Where Wolf?
Author's Notes: After the flaming (Hey, look! A pun!) success of Thauriwen, I figured I'd have another go at mocking the ruddy hell from our favourite creatures. This is a tribute to all the werewolf-'Sue writers out there and especially those I've flamed or have been flamed by my fellow Agents. By the way, the title comes from the wonderful 1980s film "Young Frankenstein", starring Gene Wilder. My apologies to him and the rest, I just couldn't help myself.
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of plot nor of the Almighty Professor's world. Nor do I claim anything save my own political opinions and, alas, Shegar.
Shegar sighed softly as she looked up at the clouded sky. As soon as those clouds passed on, she thought, she would become a wolf. She was the last of her clan- the Silver clan- her family all dead and her friends captive or lying dead on a battlefield. For years they had been fighting the Luna clan, their rivals, and now it seemed that the Lunas would win. Only when they killed her, the last of her kin and princess of the Silver clan, would they be able to claim lordship over all the werewolves in the world. Unless she could kill Carkwulf, the king of the Lunas.
The clouds were blown away by a gust of wind (despite the fact that wind felt on the ground could rarely blow clouds) and the moonlight shined down on Shegar. She dramatically pulled wolf ears, tail, and silver fur robe from her rucky and put them on, howling like a dying animal at the moon.
Suddenly, a shot was fired from a tree. It hit her in the shoulder, and Shegar blacked out.
An orange-clad hunter hopped down from his perch and prodded the "wolf" with a stick. Seeing it was really a young female human, he quickly looked around and ran. No one had to know he had accidentally killed a thirteen-year-old dressed as a wolf.
-
Manwë stared into the ball, twitching spastically. "Dammit. Not another one!"
"Well, we can't send her to Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Those werewolves would die of the poisoned meat and then I'd have nothing to hunt," said Oromë flatly.
"We couldn't send her to Tol-in-Gaurhoth anyway, you moron, because it's UNDERWATER!" shouted Yavanna, smacking her brother-in-law. "My poor trees…they were so beautiful when Finrod ruled it. Damn Sauron. Always ruining my plants for his gormless little gambits to take over Arda."
"Well, we sent the last one to Eärendil's son. I'm sure he'd just love it if we foisted another of those…things on him so soon," objected Varda.
All four of them pondered for a moment.
As if on cue, Aulë walked in, cursing. "Manwë!" he shouted angrily. "That poncey git Sauron is trying to pull a Fëanor! You'd better do something!"
The four standing around the globes grinned wickedly at each other. Before Aulë said another word, Manwë waved his hand and transferred the wolf-girl to the other globe, where he noted Sauron and some random henchmen of his cackling evilly.
-
Shegar grumbled a curse as she woke up. She had a splitting headache, and for a mo she thought she had been drunk and was now experiencing a really fucking bad hangover. Then again, she was only thirteen, and thirteen-year-old clean-cut American girls didn't drink. Even if they were "werewolves".
She sat up, her disorientation fading. Looking around, she could see a large tower and tall, dark mountains around her. The smell of sulphur was in the air. She heard a loud rumbling, and saw a volcano. Her slightly addled brain began to work, recovering from her skull smacking against a sharp rock when she fell.
"Like, oh! my god!! I must be in Middle-earth! It's just like in the movie!" she cried, jumping up and wandering around the black wasteland of Mordor.
She walked and walked, starting to get tired. The volcano and tower didn't seem to be any nearer, and she was thirsty as hell. There was no water in sight, only fire and lots of large pointy rocks.
Finally, as her usually perfect vision started to crap out and her almond-shaped chocolate-crimson eyes were now practically screaming for Visine, she saw something move. No, not something. Something/s/.
As she climbed up a boulder, looking down across a plain, she saw thousands of hideous creatures crowding around large fires and crappy tents. They were all in full armour, as if going off to war.
Her perfect lupine hearing picked up the sound of rocks crunching behind her. As she turned around…
-
"Oh, shit," said all four Valar as a collective.
"What's going on?" shouted Aulë. "Are you even listening?"
Varda started smacking her husband. "Manwë, do something! That moronic little minion is going to keep her ALIVE. Why you even sent her to Mordor in the first place I don't know; it was bound to cause some sort of apocalypse."
Manwë snorted, glancing into the Earth globe. "And letting that idiot shrub-man take control of one of the richest countries in the world only caused the death of how many- a few thousand, now?"
"I don't recall it being MY decision to let that arse win…" argued Varda.
"Oh, so now EVERYTHING'S my fault?"
