A Most Bizzare Ritual
by LadiSwan

Summary:  In a modern universe where all of the events of the Mummy movies have taken place, Imhotep struggles to understand a very strange modern custom called 'St Patrick's Day,' with aid from Celia. 

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Special thanks to Deana for the green lakes comment, as well as Ardeth's remark about turning lakes to blood at the end.

In the years since the hom-dai had been broken with Ardeth Bey's blood, Imhotep had seen many strange things.  Now that he had made a choice to become the man he was once, he had much to learn and relearn.  First among those tasks was learning English. . .and learning about this new world.  Fortunately for him, the reincarnation of Lady Ardath was far more forgiving than the Lady herself.

During the last three years, Celia, queen of the Med-jai, had taught Imhotep how to read and speak English.  She had taught him the customs of her native land, America, and started teaching him about technology.  He had gotten tastes of technology in his previous risings, but Celia taught him to use email, taught him about television and other such things.  She had sewn a special pocket into Ardeth's robes for his cell phone, for when he was on patrol.

The dangers of Hamunaptra remained, and the Med-jai continued their vigil, as they had for the past three thousand years.  Khaldun had once more been imprisoned there, and Celia once dryly made the statement that the City of the Dead was becoming a supernatural toxic waste dump.  It had taken her a few hours to explain what she meant to Imhotep, but once the former high priest wrapped his mind around the concept, he had to admit she was probably right.

He was actually very proud of the progress he had made.  He could converse in English, could even read the infernal language.  Which, Celia acknowledged without difficulty, was quite an accomplishment.  She told him very bluntly in the beginning that English was a difficult language to learn, explaining that there were some words which had three or four different spellings, and a different meaning for each spelling.

It hadn't been easy. . .fortunately for him, Celia was a patient woman.  Fortunate, because just like a child, Imhotep tested his limits, both with the American woman and with the Med-jai.  Not a particularly smart thing to do with the latter, he had to acknowledge.  Because, as he had come to learn over the last three years, thirty-six months was not a long time at all. . .especially not compared to thirty centuries.  Thirty centuries had been as long for the Med-jai as they had been for Imhotep himself.  And while he had helped to save the life of their chieftain, the Med-jai were still wary of him.  The youngest warriors were particularly trigger-happy (to use one of Celia's expressions).  It wouldn't take much for them to attempt to kill him.

To succeed, that would be something else.  Imhotep wasn't entirely sure what would kill him, but he also wasn't sure he wanted to find out.  And over the last thirty-six months, he had realized that the last three thousand years hadn't exactly been a walk in the park for the Med-jai.  He had to laugh at himself. . .Ardeth wryly commented that Imhotep sometimes sounded more American than Celia herself.

Imhotep wasn't sure about that.  Especially not right now.  He stood uncertainly in the entrance of the home she shared with Ardeth, in the main encampment.  It was the turn of the Geban Tribe to patrol Hamunaptra, so the Osiran Tribe had returned to their home.  Strange music was playing, but as odd as it was, it left a lump in Imhotep's throat.  Celia was humming along, dancing as she affixed green streamers about the house.

Green streamers?  And what on earth was that. . .thing?  Imhotep looked hard at the thing currently sitting in the rocking chair where Celia often sang her children to sleep.  Celia said, her body still swaying in time to the music, "It's called a ‘leprechaun,' Imhotep.  You know Lady Ardath was a combination of Pictish and Irish."  Imhotep nodded slowly, remembering his geography lessons.  Celia continued, "Well, I'm also of Irish descent, and we have a custom in the United States, each March 17.  St Patrick's Day."

St. . .Patrick's Day.  Imhotep thought back to what he had learned about saints.  Celia explained, once more taking pity on him, "Back when Ireland was first Christianized, the man most responsible for the Christianization was a man named ‘Patrick.'  That wasn't his real name, and he wasn't Irish.  I don't remember what his real name was, but he was a combination of Welsh. . .Cymru. . .and Italian."

Imhotep blinked, trying very hard to keep his eyes from glazing over.  That was entirely too much information.  Celia added, sounding truly apologetic, "I'm sorry.  I just went into teacher mode.  You looked a bit like Andreas just then, with your eyes glazing over with too much information."  Imhotep wasn't sure if he should be insulted that she had just compared him to her eighteen month old son.  Well, it wasn't like Imhotep had a habit of urinating in people's faces, so he wouldn't take it too much as an insult.

The American took a deep breath, then said, "Anyhow.  There's a legend that says that St Patrick drove out all the snakes out of Ireland.  People generally think that's a reference of converting the island from paganism to Christianity.  He was named the official patron saint of Ireland and March 17 has been celebrated as his name day ever since."  Imhotep thought about this.  He knew from previous conversations that since they belonged to the old gods, he, Celia, and the Med-jai were considered pagans.

