A/N-The results are in, and the winner is:

Okay, nobody guessed both references correctly, but I'm nothing if not generous so I'm going to distribute points as follows.

The Queen of Valencia Torgue: "canoodling" was a fantastic guess, but no, I just wanted to hear Gobber say the word in my head with a Scottish accent. You get first pick of the sheep kebabs for playing, though.

ImpossibleGirlClara: Pride and Prejudice is right! I paraphrased it a bit to make it less obvious. Five points.

Darkmatt3r97, fictionadict24, and faeblossom: the word I originally picked was "pigs," but I decided that was lame. Anyway, bingo! Five points each.

Divide up the remaining sheep kebabs amongst yourselves as you wish. I should warn those of you who haven't read "Wedding in the Mead Hall," though: you might want to stick them in the microwave before you eat them. Just sayin'.

This will be the last update until I finish writing the Ingerman house party and its aftermath. Did I say writing? I meant transcribing film footage...

oooo

Chez Twins

Ruffnut Thorston stood in her parents' upstairs bedroom, braiding her hair in front of the candlelit mirror. In the cloudy reflection given off by its scratched surface she saw herself scowl in displeasure, comb the half-completed series of plaits out loose and start again.

"Don't go," said Iona. She was seated on the bed, already changed into her night shift, her knees drawn in childlike fashion up to her chest, watching her daughter as she prepared for the twins' evening out.

At the sound of her mother's voice, Ruff's focus shifted from her own mirror image to that of the figure behind her. Her frown deepened as she saw Iona's finger reach down to pick at the bandages wrapped around her lower legs, applied after the twins had brought her back from the woods early that morning.

"We won't be out late, Mom," she said. "And leave those alone. There's nothing special or cool about Terrible Terror scars."

She continued working on her braid, twining and twining until she reached the bottom satisfactorily, and tied the end with a length of leather cord. She brought another section of her hair around to the front and divided it similarly, the bright, smooth, golden strands flashing through her thin expert fingers.

"You have a goddess's hair, lass," said her mother. "Got it from your father's side. All the Thorstons are blond." Iona's hair was long like her daughter's, but brown and wiry. She had taken it down from its usual haphazard daytime knot, and it hung messily around her narrow shoulders.

"You have pretty hair too, Mom," said Ruff. It was the third time they'd had the conversation this week.

"Do you really think so?"

"Yeah, Mom," said Ruff. She finished her other braid and picked up a whalebone comb from the dressing table. "Do you want me to comb it for you?"

"Okay." Her mother turned around cooperatively, and Ruffnut started to pick through the stiff tangles, trying not to pull too hard but also hoping to finish before they had to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"I told you. We're going to Fishlegs' house for supper, because he won the dragon race today."

"Did he now," remarked Iona.

"Yeah, Mom. You watched the game. Remember?"

"Oh, aye. I remember drinking a lot of ale and eating something tasty on a stick. It was a very entertaining race. I especially liked that pair on the two-headed thing, what's it called?"

"A Hideous Zippleback," said Ruffnut.

"That's it. Who was riding it? They looked familiar."

"That was us, Mom."

"Oh, wonderful! How did you fare?"

"We lost, Mom."

"That must have been disappointing."

"Whatever. We'll get 'em next time," Ruffnut promised. After a few more minutes working on her mother's hair, it became clear that it would take far more time than she had in order to detangle it properly. She sectioned it as best she could and put it in a thick braid in an attempt to preserve what she'd accomplished so far.

"Tuff!" she called. "Are you ready?"

She picked up her belt from where it lay on the bed and clasped it around her tiny waist, took another look in the mirror and smoothed the top of her hair.

"Where did you say you were going?" asked her mother again.

"Fishlegs' house."

"Right. You look pretty, lass. Will there be any nice boys there?"

Ruff wasn't sure how to answer this question without giving her mother the wrong idea.

"Sort of."

"How about that charming red-headed boy—the one with the fancy metal foot and the scary black dragon."

"He's not charming, Mom, I've seen him roll his eyes at us when he thinks we're not looking. And he's weird—he likes to break stuff, which is great, but then he just makes new kinds of stuff out of it. Besides, he's into someone else."

"How about the fat blond one, then? What did you call him? Fishfeet?"

"Fishlegs. And no way. He reads too much, and talks too much about what he reads. He makes my brain hurt."

"How about that other blond one, the skinny one with the long ponytails in front?"

"That's me, Mom," said Tuffnut, having come up the stairs and into the doorway. "Geez, Ruff, finish with your hair already. Everybody's gonna snarf all the food before we get there if you don't hurry up."

"I'm done, okay?" Ruff shot him an annoyed glance. She bent over and kissed her mother on the forehead.

"We'll be back a bit later, Mom. Stay in the house, and go to bed. Dad's still in the shop working."

"Have fun, kids."

"Oh, we always do. Bye!"