Further Disclaimer: Because I am paranoid, I feel that I should state that I neither own nor profit from referencing the copyrighted titles, music, lyrics, etc. of Enya or Britney Spears or their respective music labels…Peace, man.
What SHOULD Happen To All Mary Sues
(Oh. There's Arwen.-or- What's Wrong With This Picture?)
The Day-Glo yellow of Krystyl's mangled shirt still shone painfully brightly through all the dirt and grime. She began to sing to herself as she walked confidently toward the door that would, of course, lead her to her chambers. Elves, one and all, who populated the courtyard turned to stare. Jealous. Jealous. Jealous. Ooo! VERY jealous!—she thought. Her face twisted itself into what she thought, was a very fetching, benevolent, grateful and yet all the while demure expression. To everyone else it resembled a very smug, not smug…something as she tried to smirk and not smirk—Humble, DAMMIT!—simultaneously. Hmm! Poor thing. I know mine put hers to shame, but that's no reason for her to cover her ears that way.
In fact, that wasn't the reason at all. All the elves stared, true. And many of them covered their ears—but this was actually because the muddy little garden gnome in their midst was so terribly out of tune, both with Nature (because of her shirt) and with the actual melody of "May It Be" (because she couldn't have carried a tune if it had stapled itself to her hand), that it bordered on offense. When, she had *ahem* treated them to the final few chords (because, of course, she could sing more pitches at the same time than the London Philharmonic Orchestra) of the haunting song. Aww. They liked it—she beamed to herself as all the elves in the courtyard finished cringing and breathed a collective sigh of relief—I'll have to let them know "I'm not that innocent" later.
The handle of the door Aragorn had gone through was now under her acrylic tipped fingers. It sounded like a small hurricane and at least six wild horses raged within. Without a thought, Krystyl began to turn the knob.
"You're not going to let her do it, are you Glorfindel?" asked a black-haired elf from the relative safety of a nearby portico. Glorfindel's mouth twisted into a malicious grin.
"Of course I am," he smirked, casting a sideways glance at Legolas. "That one thought I was you, too. But I do not believe that Arwen will need any introduction if they are in there doing what I think they're…," he began, but did not finish. There was a loud crash as Krystyl disengaged the latch and the door flew open, depositing Aragorn and, beneath him, a very *how to put this delicately…?* compromisingly positioned Arwen. With one great heave, the willowy, somewhat disheveled elf *ahem* maiden verily launched the rather large, shave needing man off of her and sprang to her feet, grey eyes ablaze with fury. Now any sensible person/elf would have burned down to a small, extremely apologetic puddle of scorched goo under such a look as Arwen (again, let us imagine a six-foot-tall, 2000-year-old, enraged Amazon who has just been caught with her proverbial pants down, glaring down at a dirt and slime crusted, insufferable little know-it-all who hasn't got the sense to keep her trap shut) now gave Krystyl.
"Arwen!...Sister! How long has't…" she began in her most melodious, charming, winning, ingratiating, unctuous voice. Aragorn grinned—as did Glorfindel and Legolas.
"NEVER! EXPLAIN YOURSELF!" bellowed the (AUTHENTIC) elf princess.
"Arwen…"
"I know my name, and MY name is 'My Lady Undomiel' to YOU! Now EXPLAIN YOURSELF!" she snarled. Finally catching on, Krystyl sidled away and cowered in Aragorn's lap. The son of Arathorn raised his hands, wisely, in a submissive gesture and winced as Arwen advanced on the terrified, quivering mass of the mighty Warrior Princess who had tried to take refuge in his lap. It was a most foolish place to "hide".
"I was just looking for my room…"
"YOUR ROOM IS NOT BETWEEN THE LEGS OF MY INTENDED! THAT WAY!" Arwen screeched, flinging her arm out to indicate the proper direction. The elf's face was flushed red with anger, Krystyl's with embarrassment. Bitch, slut, uppity little, pointy eared, NOT blonde, Aragorn hogging, not EVEN as pretty as Liv Tyler, so-n-so, BITCH!—Krystyl sulked as she slunk away.
"Jeez. PMS, much?" the 15-year-old's wounded pride compelled her to say under her breath, forgetting how sharp elvish hearing is.
"WHAT?!" she shrieked. She whirled and launched the silver circlet that had slipped nearly out of her disarrayed hair, discus-like, at the sprinting girl. The adornment sparked when it glanced off a stone pillar just behind and to Krystyl's right.
"Your aim needs work," Aragorn commented blandly from the ground. Arwen growled. Legolas and Glorfindel were unable to speak. They had collapsed in a heap of laughter on the ground.
"SHUT UP YOU TWO!" she yelled. They couldn't. They continued to laugh as she fumed out of the courtyard, Aragorn at her heels.
"Ai! Glory…Honey," began Legolas wiping a tear from his eye, "that was SO worth it! I haven't seen her that mad since Aragorn used her razor to shave his butt!"
"I KNOW!" Glorfindel roared. The pair of them laughed until their sides hurt and they could no longer breathe. Then, Legolas, eyeing the open broom closet door, elbowed his *ahem* companion and asked with a wink,
"You're not claustrophobic, are you?"
"Hmm. I'm not sure. I think we'd better check," grinned the elder. Glorfindel stood and helped the black-haired price to his feet. A few sniggers later, they were safely shut in the pitch dark closet, fumbling with hooks and buttons.
"Did you lock it?" Legolas snickered.
"I did. But wouldn't it be more amusing if that pint sized pain in the posterior came back and found her 'destined love'," Glorfindel affected a high feminine voice and batted his long eyelashes in the dark, "in the arms of, well…me," he finished, hugging Legolas sharply to him.
________________________
AN: OK, I didn't mean for this to happen exactly this way, but…what can I say? I swore I'd never write slash. This is an exception; and I feel justified, because I think this is what SHOULD happen to the presumptuous little twit. Just be aware…things can always get worse ;) ~DR—OH! And Katie…I don't want to hear ANY MORE about it! hehe ;-D