Burns night suppers are overly inspiring and overwhelmingly Scottish.
Also any excuse for Ceilidh dancing is awesome.

This story is inspired quite heavily by some organised Burns night suppers I have witnessed and their venue, but no likeness to non-fictional individuals is intended. I am also afraid that my own Scots is nowhere near as fluent as that the cast of Brave has, let alone The Scottish Bard's. I've used an online translator to help a little. Hopefully it's not too much. Enjoy!

Part 1

It was January the 25th, and for the Dunbrochs and many others in Scotland, this meant Burns Night.

"Bit maaw..." The whine came unbidden, reminiscent of a time too similar only four and a half years ago. "Dae ye hae tae fuss so?"

Elinor DunBroch ignored the complaint, though she did pause momentarily in her wrestle with her daughter's curls, her hands becoming gentler as she pushed and tugged with the brush.
"Ah dae wish you'd let me straighten yer locks."

"Ugh." Merida brought her hand up exasperatedly to her face. She was careful not to smudge the little makeup she had allowed her mother to force upon her visage. The young woman didn't want to be late because Elinor had to do it all again. It still didn't help distract from the horrible mental image of her looking like a drenched puppy. She couldn't see the appeal girls had for straightening their hair with irons, too much effort. Curls were easy, bar the odd tangled knot. "Ouch!"

"There, that'll dae." Apparently satisfied, Elinor took a step back. The hands holding the brush came elegantly to rest at the front of her skirts. As her mother was taking her own appearance in, Merida grinned. Her mother really did look beautiful in Burns Night attire. A long flowing gown of blue satin that shimmered with carefully placed beads and sequins; it had accents of the teal and red family tartan in a sash, a slit, the shawl elegantly draped over the older woman's shoulders. Her mother's hair, which once would have been sculpted into some monstrously ornate up do for such an occasion, was loose, a barrette at the back that Merida had chosen stopping the strays from covering Elinor's face. Elinor's greying streak of silver hair formed a natural feature framing her face.

Merida nodded approvingly as her mother did the same. Upon noticing their shared synchronicity, the two burst into giggles.

The moment did not last however as a loud resounding crash was heard from downstairs. Boyish shrieks and the desperate admonishments of Maudie soon followed.

"Boys!" Elinor roared, turning to go and attend to the situation. She didn't bother stopping at the door, knowing full well that Merida would follow soon enough. The wee terrors had certainly not improved in their behaviour upon reaching the age of seven. The young redhead smirked. She was glad she wasn't the one needed to sort out Harris, Hubert and Hamish today.

She took the opportunity to use this brief moment alone and survey her appearance. Experimentally she twirled around to face the body length mirror on her cupboard. Merida enjoyed feeling the fabric slide freely around her thighs, her calves free to jig and dance. A net improvement on the dresses her mom would pick out for her when she was sixteen. Being an adult rocked if it meant she could pick herself more dresses like this. Her shoulders felt free and the bodice was tight enough not to slide without being suffocating. Experimentally she stretched. Okay, that was a little tight across the chest. No climbing mountains then. Relaxing her stance she looked into the mirror, slight surprise overcoming her features.

She forgot at times that she was now a woman. Her mother had done well with her hair, the normally wild curls coming down in sophisticated looking waves. Some of her youthful chubbiness had faded away, letting her cheekbones accentuate her face, her sternum leading to sharp and muscled shoulders, the pale skin left bare. Pink powdered eyes glanced down. Her arms were stark long thin things atop the dark teal and raspberry tartan of her dress, a silver bangle drawing attention to a shapely wrist, a surprisingly well manicured hand. Even her breasts, which she normally forgot about in the sweaters she tended to favour as casual wear, were suddenly there, the cleavage pointing the eye down to the slim waist encircled by a thin black belt with an ornate silver buckle. Her hips, wide feminine curves, swayed gently with the material. Below the knee strong calves hinted at more white flesh through shimmery grey tights. Her feet in plain black flats were probably the only hint that she still felt fresh out of her teenage years, the shoes edging on the little girl side compared to the rest of the outfit.

"Damn."

No wonder the guys at university always complained that she didn't dress up enough. And that thought was sufficient to make her roll her eyes and turn away from the looking glass. She didn't bother looking for more womanly footwear. She didn't want any of the guys at the supper getting any ideas.

Besides, Burns Night was for Ceilidh dancing. Merida grinned. She hopped, performed a small pas de bas as she grabbed her jacket and purse and left her room.

