Disclaimer—this appalling piece of sludge was dredged from the deranged
mind of the author. Tolkien bears no responsibility whatsoever, beyond
having inconsiderately gone and created a world I just can't pry myself out
of. All the good stuff is the Master's, all the crap is mine.
A/N-- Special thanks to my Guest Stars. You know who you are, and I don't want to spoil the surprise here. I've enjoyed writing this piece, repetitiveness and all (Thank you AEMI, for pointing out that flaw in my writing. This work is a lost cause, but I've tried to improve on that in other stories). I won't even beg for reviews this time, aren't I nice? Now, onto the story….
It's Been Surreal
"Dammit, kid, stop kicking me!" Mary Sue snarled without opening her eyes. For one brief, glorious moment, she thought she was home in bed with her son pestering her to get up and go watch cartoons with him. Then painful memory returned, and Mary Sue growled. She was STILL in bloody-blasted, triple-damned Mordor! The "kid" kicking her was in fact a hobbit, Frodo Baggins, now deep in the throes of a nightmare. Just beyond him, out like the proverbial light, lay Sam Gamgee. Both hobbits bore a suspicious resemblance to Death Warmed Over.
Frodo moaned and stopped thrashing. He sank into something resembling peaceful sleep, rolling over and throwing his arm over Sam for comfort. Mary Sue swore softly. It was a shame to have to wake them, but there was no helping it. Mt. Doom was not about to come to them. Like Mohammed, they had to go to the mountain.
"Yeah, that's right, Mary Sue. Go philosophical in Mordor, first thing in the morning. You're losing your mind, you know that?" the woman told herself. She cast a loathing-filled glance at the mountain before turning back to the hobbits.
She watched them sleep for a bit, unwilling to wake them no matter how necessary. The poor things were completely wiped out, and they still had the worst part to go. It struck her as fundamentally unfair that such adorable little innocents should suffer so much bullshit. Come to think of it, thought, most good fiction was fundamentally unfair. Much like life itself.
"Stupid Tolkien," Mary Sue muttered to no one in particular. She really didn't want to disturb the hobbits. Her mind searched frantically for an excuse, any excuse, not to. It settled on her bad hip. Last night she couldn't even stand on it. Today it didn't feel quite so bad. Perhaps some stretching would sort it out. Might unkink her back a bit, too. Sleeping on the ground was NOT all it's cracked up to be, especially for a woman who's idea of hardship while traveling was Motel 6.
Mary Sue rolled to her stomach, away from the snoozing hobbits. She did a series of ground poses before pushing up to all fours. Her hip held. So far, so good.
She stretched her way up to a standing pose, all her weight on her good leg. She shifted back onto the damaged leg, slowly putting weight on it. Lo and behold, the damn thing held. "Finally, something goes right in this dismal pit!" she mumbled.
She shifted out of yoga and into walking around a bit. The hip was stiff and sore. It made a lovely clicking sound as she moved. She didn't like that one little bit, but she thought she just might be able to hobble to Doom. Maybe. If she was luckier than normal. In any event, she didn't have a whole helluva lot of choice, so being mobile was a definite plus.
Injury attended to, another necessity of life demanded attention. That was no more fun now than it was before, and no more avoidable. Still, it provided another excuse to put off disturbing the hobbits. Besides, it could be worse. At least she was nowhere near that time of month. "Be thankful for small blessings, woman," she told herself as she prepared to go back.
Sam was awake when she returned from her business. He was holding Frodo's head in his lap, stroking his hair and staring off towards Mt. Doom. The expression on his face was one of determination and love, mixed with a healthy dose of fear. Mary Sue was surprised. Yes, she'd read all about Sam's devotion to Frodo, but to actually see it in person was something else entirely. It took her breath away.
She stood silently for some time, reluctant to intrude on this touching scene. Still, there truly was no alternative, so she approached them and softly called Sam's name. When the hobbit looked up, she said, "It's time to get moving. Please wake Frodo."
For one second, Sam looked resentful. He opened his mouth to question Mary Sue's right to give orders. He also wanted to know where she'd gotten off to. But the urgency of the errand and his own hobbit sense stopped him. It truly didn't matter anymore who gave orders, nor where the human woman had gone. She was here now, and she had a valid point. It WAS time to recommence their journey.
Sam stroked Frodo's face and gently called to him. When his master's eyes fluttered open, Sam said, "We must move now, Mr. Frodo."
Frodo was slow in getting up. Even with Sam helping him, he moved like one in pain. Mary Sue wanted very much to carry him, but she was afraid her hip would give out, injuring them both. She settled for staying the hell out of Sam's way.
