"What do you think you're doin'!?"

It was Ewan McGregor's bewildered Scottish accent that resounded through all the forest. The Prancing Ponies were huddled in the middle of their log cabin, freezing in the dark. Well.. that is until Merry, Sam, and Frodo struck up a fire in the middle of the house.

"You cheeky primitive bastards!" Ewan squealed as a fire began to furiously erupt, burning the wooden floors and leaving nasty black marks on the walls.

"Well it's cold and dark in here, Master Greg," said Merry cherrily and quite matter-of-factly.

"How else do ya expect us to get warm?" chipped in Sam.

Ewan was beside himself. "LIKE THIS!!!!" he hollered, flicking on the light switch, and turning the thermostat to heat. Yes; these special log cabins had central air.

The hobbits blinked stupidly. "Oh."

Ewan, in a frenzy, grabbed Frodo and threw him on top of the fire to smother it. The flames died out with a miserable little sputter, as did Frodo.

"Frodo! Mr. Frodo!" shrieked Samwise, who collected his ashen Master off the floor and began to fan madly at his arse, which was still lit.

"You're making it worse!" Frodo squealed, as the tiny flame immediately burst into a full butt-sized one.

"Oh for heaven's sake," grumbled Gandalf, who was just peeping threw a window at this tragic scene from his investigations outside with Legolas. He muttered a few words in Elvish and a light shot out from his staff, hitting Frodo's rear and instantly killing the fire.

Frodo sighed in great relief, melting (but not literally) into Sam's lap.

Gandalf grunted, only his dopey head visible from the window. "Ewan," he said sharply, "are you sure this is where we must stay?"

Everyone stared around doubtfully, for the first time seeing the inside of their new house clearly. The walls were old and stained; the floors full of holes, the windows cracked, and various crispy creatures scuttled from one corner to another to hide from the light.

Gandalf and Legolas went inside the house to join the others; Legolas looking around as if he were surrounded by a pile of stinky dead dwarves.

"We must not linger," he whispered nervously to Aragorn, who was actually not there.

"I know it's a bit, eh, uninhabited," said Ewan apologetically, "but the first Task we have to complete is that each Team clean it's House."

"Oh, well then we should get after it, don't you think?" said Gandalf brightly.

He lifted his staff into the air in a "You Shall Not Pass" kind of fashion, banging it hard on the ground in the same way. Immediately the place cleaned up; the windows fixed, the holes patched, the creatures gone. And there were curious decorations all around the house: the curtains were black and gold with little "PP's" sewn into them. The tablecloth in the dining room had a horse's rump complete with a puffed up tail pictured on it. Each member himself was wearing black and gold velvet robes, which had printed on the back "The Prancing Ponies" in a fancy italics font, with the symbol of "The Inn of the Prancing Pony" from LOTR underneath.

"Now THIS I could get used to," said Merry appreciatively, running into the next room where a set of beds was lined up from one wall to another.

"Aw! We all have to sleep in the same room??" grumbled Samwise.

"And what's wrong with that?" said Frodo defensively.

"Well, it's just that.. well Gandalf snores. And you snore, Mr. Frodo, but nothin' beats Master Ewan's midnight chit-chats with himself, if you follow me."

Ewan blushed slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Samwise fumbled, all eyes on him. "It's just that.. well some things you say, Master Ewan, they can get a bit.. sketchy."

"Explain yourself," demanded Gandalf.

"Once," began Samwise, timidly, "....well now I'm not sure if my ears were deceivin' me, Gandalf, sir, but I'm pretty sure I heard him talkin' about.. about the end of the world, and about, well about the usual things like hobbits and elves, and....."

"And?" The wizard loomed over him.

"And about a fiery.... middle."

"Middle?"

"Ah, yes sir," said Samwise, fidgeting horribly. "Master Ewan has a fixation on fiery genitals, I think."

