad. We started by climbing up the highest hill, the Brae of Muirfea, where a huge fire burnt. «Are they fire worshippers,» I asked, seeing a lot of meditation poseballs around it. Cake opted for a pose that was smack in the middle of the fire. I assumed she was cold already.


Some of the natives came along, Lyndzee and Angus. As is common among the Orkneyers, they had a dog. This one was called Striggey, and that’s Gaelic for «stripe». Funny name for a spotty dog, but it was very cute and pleasant.


I asked straight away: «Are you happy?» «Extatic,» Angus answered, and I was relieved. Along came Avalon, a priestess. I asked her about the fire and whether they were fire worshippers, but she said I had to ask the guy who built the sim, and added with a wry smile that the fire had a tendency to attract naked people. Naked? On a hill in the Orkneys? I’ve later come to conclude those must be Icelandics.

Caterin logged on. «Come to the Orkneys,» I IMed her, «the natives are fabulous.» She’s never hard to ask when it comes to exploring, and then we were three. Her first line was to ask where she could get a nice Scotch. We said we’d just been to the bar. «Rats,» said Cat, but it turned out Cake had brought some supplies with her. Cat started freezing even sooner than Cake, so she went straight like a moth to the fire. «Oops, there goes my kundalini,» she said, and I still have no idea what she meant by that, but obviously Avalon had. She doesn’t mess with folks’ kundalinis, she said.

By this point Angus had got his horse out, and left us to go for a ride. We asked Avalon what we should see. She recommended the town, a castle somewhere, and a beach that wasn’t full of Barbie dolls. I must admit the thought of a beach full of Barbie dolls intrigued me, unless she by that meant real girls looking like Barbie dolls.

We went off and into what we thought was a castle, or at least a bishop’s palace, but then Angus came riding in on his horse, asking if we had fun in is house. He laughed and took our mistake for a compliment. «Right, where shall we trespass next,» Cat asked.


Our next bet was safe: a church. Cat tried some animations she’d got from a Christian sim, and looked both saved and extatic. Knowing how Protestant things can be in the northern parts of the British isles, I was surprised the church had colours in it. Cat obviously thought it didn’t have enough, as she took out a mirror and make-up, and started painting herself while I was busy praying. «You look like a monk,» Cake told me, and just to annoy Cat I said I’d freed myself from the vanities of this world. It worked. She immediately went down on her knees. «Hm,» she said, «I have this Joan of Arc thing coming on.» «What do you want to conquer,» Cake asked. «My inner demons,» she answered. Cake: «That should be easy.» Cat: «You haven’t seen the buggers.» I suggested conquering Belgium and England, but Cake said France would be easier. «Now, we’re all Europeans here,» Cat said, and we agreed not to mention the war.

Then we went to the bar, and I can’t remember anything more.


~ by theresecarfagno on November 7, 2007.

4 Responses to “Chillin’ at the Orkneys”

  1. hee hee, it WAS cold up there!

  2. Your stories would be better if there weren’t so many factual inaccuracies – they kept distracting me from the story. If you claim to be a journalist you should check your facts more carefully.

  3. I’m very sorry if there are any factual inaccuracies there. Please tell me where they are, and I’ll correct them. And are you talking about my stories, or just this story?

  4. ohhhh dear…:)

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