Trying to transfer the ska mentality (with special overtones of Bill) into Middle-Earth…very difficult indeed. Anyway, Middle-Earth and all within it belong to Tolkien, except Bill who belongs to himself. We skanking hobbits own nothing but our crazy ideas and our music, which we rightfully stole off the internet and borrowed from our friends. Also some battered copies of the books and less battered (but not for lack of trying, or for lack of constant use) copies of the movie. The band member names are procured by our wonderful consultant Raindare from the books.
Everyone knew, when Bill the hobbit was growing up, that he wasn't like other hobbits. He was not as happy and peaceful as the other hobbits; he cared about the wide world and about everything outside of the peaceful Shire. He didn't act like the other hobbits, either. He was fractious and sullen and disobedient, with a cynical sense of humor. He had his own idea of music too – blaringly happy music with lyrics about death and destruction. He'd started a "band" in which he played a dented horn he'd bought from a merchant in Bree. He called it a "saxamafone," and the other hobbits had no idea what kind of a word that was, never mind the horn itself. The other hobbits he'd convinced to play with him were a handful of lads whom nobody thought much of – those that had started on the pipe-weed early, those that spent their days down in Bree or further afield, those that talked of going off (only they called it "getting out") and having adventures. Another thing that oddly enough made him different was that he refused to smoke pipe-weed. He said he never would, and he said it would kill all of them one day. His relatives believed that no good would ever come of the thick-haired rebellious boy.
"You know, we talk about leaving the Shire a lot. We've even got a song about it. So what I'm thinking is, why don't we actually leave?" Bill asked. He was staring out into the rain that poured down over the grass and the dripping trees. He and the band were sitting in the back bedroom of Bill's family's house, trying to ignore the homely furniture or pretend that it was all painted black instead of cheery wood tones and green. They were making an attempt at practice, though why they bothered no one knew. There was no place to play a gig in the entire Shire, and even if there were, no one would hire the Hairy Hairy Middletones, as they called themselves.
"Yeah, we should," Doderic said. He was generally the most coherent of the lot, though also the most unoriginal and un-ambitious. He tended to agree with everything Bill said and then did nothing. He played the drums, hidden behind his odd collection of random percussion-type instruments with skinny arms and a feral thatch of hair flailing. He never ceased to amaze the rest of them (unless the rest were too stoned to notice) with the amount of energy he could summon for drumming despite his usual absolute lethargy.
"We can't, though. This place depends on us," Tolman said, laughing sardonically and throwing a smoked out twist of paper down at their feet. He played the trumpet, the happiest instrument, and was ironically the most sadistic, depressive, cruel member of the band.
"We can't leave. The parental units would throw a fit." The rest of the band nodded, and Bill sighed. "Besides, how'd we eat? Think logistics, seriously." The problem with this speaker, the lead guitarist, was that he was often right and he could think in longer words than the rest of them. The others all agreed with him, even when he was wrong, which irritated Bill even when he was right. The others, including Doderic, all were nodding their heads and murmuring. Bill sighed again. Someday, he would leave. Then, Bill the hobbit suddenly laughed, jumped up, and started packing a few things. This also made him different from most hobbits – he packed very light, in a black bag slung over his shoulder, instead of the usual massive hobbit hiking pack.
"What are you doing?" the guitarist asked.
"Getting out of the Shire," Bill said, doing a crazy "take it away" gesture at the lead singer, who laughed and chorused the chorus of the Middletones' first good song with Bill.
"You're not serious?"
Bill didn't even answer, just went straight down the hall and out the door. He was more than a little disappointed that the others did not crowd around the door to watch in disbelief, but rather stayed where they were. It was his house, after all. Assholes. He just kept walking, away from his home and from the Shire. It was his intention to just keep on going. Years later, he was still going. He met a very old hobbit some time later, who told him something in a pompous, self-important way: "Bill, my lad, it's a dangerous business, going out your front door. You step on the road and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might get swept off to."
"Isn't that the whole point?" asked Bill.
Where to now? Take it away, Narchannen Fae!
**bounce, bounce** Orlando Bloom, Orlando Bloom! New movie yay-ness!!