"Gahahh!" Ewan let out some kind of weird strangled noise, turning so red it would put both Ron and Satine to shame. "It's not genitals, alright now, it's just an Eye! AN EYE!"

"Ewan! Show me your hands!" said Gandalf crazily, as *something* rather obvious and alarming just occured to him.

Ewan showed the wizard his hands resentfully, glaring at Samwise. Gandalf stared closely at Ewan's outstretched fingers, but saw nothing.

"Do you keep a gold Ring?" he asked Ewan, not quite believing that this was it.

"Ah, yes sir," said Ewan, confused.

"Where is it? Are you wearing it?"

"Um.... yes...." Ewan hesitated.

"Where, Master McGregor, is the Ring you keep?" Gandalf now stood over Ewan, who shrank into a corner.

"ALRIGHT!" Ewan burst out frantically. "Alright, I keep it on me.. eh.. Middle! For safety reasons, you see?"

There was a collective groan in the room, the hobbits all turning their heads as if witnessing something embarrassing. Legolas lifted a brow, the smallest smile creeping into his 5,000 year-old little boy face.

"Oh I see," said Gandalf softly. "Well just...uh... leave it. Keep it secret, keep it safe. And sleep in the bathroom from now on, eh?"

"Okay!" said Ewan happily, moving to put his blankets into the bathtub. It wouldn't be a problem, considering he slept in a potato sack on the floor for an entire month. But before he could leave the room, Legolas was already pouncing on him.

"Mine!!" the Elf shrieked maniacally, wrapping his arms around Ewan's waist, lifting him, and body-slamming him.

"WHAT?!" screamed Ewan, utterly shocked and trying to scramble away.

"It's mine, give it to me!" said Legolas more psychotically, thrashing around the room and bouncing from bed to bed as he chased a frantically running Ewan. Ewan tripped over one of the many blankets (with profiles of prancing ponies patched on them) being flung around, and Legolas was at once behind him, yanking Ewan's legs out of their sockets in a sadistic version of the Wheelbarrow.

"MIiiIIiiiIIine," the Elf screeched, a bit of drool escaping the corners of his mouth.

"LEGOLAS BAGG--er--GREENLEAF!" boomed Gandalf, making the Elf shrink for a moment. "What on middle EARTH are you doing??"

"It's mine, Mithrandir, MINE!" Legolas replied, tearing Ewan's shirt in half.

"Legolas, you know the Ring does not belong to you! You cannot wield it!" said Gandalf, pacing around in a panic.

"Who cares about the Ring!??!!" yelled Legolas, laughing hysterically and trying to tear Ewan's pants off with his teeth.

"Good gracious!" gasped Gandalf, trying to think up a nice, safe way to save the day.

The hobbits shrugged and went outside to start a campfire and roast tomatoes.

Ew, roasted tomatoes...

-------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile.....

The Sparkling Dogs had just entered their own cabin. When Phoebe flicked on the lights, everyone was pretty stiff at the ugliness of the inside, but none so stiff as Ron Weasley. His normally bright red hair was white...from the spider-webs dangling in the doors and all over the ceiling.

Ron turned a weird shade of grey when a gigantic banana spider made it's way to the crook of his rigid arm, casually setting up more web. Ron, though not breathing, formed a trembling "O" shape with his mouth to signify that if someone didn't help, his pants would very soon be soaked.

At once Hermione jumped to his aid, lifting her wand in preparation of a spell--but Phoebe was quicker. She had already snatched a fly-swatter from (probably) her bra, bringing it down tremendously hard on the huge spider. The spider crinkled into oblivion, and fell to the floor with a resounding 'splat.'

Hermione turned red and put her wand away (seeming for a moment to wonder if she should beat Phoebe with it or not), giving Phoebe the most jealous look she'd ever receive in any lifetime.

Ron, who had a large net print on his arm, couldn't take it; his eyes rolled back and he passed out. Phoebe caught him before he hit the ground, but fell backwards with his weight; she was caught by Christian, who was caught by Qui-Gon, who's fall was broken by Satine lying flat on the ground.