The weather outside was blustery and cold and wintry and damp. Snow had been threatening all week, but so far it had stuck to the hills, leaving the shoreline and city victim to just sleet like rain and the odd hail shower. Merida gripped her hands tighter around the wheel as the car came across a slippery patch of road. She tried not to let the sight of the sea on her left distract her. The crashing waves catching the dwindling light of the setting sun were beautiful and inviting. She had to remind herself that they'd also be freezing and harsh. She raised an eyebrow upon noticing a windsurfer tumbling in amongst the surf. It's nearly five pm and rapidly growing dark. Poor sod.

"Scots, wha hae wi Wallace bled," Her father droned beside her, reading one of his favourite poems by the bard without even looking at his book. She was surprised he felt the need to even open it. Merida was pretty certain Fergus DunBroch knew all of Rabbie Burns works off by heart. Glancing at the rear-view mirror, Merida could see her mother rolling her eyes with a good-natured smile on her face. "Scots, wham Bruce has aften led...!"

Conversation in the car had been sparse, her mother rereading her notes for a speech, making last minute adjustments where needed, and her father practicing his thickest broadest Scots, in preparation for his own. Merida's focus had been solely on driving, and swearing in Gaelic at the odd fool on the road who cut her off unexpectedly or stalled. Fergus would grin approvingly at her vocabulary. Elinor would frown, a simple "Merida!" showing her disapproval but little more. Her mother had now long accepted that Merida was her own woman and every bit as stubborn as her.

"Ah, 'ere we are!" The redhead daughter smiled as she saw the old building they were headed to appear. Its distinctive roof poking out from behind the Ice Arena and Sports centre next to it. It wasn't long before they drove past the newer building with its glass roof structure to the older one alongside it. Boring modern architecture made way to art deco brick and windows, fancy pillars framing the various entrances and boards advertising various events. The Ballroom was an iconic feature of the city that, according to Fergus at least, wasn't praised enough.

Navigating carefully around the roundabout in front of it, Merida pulled in at the bay before the building. Her dad leapt out of the car and leaned back in to give them both a smooch. His prosthetic foot banged against the door frame, making the girl wince. That was his fancy wooden peg leg prosthetic. He hated getting it scratched.

"A'richt mah lovelies, ah will see ye at six thirty."

"See ya later da!"
"Cheerio the nou."

The door slammed shut. The young woman carefully began reversing. Leaving her father to go in and supervise the organising of tonight's event, she started driving towards their next stop. The two women had just under an hour to go pick up one of Merida's friends and meet up with two others, where they'd leave her car and get a taxi back out. It didn't escape Merida's notice that her mother had deliberately chosen to sit in the back; subtle Elinor, very subtle.

"Time tae gang 'n' pick up Jim, aye?" Merida could feel her cheeks flush at her mother's remark.

Just because her chum was a lad, her mother had to start playing matchmaker. She sighed.

"Aye." She said, keeping her tongue in cheek.

She loved her mother, and sometimes that meant putting up with her silly notion that Merida wanted a relationship. At least she had long stopped being pushy about it.

Jim had brushed up surprisingly well for the event, from what Merida could see under the big leather jacket and hood he'd thrown on. Crisp white military style suit, gold hems and buttons, smart trousers and boots with red leather that echoed his collar. He'd gelled back his hair, tidying the usually straggly fringe, his ponytail sleek amongst the back of his shorn lower head.

"Merida, Mrs DunBroch." He greeted them as he quickly climbed into the front passenger seat, his white smile flashing as his blue eyes met hers. He seemed excited but a little nervous. She could understand. Although he was North American, his roots were very much English, his father's family hailing from Kent. To him Burns Night must sound like one of those crazy Scottish things that make little sense.

"Jim," Merida's grin broadened at the thought that she had yet to introduce him to the highland games. Just you wait for summer, Jimmy.

"Mr Hawkins," Merida's mother greeted, nodding approvingly as he shut the door. Thankfully few drops of rain and sleet had made their way in.

"Got a call from Doppler. He and Amelia have booked the taxi for us all. Thanks for the lift by the way."

Merida shook her head.
"Tis nae trouble at a'." She caught herself and rephrased, remembering that in the same way she sometimes found Jim's drawl hard to grasp, he struggled with her broad Scots, though he was improving. "It's an awfa' night to be bussing it doon tae th' beach."

"You don't say," he replied sarcastically as the windscreen wipers pushed away what looked suspiciously like a good attempt at snow.

