I DANCE THE BODY ELECTRIC - Chapter 1 - A FRIDAY THE 13TH CHRISTMAS CEILIDH

Priscilla Pendragon’s evening began on an unsettling note. She had just returned from a late visit to the vet with Buster MacLeod, one of the guinea pigs in her growing “clan” of cavies. Buster, a young and friendly tricolor with an impressive tuft of fur on his head, had developed a worrisome peculiar patch of hair loss shaped like a 'V' on his back.

“It’s just mange,” the vet had assured her, prescribing a round of ivermectin. But as Priscilla held Buster and pondered the odd shape, she couldn’t help but think of the UFO sightings that had plagued the area recently and the decades old television program 'V', the 1980's program about a race of aliens arrives on Earth in a fleet of 50 huge, saucer-shaped motherships, which hover over major cities across the world. They reveal themselves on the roof of the United Nations building in New York City, appearing human, but requiring special glasses to protect their eyes and having a distinctive resonance to their voices.. “Don't worry, Buster", she murmured, "I won't let them abduct you, my little calico haggis."

Buster squeaked indignantly as she administered the ivermectin. He scurried into his hidey hole, glaring at her from the shadows. “Sorry, piggy", she murmured, peeling a carrot for a peace offering. The carrot was accepted, though begrudgingly.

"Oh dear, I'm late," Priscilla sighed, glancing at the clock. She had just enough time to get dressed and review the dance program.

Priscilla hurried upstairs to dress. Why the Branch had scheduled a dance party on this folklorically risky date, she couldn't fathom. But then, the Branch's policies and pronouncements were often a mystery to Priscilla, as well as to others in the dancing community with inquiring minds. Setting her attention to getting dressed, Priscilla shimmied into her petticoat and strode over to the bed where her dress lay. The centerpiece of her ensemble was her boldest experiment yet: a 3D-printed tartan gown with a slightly Victorian flair. Designed on her new cutting-edge modeling software, it featured shimmering threads of red, emerald green, deep navy, and gold woven into a precise tartan pattern. The dress was both a triumph of technology and a testament to her ingenuity.

It hadn’t been easy. The printing process took 72 hours, and calibrating the filament to capture the texture of real fabric had involved trial, error, and more than one printer jam. While the gown was undeniably stunning, it came with a few quirks: it was heavy, prone to a build up of static electricity, and gave off a faint whiff of melted plastic under warm lights. Hmmm, should she wear a bit of perfume to offset the smell? This would be in violation of the Branch's sensible "no scents" policy, but she decided to risk it, and dabbed a bit of organic vanilla extract here and there. Carefully descending the stairs, she stopped by the cage once more to check on Buster.

Checking Buster before the Ceilidh