Which was why he now asked slowly, trying to make sense of this latest bit of insanity from his new teacher, "And you celebrate this. . .name day?  Of this man who drove out people who believed differently from himself?  Why?"  Imhotep often made the mistake of assuming that Celia hadn't considered something thoroughly before doing it.  He wasn't entirely sure why he did that, since it was a mistake he often made with Lady Ardath and one that ended up, as the Americans said, ‘coming back and biting him in the ass.'

"I know how it sounds, Imhotep. . .I've had this conversation with people before.  But it's fun.  We all get dressed up in green, and the people who don't, get pinched.  We decorate everything in green.  Drink green beer.  Watch the St Patrick's Day parade and listen to Irish music.  C'mon, Imhotep, don't tell me that you did everything for a reason in your time. . .you had to have done some things just because they were fun," Celia said.

Well. . .yes.  There were some things.  But he was still trying to wrap his mind around this particular concept.  He asked next, "And. . .what is this leprechaun which is sitting in your rocking chair?"  The little man didn't look alive, but Imhotep was a former mummy.  He had very. . .different ideas about what constituted ‘alive.'  Celia looked over her shoulder at the little man, and smiled faintly.

"A leprechaun is a little person who guards a pot of gold.  If you catch a leprechaun, you have a chance at getting that pot of gold.  But only a chance, because according to legend, leprechauns can be very tricky.  Don't really blame them. . .would you want to give up a pot of gold?" Celia asked.  Imhotep shook his head very slowly. . .and very warily.  In a way, these leprechauns reminded him of the Med-jai. . .only much shorter.

"No.  I would not.  So. . .how did you catch that leprechaun?" Imhotep asked, feeling desperately out of his depth.  In the first place, he didn't see how a leprechaun would even end up in Egypt.  The only pots of gold around that he knew about were Hamunaptra and Ahm Shere.  And he hadn't remembered seeing a leprechaun in the three thousand years his spirit had been bound to Hamunaptra.

"How did I. . .oh.  That's not a real leprechaun, Imhotep, it's a stuffed one I bought at a store," Celia explained.  Stuffed?  For some reason, that conjured up all sorts of unpleasant images in Imhotep's already active imagination.  Celia added, her tone somewhere between amused and exasperated, "Stuffed. . .as in the stuffed animals that both Andreas and Miranda like to sleep with at night."

Stuffed animals?  Oh.  Of course, how silly of him.  He relaxed ever so slightly, then asked, "Celia?  Why would you buy such a thing?"  Perhaps that was a silly question to ask.  Or one he didn't really wish answered, because he had a terrifying feeling that Celia would launch into one of her explanations.  It sometimes seemed to him that she was as out of her depth, trying to teach him about the modern world, as he was in learning about it.

"Because I thought it was cute," Celia answered simply.  Cute.  Now that was definitely one of those strange phrases which confused him terribly.  It had at least two meanings, that he had learned, and possibly more.  It was sometimes another word for funny or amusing.  Other times, it was a reference to a person who was physically appealing in appearance.  Sometimes.  

For example, Imhotep had noticed that while women considered both O'Connell and Ardeth to be physically appealing, O'Connell was often called ‘cute' and
Ardeth. . .was given all manner of adjectives which Imhotep was still figuring out.  Actually, that wasn't entirely true.  Celia was the one who called O'Connell ‘cute' and Ardeth other things.

"Cute?" Imhotep asked in confusion, "how do you mean, cute?  Amusing?  Physically appealing?"  Again, that thoughtful expression crossed Celia's face, and Imhotep wondered if he should have asked her that question.  He worried when she got that look on her face, because it usually meant that he would regret asking her something.  Not because she lost patience with him, but because he couldn't track her logic.

"Cute. . .as in the way small children and babies are cute," Celia explained.  Now that, Imhotep could understand.  He really had little experience with children, at least not until his final awakening.  He had found little Alex O'Connell appealing, in a way he could never define, even as they headed to Ahm Shere.  Perhaps that was why he would never allow Lock-nah to abuse the little one.  In truth, he had liked Lock-nah about as much as he had Hafez. . .not at all.

But the babies. . .Miranda and her little brother. . .were another story entirely.  Miranda was actually the first person who accepted Imhotep unconditionally.  She had not three thousand years of fearing him, nor did she have her mother's memories of being betrayed by him.  He was simply Imhotep, the strange man who protected her from Khaldun, who had helped to save Ardeth, and that meant she could be friends with him.  And then there was little Andreas.