The drive back to the Ballroom was much livelier, Doctor Doppler and his young wife bringing excitable conversation into the cab they all embarked in, Merida's Ford Angus securely parked in the car park under the couple's building. Elinor would ask after Amelia's three daughters, triplets like the boys, and the short haired woman would try to gush using as few words as possible but still managing somehow to wax poetically about snotty noses and games of peek-a-boo. Delbert tried not to preen too obviously, Merida and Jim helping him in this endeavour by engaging in talk of what had been happening at university. The news that Ralph had once more decided to change his degree seemed to do the trick, the young doctor starting a long disbelieving tirade about how Ralph would forever be a student at this rate.

The five of them barely noticed it when the cab had arrived, the driver pulling up in a sudden torrent of wet stuff falling from the sky. The strong wind coming off the sea didn't help. Peering out the window, Merida could barely make out the big boats that were anchored out in the sea not far from the port.

Elinor paid the fare as the others disembarked, Jim reaching out for Merida's arm as she pulled her cloak, a gift from her mother, tighter around her shoulders.

"Hey," the young man said, as they failed to dodge the drops between the car and the porch. "Who else is turning up that I might know?"

Merida shook herself down as they got out of the weather into the warmth of the building.
"Och weel, there's mah da o' coorse. 'N th'three musketeers, Dingwall, Macguffin and MacIntosh... Ah hear MacGuffin's got his pal fae Norway, Bjorgman, comin' alang tae. Ye met him at MacGuffin's birthday, didnae ye?"

"Oh." Jim took a moment to process her reply, before his features relaxed. "Yeah, I think I remember him, quiet fellow with an iron clad stomach. That's not such a bad crowd."

The redhead chuckled at his nervousness as they made their way past the doorman. Jim's eyes were constantly taking in their surroundings; clearly he'd never been near the building before, let alone inside. It wasn't the fanciest place he'd been, she knew. After all, Scotland had actual castles by the score. It amused her. She'd been running through this atrium since she was six, rushing down to take part in a dance show downstairs.

A bagpiper stood at the top of the two stairs, and, after minimal sorting of his pipes, he started piping. Jim's eyebrows shot up. This piper was a much better player than the one that had been known to perform on the city's main street.

The guests, because now she noticed that quite a few others had started to arrive alongside them, coats dripping and cheeks ruddy from the elements, were slowly ushered down the stairs to the cloakroom, powder room and bathrooms below. Faces recognised faces, hails were exchanged. Some she had seen just last week when she'd been to visit her father at the office, others hadn't been seen since this time last year. It wasn't long after she'd shucked her cloak that she began to feel dizzy and tired of smiling, nodding and exchanging niceties. She needed a drink.

Seeing that the doors to the main ballroom were at long last open, she dragged Jim along with her, out of the carpeted stairwell to a big wide space, dominated by a large dance floor. The latter was surrounded by dozens of tables done up in white cloths with fancy napkins in glasses and the odd antler set atop tartan runners. The young man let out a small gasp but wasn't given much time to admire just how high the roof went. A photographer caught them, took a snap of them together in front of the bunting showing the Scottish bard's profile, before letting them through with a compliment and thanks. A table was set up near the stage, waiters offering the guests that were trickling in a free glass of fizz to start off the night.

"Taa!" The red head intoned as she grabbed two glasses. Forcing one into Jim's hand, she raised him a brow in challenge. He lifted a brow back, and raised his glass.

"Tae Rabbie Burns?" His accent was off, but it wasn't a bad attempt at Scots coming from him.
"Tae Rabbie Burns." Merida replied, as they both took a sip.

All they had to do was find the musketeers and their seats, and they'd be able to lose themselves in youthful chatter and ignore all the boring old adults around them in impunity. At least until the Haggis appeared.

Dingwall was first to appear, his father strutting confidently into the ballroom in brightly coloured trews, the tartan trousers doing little to hide his impressive potbelly. Wee Andy Dingwall waddled in behind him, his kilt a little big and loose as always. Merida shook her head. Wee Dingwall was going to be one of those people who perpetually looked twelve. It seemed that his mother had given up on helping him tame his impressive cowlick, and his eyes lit up upon seeing Merida and Jim as the perfect opportunity to get away from his younger sister and parents.

MacIntosh arrived not long after, his latest date hanging off his arm in a dress way too short, the only concession to tartan colours the shawl over her shoulders that hid thin blue straps. Next to her Andrew MacIntosh looked opulently over dressed; his sporran was every bit as fanciful as his father's, his shirt clearly silk, his jacket fancy enough to even have some of his family tartan sewn on the lapels on the back. Merida merely rolled her eyes as he swaggered over, introducing the blond girl as Alice.

