A/N: Somebody asked me in a review whether or not I was planning to have my
character join the Fellowship as the tenth member. Well I say, fear not!
Just to explain further, she's not in Middle-earth around the time of the
Fellowship. I'm going by the books, so when she walked in on Frodo and
Gandalf, it was probably many years before the Fellowship was formed. And
luckily for her, she won't be staying for that long. Well, on with the
story! And remember to review!
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the wide blue sky above me. At least it wasn't raining anymore, but I seemed to be sinking into the mud. I blinked, stood up with a loud 'squelch', and looked around. There was nothing in sight for as far as I could see, but my feet were untied so things seemed to be looking up. There was no sign of the midget and the scary old man in the bathrobe, but just as well. They obviously didn't own a telephone anyway.
As I took in my surroundings I groaned. I seemed to be right back where I had started. Maybe if I walked in the opposite direction I'd come to a city, or at least a town that was wired up to electricity.
Just as I raised my foot to begin walking, I was forcefully slammed into the ground by something hitting me from above.
"Mother fucker!" Exclaimed a masculine, pissed off, and obviously English voice from above me.
"Ditto," I muttered, and shoved whoever it was off of me. As happy as I was to finally encounter someone who spoke English, I wasn't about to get my hopes up high. I had already been possibly drugged, dumped in rural Quebec, been captured by dwarves, hopped for six hours across a field and been hit over the head by an old guy in a bathrobe.
I stood up and glanced suspiciously at the person in front of me who was pulling himself up and cursing under his breath.
He looked at me and narrowed his eyes. "Who the hell are you? Are you the one who brought me here? You wanna tell me what's going on?"
I rolled my eyes. I could tell that this wasn't going to be fun. This guy had a blue mohawk, and two lip rings, not to mention he was wearing black eyeshadow.
"Look, I have no idea where you came from, but you very rudely landed on me. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to find a way home before my dad dismisses me for dead. Have a nice day," I turned and promptly began to walk off.
"Where do you think you're going? What kind of freak hangs out in the middle of nowhere, wearing high heels?"
I had to laugh. "Freak? Freak? You're calling me a freak? Excuse me, but you're wearing more make-up than I am." I pointed out.
"Fine, if that's the way it's gonna be, I don't have a problem. You go your way, I'll go mine."
"Yeah, well good luck finding anyone around here who speaks English, everyone I've talked to so far speaks some weird variation of French."
He just shrugged and walked away in the opposite direction, army boots squelching loudly in the mud.
"I should warn you, the only people you're going to find that way are the vertically challenged French!" I called.
In response, I got a full shot of his middle finger.
I rolled my eyes again, and, grumbling I set off towards the South. At least I think it was the South. I couldn't tell. I've never been good with directions. I stopped around midday for a rest, and who should come hobbling up but blue-mohawk boy.
"What do you want?" I snarled. At least I tried to snarl. I'd never done it before, and I guess I wasn't too great at it, because he just laughed.
"You were right, I got chased here by midgets, but I don't think they were speaking french. They were yabbering away in something. Maybe Swedish. I don't know. You want a sandwich?" He held out what looked like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, slightly squashed, to me.
I looked it over and wondered if he had poisoned it or not, but soon my hunger got the best of me. "Sure," I replied, hastily grabbing it from him. Between bites, I asked, "so do you just carry sandwiches around with you in case of occasions like this?"
He shook his head, chewing on his own helping. "I was walking to school, these were supposed to be my lunch," he shrugged. "Where am I?"
"Beats me," I replied, taking another large bite. "My-erripped-um-ull."
"Huh?"
"I swallowed carefully and repeated, "I tripped and fell. I knocked myself out, I guess. I think someone maybe drugged me and dragged me out here... You mean you have no idea where we are either?"
"Not a clue," he shrugged. "I can tell you one thing, I don't think we're in Montreal. I've lived in the city my whole life, which is nineteen long years, and I've never seen this place before."
"Wait, I thought you said you were on your way to school?"
"I was, why?"
"You just said you were nineteen, though."
"I am."
"You graduate high school when you're eighteen."
"I know that," he rolled his eyes. "I failed a grade."
"Ah," I smirked. "That means you're not very smart, right? Which grade?"
"Why the hell does that matter?"
"I just want to know."
"You won't believe me."
"Why wouldn't I believe you?"
"Just trust me."
I laughed. "All right, you fell out of the sky and landed on me, you've got a blue mohawk and you're wearing black eyeshadow and lipstick. You expect me to trust you?"
"Ok, ok. It was grade two."
Grade two?" I stared at him. "How did you fail grade two?"
"I don't know. The teacher hated me. I guess that was it. Might have also been that I never did any work. It was too boring for me. I was doing this, instead," he unzipped his backpack, pulled out a large red notebook with stickers and phrases scrawled across the cover, and handed to me.
I flipped it open and looked inside. It appeared to be some sort of comic strip. The pictures were colourful and bright, and a boy and a mouse, or a rat of some sort, appeared to be the main characters. "You drew this?" I asked, flipping through the pages. "It's pretty good for a second grader."
"That's because I didn't draw it in grade two," he snatched it back from me. "Now who's dumb? I drew this particular one a couple months ago. What I meant was that the idea for the comic strip came to me in grade two. It was like an obsession. I'd sit there in class dreaming up new storylines and characters. Now it's more of a hobby, really."
"Well this is all very interesting, but I'm going to leave now and start walking before I have to spend another night, likely passed out again, in the middle of nowhere," I stood up and began walking. He trailed after me, tucking his book back inside his backpack.
"You think there's a town around here?" he asked, gazing around at the barren wilderness.
