Mark groaned as he pushed his way into the sleeping bag. This camping shit was getting old, and even with the best equipment money could buy, a sleeping bag was not a California King. At least this was the last year he had to do this. His son, Mark Junior, had turned 18 and would be leaving Scouts at the end of the summer. Which meant Mark could resign as Troop Leader. Ten years. While he had worked to do a good job, Mark knew he had kept the post because none of the other parents wanted it. The irony was, Mark hated Scouting. He'd gotten involved when his son first joined in order to spend more time with the boy. Joint custody with Sharon, his greedy ex-wife, had been a battle, especially when he enforced the pre-nup agreement he'd had the forethought to have her sign. It had saved him a couple of million dollars, but her revenge had been to try restricting his access to little Mark as much as she could. The genius idea to become a part of the Scouting activity had actually been his secretary's idea, and he would always be grateful to her. Not only had he ended up spending more quality time with Mark than he ever had before, he'd been able to rub his ex's face in it.
Damn. Mark shifted and felt the air mattress under him. It was going flat. Just perfect. He must have punctured the inflatable cushion on a sharp rock or stick. Grumbling, he thought of the Cub Scouts sleeping indoors in real beds. "Fucking six year-olds do way better sleeping on the ground than 45 year-olds." At least he had the tent to himself, so no one heard his profanity or complaint. Or so he thought.
A dozen multicolored lights drifted over the camp site, looking like big fireflies. They were fairies from a local hive, looking for mischief. And Puck, their leader, had very good hearing. He flew down to the tent set slightly apart from the others, and the others joined him. They settled along the top while Puck peered in through a gap in the fabric side. A human adult was shifting round in one of the cumbersome padded bags they slept in, obviously unhappy. He looked to be nice-looking as humans went, one of those who kept fit. But he did not like camping. The man muttered some more, cursing the hard ground, his ex-wife, and the fact that he had another two months of Scouting before he could finally quit.
Puck giggled and flew back up to the others to tell them what he had found. The plan they hatched would take four of them working together here, while the rest circled the entire camp to weave adjustments, but the results would be a wonderful mix of wish fulfillment and torture in the best traditions of Fae magic.