Jim took a real shine to Alice.
Merida couldn't say she was surprised.

The ginger haired girl leaned back in her seat as she watched the boys and Alice chat nearby. Taking another sip of her drink (bitter stuff, but she liked how it fizzed) she glanced back towards the doors. People were still streaming in, the photographer busy trying to get the various groups of guests to pose together for a corporate picture. She was about to look away when something caught her eye... or rather someone.

"Whoah..."

A tall woman had just been singled out by the photographer, her white hair neatly tied in a plaited bun, but her outfit...

"That's pretty cool."

Dark blue skirts swirled around the woman's legs, flowery embroidery catching the eye. Long white sleeves emerged from under an equally beautiful shawl. She smiled politely as the photographer directed her to stand next to a well built man in a suit. It looked like she had some kind of purse hanging from her silver belt band, a bit like the sporrans her kilted friends wore. Merida smirked upon noticing that. Definitely handier than the clutch she had tossed upon the table. She was more startled to notice that she was then led towards their table by none other than...

"Oh hey, Kristoff! MacGuffin!" McIntosh hailed.

Kristoff Bjorgman, the blond man in the suit, smiled sheepishly. Andrew MacGuffin, equally tall and broad shouldered, chuckled and said something in that quiet Doric voice of his that seemed to be a greeting. He then pointed at the drinks table indicating that he was away to get some cheap champagne, if there was any left. Merida stood and smiled, waving happily at Wendy who was on his arm.

"So ye aff tae introduce us?" Dingwall waddled happily forward, expectation on his face but no actual introduction forthcoming. The stranger smiled politely, eyebrows turning in question towards Kristoff. He turned momentarily to her, muttering something foreign that Merida couldn't follow before clearing his throat.

"Okay people, this is Elsa, my, urm..." A short hesitation as he seemed to be searching for the right word. Merida was used to this from the few occasions she'd met the young man. He was astoundingly good at understanding folk, and seemed to understand young Macguffin better than his own compatriots, but his English was often stilted and clumsy. Seeming to find a word to settle on, he finished his sentence. "My friend. From Norway. Yes."

"Elsa, these people are Andrew MacGuffin's friends..." He started showing which one of them he meant with the palm of his hand.

"Andrew Dingwall, is called Wee Dingwall or Wee Laddie." Elsa nodded and replied in crisp English, her foreign accent nowhere near as pronounced as Kristoff's, though still noticeable.

"It is nice to meet you." Wee Dingwall beamed.

"This is... Jim yes?" Jim nodded, though he barely glanced away from Alice.

"Andrew MacIntosh here gets called MacIntosh. He doesn't take well to the nicknames Apple or iMac, so I would not call him that." Merida chortled loudly, much to the mortified MacIntosh's dismay. "Hey!"
"Mr MacIntosh." Elsa bowed in the young man's direction, her lips quirked in a crooked grin but otherwise the very picture of diplomacy.

"Alice Kingsleigh, nice to meet you" the woman at MacIntosh's arm volunteered upon noticing Kristoff's hesitation. She made to shake Elsa's hand, but instead the platinum blond apologetically reached out for the glass MacGuffin had brought back for her.
"The same," Elsa nodded, hiding an awkward hesitation behind a sip from her flute.

Now similarly equipped with a glass of his own, Kristoff grinned broadly, waving dramatically towards Merida. The red head quirked her brow at him but smirked, crossing her arms as she waited to see why the Norwegian man had felt the need to give her introduction that extra flourish.
"This is Merida DunBroch, the girl I told you about."

That addition and the wink that accompanied the introduction piqued both Merida's interest and concern. Her Scots came out thick as she asked.
"Kristoff, whit hae ye bin telling th'lassie?"

"All good things, all good things..." Kristoff made appeasing gestures in her direction, grinning like a fool. Merida didn't feel reassured by this at all, and was furiously trying to recall what she had done that could have marked the man so at MacGuffin's party. The chuckles coming from her friends weren't really helping. There had been quite the flow of alcohol.

"Ah yes, Merida. I met your father earlier this week." Elsa smiled warmly at her, her grip on the fizz relaxing as she stepped closer. "I'm told..."

But Merida was not to hear what the Norwegian woman had been told. A voice came over the speakers above, and a man in a kilt could be seen by the stage, a microphone in his hand as waiters started tidying away the drinks table.

"Ladies and gentleman, can I please request you find your seats for Grace."

In the commotion following, Merida could but frown as she puzzled over what Elsa had been told about her, the comment apparently forgotten as the foreign woman engaged Wendy in conversation, something about architecture...

To be continued...