Here's a happy little Merry Christmas present to all y'all who were wishing so desperately that I would write more! (Yeah, that was major sarcasm. But I can pretend there are some of you are out there. Maybe there are…) Anyway, I WROTE MORE!!
Disclaimer: Woe is me, I make no money for writing this, or anything else for that matter. I'm a dirty-rotten thief. No offense to thieves meant.
Random Note: Man, if I keep posting at this rate I doubt I'll be done by the end of next school year. I dunno whether that was an exaggeration or not. But hang in there, Episode 23 is really good. (My gosh, I even scare myself. My self. My's elf. Oooh, that's cool.) Okay, so hanging in there is totally optional. If you come back in a year or so, I may be done.
IMPORTANT REQUEST TO ALL Y'ALL: If you know of anything that can scan written words from notebook paper and turn them into a Word document, PLEASE tell me. You'll be my hero forever. And no, I'm not from anywhere that people use the word "y'all", but I've been to Kentucky a few times.
Lalalalalala (since any cool-looking punctuation I type here doesn't usually show up)
Episode 8: Some Challenge This Is
Tier-firn Day 6
Pippin laughs. The words 'Peregrin Took, Hobbit Hero of the Shire' appear below his face.
"Yes, our strategy is still to travel as slowly as possible, so we don't ever reach Moria, while stocking up on as much food as we can carry. The hardest part is not letting the show's crew know about it."
"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf yells from off-screen. "You just told them!"
Gimli walks by with a bulging pack, which is actually his Lórien cloak with too much food wrapped in it.
"Gandalf, have we traveled far enough for today? This food weighs more than me," the Dwarf grumbles.
"Which is saying something," Pippin whispers to Merry.
The wizard stops walking and surveys the land ahead.
"We should walk for a few more minutes. We've only covered half a mile today."
"How many minutes is a few?" Merry groans, collapsing under a pack as big as Shadowfax, although I can't imagine why the horse isn't carrying any of the food. I guess he's too cool to be a pack horse.
Gandalf thinks for a moment. "Ten."
"How about one?" Merry asks hopefully.
Gandalf considers this, but then shakes his head. "Ten," he repeats.
"Maybe two?"
"Ten."
"Three?"
"Ten."
"Four?"
"Ten!"
"Five?"
"Ten, Merry! Take a hint!" Gimli answers for Gandalf.
"Well, how about six?" Merry continues, unfazed.
"Ten." Gandalf is getting sick of saying the number over and over again. After all, nine is a more Lord-of-the-Ringsy number.
"Seven?"
"Ooh, ooh! He's going to say ten!" Pippin predicts, bouncing up and down.
"Ten," Gandalf repeats, relieved that this is over with. If Pippin figured it out, Merry must have too.
"Eight?" Merry insists.
Maybe not then.
"Ten!"
"Nine?" the two hobbits ask in unison.
Thunderclouds roll in from out of nowhere.
Pippin looks up, blinking.
"Does that mean we win?" he wonders aloud.
"I'll give you one guess," Gimli replies sarcastically, trying to balance his food on his head to keep off the rain he knows is coming.
"Yes?" Pippin ventures uncertainly.
BOOM! A clap of thunder rings through the now considerably wetter air, and a bolt of lightning strikes the tree right next to Merry and Pippin. A sheet of rain pours mercilessly down on the Tier-firn tribe, not including Gandalf with his magicky bubble shield thing. Their huge packs become even heavier with the weight of the rainwater.
Gandalf almost smiles when he sees Merry's expression.
"Ten minutes," the Wizard says cheerfully.
Alcarinquë Day 6
"My laptop! It's like totally deep-fried!" Jessica wails only seconds after the rain starts. She shows it miserably to Legolas, who does his best to look like he actually cares as he wonders what a laptop is.
The hostess quickly pulls a bubble-gum pink raincoat out of her golfcart, and throws it over the now-tragically-never-again-to-be-used-chunk-of-metal-formerly-known-as-a-laptop-computer. No, she isn't quite smart enough to think of putting it on herself. Or, well, we can say she's being very considerate and selfless, and also trying to prevent everyone from being electrocuted in case the 110 dead computer lets out a powerful blast of lightning and the rubber will protect them against, oh, maybe 1 of the electricity.
Yeah. Believe whichever you like.
The Alkies (this is much easier than their full name, or was until I started with the parentheses) all stare at the raincoat.
"So that keeps water off?" Frodo asks. You can almost hear him think, Hint hint.
"Yep!" Jessica says happily. "Maybe we can still save Benvolio."
They stare.
"Benvolio. You know…"
They still stare.
"My computer. I named him Benvolio."
"Oh, that thing?" Sam asks, pointing to the former computer.
"Duh. Haven't I introduced –"
"We were kind of hoping we could use your cloak, since you haven't noticed," Éowyn says coldly. "Duh." The pop-culture is starting to take hold.
"Oh, I couldn't do that! It would show favorite-nim over Tier-firn! That is definitely 'forbidden, Jessica you idiot'!"
"Jess, the word is 'favoritism'. We've been over this." The producer pauses, although he's glad that at least one thing he told her wasn't forgotten yet. "Eight times."
"Right," she says. "Favorite-nism?"
"Favoritism," he corrects her patiently.
