I've walked around everybody once now, all the while looking like I was going somewhere in particular, and right when I'm wondering what to do next to look busy I finally see somebody I recognize. Hopefully he's a little more together than last time...

"Hey Trevor," I say as I approach him. He was in the process of grabbing a hot dog and has to push some hair out of his eyes to look at me. "Haven't seen you in a few days."

"Yeah, I've been drifting in and out," he responds. Suddenly he looks at a loss for words, shakes his head a little and says, "If you told me your name before I've since forgotten it."

I extend my hand and tell him, "I didn't. It's Alfhild Alfson."

His eyes pop open as he shakes my hand. "Now THAT is a Swedish name!" I try not to, but I giggle just a little. It wasn't the response I was expecting. Trevor does still look a little spacy, but at least he's capable of conversation this time. He cocks his head for a second, then asks, "Alfhild was the one who was guarded by the two dragons, right?"

This guy's just full of surprises. "Yeah..." I want to ask 'But how the Hell do you know that?' only it would probably sound rude. Thankfully he answers my question without my asking.

"I did a lot of reading up on folklore and etymology before going overseas," he explains. Then he adds, "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

"My secret?" I ask. If he's talking about the LSP thing...the whole 'secret identity' stuff was a recommendation, not a mandate, since being registered makes secret IDs difficult enough.

"What your name translates to, I mean."

Oh. I nod. "Okay, good. Yeah, don't tell anybody about that...especially my roommate. He'd never let up on it." I want to quickly change the subject, since I'm more interested about him than I am about me. "You said before that you just got back from Mandelovia, right?"

He nods. "Yeah, a couple months ago."

I hesitate, wanting to make sure I word this question right. "How bad is it?" I finally ask.

Trevor seems caught off-guard by it. He thinks for a couple seconds, then shrugs a little, almost sadly. "I got used to it..."

Before I can ask a follow-up, a couple of really big motherfuckers walk up behind Trevor. One of them puts him in a headlock, but friendly-like so I'm not worried. Well, maybe a little, but it's only because this guy is closer to seven feet tall than six feet, with broad shoulders and (ugh) a mullet. He looks like he missed his calling as an offensive lineman, or professional wrestler. He's got beers in both hands, one open and spilling as he continues to keep Trevor in the headlock.

The other one is about the same height as Trevor(which is a few inches taller than me), but a lot wider. He looks as though he hasn't shaved or combed his scraggly hair in days, and has such a gut that the mere thought of a crunch might make him out of breath or give him a heart attack. His mouth seems to be in a permanent state of being slightly open. He's holding a burrito in one hand and a forty in the other. Mickey's, I believe. Before Trevor can get the chance to introduce any of us, this guy decides to start talking. "Damn, Trevor, you must have a magnet that draws to you the best piece of ass at every party!"

Oh, I can tell this is going to be just lovely...