"Oh. Sweet. Jesus," spat Satine, flat like an empty pillowcase. "Today's the day (grunt)... when.... (grunt) dream.. (grunt) ing... ends (lifeless sputter)."

After some serious struggling, the Dogs finally managed to situate themselves. Ron was still passed out, but Phoebe kept him around her shoulder, dragging him from here to there, placing certain things into his pockets for safekeeping, like he was her own purse.

Qui-Gon secretly copped some feels off of Christian as they scrambled to their feet, but Christian was by this point pretty used to people randomly copping feels off of him, so he didn't notice.

"Okay," she said breathlessly, shifting Ron's dead weight from one arm to another, "our first Task is to clean the House. So everyone," she paused to catch her breath, "whoo, buddy. Everyone argggh"--she managed to sit down in a half-beaten chair, laying Ron across her lap like a rag doll--"Everyone man your stations.. let's fix this place up!"

What she meant was: 'Hermione, do some magic with your wand.' And Hermione, though red-faced and infuriated with Phoebe's closeness to her secret crush, complied and lifted her wand high into the air. Phoebe leaned down a bit and retrieved Ron's wand from his underpants (respectably ignoring anything else in there) and helped Hermione as they simultaneously yelled some spells that no one understood. (Not even Phoebe understood the blubber coming out of her mouth, though she pretended for the sake of looking cooler than Hermione.)

At one point the crooked chair in which Phoebe sat with Ron creaked violently, before completely shattering underneath them. Phoebe lay grunting and groaning on her arse, Ron's body thumping away as it rolled a foot or two out of her reach. Grumbling and kicking the remains of the chair, she retrieved him and set him back up to lay peacefully on her legs, which she folded like a pillow for him. (She didn't realize it until later, but when she fell the wand in her hand jerked up in such a manner that letters accidentally splashed onto the ceiling, spelling out what looked like 'D R O L.')

Eventually the inside of the cabin was beautifully decorated; the walls were red, bordered in silver with charming indian designs everywhere; the bedroom had large satin pillows and blankets all different shades of burgandy; the very robes that they wore were long and crimson, with a design on the back the golden glittery profile of a french (heheh, french) poodle--the cursive writing under it read "The Sparkling Dogs."

Everyone stopped to marvel at the beautiful interior of their new House. So wrapped up in the seductive Moulin-Rouge-Elephant-ish design, everyone was startled to death by a terrible ruckus in the house a few yards away, which belonged to The Prancing Ponies.

They could hear through the open windows such things as 'Behind you! Duck!' and 'Wait until I tell your father about this!' and 'MY huge talent, MINE!' each always followed by some loud crashing noise, squeals, and unhinged laughter.

"Um, maybe someone should go and see what's going on?" said Satine, nervously.

Ron stirred in Phoebe's lap, waking from all the noise.

"Is it gone?" he said groggily.

"Yeah, it's gone," said Phoebe in a soothing voice, affectionately brushing back his hair. Hermione angrily stuffed her wand back into her robes, coughing loudly to interrupt their little bonding session. Christian was too busy trying to see what was going on in the other House to be jealous (his butt bent over as his upper body hung out the window to enhance his eavesdropping). Qui-Gon stood behind him to admire the view, but Phoebe decided to deal with THAT issue later. Can't be having a Jedi Master mackin' on her man, now.

Ron rubbed at his rashy arm, his eyes suddenly sparkling at the new version of the House.

"Wicked," he whispered in awe, standing up with Phoebe. "Hey, what's happening over there?"

"We don't know," said Phoebe curiously. "Sounds like a fight."

"Well let's have a look," said Christian finally, racing to the door with Phoebe.

When they walked into the House of the Prancing Ponies, Christian and Phoebe saw the following scene: a wondrously decorated interior of horses and ponies; a wall complete with all kinds of roan-related tapestries, with a curious painting of Ewan McGregor pinned to the wall by elf-arrows through his half-eaten clothes.

