Yeah, yeah, yeah, done thousands of times before, I know. Tell the truth, I
don't give a toss. Go on, flame me, flame me, flame me!
***
The boy sat at his computer desk, staring at the screen, his fingers dancing over the keyboard. Occasionally he would pause, mutter every swear word he could think of under his breath, and press the delete button rapidly. His chin-length blond hair was still in the spikes he'd brutally forced it in to that morning in a half-hour battle with some hair gel, although it was beginning to flop a little now. The phone rang. He ignored it. He accidentally spilt some pineapple juice on his grey flared cords. He didn't care. He was a fanfiction author, and nothing was going to get in the way of him finishing that bloody chapter.
Except…
The time was wearing on. The handles of the clock slowly ticked past midnight, then past one o'clock, two, three… Still his fingers kept dancing across the keyboard. His eyelids very slowly began to droop. He shook his head, muttering to himself.
"Come on, only half a page to go, how difficult can it be to write half a bloody page of slash?"
But no matter how determined to thwart the Sandman, the human body will eventually succumb. His eyelids closed, he slumped forwards onto the keyboard and began to snore.
*
He opened his eyes and felt the beginnings of panic. He was in a forest, all alone. His hair was sticking out uncontrollably in every direction. He raised his hands tentatively to his eyes. The carefully applied eyeliner and mascara of yesterday had run down his face, leaving little black streaks on his chin. Panic decided to run for it and was replaced by sheer, blind, terror.
"Sod! Sod, sod, sod, sod, sod, sod, sod! I need a mirror!" He rooted through the little bag he always carried with him that contained all his essentials – cigarettes, lighter, body spray (lavender, naturally), an eyeliner pencil, black nail varnish, hairbrush, a quite large tub of hair wax and a small pot of green glitter – but no mirror. He began to tremble.
"Please, there must be something in here, a puddle, a river, anything with a reflection, anything!" he muttered, stumbling around in desperation. He gave up when the usual tactic of 'look everywhere for about a square inch and then give up' failed to produce anything remotely reflective. He slumped down by a tree and howled.
*
The nine members of the Fellowship were close by and froze when they heard the howling. The hobbits huddled together. Legolas notched an arrow to his bow.
"Wait here, I'm going to see what it is." The others agreed – whatever it was sounded dangerous, and there was no need for them all to go rushing in to danger, was there?
The elf rounded the corner to see a boy of about 21 hunched down at the base of a tree. He was wearing a bizarre mix of clothing – grey trousers and a black top with red arms. He looked up. Legolas' reaction was one of shock. What had happened to the boy's face? The boy grinned as he saw Legolas and scrambled up. He ran towards Legolas. The elf grimaced. *Oh, my God, please don't say he's a male Mary Sue…* he thought desperately, and braced himself for a bone-crunching hug.
Which didn't come. Instead, the boy threw himself at the elf's feet.
"You have a shield! Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!" He ran around behind the elf and starting brushing his hair and applying make-up, while Legolas stood, feeling like a total fool.
"Thank you!" beamed the boy, now looking like his normal self again and feeling much happier. He gave his appearance one last check in the shield and sauntered around the corner, humming happily.
The elf was stunned. Not only had this boy taken command of his shield while it was still on his back, he was also the only one of these so-called '21st Century types' that were skulking around Middle-Earth these days that had not been taken aback by his beauty. In fact, he, Legolas, had been simply ignored, while the boy gave his sole attention to his shield. Both man and woman had gazed in awe at the elf's intangible beauty, and Legolas had become used to their admiration and affection. He was mildly annoyed that the boy hadn't paid him any attention. He shrugged and sauntered around the corner, just in time to hear the end of the conversation.
"Ah, here's Legolas!"
"Who?" No, scratch mildly annoyed, he was very annoyed. "Oh, yeah, the elf. Hi, I'm Martyn."
"Well," said Aragorn, "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Martyn, but I'm afraid we have to move on."
"No, don't leave me here!" pleaded Martyn, clinging on to the ranger's arm. "I don't want to be left alone! I might encounter some, I dunno, some strange weird little gobliny creatures or something."
"If we're lucky," muttered Legolas. Aragorn heard and he shot the elf a warning look.
"Can you shoot?"
"No."
"Can you handle a sword?"
"A little, if someone tells me where to stick the sharp end."
"Can you cook?"
"Um, not unless it's come out of the freezer with specific instructions like 'remove wrapping before attempting to heat up."
"So you'll be no help to us in any way whatsoever."
"Um, no, not really. Um, sorry. Um."
"I think it would be best if we left you behind. Sorry."
"Nooooooo!" Martyn clung even harder to the ranger's arm. "Please! I'm just an innocent fan boy! I didn't even want to be here!"
"You didn't?" asked Aragorn, genuinely surprised. He smiled. "Well, of course, that's different. We've just had enough of people coming here at random and tagging along with us and trying to force poor Legolas in leather trousers and everything. We'll see if we can find a way to get you home."
"Legolas in leather?" Martyn turned and studied Legolas carefully. "Nah. You haven't really got the arse for it, darling." Martyn walked on after Aragorn, leaving Legolas standing glaring after him.