Eventually, they were on the move once more. They made slow but steady progress, never stopping. All too soon, though, Mary Sue's injured hip began to throb, then ache. By the time noon came (or what she thought was noon, at any rate; it was hard to tell in Mordor), she was in agony. Each step brought a hiss and another swear. The hobbits were getting a full education in modern obscenity.
As the pain grew worse, Mary Sue started limping. Even at the snail's pace they set for Frodo, she soon lagged behind. She did not pay attention to the hobbits, being lost in a haze of pain, stress and grim determination not to show weakness to the brave little halflings. By the time her pride allowed her to call a halt, Frodo and Sam were too far ahead to hear her.
"Hell, they're too far ahead to be seen, let alone hear me!" Mary Sue bitched as she watched the dots that were the hobbits fade away. She sank down to the ground and indulged in a good cry.
While Mary Sue was suffering for her hubris, two orcs watched from behind a conveniently-placed rock. The smaller turned to the taller and hissed, "She's lagged behind. Let's kill her already so we can get back to Headquarters."
"You know we can't," the taller replied, rolling its eyes. "She hasn't wrecked the story yet. In fact, so far she's actively trying NOT to screw it up."
The shorter one snorted. "Telling the hobbits not to talk about her! So what? Besides, isn't the water some sort of crime?"
"A small one. Too small to bother with, really, since they lost it so soon," the other said.
"What about telling them about the book? That's got to be a killing offence."
"It would be if she'd told them how the story turned out, but she didn't, so it's not."
"So why are we here, then, if not to kill Mary Sue?" the first one demanded.
The second just shrugged. "Do I look like Upstairs to you?" it wanted to know.
"All right, all right, you don't know any more than I do. Fine. Can we just kill her and get out of here? Mordor stinks," the bad-tempered one complained.
The better-natured one rolled its eyes. "How many times do I have to explain this to you? You know we can't kill her until she messes up the canon."
"So when does she do that?" the smaller one asked.
"I don't know!! This fic isn't actually finished yet. For all I know, she never does break canon, and we were just sent here to get you out of Makes-Things hair!" the taller exclaimed.
"Oh, that's just great! So what do we do now?" the blood-thirsty orc inquired.
"Beats the……wait a minute!" the other orc exclaimed, a dangerous light coming into its eyes. "I have an idea. Let's recruit her."
"RECRUIT HER?! What are you, nuts? She's a Mary Sue! She's even NAMED Mary Sue! She wanted to be Ringbearer a couple chapters back, godsdammit!"
"So? She's not very Sue-ish, for a Sue. I say let's bring her back to Headquarters and let the SO deal with her."
"Ringbearing isn't Sue enough for you?"
"She didn't actually bear the Ring, just lust after it. Which is understandable."
"Understandable?"
The tall orc coughed something that sounded suspiciously like "Boromir". It wasn't above taking cheap shots at its partner.
The shorter orc took a swing at the taller, exclaiming "That's not fair!"
The taller orc ducked, expecting that reaction. "It is too, and you know it."
The shorter orc threw up its hands. "Fine! We can't kill her, and now you want to recruit her. What do you propose? We waltz right up and say 'Hi, we're from the PPC and we want you?'"
"More or less, yeah."
The smaller orc just groaned. It knew better than to argue. "Fine, but you do it."
"Works for me."
The other orc suddenly realized something odd. "Hey, where did all the 'said', 'replied', 'groaned' and whatnot go?"
"Beats me. File it away under 'Fanfic Paradox'."
"That's not a real category!" the shorter orc protested.
The tall one smirked. "Is now."
"Upstairs will have something to say about that when we get back, you know," the first orc pointed out.
The second brushed that off. "Who cares? We'll have a recruit, we'll be forgiven."
"IF your plan actually works. She's crying now, she's pretty stressed, she might just snap. And Upstairs has enough of an insanity problem already without us bringing in pre-insane recruits," the small orc said.
"It'll work, trust me," the tall one reassured.
"Famous last words," the small one scoffed.
"Hey, did you notice the statement taglines are back?" the cheerful orc commented.
"Stop trying to change the subject. This is YOUR bright idea, YOU go talk to the Sue. I'm staying here and playing solitaire," the bad-tempered one announced.
The taller orc hauled the smaller one up onto its feet. "Oh no you don't. You're coming with me, to back me up. Let's go talk to some Sue."
"Stop mauling the movie quotes," the smaller orc protested as it followed the taller one to the no-longer-weeping woman.