"HEY!" screeched Phoebe, realizing that this was not, in fact, a painting. "What happened to Ewan!"

Then she turned and saw a weary-looking Gandalf holding back a rather deranged and hostile-looking Legolas.

"A little help!" the wizard growled, as Legolas squirmy-wormied one of his arms out of Gandalf's grip and began to tickle him with his free hand.

"Hoo hoo! Whaha, stop it!" Gandalf half-laughed, half-cried.

Phoebe heroically ran for Gandalf's staff, which was propped against the wall, and began to beat Legolas senseless over the head with it. After a few good thwackings, Legolas' eyes crossed and with his tongue dangling out of his mouth he dropped to the floor, unconscious.

Gandalf stretched, cracking his back, popping his knuckles, his old bones sounding like his infamous firecrackers.

"Phew," he sighed, "That was rough. Ewan's mojo coupled with the power of the Ring was driving our Elf friend mad!" He gave Legolas a light kick.

"The mojo has driven him maaad!" Phoebe said in a gritty voice, pausing once receiving unusual looks from everyone. She leaned on the staff (which was twice her height), staring at Ewan hanging on the wall by Legolas' precise arrows.

"A.. little.. help," he said in a tiny voice, eyes twitching around nervously.

Phoebe addressed Gandalf. "So you found out then? You know that Ewan has the Ring, but you don't intend to take it?"

"Take it!" exclaimed Gandalf. "I would not dare. And no one from Middle-earth can. It is best this way. It should stay with someone from your world, dear Phoebe. I think that it will be alright. Master Ewan is quite strong, considering."

A loud ripping noise sounded through the house and Ewan fell into a big Scottish lump on the floor; his shirt still dangling on the wall by the arrows.

Christian at once ran to help him.

"Take my arm, brother!" said Christian nobly, helping Ewan to his feet. Ewan swooned a bit before facing his onscreen alter-ego, watching Christian's eyes shine so innocently and brightly.

"Damn I did I good job as you," said Ewan admirably, patting Christian on his forehead.

"Pardon?" Christian narrowed his brows, confused.

"Eh, nevermind," replied Ewan wearily, motioning for Christian to bring him to his bed in the bathroom.

"You're sleeping in the bathtub!" exclaimed Christian, glaring impossibly at Gandalf. "That's absolutely ridiculous!"

"Well, the man talks in his sleep," explained the wizard. "And he talks about.. most unnatural things."

"What sorts of things?" began Christian, but he continued briskly, "Well it doesn't matter. Ewan can sleep with *me.* At least *I* will have the *decency* to help him."

And giving Gandalf and Phoebe an evil look, he carried Ewan out of the house and toward his bed in the House of the Sparkling Dogs.

Phoebe and Gandalf exchanged blank stares, both shrugging.

--------------------------------------

Meanwhile, the Magic Markers were mad with excitement. Tara was having a glorious time of ordering everyone around and, after explaining what the first Task was, had everyone writing all over the walls with... well, markers.. to decorate. Harry used his wand to provide the occupants with their Team robes: extremely colorful outfits in shades of blue, yellow, red, green, and any other imagineable color. On the back of the robes was patched a long wand with a pointy tip that was drenched in rainbow colors; beneath it were swirly-style words that read "The Magic Markers."

Obi-Wan and Aragorn were designing their own blankets with the mark-a-lots; Aragorn doing a pretty good job of tracing his sword then coloring it in and adding pretty jewel shapes to the picture. Obi-Wan, glaring at Aragorn in the corner of his eye, was drawing a sun with a smiley face in it.

Commodus and Harry were putting up the curtains--Commodus making a considerable effort to befriend the young wizard, even though he clearly hated everyone but Qui-Gon, who was the father he never had. (Qui-Gon was visiting the Magic Markers in their House, although he belongs to the Sparkling Dogs. He was there mostly to keep an eye on his "son," and to possibly get a glimpse of that handsome poet.)