"Would you two shut up and do something?" shouted Yavanna, panicking. "Look! Sauron's already got her prancing around Barad-dûr. Pretty soon, she'll be taking that fucking huge army to Gondor and claiming Isildur as her fricking gimp!"
There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Manwë nervously scratched his head as the three others glared at him. Aulë pulled out a large hammer from his work-belt and threw it at the wall. There was a loud crash, the sound of glass breaking, and someone yowling in pain far in the distance. Aulë cringed and peeked out of the hole, down at the recipient of his frustration.
"Sorry!" he called sheepishly. "Didn't know you were there…my bad…heh heh…"
Oromë, in the fray, had unsheathed his great blade, ready to attack whatever force was attacking the hall. Seeing it was only Aulë, he sheathed his sword, looking mightily pissed off.
"Did you want something, Noldor-lover?" he asked, glaring at his fellow god.
"I guess you've already noticed, but…Sauron's trying to take over Eä again."
"Yes, we saw," grumbled Varda. "Bloody hell. Don't tell me we've got to blow up Mordor, too."
"Now, now, dear." Manwë tried to comfort his sulking wife. "We won't be blowing up anything. Except, perhaps, that…gaur."
But Varda was ignoring her husband, instead staring into the globe in horror. "Oh. Blinking. Shit."
-
"And so you take all that metal and pour it into a big mould and make the guns," explained Shegar again. It was starting to frustrate her that Sauron couldn't understand what she was talking about.
"How do you make the mould?" he asked again, cursing inwardly. Trying to get information on weapons from this girl was like trying to get Celebrimbor to make his evil rings. It didn't happen without a little pain. Unfortunately, this time he was on the receiving end.
"I dunno. You just carve it out of wood, I guess," shrugged Shegar. "So…do you, like, know where I can find Isildur? He's hot!"
Sauron had the urge to vomit repeatedly all over the human girl. Her shiny dyed silver hair kept catching and reflecting the light in a most painful and blinding way, and her chocolate-crimson (now mostly light red from her exhausting trek of five metres) eyes were changing colour every so often.
"Here. Why don't I…er…go find you something to eat," said Sauron, trying to find a way to get the fuck out of there. Yes! Eat! That was good! he thought wickedly. "I'll be right back…"
He turned around and exited the room, long black and red robes billowing out behind him dramatically, reminding Shegar of Star Wars. All Sauron needed to be Darth Vader was the black plastic mask.
-
"…Manwë?" asked Yavanna. "Why aren't you smiting that thing?"
Manwë looked down at the floor and scratched his head. "Well…er…before we put Melkor away, er…I kinda…he…"
"What?" asked Varda homicidally.
"Well, er…let's say it involves…a territorial dispute and some very, very strong weapons buried beneath the surface of Mordor…"
The other three Valar all did a faceplant in perfect unison.
"May I ask why the ruddy fuck you did that?" asked Yavanna.
"Er…I don't know?" Manwë shrunk from Yavanna and Varda's angry glares.
Oromë pondered the thought of underground weapons. "Hey- didn't those belong to that bearded arse who used to rule Iraq?"
"I think so…" said Manwë.
"Well, since we can't operate them, I'm sure he could!"
"One problem, you idiot. He's locked in porridge in the States somewhere," Varda stated, pointing to the Earth globe.
"That's easily fixed!" Manwë cried enthusiastically, waving his hand over the Earth globe.
-
Back in Mordor, Sauron was currently bashing his head into the table as the fur-clad teeny-bopper babbled on about some males and occasionally asking him where Isildur was. Shegar's revelry was interrupted by the rather dramatic entrance of the notorious dictator Saddam Hussein.
"Like, oh my gosh!" she cried, pointing to the bestubbled podgy man. "You're, like, Saddam Hussein!"
The podgy man blinked, slowly processing what she was saying, then jumped back a meter. "Gah! You're another of those American infidels!"
"What's an infidel?" asked Shegar, confused. "And you're mean! You killed all those innocent people with your big weapons of mass desecration…or something like that."
Saddam snorted at the American girl's obvious lack of any working brain cells and pulled Sauron aside. "Listen, sir, you have been invaded by the cursed Americans. For a very small price I can help you oust them from your lands and use them to your advantage."
Sauron pondered this, scratching his chin in a traditionally evil gesture. "Yes…" he muttered to himself. "Oooh, that's evil… yessss…"* He cleared his throat. "Yes. I accept your offer. Now tell me how you might twist this bothersome creature to our advantage." Of course, Sauron didn't intend on sharing anything with Hussein. He planned on getting the information he needed and offing the obnoxious dictator.
