THE CONSTELLATION OF RUNNING DWARF
Christa sank to her knees, hopelessly, wearily, tears welling up in the corners of her wide ice-blue eyes. Her left knee cracked. Her shoulders slumped. This was simply too much. Not again. Riding her bike through a lightning storm while she just happened to be gorgeously attired in her costume for the school play - she was the lead, a princess, draped in silver and gossamer and studded with pearls - well; it was tempting fate. But did she really deserve this? As if being beautiful and lily-fair with pores a proton would need a microscope to see wasn't bad enough. No. Of course not.
"Fair maiden, why do you wander so?" the figure before her asked, his deep soulful voice moved by concern. His height and slenderness were silhouetted and enhanced by the moon. "Have you not heard there are orcs abroad?"
He dropped to his knees, and took her delicately pointed chin in one strong, sensitive hand. Christa shuddered with self-pity. "No one," she informed him, a great booming sob in her voice, "should be allowed to be that beautiful."
The kind stranger's face twisted in consternation, but he managed a stunning smile, gently amused. "I see no mirror, lady. What induces you to say this?" He straightened, quiver swinging on his back, drawing her up by the wrists. She was suddenly breathlessly close to him, the top of her head fitting neatly under his strong angular jaw.
"You do!" Christa shrieked miserably, wishing that her tears weren't drops of liquid light or the dreams of a crystal or echoes of the sea or whatever this character felt like comparing them to. She tugged her arms lose with some resistance and contorted her features as much as humanly possible. "I hate being pretty! Ooh! What do you think it feels like, every good-looking guy assuming he can sweep you off your feet? I hear true love one more time, I puke on your functional but stylish leather boots! Understand?!" She began to shake with sobbing and shrill laughter. "I've been transported to thirteen different worlds. Thirteen different lovers. Thirteen different coincidences resulting in thirteen appropriate costumes for thirteen maddeningly attractive manly men to rescue me in. Thirteen bolts of lighting. And my hair has never, not once, gotten messed up!"
"You're hysterical, milady!" The blond-haired, blue-eyed vision before her exclaimed, his expression clouding. One long finger kissed away a perfectly spherical tear - "like a fallen star - " he murmured - from Christa's cheek. "I must find a healer. I only hope as I gallop across the plains with you behind me on the saddle, riding sidesaddle as befits a damsel, of course - "A gleaming white stallion wandered hastily into Christa's line of vision, apologetically pretending he had been there all along. " - that you do not have some injury to your arms that will make it difficult to grasp my waist, and that we do not encounter an aimlessly wandering squad of orcs - " Whispers of "Hush, grr-argh, get into place, you worm! Argh! Wait for the cue! Wait for it!" were heard, and the clanking of something like harsh iron armor on evil toadies settling into an ambush. Oblivious, the gorgeous figure tilted his smooth head confidentially forward, the point of one ear becoming visible against the sky. " -whereupon I would defend you to my utmost ability, to my death if need be, though I have every faith just one kiss from those lips, pure and soft as winter snow, would heal me body and mind beyond any wound orc-scum could inflict upon me - and I hope you do not faint with maidenly distress before I can profess my undying love to you, milady - for though we just met, I feel as though I've know you forever. Darling, you are exquisite in the moonlight. Please, grant me your name?"
"Christa," she said despairingly, hysteria passed. "It's Christa. My friends call me Chris. Dear god. Leave me alone."
"Silima Mírë Marilla Tinwë," he breathed, smiling. "It's beautiful, as befits you."
"Christa," she whispered.
"I am Legolas, of Greenwood Forest."
"That's nice. Christa."
"You flatter me - come, lovely Silima."
She leapt back, away from Legolas's alluring embrace, howling, "Christa!" She whirled to run, refusing to tear away her perfect, delicate gown for a gratuitous leg shot, though it would make flight easier, and promptly tripped over something, landing smack on her face.
Immediately, there was a bracing hand at her elbow, and another, comforting, on her shoulder. Christa did not cooperate with their efforts to help her up, bleakly lying limp, letting the blood from her very dented nose run down over her full pale-rose lips. The hand on her back relinquished its hold, but the one on her elbow pulled her roughly upright, nearly dislocating her shoulder. "Look whee-ere you're going!" it wheezed gruffly.
She cast about in vain for the voice, and then dropped her eyes. A yellowed pair met hers, glaring from a tangle of red hair and a beaten helm. Christa froze, then melted. Her perfect mouth dropped open vacantly, regardless of her nosebleed. The eyes continued to glare, redoubling their efforts when they saw no progress had been made. "Weel!" he grunted.
Christa was enchanted.
"Don't go around running like that, y'ken?" the cross voice demanded. "You broke up yer nose bad, lassie! And Gimli son of Gloin noo take kindly to being tripped over, see?"
More than enchanted.
"Get off with ye!" he grunted.
In love.
Christa, as if in a dream, reached out with one slender, pale, soft hand to stroke this irritable half-shaved teddy bear. He growled nervously and clumsily backed away from her questing fingers, loosening his double-bladed axe on his back.
Legolas pouted. "Ah, take her, Gimli." He said. "And consider that gambling debt paid." He gracefully lept atop his white stallion and galloped away in the moonlight, his smug look hidden by the distance and speed.
Christa drew back and batted her eyes, barely suppressing a predatory giggle. Her lips pulled back in a shy, sweet, sincere, and determined smile.
Gimli's eyes widened. With what? - was it? - yes - fear.
And, my children, see, she chases him still- there is the dwarf, that cluster there is his axe - that sweep is the golden hair of Christa - and you see the shining trail of their footsteps, dancing across the sky. Aren't the stars beautiful?