"Can you hand me the screws there," Harry politely asked the agitated emporer.

Commodus, gritting his teeth and turning purple, replied, "No. Problem. Harry. It would be my pleasure." And he lifted the bag of screws, taking one out and looking from Harry to the screw, and back to Harry again ominously. Qui-Gon caught Commodus' evil eye, wagging him a stern finger. Commodus sighed exaggeratedly, and threw the bag to Harry, who fell off the chair trying to catch it.

Qui-Gon himself was nestled in a corner, knitting a tablecloth and observing everyone at work with a calm, woman-of-the-house-type air.

Tara was outside avoiding all the work and chatting enthusiastically with the hobbits (Pippin already joined them) at their campfire.

"Six toes! No kiddin'!" she exclaimed following Pippin's last comment.

"Oh yes!" the hobbit declared firmly. "Counted them meself!"

"Huh. No wonder he's always so quiet," said Samwise. "He's a freak, he is!"

"Well come on! Strider ain't all that bad," said Frodo. "I mean after all, he did save us a bunch of times."

"Ah true as that may be, I'd steer clear of that one," said Merry lowly. "With six toes, he's likely to be very messed in the head. Who knows when he'll snap!"

"Heh, well now I've got a secret to tell ya about Phoebe," said Tara, giggling monstrously to herself.

"Oh! What is it?" said Pippin, leaning in with all the rest to hear.

"Phoebe has....."

"Yes, yes?"

"Phoebe has!"

"Yes, what is it!?"

"She has five toes," Tara said finally. "Counted them meself."

They all laughed jolly hobbit-laughs, except for Pippin, who just grunted at the mockery.

"Well I know what I saw," he grumbled. "I'll bet you two carrots there's six of them!"

"You're on!" yelled Tara.

At that convenient moment, Strider came waltzing out, looking curiously from face to anxious face.

"What's all this?" he said cheerily, looking sharp when the noise immediately died down at his approach.

"Say Aragorn," began Tara, "do your feet hurt?"

"Hurt? Maybe a little. Why?"

"Ohhhhh, no reason," said Tara casually. "Some of the fellows were complaining that their toes were sore from all the work, and I was just giving out foot massages."

"Really?" replied Strider with morbid interest, staring around at all the hairy gross-looking hobbit feet Tara would have presumably 'massaged.'

"Um, yes," said Tara, realizing that she wasn't all that convincing.

"How very generous," said Strider appreciatively, "and brave. And.. curious, since the hobbits have been out here the entire time, doing absolutely no work."

Tara coughed, throwing some sticks mindlessly into the fire.

"How about you?" said Pippin suddenly. "Would you like a foot massage?"

"I--er--no, no thanks," Strider replied quickly. "I gotta get back to work..."

But before he could turn and leave, Pippin had already yanked his ankles up over his head and pointed furiously to his feet, which were wearing only flip-flops.

"Well I'll be!" said Tara, utterly surprised.

Strider indeed had six toes--but only three on each foot.

"Good gracious!" gasped the other hobbits. Pippin was all triumphant.

"What's this about?" demanded Strider, rubbing the sore head on which he had landed.

"Three on each foot!" exclaimed Samwise and Frodo together.

"I thought you meant six toes, like on ONE foot," said Tara, glaring at Pip.

"Well you misunderstood, you retard. Now where's my carrots!"

"You get no carrots!" roared Tara. "The circumstances under which this bet was placed were not correctly explained, therefore--"

"Wait!" interrupted Strider. "You put a bet on me!"

"Um, well yes, we only bet vegetables," said Tara remotely. "But--"

"But what!" the ranger looked defeated. "I can't believe my friends would do this! So I have weird feet, that's nothing to be ashamed of! It's what's inside that counts!"

"Inside what? Your pants? I hope there's only ONE of those!" giggled Merry.

"HOW DARE YOU!"