For all his complaining, after Andreas urinated in his face while Imhotep changed his diaper, Imhotep cherished the little one.  He was a most precious child, and truly, the first child whom Imhotep had ever held.  The former mummy admitted, quite without shame, that he had taken one look at this newborn child of his former
enemy. . .and fallen in love.  Much to the surprise of nearly everyone, Imhotep was what O'Connell called a ‘soft touch' for children.

Cute. . .as a small child or a baby is cute.  Not precious, or amusing.  But something like that.  Imhotep studied the little stuffed man intently, then nodded his understanding.  Celia said with a half smile, "You've learned a lot, Imhotep.  You're a far better student than I am a teacher.  There's so much for you to learn, and only so much of it, I can teach you."  Imhotep looked at the small young woman in surprise.

"You do not do yourself justice, little queen.  You have been a very good teacher, and very patient.  But there are many things which confuse me.  Why would one turn beer green?  Is this another bizarre ritual to have fun on St Patrick's Day?" Imhotep asked.  Even as he asked the question, the wheels in his mind began to turn.  Green beer.  He wondered if whatever they used to turn the beer green would also change the smell.

"Well. . .yes.  Actually, it is.  And don't even think about it, Imhotep.  I know that look.  You're wondering if you can trick Ardeth into getting drunk on green beer.  The answer is no.  It still smells like beer," Celia warned. . .but while he knew she was serious, Imhotep also knew that she was amused.  He could tell, because her eyes were almost green.  Her eyes always changed colors.  Still, it bothered him that she had figured out what he was up to so easily.

Perhaps he was getting predictable.  That was one of the first words he had learned, actually, one of the first English words.  It meant that Ardeth or Celia knew what he would do, before he did it.  That was a very bad thing.  Or, it would have been, just a few years earlier.

Now he wasn't sure about it.  Was being ‘predictable' such a bad thing?  He had to think about that.  For now, he almost wanted to sulk that Celia figured out that he wanted to play a prank on Ardeth.  She laughed, her eyes now almost totally green, and said, "Imhotep!  You never stop surprising me. . .first you changed Andreas' diaper, now you're thinking up pranks to play on Ardeth!"

He had surprised her?  He wasn't predictable after all?  Imhotep decided not to pursue that train of thought, and instead, asked, "What more can you tell me about this ‘St Patrick's Day,' little queen?"  She had finished affixing that strange green material, and leaned back against the bookshelves.  Imhotep wondered a bit uneasily if Ardeth knew she had been doing this.  They had just learned Celia was pregnant again, about nine weeks.  Should she be doing such things?

"Well, let's see. . .some of our stranger rituals, even stranger than dying our beer green.  Some people actually dye lakes green. . .well, some lakes are green anyhow.  Uhm.  Other people decorate their houses with shamrocks, another symbol associated with Ireland.  And, still others wear little. . .or not so little. . .pins which say, ‘kiss me, I'm Irish.'  I have a few of those," Celia replied, almost absently.

"As if your husband requires any reason or excuse to kiss you?  As young Master O'Connell has said on occasion, you and Ardeth really should get a room when you plan on engaging in such amorous activities, especially when there are other around," Imhotep said somewhat tartly.  Celia simply raised her brows at him, and much to his shock and embarrassment, he found himself blushing.

"Uh. . .huh.  Whatever you say.  I'm told that you didn't exactly wait for privacy the first time you kissed Meela," Celia answered dryly.  Where in the name of Anubis. . .?  Celia added, "Anck informed me.  Don't ask me how she told me, I really don't think you want to know, and besides, we're seriously off topic here."  Imhotep thought about that, then realized she was right.  He probably didn't want to know.

"So, this is a. . .this is not a holiday like your Christmas?" Imhotep asked and Celia shook her head.  Imhotep tried for another conclusion, based on something he heard O'Connell once say.  Strangely enough, while Ardeth Bey was a Med-jai. . .he was also the reincarnation of Imhotep's best friend, and as the wariness melted, he found it relatively easy to get along with the young man.  In fact, frightening as Imhotep found the concept, he actually liked Ardeth.

O'Connell, however, was another story.  Still, as the saying went, even a stopped clock is right twice a day. . .so, too, was O'Connell.  Sometimes.  As frightening as that particular idea was, even more frightening than the idea that he was becoming friends with a Med-jai.

"Then. . .this is a. . .fluff holiday?  Like St Valentine's Day?" Imhotep ventured.  He found himself on the receiving end of a Bey Glare, of the feminine variety.  Perhaps that was the incorrect analogy to make.  He had learned that while St Valentine's Day was a holiday for lovers, it was not celebrated among the Med-jai.  On the other hand, it could be argued that given her husband's adoration. . .err, perhaps he should simply leave that train of thought alone?