Christa sank to her knees, hopelessly, wearily, tears welling up in the corners of her wide ice-blue eyes. Her left knee cracked. Her shoulders slumped. This was simply too much. Not again. Riding her bike through a lightning storm while she just happened to be gorgeously attired in her costume for the school play - she was the lead, a princess, draped in silver and gossamer and studded with pearls - well; it was tempting fate. But did she really deserve this? As if being beautiful and lily-fair with pores a proton would need a microscope to see wasn't bad enough. No. Of course not.
"Fair maiden, why do you wander so?" the figure before her asked, his deep soulful voice moved by concern. His height and slenderness were silhouetted and enhanced by the moon. "Have you not heard there are orcs abroad?"
He dropped to his knees, and took her delicately pointed chin in one strong, sensitive hand. Christa shuddered with self-pity. "No one," she informed him, a great booming sob in her voice, "should be allowed to be that beautiful."
The kind stranger's face twisted in consternation, but he managed a stunning smile, gently amused. "I see no mirror, lady. What induces you to say this?" He straightened, quiver swinging on his back, drawing her up by the wrists. She was suddenly breathlessly close to him, the top of her head fitting neatly under his strong angular jaw.
"You do!" Christa shrieked miserably, wishing that her tears weren't drops of liquid light or the dreams of a crystal or echoes of the sea or whatever this character felt like comparing them to. She tugged her arms lose with some resistance and contorted her features as much as humanly possible. "I hate being pretty! Ooh! What do you think it feels like, every good-looking guy assuming he can sweep you off your feet? I hear true love one more time, I puke on your functional but stylish leather boots! Understand?!" She began to shake with sobbing and shrill laughter. "I've been transported to thirteen different worlds. Thirteen different lovers. Thirteen different coincidences resulting in thirteen appropriate costumes for thirteen maddeningly attractive manly men to rescue me in. Thirteen bolts of lighting. And my hair has never, not once, gotten messed up!"
"You're hysterical, milady!" The blond-haired, blue-eyed vision before her exclaimed, his expression clouding. One long finger kissed away a perfectly spherical tear - "like a fallen star - " he murmured - from Christa's cheek. "I must find a healer. I only hope as I gallop across the plains with you behind me on the saddle, riding sidesaddle as befits a damsel, of course - "A gleaming white stallion wandered hastily into Christa's line of vision, apologetically pretending he had been there all along. " - that you do not have some injury to your arms that will make it difficult to grasp my waist, and that we do not encounter an aimlessly wandering squad of orcs - " Whispers of "Hush, grr-argh, get into place, you worm! Argh! Wait for the cue! Wait for it!" were heard, and the clanking of something like harsh iron armor on evil toadies settling into an ambush. Oblivious, the gorgeous figure tilted his smooth head confidentially forward, the point of one ear becoming visible against the sky. " -whereupon I would defend you to my utmost ability, to my death if need be, though I have every faith just one kiss from those lips, pure and soft as winter snow, would heal me body and mind beyond any wound orc-scum could inflict upon me - and I hope you do not faint with maidenly distress before I can profess my undying love to you, milady - for though we just met, I feel as though I've know you forever. Darling, you are exquisite in the moonlight. Please, grant me your name?"
"Christa," she said despairingly, hysteria passed. "It's Christa. My friends call me Chris. Dear god. Leave me alone."
"Silima Mírë Marilla Tinwë," he breathed, smiling. "It's beautiful, as befits you."
"Christa," she whispered.
"I am Legolas, of Greenwood Forest."
"That's nice. Christa."
"You flatter me - come, lovely Silima."
She leapt back, away from Legolas's alluring embrace, howling, "Christa!" She whirled to run, refusing to tear away her perfect, delicate gown for a gratuitous leg shot, though it would make flight easier, and promptly tripped over something, landing smack on her face.
Immediately, there was a bracing hand at her elbow, and another, comforting, on her shoulder. Christa did not cooperate with their efforts to help her up, bleakly lying limp, letting the blood from her very dented nose run down over her full pale-rose lips. The hand on her back relinquished its hold, but the one on her elbow pulled her roughly upright, nearly dislocating her shoulder. "Look whee-ere you're going!" it wheezed gruffly.
She cast about in vain for the voice, and then dropped her eyes. A yellowed pair met hers, glaring from a tangle of red hair and a beaten helm. Christa froze, then melted. Her perfect mouth dropped open vacantly, regardless of her nosebleed. The eyes continued to glare, redoubling their efforts when they saw no progress had been made. "Weel!" he grunted.
Christa was enchanted.
"Don't go around running like that, y'ken?" the cross voice demanded. "You broke up yer nose bad, lassie! And Gimli son of Gloin noo take kindly to being tripped over, see?"
More than enchanted.
"Get off with ye!" he grunted.
In love.
Christa, as if in a dream, reached out with one slender, pale, soft hand to stroke this irritable half-shaved teddy bear. He growled nervously and clumsily backed away from her questing fingers, loosening his double-bladed axe on his back.
Legolas pouted. "Ah, take her, Gimli." He said. "And consider that gambling debt paid." He gracefully lept atop his white stallion and galloped away in the moonlight, his smug look hidden by the distance and speed.
Christa drew back and batted her eyes, barely suppressing a predatory giggle. Her lips pulled back in a shy, sweet, sincere, and determined smile.
Gimli's eyes widened. With what? - was it? - yes - fear.
And, my children, see, she chases him still- there is the dwarf, that cluster there is his axe - that sweep is the golden hair of Christa - and you see the shining trail of their footsteps, dancing across the sky. Aren't the stars beautiful?