A/N, pt II---this was SUPPOSED to be the last chapter, but there's just a bit more to go. Honest. If anyone can't figure out by now who the mystery orcs are, I'll have to smack you with something blunt!
A/N-- Special thanks to my Guest Stars. You know who you are, and I don't want to spoil the surprise here. I've enjoyed writing this piece, repetitiveness and all (Thank you AEMI, for pointing out that flaw in my writing. This work is a lost cause, but I've tried to improve on that in other stories). I won't even beg for reviews this time, aren't I nice? Now, onto the story….
It's Been Surreal
"Dammit, kid, stop kicking me!" Mary Sue snarled without opening her eyes. For one brief, glorious moment, she thought she was home in bed with her son pestering her to get up and go watch cartoons with him. Then painful memory returned, and Mary Sue growled. She was STILL in bloody-blasted, triple-damned Mordor! The "kid" kicking her was in fact a hobbit, Frodo Baggins, now deep in the throes of a nightmare. Just beyond him, out like the proverbial light, lay Sam Gamgee. Both hobbits bore a suspicious resemblance to Death Warmed Over.
Frodo moaned and stopped thrashing. He sank into something resembling peaceful sleep, rolling over and throwing his arm over Sam for comfort. Mary Sue swore softly. It was a shame to have to wake them, but there was no helping it. Mt. Doom was not about to come to them. Like Mohammed, they had to go to the mountain.
"Yeah, that's right, Mary Sue. Go philosophical in Mordor, first thing in the morning. You're losing your mind, you know that?" the woman told herself. She cast a loathing-filled glance at the mountain before turning back to the hobbits.
She watched them sleep for a bit, unwilling to wake them no matter how necessary. The poor things were completely wiped out, and they still had the worst part to go. It struck her as fundamentally unfair that such adorable little innocents should suffer so much bullshit. Come to think of it, thought, most good fiction was fundamentally unfair. Much like life itself.
"Stupid Tolkien," Mary Sue muttered to no one in particular. She really didn't want to disturb the hobbits. Her mind searched frantically for an excuse, any excuse, not to. It settled on her bad hip. Last night she couldn't even stand on it. Today it didn't feel quite so bad. Perhaps some stretching would sort it out. Might unkink her back a bit, too. Sleeping on the ground was NOT all it's cracked up to be, especially for a woman who's idea of hardship while traveling was Motel 6.
Mary Sue rolled to her stomach, away from the snoozing hobbits. She did a series of ground poses before pushing up to all fours. Her hip held. So far, so good.
She stretched her way up to a standing pose, all her weight on her good leg. She shifted back onto the damaged leg, slowly putting weight on it. Lo and behold, the damn thing held. "Finally, something goes right in this dismal pit!" she mumbled.
She shifted out of yoga and into walking around a bit. The hip was stiff and sore. It made a lovely clicking sound as she moved. She didn't like that one little bit, but she thought she just might be able to hobble to Doom. Maybe. If she was luckier than normal. In any event, she didn't have a whole helluva lot of choice, so being mobile was a definite plus.
Injury attended to, another necessity of life demanded attention. That was no more fun now than it was before, and no more avoidable. Still, it provided another excuse to put off disturbing the hobbits. Besides, it could be worse. At least she was nowhere near that time of month. "Be thankful for small blessings, woman," she told herself as she prepared to go back.
Sam was awake when she returned from her business. He was holding Frodo's head in his lap, stroking his hair and staring off towards Mt. Doom. The expression on his face was one of determination and love, mixed with a healthy dose of fear. Mary Sue was surprised. Yes, she'd read all about Sam's devotion to Frodo, but to actually see it in person was something else entirely. It took her breath away.
She stood silently for some time, reluctant to intrude on this touching scene. Still, there truly was no alternative, so she approached them and softly called Sam's name. When the hobbit looked up, she said, "It's time to get moving. Please wake Frodo."
For one second, Sam looked resentful. He opened his mouth to question Mary Sue's right to give orders. He also wanted to know where she'd gotten off to. But the urgency of the errand and his own hobbit sense stopped him. It truly didn't matter anymore who gave orders, nor where the human woman had gone. She was here now, and she had a valid point. It WAS time to recommence their journey.
Sam stroked Frodo's face and gently called to him. When his master's eyes fluttered open, Sam said, "We must move now, Mr. Frodo."
Frodo was slow in getting up. Even with Sam helping him, he moved like one in pain. Mary Sue wanted very much to carry him, but she was afraid her hip would give out, injuring them both. She settled for staying the hell out of Sam's way.
