Elvenhome: Bahia Bay (Version 2.0)
Well loyal readers, after careful thought (and mass deletion by the admin) I've decided to rewrite the Elvenhome branch of my saga. Things have changed in my head over this past year and this is seems the best recourse. So I give you a world of orcs working for the highest bidder, of clowns being considered a traditional sign of evil in Elvendom and Carver having said to once bitten off someone's pinkie: the world created by my Imagination… and possibly some bad hamburger helper.
Disclaimer: The Weekenders belong to Disney, the elves, Gondor, orcs and dwarves belong to Tolkien, and the Quarrymen from GARGOYLES belong to Disney too (through the creative genius of the great Greg Weisman manifested through The Journey, probably the only episode in the Goliath Chronicles worth keeping).
Friday, May 25th 2007, Blockade Day celebration, Bayside Park, Bahia Bay
It had been one year today since the Quarryman blockade of San Diego had been broken, one year today since the town militia had marched south along the coast to assist government forces, and today the first parade the town had seen since the seaweed festival was cancelled (something about gasoline, string and an active cigarette butt). Currently the parade had ended, and the picnic was well underway… which meant picking the sacrificial lamb to taste Mrs. Telcontari Tonatini Green's potato-burdock root salad.
The candidates included everyone under 60 with a stomach larger than their brains. Tino Tonatini, apprentice auctioneer, resident coulrophobe and heir apparent to what was left of the House of Isildur had gotten out of the riding by volunteering to cook the meat with his step-father, Dixon Green. The menu this year included barbequed beef, pork, mutton, chicken, turkey, duck, ostrich (alas poor Jimmy…), corn and several blocks of firm tofu, not including the more exotic pieces that certain people had brought along.
Tino looked over to his friend Carver Descartes (sp?), who was about to down the untested mixture. "I don't think I can watch this." Said the lad in an anguished groan.
Suddenly the entire world became dark to him, mostly due to a pair of feminine hands covering his eyes. "Who says you have to?" came a strikingly familiar, definitely female voice that then posed him a challenge "Guess who."
"Captain Dreadnaught?"
"No."
"Steve Tyler?"
"No."
"Elisa Maza?"
"Tino!"
"Oh! Lor!" Tino looked behind him after Lor had removed her hands. "I knew it was you all the time."
"Sure you did." Lor said as she leaned back against a tree with her arms crossed as Tino tried to answer in a manner that didn't include blushing, mangled pronunciation or counting the syllables of the really difficult words on his fingers. Lor decided to merciful and cut him off in mid jabber. "Look, I was just heading over to check that the caber's are all regulation, and I just wanted to make sure… is that lamb?"
"Mutton actually." Said Tino, hoping he didn't gulp. If there was one thing that a MacQuarrie hated worse than an affront to their families honour, it was sheep. Way back in the 1780's Clan MacQuarrie had been forced off their lands so the new English landlord could cram every hill, glen and habitable ravine with the idiot beasts. The family traveled through Halifax, then to Upper Canada, then they moved down into Louisiana Territory through the Midwest round about 1812 in a final move to give the English the middle digit.
In time a great range in Oklahoma (Indian territory) became the MacQuarrie ranch, and they STILL didn't like sheep. The chief livestock were Highland cattle and a herd of Quarter Horses, but a lot of their neighbours raised sheep and an unfortunate habit arose among the saddle hands to catch any sheep wandering onto MacQuarrie land, lynch said sheep until dead and then draw, quarter and burn the carcass at the stake.
They always paid above market price for any sheep caught like that. They had to halt that practice before WW1 when a particularly greedy and somewhat stupid neighbour had tried to collect on this bizarre and somewhat charitable tradition and drove an entire flock over the line with planted dynamite. No sheep were hurt, and a fence was finally put up. And that, as they say, was that.
"Well, got to go, those logs won't inspect themselves." And with that, Lorna MacQuarrie kissed the petrified young man on the cheek "Bye." She added as she walked off towards the throwing grounds.
Tino put his fingers to that cheek and inspected what invisible remains there might be. "Didn't faint… makes four years running."
"Four years running of what?"asked a voice behind him.
Tino turned to see Carver walking towards him, licking his fingers (he had survived). "Four years of Lor kissing me that I haven't fainted once."
"I told you getting Thompson and Moira together was a good thing. So, have you and Lor… you know." Carver smiled in a manner that was vaguely... suggestive.
To this Tino just laughed before saying with a dead seriousness and just a bit of fright "No. Her brothers were VERY clear about that." Tino ran his forefinger across his throat to get the point across. "What about you and Tish… you have been getting awfully close since the start of the last school year."