"There's got to be something," I stated, more to reassure myself. "I mean, how far can forest and field and grass and dirt go before you reach some sort of human settlement?"
"I think you might be right," he said, squinting ahead. "I think I see something up there."
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the wide blue sky above me. At least it wasn't raining anymore, but I seemed to be sinking into the mud. I blinked, stood up with a loud 'squelch', and looked around. There was nothing in sight for as far as I could see, but my feet were untied so things seemed to be looking up. There was no sign of the midget and the scary old man in the bathrobe, but just as well. They obviously didn't own a telephone anyway.
As I took in my surroundings I groaned. I seemed to be right back where I had started. Maybe if I walked in the opposite direction I'd come to a city, or at least a town that was wired up to electricity.
Just as I raised my foot to begin walking, I was forcefully slammed into the ground by something hitting me from above.
"Mother fucker!" Exclaimed a masculine, pissed off, and obviously English voice from above me.
"Ditto," I muttered, and shoved whoever it was off of me. As happy as I was to finally encounter someone who spoke English, I wasn't about to get my hopes up high. I had already been possibly drugged, dumped in rural Quebec, been captured by dwarves, hopped for six hours across a field and been hit over the head by an old guy in a bathrobe.
I stood up and glanced suspiciously at the person in front of me who was pulling himself up and cursing under his breath.
He looked at me and narrowed his eyes. "Who the hell are you? Are you the one who brought me here? You wanna tell me what's going on?"
I rolled my eyes. I could tell that this wasn't going to be fun. This guy had a blue mohawk, and two lip rings, not to mention he was wearing black eyeshadow.
"Look, I have no idea where you came from, but you very rudely landed on me. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to find a way home before my dad dismisses me for dead. Have a nice day," I turned and promptly began to walk off.
"Where do you think you're going? What kind of freak hangs out in the middle of nowhere, wearing high heels?"
I had to laugh. "Freak? Freak? You're calling me a freak? Excuse me, but you're wearing more make-up than I am." I pointed out.
"Fine, if that's the way it's gonna be, I don't have a problem. You go your way, I'll go mine."
"Yeah, well good luck finding anyone around here who speaks English, everyone I've talked to so far speaks some weird variation of French."
He just shrugged and walked away in the opposite direction, army boots squelching loudly in the mud.
"I should warn you, the only people you're going to find that way are the vertically challenged French!" I called.
In response, I got a full shot of his middle finger.
I rolled my eyes again, and, grumbling I set off towards the South. At least I think it was the South. I couldn't tell. I've never been good with directions. I stopped around midday for a rest, and who should come hobbling up but blue-mohawk boy.
"What do you want?" I snarled. At least I tried to snarl. I'd never done it before, and I guess I wasn't too great at it, because he just laughed.
"You were right, I got chased here by midgets, but I don't think they were speaking french. They were yabbering away in something. Maybe Swedish. I don't know. You want a sandwich?" He held out what looked like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, slightly squashed, to me.
I looked it over and wondered if he had poisoned it or not, but soon my hunger got the best of me. "Sure," I replied, hastily grabbing it from him. Between bites, I asked, "so do you just carry sandwiches around with you in case of occasions like this?"
He shook his head, chewing on his own helping. "I was walking to school, these were supposed to be my lunch," he shrugged. "Where am I?"
"Beats me," I replied, taking another large bite. "My-erripped-um-ull."
"Huh?"
"I swallowed carefully and repeated, "I tripped and fell. I knocked myself out, I guess. I think someone maybe drugged me and dragged me out here... You mean you have no idea where we are either?"
"Not a clue," he shrugged. "I can tell you one thing, I don't think we're in Montreal. I've lived in the city my whole life, which is nineteen long years, and I've never seen this place before."
"Wait, I thought you said you were on your way to school?"
"I was, why?"
"You just said you were nineteen, though."
"I am."
"You graduate high school when you're eighteen."
"I know that," he rolled his eyes. "I failed a grade."
"Ah," I smirked. "That means you're not very smart, right? Which grade?"
"Why the hell does that matter?"
"I just want to know."
"You won't believe me."
"Why wouldn't I believe you?"
"Just trust me."
I laughed. "All right, you fell out of the sky and landed on me, you've got a blue mohawk and you're wearing black eyeshadow and lipstick. You expect me to trust you?"
"Ok, ok. It was grade two."
Grade two?" I stared at him. "How did you fail grade two?"
"I don't know. The teacher hated me. I guess that was it. Might have also been that I never did any work. It was too boring for me. I was doing this, instead," he unzipped his backpack, pulled out a large red notebook with stickers and phrases scrawled across the cover, and handed to me.
I flipped it open and looked inside. It appeared to be some sort of comic strip. The pictures were colourful and bright, and a boy and a mouse, or a rat of some sort, appeared to be the main characters. "You drew this?" I asked, flipping through the pages. "It's pretty good for a second grader."
"That's because I didn't draw it in grade two," he snatched it back from me. "Now who's dumb? I drew this particular one a couple months ago. What I meant was that the idea for the comic strip came to me in grade two. It was like an obsession. I'd sit there in class dreaming up new storylines and characters. Now it's more of a hobby, really."
"Well this is all very interesting, but I'm going to leave now and start walking before I have to spend another night, likely passed out again, in the middle of nowhere," I stood up and began walking. He trailed after me, tucking his book back inside his backpack.
"You think there's a town around here?" he asked, gazing around at the barren wilderness.
"There's got to be something," I stated, more to reassure myself. "I mean, how far can forest and field and grass and dirt go before you reach some sort of human settlement?"
"I think you might be right," he said, squinting ahead. "I think I see something up there."
