By Lindsay Toler
By Chad Garrison
By Brett Koshkin
By RFT Staff
By Lindsay Toler
By Riverfront Times
By Danny Wicentowski
By Pete Kotz
The highlight of the masquerade -- a juried competition split into multiple categories based on the era and/or genre of costume -- proves to be a pair of Transformer-like robots, Imperial Fist and Thousandson, with the sultry obliqueness of "1450s Italian Woman" running a close personal second for Calrissian.
With competition closed, Lando and Enfuego join the herd heading back to the Holiday Inn for a final night of indentured benditude, taking only a brief side trip to the Drink-Ons' command post for a pre-function libation. Not surprisingly, the Drink-Ons prove the most popular partygoers in the horse brutality suite, where the booze bladders and Busch are flowing far more freely than ever.
"You have to induct my girlfriend," a man in chain mail says to Intoxicatia, who obliges by pouring a zipperhead down the damsel's throat.
Just then a thunderous chorus breaks out from the barroom, where a throng of Vikings has assembled, intent upon raising goblets of mead and ringing in what for them might as well be the Apocalypse.
I've had many lovers, my morals are loose
But I've never had anything quite like the moose!
The hour is late. Tremens prepares to live up to his name; Inebria wobbles a rummy wobble. In fact, many superfans are exhibiting a tendency to grab a piece of wall and hold on for dear life. "This is it," they must be thinking, "We're never letting go!"
A well-lubed Lando can hardly blame them: Their circumstances are their circumstances, his are his. As Saturday turns to Sunday, he escorts his medieval princess to the Holiday Inn's glass double doors, gliding, not walking, into the chilly ether of a starry Southern Illinois sky.
When they will return to earth is anyone's guess.