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The Birthday Nymph

A call for assistance

Editor's Note: This is addressed specifically to the participants of the newsgroup Alt.Sex.Stories.D - the writers, editors, readers who de-lurk, and folks who participate one way or another.

A frustrated muttering can be heard just outside the door to La Taverna. A moment later a metallic “clank” is heard against the doorframe.

Boom! The door opens, and amid a cloud of smoke and nymph dust the Birthday Nymph stomps into the room, kicking a small rectangular object with obvious anger.

Realizing that it's most likely nothing all that important, La Taverna quickly resumes its usual 'roobah, roobah, roobah' of background noise. She quickly takes stock and gives the metal whateeveritis a final kick, sending it against the bar railing.

“Ahem.”

Discussions about Before-Someone's-Time comedians continue uninterrupted.

“Ahem!”

Something about Cain and the genealogy of his spouse rambles on with a noted increase in the heat level.

“Ahem!”

And still yet another Biblical argument-this one apparently about the origins of the Universe-picks up speed at one of the larger corner tables.

“Well. They want to talk Big Bang? Fine. I can play that game too.”

Our Nymph, obviously with something to say, takes out her wand, tosses a handful of something nymph-dusty on the floor, and steps up on the nearest chair, stomping her foot prettily in the process.

BOOM!

The Taverna patrons stop, mid-word, to give an annoyed, “What!” in her direction.

“Sorry for that, folks. But I've got a bit of a problem here. You see, we don't like to admit it, but even us Nymphs are sometimes required to resort to mechanical assistance in certain matters.”

The interest of the listeners noticeably increases.

“Oh stop. Honestly. Is that ALL you people think about in this place? Nevermind, don't answer that.

“No, that's not the type of mechanical assistance I was thinking of. At least, not this time. You see that, that…that piece of electronic, high-faluten, JUNK cleverly disguised as a PDA over there against the bar?” She points her wand at the metal object. Several patrons jump backwards to avoid the taser-like spray of light shot from the wand tip.

“Oops. Sorry. Anyway, that's my P.D.A. Yep. According to the Nymphs and Fairies board, it was supposed to be easier and more convenient that the scrolls and tablets that have worked just fine for centuries. Well, they were wrong. It's broken. And somewhere, hidden deep inside the worthless piece of sh…sorry….metal, is all of my birthday information.

“So, I'm asking for your assistance. Especially you new folks. The Birthday Nymph needs some e-mail. Send me your vital information - month and day is fine, no one cares what year. If you don't want a big deal made, let me know. I can do small wishes as well.

“Now, back to your drinks.”

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Framed