"For you it was the brothers, for me it's her mom. She said, in no uncertain terms, that if I laid one hand on her daughter, she'd drop me in a bad full of hedgehogs, tie me to a wagon and drag me through a briar patch… at least, that's what I thought she said" Carver stopped and sniffed. "Do you smell something burning?" Tino looked at the barbeque and panicked at the sight of burning meat.
That's what you get for ignoring the grill.
And then the world turned grey.
"Tino here, and if you haven't noticed, some thing have changed. Fist off, I'm seventeen… well, I will be in a couple of days. And secondly, well, you already saw Lor and me. It's amazing what getting your stepsister to hook up with the town heartthrob will do for your love life" (first and foremost giving it more than a snowballs' chance in hell of getting anywhere).
"As to other things, lets see…" Tino began to count on his fingers. "Well, Mom and Dixon got married, I now have a little half bother, and I finally got let in on my moms big family secret… you know those Lord of the Rings movies they made in New Zealand, well, that ACTUALLY HAPPENED! Ancient history of course, but that's kind of obvious. Turns out that Grandpa is the last reigning King of Gondor… a reign that constitutes about ten thousand loyal subjects, scattered up and down the coast. And… well, you'll find the rest out sooner or later anyway." He then went back to fire control.
Meanwhile…
The wizard was swatting at the fading grey air as if it was some annoying swarm. When the scenery was back to normal, he continued on through the organized chaos of a three-legged race. Once through, Gandalf the White slowed his pace to a relaxed stroll, taking in the atmosphere of a gigantic picnic. Walking into the shade of the trees, he sat at the base of a huge sycamore and took out his pipe.
"You know that smoking is bad for you, right?"
This was the voice of Calimar Green, an unusually observant and well-spoken five year old, standing before the sitting Istar. He had dark brown hair badly in need of cutting and wore some of his half-brothers hand-me-downs (though thankfully not the haircut). Gandalf smiled, shook his head, and tried to think of something utterly confusing to say to make the child leave him alone. "Ah, yes, but I'll be getting my lungs in for a tune up in a couple of days anyway so can't an old man indulge his nicotine addiction until then?"
"What about people who can't have their lungs replaced?"
"Damn." Groaned Gandalf as he regretfully slid his pipe back into its place in a long, narrow pocket inside his hat and plopped it roughly back on his head. The child went back to such romping as befitted his age, leaving the Istar to watch his surroundings with a fair amount of satisfaction and only the briefest wince as the scent of burning meat reached him. He then sighted someone who he could have an intelligent conversation with.
"Tishkovna!" he called, getting up with the help of his staff.
The young woman, who had recently taken to wearing her hair in a series of tightly woven buns, looked up from her clipboard and grinned. "Tharkun!" Gandalf, upon hearing this, rushed over and put a silencing hand over her mouth.
She put forth a muffled question to which he answered "Was there a reason to speak Khuzdul in public? It is not referred to as the secret language of the dwarves for no reason, and you should be honoured to keep that secret."
As soon as her mouth was uncovered, Tish Replied "I know, but what good is knowing a language if you can't use it? There's only my Mom to speak to in it."
"And you should also remember why your mother knows it as well. But on to other things: tell Tino that his grandparents will be here by this time tomorrow with their guard. Their last communiqué said that they thought they were being tracked and that the mercenaries smelled something. This could turn bad." The wizard said before he left.
Tish turned away but pondered for a minute. "Mercenaries?"
Meanwhile…"This is crazy, father. He keeps getting close to our only sister and you won't allow us to protect her. Who know what sort of nefarious things he's attempted without us knowing."
"First off, Neil:" said Ian MacQuarrie, Local Clan Patriarch and father of 15 kids as he tried to explain this once again to his Second-Born Son. "Your sister does not need protecting. She is extremely able to look after herself. And I doubt that Tino would do anything nefarious; he's a very truthful lad if not a little headstrong. I have that assertion from Lord Calidon himself, not to mention knowing him since he was a baby."
"So that's it? Pair her off with the grandson of some… noble and hope for the best? Is that the way you treat the future of your only daughter?" Neil practically spat that word.
"As I recall, you did not say a word of protest when Kirk, the First born and your older brother, married Miss Descartes. And just because Lorna is the first MacQuarrie female born in eight generations doesn't mean you can act like it's eight generations ago: This isn't Scotland anymore, and you can't rail against the lord who took our land, or the gentry as a whole, by lashing out at your sisters boyfriend."
Ian turned his back, but muttered something else. "Your mother approves of him, and it'd break her heart if she was to find out about this."
He waited for a response and finally got a slightly disgruntled "Okay, but I don't have to totally like the idea."
"That's all I ask for." Sighed Ian as his son stalked off towards the buffet.