It was already two 0'clock. Nancy Loughborough and her faithfully fiendish Faire buddy, Morgan, were still lounging like dormant reptiles on the rickety wooden benches at the back of the notorious Faire Garden. One of them opened an eye and mentioned something about a bottle. "No, thanks," Nancy responded as she pressed her pointy chin to her neck, peered over her cheekbones and adjusted the loft in her billowing breasts. "I think I've had enough Captain for the day, and enough John Courage to fill the Hoover Dam, were it accidentally drained. Besides the Queen will be here soon." "Oh yeah, that again," her friend sighed, stretching her limp legs. "Hope I don't have to curtsy, I'd never be able to get back up." Morgan picked up a near empty bottle of rum and squinted at the the dashing, sword wielding figure on it proclaiming to be the illustrious Captain Morgan. Had she not had more than her share of the drink, she might have recalled how the Captain, some three-hundred or so years ago, enlisted a rabid gang of sea scavengers, supervised the torture, plunder and obliteration of entire Spanish communities and then slinked off with the booty one night without telling anyone. Not that it really mattered anymore. In any case, here at the wondrous Renaissance Faire, the Captain hadn't even been born yet. After all, it was only 1592- or was it? It was often difficult to tell. Rumor had it that the current Morgan, through some strange contortions of father time, had been named after the famous pirate (or rather the bottle, Nancy figured). "Don't mind if I finish it off, eh, Nancy?" Morgan asked with a crooked smile. Nancy had more pressing matters to tend to. "God, I really have to pee and there's a line and it's all noblewomen." "You're gonna brave the public privies?" Morgan made an 'ew, yuk' face. "I'd rather not, but I gotta go," said Nancy, phobically eyeing the mundanes out in the streets.