Elf Eye for the Dwarf Guy

Cast

Clothing                                    Haldir

Culture                                     Elrond

Food and Wine                        Thranduil

Grooming                                 Legolas

Interior Design                          Celeborn

            "So who are we going to makeover this week?" asked Celeborn, peering over Elrond's shoulder at the parchment scroll that the Lord of Imladris was smoothing flat upon a table in his elegant library.

            "Hmm," mused Elrond.  "This may be our greatest challenge."

            "Huh," scoffed Haldir.  "Nothing could present a greater challenge than the Orc we worked on two months ago.  Don't you remember how crude those leggings were—so First Age.  Although the eye motif on his tunic was rather mesmerizing, I must admit."

            "No, no," exclaimed Thranduil.  "The Troll—definitely the Troll.  His diet—eww—jellied hobbits!"

            "Oh, that was nothing compared to the Uruk-hai last week," protested Legolas.  "Don't you remember those teeth!  And his hair!  I broke three brushes untangling those dreadlocks."

            "Well," replied Elrond, "I admit that we have faced some pretty challenging subjects, but, believe me, boys, this one will dwarf them all.  We have been assigned to makeover—well, actually, it is a Dwarf.

            "No, no," wailed Celeborn.  "Not one of those cursed Naugrim!"

            "Look, Elrond," Legolas suggested desperately, "Couldn't we make over the Balrog that Glorfindel has been babbling about?  I mean, from what Glorfindel says—."

"No, no, what about the Dark Lord—now there's someone who could do with a serious transformation!" exclaimed Haldir.

"Transformation!" cried Thranduil.  "If it's a transformation you want, let's get the producer to book a Ringwraith.  But a dwarf, no, that's just not possible!"

"Possible, or not, a Dwarf is our assignment for this week," declared Elrond, silencing his dismayed colleagues by raising one of his patented eyebrows.

"Alright," grumbled Thranduil.  "Let's get on with it.  Exactly what, according to that dossier, are we up against?"

"This week's subject is Gimli, son of Gloin," read Elrond.

"Dwarves think alliteration is so cute," muttered Legolas.  "No subtlety whatsoever—not even enough for a bit of onomatopoeia."

"Don't be vulgar," hissed Haldir.

"He resides in Moria," continued Elrond.

"Ugh," sniffed Celeborn.  "I just know the lighting is going to be atrocious."

"His beverage of choice is ale, and he loves red meat on the bone."

"My Dorwinion wine is going to be wasted on this brute," moaned Thranduil.

"In terms of grooming, he favors long, bushy beards."

"I suppose," grumbled Legolas, "that I will need to stock up on more hairbrushes.  Does the dossier say anything about his nails?"

"No, but I would assume that they are going to be cracked and dirty—probably like the Ranger we did three months ago."

"Eeeew," chorused the Fabulous Fellowship of the Five at the memory of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, scruffy beyond description (although, thought Haldir, that necklace was a nice touch—and the cloak, and the brooch and the vambraces and his lean thighs and his taut butt—."

"You know," said Legolas thoughtfully, interrupting Haldir's ruminations, "now you mention it—well, maybe this Dwarf won't be so bad after all."

"Glad you feel that way," declared Elrond.  "Now let's mount up!"