A/N: No bloopers. Whimper. Heck, this isn't a blooper, so WHO CARES? Besides... I LIVVVVVVVVVE! You didn't think you'd see me every again, huh? So enjoy!
*
MV: Since you guys have been so... civil to each other for the past hour, I've decided to let the LotR people stay! Isn't that nice?
*There was an immediate rush. Bernard and Glorfindel suddenly seemed to be attacking each other with their history volumes, though it was quite obvious that Glorfindel was carrying a Redwall volume and Bernard a Histories of Middle Earth volume... Arven, who had been playing "Kitchen" with Legolas, began hammering the elf with the pot, even though it was evident that the pot never touched the elf at all... Mariel was play attacking Thranduil and Elrond with a dagger, but the dagger was suspiciously of Elvish make, and both Elves bows were notched with arrows. Pointing in the wrong direction. Matthias and Aragorn, who were comparing Anduril with the makes of Martin's sword (well, one of them, at least), were suddenly locked hilt-to-hilt. All would have seemed well save for the fact that Anduril was in Matthais' paws and Aragorn held Martin's blade aloft. Skipper, who had been showing his bow, together with one of his otter friends, to Elrohir and Elladan, suddenly made as if to attack each other. Nobeast seemed to mind that Skipper and his friend were carrying Elladan and Elrohir's bows, and the two elves notched bows against their owners. Gimli and Colonel Cornspurrey, who had been testing axe against axe, seemed to have missed the fact that axes were held with blade up, and not like a croquet club... Galadriel, whom had been helping Mellus off the wall, suddenly snatched one of the arrows off and pretended to be threatening to stab Mellus with it. All in all, the Voice was obviously not impressed with their shows of "disgust and hate".*
MV: Nice try, guys.
Everybeast/body groaned and cut off their pretence, returning weapons and exchanging apologies accompanied by sheepish smiles.
MV: Now, if everybody is done, please, for the sake of your life, move to the walls of this room.
Cricket: CHIRP!
Nobody moves.
MV: NOW!
Everybody moved.
MV: Better. Now watch.
*Pop!*
A HUGE table appears.
Oh dear.
MV: Now. YOU!
Elladan: Who, me?
MV: Yes you. Spin the Evil-Twister-Thing.
Elladan: What Ev-. Oh.
Elladan, along with the rest of the cohort, noticed the big, suspicious swivel arrow that one used in the Twister game. Tentatively, he reached out, as if the big ominous black thing would leap up and bite him, and gave it a turn with a quick, deft flick of the wrist. Numerous eyes followed its path around the table as it spun, stopping to rest at Glorfindel. The MV cackled with insane happiness. With a *POP*, the spinner disappeared, leaving the table once again clear for whatever apocalyptic abomination that the MV willed to impale upon them. Glorfindel looked relatively unaffected, save that his fallow hair looked bright in comparison to his suddenly cadaverous looking face. His azure coloured eyes eyed the table with apprehension.
The Balrog was better than this.
Arven screamed with glee as he saw the Elf so frightened, scampering up Legolas' head and leaping onto Elrond's before jumping Celeborn and finally landing on Glorfindel's lap like some mad tree monkey set loose. The Elf lord absently picked him up, wincing as Arven's soup ladle crashed onto his head, and passed the rouge Dibbun to Tansy, who tried to shush him as well as he could. With another *POP* a bowl appeared in front of him. It was steaming, and a sweetly sour smell that was reminiscent of Thai chilli drifted in the air. One could practically feel the omnipotent exaltation of the MV. A spoon carefully materialized on the side of the dish. Glorfindel looked appalled, blanching at the inevitable knowledge that he was going to have to eat the thing in front of him. The others watched in unpronounced horror bordering at comicalism at the look on Glorfindel's face. MV popped out, cheery as ever.
MV: This, my friends, is Tom-Yam soup, well known to those East in my world, relatively well known to the West, and unknown to your kind. It has the following traits:
Extreme hotness, resulting in the signature burning taste due to the chilli mixture.
Burning qualities that result in many dashing for liquids of any sort.
Pungent yet sweet taste.
For the acquired taste, it takes some getting used to, but is relatively harmless to those in my world with their not-as-potent-as-Elves senses.
Outcome when tested on Elves as yet unknown.
No water will be provided, and the forfeit is as noted: Drink another two bowls if you don't finish the first.
Further forfeiting for forfeiting the forfiet will result in the addition of another bowl to each level of forfiet.
*
Glorfindel looked ready to hurl himself off Caradhras. Anticipation hung in the air as the Elf-lord picked up the spoon, dread seething off him as he eyed the foreboding bowl of Tom-Yam with the air of someone going into battle. He spooned it up. Tom-Yam, as most obvious to see from the reaction on Glorfindel's part, did not react favourably with Elves. Glorfindel, a hardy elf on his part, winced as he swallowed, his eyes watering at the searing heat that seemed both from the taste of the soup and from the heat of it. It was pure torture to anyone unused to chilli, seeing as the MV had put in a lot of it, but to an Elf with pronounced senses... Shaking, Glorfindel forced down another spoonful, his taste buds crying for water, and his face contorting with every swallow. A few agonizing minutes later, he pushed the empty bowl away, collapsing back onto his chair. Everyone, and beast, cheered. The MV popped up.
MV: Yes, yes, very nice. I suppose for surviving the first trail you deserve a break...
With a small pop, a cool wine bottle of *wine* appeared on the table. Known to everyone is that wine does not go well with stuff like Tom-Yam, but Glorfindel did not seem to care as his shaking hand poured a cup and drowned it in a millisecond. After quenching his thirst with the not-very-satisfactory wine, he waited for further instructions. The MV cackled again.
MV: Well, what are you waiting for? Spin it!
The Tom-Yam now cleared, the Evil-Twister-Thing had reappeared. Glorfindel practically flung it away from him as he spun it, praying feverishly that it did not land on his. Lo. It landed on Perigord, the Evil-Writer-That-Was-Not. Oh dear.