Eventually, they were on the move once more. They made slow but steady progress, never stopping. All too soon, though, Mary Sue's injured hip began to throb, then ache. By the time noon came (or what she thought was noon, at any rate; it was hard to tell in Mordor), she was in agony. Each step brought a hiss and another swear. The hobbits were getting a full education in modern obscenity.
As the pain grew worse, Mary Sue started limping. Even at the snail's pace they set for Frodo, she soon lagged behind. She did not pay attention to the hobbits, being lost in a haze of pain, stress and grim determination not to show weakness to the brave little halflings. By the time her pride allowed her to call a halt, Frodo and Sam were too far ahead to hear her.
"Hell, they're too far ahead to be seen, let alone hear me!" Mary Sue bitched as she watched the dots that were the hobbits fade away. She sank down to the ground and indulged in a good cry.
While Mary Sue was suffering for her hubris, two orcs watched from behind a conveniently-placed rock. The smaller turned to the taller and hissed, "She's lagged behind. Let's kill her already so we can get back to Headquarters."
"You know we can't," the taller replied, rolling its eyes. "She hasn't wrecked the story yet. In fact, so far she's actively trying NOT to screw it up."
The shorter one snorted. "Telling the hobbits not to talk about her! So what? Besides, isn't the water some sort of crime?"
"A small one. Too small to bother with, really, since they lost it so soon," the other said.
"What about telling them about the book? That's got to be a killing offence."
"It would be if she'd told them how the story turned out, but she didn't, so it's not."
"So why are we here, then, if not to kill Mary Sue?" the first one demanded.
The second just shrugged. "Do I look like Upstairs to you?" it wanted to know.
"All right, all right, you don't know any more than I do. Fine. Can we just kill her and get out of here? Mordor stinks," the bad-tempered one complained.
The better-natured one rolled its eyes. "How many times do I have to explain this to you? You know we can't kill her until she messes up the canon."
"So when does she do that?" the smaller one asked.
"I don't know!! This fic isn't actually finished yet. For all I know, she never does break canon, and we were just sent here to get you out of Makes-Things hair!" the taller exclaimed.
"Oh, that's just great! So what do we do now?" the blood-thirsty orc inquired.
"Beats the……wait a minute!" the other orc exclaimed, a dangerous light coming into its eyes. "I have an idea. Let's recruit her."
"RECRUIT HER?! What are you, nuts? She's a Mary Sue! She's even NAMED Mary Sue! She wanted to be Ringbearer a couple chapters back, godsdammit!"
"So? She's not very Sue-ish, for a Sue. I say let's bring her back to Headquarters and let the SO deal with her."
"Ringbearing isn't Sue enough for you?"
"She didn't actually bear the Ring, just lust after it. Which is understandable."
"Understandable?"
The tall orc coughed something that sounded suspiciously like "Boromir". It wasn't above taking cheap shots at its partner.
The shorter orc took a swing at the taller, exclaiming "That's not fair!"
The taller orc ducked, expecting that reaction. "It is too, and you know it."
The shorter orc threw up its hands. "Fine! We can't kill her, and now you want to recruit her. What do you propose? We waltz right up and say 'Hi, we're from the PPC and we want you?'"
"More or less, yeah."
The smaller orc just groaned. It knew better than to argue. "Fine, but you do it."
"Works for me."
The other orc suddenly realized something odd. "Hey, where did all the 'said', 'replied', 'groaned' and whatnot go?"
"Beats me. File it away under 'Fanfic Paradox'."
"That's not a real category!" the shorter orc protested.
The tall one smirked. "Is now."
"Upstairs will have something to say about that when we get back, you know," the first orc pointed out.
The second brushed that off. "Who cares? We'll have a recruit, we'll be forgiven."
"IF your plan actually works. She's crying now, she's pretty stressed, she might just snap. And Upstairs has enough of an insanity problem already without us bringing in pre-insane recruits," the small orc said.
"It'll work, trust me," the tall one reassured.
"Famous last words," the small one scoffed.
"Hey, did you notice the statement taglines are back?" the cheerful orc commented.
"Stop trying to change the subject. This is YOUR bright idea, YOU go talk to the Sue. I'm staying here and playing solitaire," the bad-tempered one announced.
The taller orc hauled the smaller one up onto its feet. "Oh no you don't. You're coming with me, to back me up. Let's go talk to some Sue."
"Stop mauling the movie quotes," the smaller orc protested as it followed the taller one to the no-longer-weeping woman.
A/N, pt II---this was SUPPOSED to be the last chapter, but there's just a bit more to go. Honest. If anyone can't figure out by now who the mystery orcs are, I'll have to smack you with something blunt!