"A fluff holiday, yes.  At least for us, though I'm told it's a holy day of obligation for Irish Catholics.  Like Stupid Cupid Day, no.  Even people who aren't Irish can celebrate St Patrick's Day.  It's fun for everyone," Celia answered.  And Valentine's Day wasn't as much fun for those without lovers.  Celia had once been one of those lonely souls, and it chilled Imhotep, how well he understood this woman who had grown up in such a different world than himself.  She smiled faintly, then added, "Even though the Med-jai don't celebrate it. . .at least I do have someone to love and to love me now."

"And you will for all eternity," Ardeth said, entering the house silently. Bloody hell, Imhotep thought, barely managing to contain his own surprise, I wish he would stop doing that!  Ardeth nodded gravely to Imhotep, then looked around at his wife's endeavors over the last few hours.  Imhotep watched as Celia watched her husband anxiously.  Then Ardeth turned to his wife and asked, "You did take it easy."

"I told you that I would, Ardeth. . .you're a good bit taller than I am, and I didn't want you strangling yourself on any of the decorations.  So, I kept it simple," Celia answered with a tiny shrug.  Even Imhotep knew that wasn't what he meant, and Celia glared at both men, saying, "I'm pregnant, I'm not dying!"  Ardeth moved silently over to her, and Imhotep looked away, grinning to himself.  In spite of what he had said earlier, he actually enjoyed watching them together.  It always gave him ammunition with which to tease Ardeth later.

Ardeth had lifted Celia into his arms, holding her against his body, and asked very softly, "Is your lesson concluded then, my love?"  She nodded very slowly, her eyes never leaving his face, and Ardeth continued, "Excellent.  Would you be interested in accompanying me for a ride, Imhotep, once I say farewell to my wife in the proper way?"  As he said that, he lowered his head to engage his wife in a very passionate kiss.

As ever, Celia looked a little dizzy. . .giddy. . .when Ardeth released her.  She wore a silly little grin, and Imhotep was amused to find that Ardeth looked just as giddy.  He didn't begrudge them their happiness.  Truly, he didn't.  Ardeth said, once he could speak coherently, "Be careful, my love, and we will see you when we return."  Celia's smile just got even giddier, and it didn't take a high priest of any kind to figure out why.  He chose not to reiterate his request for them to ‘get a room.'

The two men left the small home, heading to the corral for their horses.  They were ready for the afternoon ride that they often took, and as Imhotep swung up onto his own horse, Ardeth said, "She has been explaining the significance of this bizarre ritual called ‘St Patrick's Day' to you, has she not?"  Imhotep nodded, and Ardeth continued, sounding just as lost as Imhotep felt, "Do you find yourself becoming more confused, rather than less?"

"I do," Imhotep confirmed as they cantered out of the corral, "perhaps we should ask O'Connell to explain as well."  Ardeth just gave him a look which Celia had described as his ‘you must be joking' expression.  Imhotep acknowledged after a moment, struggling to contain his smile, "Perhaps not.  For all that I sometimes cannot understand your wife, I never have any wish to strangle her.  O'Connell, on the other hand, is another story."  Ardeth inclined his head in either understanding or agreement. 

The pair rode along in silence for several moments.  They usually didn't talk while they were riding. . .perhaps a remnant of the friendship between Rameses and Imhotep.  The former mummy couldn't have said for certain.  The road back from being the Creature had been a long and difficult one, and there were still times when Ardeth struggled against more than thirty years of fear and conditioning, as Celia put it.

It had not been easy for either of them, and yet they had persevered.  That, more than anything, convinced Imhotep that he had chosen the correct side three years earlier.  None of them had given up.  Lock-nah and Hafez would have never had the strength to continue on.  Imhotep turned his mind back to the discussion he had with the little queen only a few minutes earlier.  At last, still puzzling over Celia's explanations of what St Patrick's Day entailed, Imhotep questioned, "Ardeth?  On this day, people actually put green dye in lakes?"

"That is better than turning it to blood," Ardeth snorted.  Imhotep glared at the young man, who smiled impishly, and said, "I do not know.  But perhaps we could find a few practical jokes to play on O'Connell when he comes next week with Evelyn, Alex, and little Nefertiri?  Perhaps find a way to disguise the smell of the beer when we turn it green?"  Imhotep needed no further urging.  As they rode, Ardeth and Imhotep discussed what might disguise the smell of the beer.  And Imhotep decided, perhaps there is something to this most bizarre ritual after all!

Fin