Everyone bowed their heads as he scolded, except for Pippin who still had his hands held out for Tara to put carrots in them.

"Come off it!" Tara howled at the hobbit, who curled his hand back and huffed.

Strider had tears in his eyes. "You miserable brats!" And he climbed to his deformed feet and ran back into the house.

"Eh, I'll make it up to him," said Tara, watching as he left.

"How?" asked Frodo.

"Mreh. Mreheheh," was her only response.

"But Obi-Wan!" exclaimed Samwise. "He'll be furious if you cheat him!"

"And he'd be furious if I don't." she retorted. "Obi and I have a very free relationship. You'd be surprised how sexually explorative those Jedi folk actually are."

"What do you mean?" advanced Merry, looking shocked. All of them looking quite disturbed, actually.

"Well I haven't actually done it myself," she admitted, "But I think Obi-Wan has *been* with almost everyone in the Family 'cept for you guys."

Everyone let out a series of "ewws!" and "oh my GODs" and "crikey!" and ".....Gandalf?!"

"Mwauahha," she replied. "Nasty, huh?"

"Ewwww!" Frodo looked squeamish. As usual.

"Eh," said Tara airily, "I'm just joking. Buwahaha."

Then the hobbits in a chorus of insults threw food and grass and other things from the ground at her. She fell on her back, rolling hysterically.

It was at this moment that Phoebe joined them around the campfire, wondering what they were howling about.

"Hullo, Phoebe!" said Samwise jovially. "You have five toes!"

Phoebe blinked. "Uh, yes that's true."

"On EACH foot?" said Frodo, trying to contain his laughter.

"Uh... yeah, last time I checked," said Phoebe, wondering what the hell was going on.

"Well that's a relief!" shouted Merry, sending all into a fit.

"Tara, may I have a word?" Phoebe gave her grassy-toothed friend a sharp look.

"Ahem, sure," replied Dirt-mouth, rising to her feet and following Phoebe along.

"What's going on?" asked Tara, trying to comb some melted marshmellows out of her hair.

"Nothin," cackled Phoebe, "just messin' around. How's your House lookin'?

"Oh! It's very.. um.. colorful," replied Tara.

"I can see that," snickered Phoebe, gesturing towards Tara's hyper-colored robes.

"Yours is looking very nice too," complimented Tara on Phoebe's dark red, sensuous robe-coloring.

"Yeah I know."

"Let's have a look!" said Tara, bounding into the House of the Sparkling Dogs to check it out. She gasped at all the red--it being her favorite color and all--but began to snigger once her eyes focused on the dim lighting of candles in the corners; random velvet and satin pillows spread all about.

"What?" demanded Phoebe.

"Well, I was just wondering," said Tara formally, "when the Playboy shoot begins in here?"

Phoebe thwacked her over the head, but Tara only snorted harder. Eventually the giddy girl finally snapped back into it, something on the ceiling catching her eye.

"What's DROL?" she asked, her neck bent at a complete right angle to the words above her head.

"What?" Phoebe scratched her armpit, looking where Tara looked. "Oh! This happened when Ron and I fell out of a chair. I had his wand in my hand--his REAL wand (as Tara began to snort)--and when we hit the ground it went off and accidentally wrote those letters."

"Are you sure it was an accident?" said Tara eerily.

"Well DROL means nothing to us, so it has to be."

"Hm."

"Or maybe," said Phoebe expressively, "just maybe.. it was MEANT to happen. But what does it mean!"

"Dunno," replied Tara thoughtfully.

Their deep thoughts were interrupted by a loud slapping noise in the bedroom. Together the girls went to see what the matter was, and found Christian and Satine, on opposite sides of a bed, gripping either end of a blanket.

"He is NOT sleeping in here!" Satine shrieked, yanking on her side of the blanket. She was glaring wildly at Ewan, who lay on the floor sleeping soundly and looking pretty beat up.

"What happened to him?" whispered Tara.