Saddam knew this, of course, and whispered something to Sauron. Sauron grinned and nodded evilly, and motioned over his henchmen. Two of the burly Orcs grabbed Hussein by the shoulders and led him out of the room.
"Are they gonna, like, kill him?" questioned Shegar.
Sauron ignored the girl's question, instead motioning over another few henchmen. One grabbed Shegar and unceremoniously dragged her out, and the other two took a separate route out of the tower and towards Cirith Ungol.
-
"So…how is this bearded idiot going to help us?" asked Oromë sceptically, glaring at Manwë.
"Er…I don't know?" said Manwë, edging away from his angry fellow god.
"Wait…" said Yavanna, looking into the globe. The Orcs had reached a hidden cave near the bottom of the Stairs and now held a torch aloft.
"Oh. Dear. Eru." Manwë muttered in fear and disbelief.
"What now?!" cried Varda. "What ELSE could possibly go wrong in your stupid plot?!"
"Ah…those two Orcs have just entered the very same cave Morgoth buried those large weapons back in the First Age…" said Manwë quietly, cringing.
-
"Snaga?" asked Gashrug, looking around the cave. "What did Lord Evil-Pants want us to do down here?"
"Shut up! Can't you tell: we're supposed to go down into this cave and look for something!" cried Snaga, perturbed. He really wasn't in a good mood, and the mundane task of searching for an old store of arms for his master had lit his fuse- literally and figuratively.
The two travelled farther into the cave, a strange smell beginning to fill the air.
"Oh, fuck! Gashrug, did you shit yourself again?" Snaga was ready to explode with anger.
"No! It must be coming from that big shiny thing," said Gashrug, pointing to a large, silvery object that looked just like a giant…
-
"Johnson!" shouted the general.
"Yes, sir?" asked Private Johnson fearfully.
"Where the hell did that Iraqi git go?!"
"I don't know, sir. He just…disappeared," Private Johnson shrunk from the general's mightily pissed off glare.
"Well, we've got to find him, you moron! Get going!" The general pulled Johnson from his chair and shoved him into the hall to emphasise his point.
-
The huge explosion sent the four Valar jumping back in surprise.
"Holy shit! What the hell was that?!" cried Oromë.
"That would be those obscenely large weapons Morgoth buried there back in the First Age," answered Manwë, blinking and rubbing his eyes. (Assuming Valar have eyes)
"So that would mean Mordor is now a large gaping crater on the face of Arda?" asked Yavanna, glaring at Manwë.
"Er…well, not quite. For some reason Barad-dûr didn't go down with it. There's just a very large hole in east Mordor."
"Hey! I have an idea!" shouted Aulë.
"Frightened as I am, what?" asked Varda.
"Why don't we fill that large hole with water?"
"For once you've actually made sense. Good plan, Aulë." Manwë briefly left the room, returning with a grin on his face. "Ulmo's not ecstatic about the idea, but he'll do it."
"Wait…what about the 'Sue? And Sauron?" asked Yavanna.
"Well, with Gil-galad, Círdan, Eärendil's son, Oropher, and Elendil, it shouldn't be that hard to defeat a Ring-wielding idiot."
"Those sound like famous last words," Aulë said warily.
"Really. You said something similar before the Nirnaeth, and look how that turned out." Varda glared at her weak-minded husband.
"Oh, hush. I'll take care of the 'Sue," Manwë rolled his eyes and waved his hand at the globe again. The 'Sue vanished.
-
Shegar blinked as she opened her eyes. She felt slightly different. Then she looked down. "What the…? I'm a…BOY!"
A strange man with dark hair walked into the room. "Ready for some Jesus juice, Hegar?" he asked, proffering a can of strange grape drink.
(S)hegar screamed. "OH MY GOD! You're Michael Jackson!"
-Fin-
Author's Endnotes: Again, the random names in this are puns: Shegar= she-wolf in Anglo-Saxon (Old English). Carkwulf= Fang-man in Anglo-Saxon and Sindarin "carch" means fang. Can you tell I like dead languages? ^^; I'm definitely expecting some flames for this, as I've mercilessly ridiculed the authors of the Werewolf-Sue fics here. Actually, the plot idea came to me from a fic forwarded to me from a fellow PPC agent [the actual name I'll censor as to avoid an attack on her]. I'm thinking this may turn into a series, and next on my list is…I'm not telling. Oh, by the way, I did get the "Johnson" joke from Austin Powers. No offence meant for the rude Michael Jackson joke, either. I was watching the news and really couldn't help myself.
* This is taken from the hilarious Rings parody "One Ring To Rule Them All 2." Go watch it; it's funneh. Ring goes on, Ring goes off…
Flame me! Yay!