***
The boy sat at his computer desk, staring at the screen, his fingers dancing over the keyboard. Occasionally he would pause, mutter every swear word he could think of under his breath, and press the delete button rapidly. His chin-length blond hair was still in the spikes he'd brutally forced it in to that morning in a half-hour battle with some hair gel, although it was beginning to flop a little now. The phone rang. He ignored it. He accidentally spilt some pineapple juice on his grey flared cords. He didn't care. He was a fanfiction author, and nothing was going to get in the way of him finishing that bloody chapter.
Except…
The time was wearing on. The handles of the clock slowly ticked past midnight, then past one o'clock, two, three… Still his fingers kept dancing across the keyboard. His eyelids very slowly began to droop. He shook his head, muttering to himself.
"Come on, only half a page to go, how difficult can it be to write half a bloody page of slash?"
But no matter how determined to thwart the Sandman, the human body will eventually succumb. His eyelids closed, he slumped forwards onto the keyboard and began to snore.
*
He opened his eyes and felt the beginnings of panic. He was in a forest, all alone. His hair was sticking out uncontrollably in every direction. He raised his hands tentatively to his eyes. The carefully applied eyeliner and mascara of yesterday had run down his face, leaving little black streaks on his chin. Panic decided to run for it and was replaced by sheer, blind, terror.
"Sod! Sod, sod, sod, sod, sod, sod, sod! I need a mirror!" He rooted through the little bag he always carried with him that contained all his essentials – cigarettes, lighter, body spray (lavender, naturally), an eyeliner pencil, black nail varnish, hairbrush, a quite large tub of hair wax and a small pot of green glitter – but no mirror. He began to tremble.
"Please, there must be something in here, a puddle, a river, anything with a reflection, anything!" he muttered, stumbling around in desperation. He gave up when the usual tactic of 'look everywhere for about a square inch and then give up' failed to produce anything remotely reflective. He slumped down by a tree and howled.
*
The nine members of the Fellowship were close by and froze when they heard the howling. The hobbits huddled together. Legolas notched an arrow to his bow.
"Wait here, I'm going to see what it is." The others agreed – whatever it was sounded dangerous, and there was no need for them all to go rushing in to danger, was there?
The elf rounded the corner to see a boy of about 21 hunched down at the base of a tree. He was wearing a bizarre mix of clothing – grey trousers and a black top with red arms. He looked up. Legolas' reaction was one of shock. What had happened to the boy's face? The boy grinned as he saw Legolas and scrambled up. He ran towards Legolas. The elf grimaced. *Oh, my God, please don't say he's a male Mary Sue…* he thought desperately, and braced himself for a bone-crunching hug.
Which didn't come. Instead, the boy threw himself at the elf's feet.
"You have a shield! Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!" He ran around behind the elf and starting brushing his hair and applying make-up, while Legolas stood, feeling like a total fool.
"Thank you!" beamed the boy, now looking like his normal self again and feeling much happier. He gave his appearance one last check in the shield and sauntered around the corner, humming happily.
The elf was stunned. Not only had this boy taken command of his shield while it was still on his back, he was also the only one of these so-called '21st Century types' that were skulking around Middle-Earth these days that had not been taken aback by his beauty. In fact, he, Legolas, had been simply ignored, while the boy gave his sole attention to his shield. Both man and woman had gazed in awe at the elf's intangible beauty, and Legolas had become used to their admiration and affection. He was mildly annoyed that the boy hadn't paid him any attention. He shrugged and sauntered around the corner, just in time to hear the end of the conversation.
"Ah, here's Legolas!"
"Who?" No, scratch mildly annoyed, he was very annoyed. "Oh, yeah, the elf. Hi, I'm Martyn."
"Well," said Aragorn, "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Martyn, but I'm afraid we have to move on."
"No, don't leave me here!" pleaded Martyn, clinging on to the ranger's arm. "I don't want to be left alone! I might encounter some, I dunno, some strange weird little gobliny creatures or something."
"If we're lucky," muttered Legolas. Aragorn heard and he shot the elf a warning look.
"Can you shoot?"
"No."
"Can you handle a sword?"
"A little, if someone tells me where to stick the sharp end."
"Can you cook?"
"Um, not unless it's come out of the freezer with specific instructions like 'remove wrapping before attempting to heat up."
"So you'll be no help to us in any way whatsoever."
"Um, no, not really. Um, sorry. Um."
"I think it would be best if we left you behind. Sorry."
"Nooooooo!" Martyn clung even harder to the ranger's arm. "Please! I'm just an innocent fan boy! I didn't even want to be here!"
"You didn't?" asked Aragorn, genuinely surprised. He smiled. "Well, of course, that's different. We've just had enough of people coming here at random and tagging along with us and trying to force poor Legolas in leather trousers and everything. We'll see if we can find a way to get you home."
"Legolas in leather?" Martyn turned and studied Legolas carefully. "Nah. You haven't really got the arse for it, darling." Martyn walked on after Aragorn, leaving Legolas standing glaring after him.