"Legolas harrassed him," whispered Phoebe in return.

"Why!"

"Perhaps he mistook Ewan for a palm tree."

"Very funny."

"Of course he is!" yelled Christian back to Satine, a red handprint visible on his face where she had obviously whacked him. "I'm not gonna let my own brother sleep in some filthy bath!"

"He can sleep with the pigs for all I care!" shot Satine.

"We have pigs?" asked Christian, surprised.

"It's just an expression. He is NOT staying!"

"YES HE IS!"

"NO!"

"YES!"

"NO!"

"WHORE!"

Satine dropped the blanket, her jaw slacked in shock. She looked at Phoebe and Tara, who were standing in the door watching, and made a twisted face as if to say "can you believe him!?"

Tara's eyes shifted and she cleared her throat, nudging Phoebe with an elbow, and Phoebe spoke up hesitantly, "Well I mean, you are.. you know...it's... well.."

"Ugh!" Satine interrupted, tearing the blanket out of Christian's hand and balling it up. "LOSER!" she screamed at him.

Christian's mouth dropped open, and he lifted a shaky arm and pointed a disbelieving finger at her. He covered his mouth with the other hand to express his shock and dismay. "You promised you wouldn't..."

"I LIED!" Staine shrieked. "You poor, filthy loser! And you're a BAD WRITER!"

Everyone gasped.

Ewan shot out of his dead sleep to stare in complete disbelief at Satine. "Blasphemy." He moved his mouth to the word, but didn't actually say it.

Chrstian cried silently, his mouth still unhinged, his finger still weakly pointed at her. Satine threw the balled-up blanket at Christian and folded her arms over her chest in triumph. The blanket landed on his head, spilling over his shoulders and making him look like a nun.

"I.. can't.. believe...you!" he said hoarsely. "You said I had talent!"

"Yes," said Satine sadistically, "in SOME aspects you do; but you couldn't write a decent line to save yourself!"

Again everyone shuffled a step backwards as if they were being threatened with a fiery sword, mouths all agape, eyes all wide and shocked. Phoebe's fists balled up at this terrible insult to her love-bunny.

Suddenly she hurled herself in a frenzy of flying limbs toward the courtesan--hair falling out and eyes blackening before anything could be prevented.

Just then, a choked scream came from the main room. Everyone was so disturbed by its brutality, that they all moved (Phoebe and Satine untangling their hands from one another's throats) to see the cause of it.

As they walked into the room, they saw Ron standing in the doorway looking completely stunned--obviously he was the one who screamed. But what he was staring at was twice as unnerving: a regular-looking man with big sunglasses on a scruffy face was standing in the middle of the floor. He observed everyone with the greatest of interest, and some fondness it seemed, though no one could be sure where his hidden eyes were roaming. Finally his head stopped circulating and turned toward Tara and Phoebe, who could scarcely believe their eyes.

"Hello," he said in a soft, friendly voice that jolted everyone's sanity. "This is a beautiful room! Darker than most. Well, this is a beautiful planet," he mused aloud, seeming unaware of the effect he had on his startled watchers. "Bright, though."

"Who.. who are you?" breathed Ron. "You just.. just.. came out of nowhere!"

"No," replied the stranger. "I took a beam of light. That one there." He pointed to a stream of sunlight that was slipping through one of the windows and hitting the floor like a spotlight.

"It can't be," whispered Phoebe, barely moving her mouth.

The stranger looked at the girls again and smiled, sincere and radiant dimples showing on either side of his face.

Tara and Phoebe gulped loudly.

"I've been waiting to see you!" said the man cheerfully. "I'm glad you called!" He pointed up to the words on the ceiling that didn't, after all, read 'DROL'-- as it was in messy cursive, they saw that it actually read 'PROT.'

"It's.. It's.. Kevin Spacey," said Tara, her chest caving in, her face frozen in a state of shock.

"No," said Phoebe, in the same disposition, "It's.....it's Prot."