"Favorite-it-ism?" she tries again, but then she sees the look on his face. "With maybe another 'ism'?"
"I give up. Stick with favorite-nim. Just keep going."
Jessica shrugs indifferently.
Alcarinquë stares up at the angry grey sky as they wait for Jessica to say something. Only minutes before, it had been sunny and warm. This was not Middle-earthish weather. In Michigan, sure, this drastic switch could be considered normal. But not in Middle-earth.
"Someone must have made Gandalf really mad," Sam jokes. Several people laugh, not knowing that he's right.
"I bet it was Saruman," Legolas adds.
"Hey! Water!" Frodo suddenly realizes. He tilts his head back and opens his mouth wide. Everyone else does the same, discluding of course the tall guy in black with no face. It's raining hard enough that they actually get a few gulps of water each. No, they still haven't gotten any food. Poor little Alcarinquë.
"You all look like morons," Jessica informs them with a snort of laughter that sounds incredibly like a pig.
"Come on, we still have to find the other tribe for the challenge," the producer complains. "Today would be nice."
"Party pooper," Jessica grumbles happily. Talk about an oxymoron.
Fifteen Minutes Later…
"Welcome to your first ever immunity challenge!" you-can-guess-who cries happily over the crashes of thunder.
"Already?" Éowyn asks in some form of non-excitedness.
"Shut up," the Witch-King hisses, sounding extremely un-Witch-King-like. "Or you'll be the first to go." Jessica has really been hanging around Alcarinquë too much.
Éowyn glares at him. In a flash of silver that can almost be mistaken for lightning in all the pouring rain, she's suddenly holding a sword.
"Hey!" the producer shouts. "How did she get that?"
"I dunno," Jessica's brain responds automatically.
Éowyn replies instead. "I snuck it in after I heard that the cursèd, evil Nazgûl loser was going to bring his sword along."
"How did you hear about that when even our top security never did?" the producer demands.
"They're called hobbits. They make great eaves-droppers," Éowyn replies, smirking. Merry clears his throat.
The Witch-King draws his sword from inside the creepy black cloak nobody was willing to search for weapons on day one. Frodo shudders and runs to hide behind Gandalf. The rest of the Alkies gather fearfully behind fellow Alkies Éowyn and Legolas, who already has an arrow notched in the short-bow nobody knew he had. Tier-firn stays where they already are, which is behind Gandalf. Safest place in Middle-earth, most likely.
"Blondies versus Creepy Dude! Go Blondies!" Jessica cheers, oblivious to the fact that a mini-war is starting.
"No, no, no. Stop," Kayla intervenes, talking like she would to a five-year-old who's playing Candy Land all wrong. She takes advantage of the momentary confusion to take the Witch-King's sword gently out of his hand.
"We do not play with these," she scolds, proceeding to snatch up Éowyn's sword and Legolas' bow. They probably only let her take them because the Ringwraith is disarmed too. Kayla holds her hand out, palm up, to Legolas, raising her eyebrows. He reluctantly hands over ten arrows, but keeps one as a last resort in case the Witch-King tries to kill anyone later on. Kayla doesn't notice, luckily. Instead, she approaches Aragorn, even though he was entirely uninvolved.
"Give 'em up, whatever you have," she demands. He hands her the dagger he smuggled into the game.
"You're good," he compliments her grudgingly.
"I know I am," she replies, smirking and making Jessica want to punch her in the face. "I know my Tolkienology."
"The challenge?" the producer whispers impatiently.
"Oh, right you are, good sir," Jessica says cheerfully, obviously trying to get the attention back on herself. "Éowyn, next time you really should keep your mouth shut and save us all this trouble." The stubborn shield-maiden decides to obey, despite the fact that she is indeed what I just wrote. Let's not talk about this though, since I technically don't exist in this story. I'll be one of the fanatics with my eyes glued to the screen and having the time of my life. And I'll give myself a hypo-allergenic kitten to pet and, umm, how about some candy canes? Oh, and I'm sitting with any of my friends who are crazy enough to be watching this show. There, now I exist and I'm happy, so we can move on.
Ummm… this is a really awkward spot to start from. Let's see…
"I'm hungry," Pippin complains, just cuz I want him to. Poor bloke. He isn't even allowed to control his own vocal chords. Of course, he never really could. It was always either Tolkien or Peter Jackson or Billy Boyd. And now me. And all of you who have ever written Pippin stories, or at least the words, 'Pippin said, "I am me."' Okay, I really have to stop killing time here before Lu-Tze eats me alive with custard. Wow, there were two jokes in that last sentence that are impossible to get both of unless you're me, cuz I don't know anyone else who knows both Thief of Time and my brother's friend Wesley's joke about his cat. Except maybe my brother.
Wow, I don't even take my own advice. I'm going to get back to the show and end it before I waste another whole page.
"I missed second breakfast," Pippin continues.
"Please shut up," Jessica replies cheerfully. "Anyway, if you'd let me finish explaining… In this challenge you'll need to know a lot about your fellow survivors. I'll read –"
"Cut! We're out of time!" the producer calls out. Jessica's jaw drops.
"What!? You can't just –" she starts.
But apparently they can, because the cameraman shuts off the camera and the credits roll, to the dismay of me and everyone else watching who wanted to see a challenge. Boo-hoo.
