Hokay, so... zis is my umpty-third attempt at writing fan fiction. Yes, I know its cliché. I know it grates on one's literary palate with the force of a cheese-grater. If you don't like it, let me know. If you have any suggestions, that would be helpful, it might even get you a cameo. Oh…that caused everyone to bolt in fright, didn't it?

If you're still here, try it out. If you don't like it, flame while you still remember. Then get a glass of water and be on your way. (Normal , ordinary, run-of-the-mill reviews are also appreciated.)

Ring Ring Ring…The telephone's piercing tone drove into Molly's head.

"Uhhnn…don't wanna get up…" It was far too early to be awakened on a Saturday morning. Molly sighed and mashed the pillow into her head.

Ring Ring Ring…

"Fine!" she leapt out of bed, flinging the pillow to the floor. She had full intentions of giving the person on the other line what for. But first, first, Molly had to find the handset.

A brief archeological exploration of her desk was in due order. After delving through mountains of socks (clean), bevies of dishes (not so clean), and several herds of half-drafted term papers—

Ring Ri —

—She found it.

"Hello, this is Molly Ferguson, how may I help you?" she inquired politely, mentally cursing her parental-instilled values thirteen ways from next Tuesday.

"Molls! Glad you're up!" Amy's obscenely perky voice assailed her eardrums, "Listen, we were gonna go down to Jitters for breakfast today, remember?"

Molly sighed. All her friends ever wanted to do was go to that damn coffee shop. "Uh, sure, Amy. When should I be there?"

"45, or so. Can you do that, girl?"

For the love of God refrain from calling me your obtuse pet names, Molly thought. "Okay, hun, I'll be there," she countered, hoping that her friend would catch the barb.

"Great! I'll see you there! Bye-bye." Molly held the phone to her ear, listening for the click at the other end. It was disappointing, the barb had somehow missed. Perhaps it was caught on the ridiculous hoop earrings that Amy habitually wore.

"That's your cue to hang up, Molly," Amy snapped peevishly.

Molly threw the phone in the holder.

Hoping that her morning shower would somehow release the tension, Molly began getting ready for the day. It helped, slightly. The feeling of wanting to run people over with a herd of giraffes had lessened. The walk to the café helped, too. Now the herd had been whittled down to one, solitary irate giraffe.

Oh no. Amy brought a whole gaggle of friends along. They were all loitering outside Jitters, sitting at tables under the brightly-colored awning, emitting this aura of slugs. Large, marginally-sentient slugs.

"Uh, hi…So, what's this place supposed to be like?" Molly asked, pulling at her shirt-sleeve as she attempted to break the ice. She always managed to come up with a decent excuse not to go before, so now they all had an advantage. She loathed having anyone know more about anything than she did. Knowing that Amy's friends had the 'upper hand' made Molly twitch..

"If we told you, that'd ruin the fun," one of the girls Molly recognized as Rachel replied, popping her gum.

"Ah. I see," Molly said, even though she saw nothing 'fun' about being left uninformed.

She wandered inside the shop, leaving the group to do as it pleased. A little bell hanging above the door twinkled, alerting the owners that another victim was approaching. Molly didn't care for coffee shops. All the knick-knacks and over-priced yuppie material made her cringe. Who needed to pay a day's wages for a painted chair when you could go out and paint your own? It'd sure mean more than some rickety old seat emblazoned with butterflies and a coat of peeling varnish.

But there were perks about a place like this. The smell for one was divine. A comforting mixture of coffee, baked goods, and plants lingered in the air. People could swap ideas here, free from ridicule. At least, that was the pretense. This greatly appealed to Molly, although she would never admit it aloud.

BAM!

A jolt to her chest startled Molly out of her musings. A customer's son had run into her, in full pursuit of the coffee house cat. There must have been an irritated look on her face, for the boy would not stop apologizing.

"I'm sorry, ma'am! I'm really sorry!"

She smiled and shook her head, "That's alright. Just be a little more careful next time." He nodded, and then ran off after the elusive feline.

The rest slug-flock trickled into the shop, the bell tolling for the death of their wallets.

"What are you overanalyzing now, Molls?" Amy asked, simultaneously detangling her hair from her earrings. Molly still stared blankly at the chalkboard menu.

"Huh?"

"Never mind, airhead. Hurry up and order for us. I want to check out that totally hot guy over there. Hold my purse for me?" Amy flounced over to a back corner of the store. "Thanks, hun," she threw out over her shoulder.

Airhead indeed. Come on, she's 19, not some pre-teen hormone junkie. It's not like she has this inherent need to go traipsing after every remotely available male.

Molly blindly ordered a drink and a muffin to go, and remembering Amy's request, she quadrupled her order and hoped that everyone liked orange muffins. Molly sat on a stool near the register, just to clarify that they added the prices correctly, and that the barista placed the entourage on a tab.

"So Molls," asked another member of the group, "What are you doin' next semester? Are you takin' any more of them advanced classes?"

"Yeah, I'm taking some of those classes," she answered, shoving her hand through her hair while fighting the urge to let her face show the pain his grammar caused her.

"But why? I swear, one of these days you're gonna explode from all the stress." He whined, clearly not understanding.

"Let it come, then. I actually enjoy a challenge. It helps me assess the world, to find what I value in things."

"Oh," he said thickly, "thinking." Precisely.

Taking full advantage of the lull in conversation, Molly searched around for Amy. She had always felt that it was her responsibility to make certain that her pheromone-crazed friend didn't do anything too brash. Actually, Amy's mother paid her, but that was her and Molly's little secret. She was a student, hard-pressed for cash. It seemed like a good decision at the time.

Currently was not that time.

Amy was honing in on a man more than twice her age who was seated in one of those awful butterfly-encrusted chairs.

"Eeww," Molly voiced her opinions a lot more verbally, and a lot less eloquently, then she would have liked. Several other café patrons nodded, so she assumed that it wasn't too great a blunder. Just to be sure, she feigned a coughing fit. Now, about that girl...

At first, she thought that the man Amy was hitting on was in drag. Upon fifth inspection, he proved to be wearing women's leggings with cowboy boots, and a baggy, tattered sweatshirt that came down to his thighs. To compliment the ensemble was a wide, atrociously fluorescent belt. Well, Molly snickered to herself, if he were in the 80's it would be drag. Leave it to the most flirtatious one to pick someone like that.

"Hiya, honey! So, wha'cha doin' in a girly place like this? It seems so totally not your type," Amy bubbled, giving the gentleman ample view of her cleavage. Oh for crap's sake, put those away, Molly concentrated. Maybe she'd get the hint.

The bizarre man blinked in surprise. "Pardon?" The confusion was evident with is tone and arched eyebrows.

"Oh, you're so cute!" his pursuer twittered, "You still didn't answer my question, you silly goose!" She shook her finger in his face for effect.

"I am sorry Miss. I do not understand the meaning of your question. Is this not a place for all to purchase food and drink?"

This chapter was more of a trip to the department of backstory than anything. I promise, this is LotR. It's also been dead for quite some time. I'm attempting to remedy that, meaning maybe an update sometime this week. Also, I only have 1 more chapter thought out at all, so if anyone had any ideas, tell me and they might get used. :o) I implore of you, if this is something that I should quit while I'm ahead, let me know, and I'll do just that. (for the record, my name isn't Molly, or Ferguson, or anything. And I'm not nearly as irritated by coffee shops.)