'A large brown boat sailed up to the docks. It was called 'Sallah's Ark'.
When it reached the dock, a large, and we mean LARGE, man stepped off and
made his way towards the car that was waiting to take him to the Weta make-
up workshoppe. There was a boy in a chauffeur's uniform by the car.
'Mr. Rhys-Davies?' he inquired.
'Yes, I am he. Are you from Mr. Jackson?' The man asked in a deep, booming, and overall Welsh voice.
The boy cringed at the mention of his Master.
'Yes. If you will just step into the car, I'll take you to him.'
A while later, a plane landed at the airport. Well, two planes actually. One said 'American Airlines' on its side and two rather short people got off. One was obviously older, heavier and taller. The other was short, thin and had the weirdest eyes this side of the Milky Way, possibly farther. He was wearing headphones.
The other plane had 'British Airways' on its side and two more short, thin people came out. One was slightly taller than the other, had large ears, short brown hair, and wore sunglasses that covered his grey/blue eyes. The other, shorter one, also wore sunglasses, and had very short hair. He looked to be suffering from male pattern baldness. The two groups converged.
'Whot are you listenin' to?' the slightly larger of the two on the BA plane asked the one with headphones on.
'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.' he answered.
'Do you have splitters?'
'Yeah, they're in the player.'
'Cor' and with that, he whipped out his headphones (not dropping them) and plugged them in.
The four made their way towards a car where a boy a little older than the youngest of them was waiting.
'Misters Astin, Boyd, Monaghan, and Wood?' The boy asked.
The two not listening to music answered for them all.
'I'm Sean Astin, and the one with the freaky eyes is Elijah Wood.'
'Ah'm Billy Boyd, and tha' one over thare es Dominic Monaghan.'
The boy smiled briefly, and said, 'I'm from New Line Cinema; I'm here to take you to the set.'
With much pomp and ceremony a giant ocean liner sailed into the harbour. There was a crowd of people waiting for it, or rather the passengers, who were now beginning to disembark. Among the waving relatives and friends standing on the shore, was a young man in a driver's uniform, leaning up against a car. His eyes were trained intently on two men who were walking down the gangplank. The older one waved to his companion as they parted and walked over to the car. He looked about sixty with grey hair and piercing blue eyes.
'Sir Mckellen?' The young man at the car asked.
'Yes, I am he.' The older man answered with a distinguished British accent, 'are you from Mr. Jackson?'
As before, the youth flinched before affirming.
'Excellent. I think I shall do some studying before I arrive.' Mckellen announced, as he rooted through one of his bags, producing a new copy of "The Lord of the Rings". He got in the car and settled comfortably into the back seat.
A twin-engine Cessna landed in the private area of the New Zealand Airport. A sandy-haired, thin-faced man came out of the cockpit. He looked around until his grey-green eyes alighted on a young man leaning against a car, reading Havelock Vetrinari's "The Servant". The pilot grabbed his bags and walked over to him. The youth looked up.
'Mr. Bean?' He asked.
'Yes,' the man started in a British accent that bordered upon menacing, 'Ar-'
'Yes, please don't ask, I am from Mr. Jackson.' The boy interrupted in an irritated tone before Bean could say another word.
'Good,' he growled, angry at being cut off. Then he got into the car.
'Mr. Rhys-Davies?' he inquired.
'Yes, I am he. Are you from Mr. Jackson?' The man asked in a deep, booming, and overall Welsh voice.
The boy cringed at the mention of his Master.
'Yes. If you will just step into the car, I'll take you to him.'
A while later, a plane landed at the airport. Well, two planes actually. One said 'American Airlines' on its side and two rather short people got off. One was obviously older, heavier and taller. The other was short, thin and had the weirdest eyes this side of the Milky Way, possibly farther. He was wearing headphones.
The other plane had 'British Airways' on its side and two more short, thin people came out. One was slightly taller than the other, had large ears, short brown hair, and wore sunglasses that covered his grey/blue eyes. The other, shorter one, also wore sunglasses, and had very short hair. He looked to be suffering from male pattern baldness. The two groups converged.
'Whot are you listenin' to?' the slightly larger of the two on the BA plane asked the one with headphones on.
'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.' he answered.
'Do you have splitters?'
'Yeah, they're in the player.'
'Cor' and with that, he whipped out his headphones (not dropping them) and plugged them in.
The four made their way towards a car where a boy a little older than the youngest of them was waiting.
'Misters Astin, Boyd, Monaghan, and Wood?' The boy asked.
The two not listening to music answered for them all.
'I'm Sean Astin, and the one with the freaky eyes is Elijah Wood.'
'Ah'm Billy Boyd, and tha' one over thare es Dominic Monaghan.'
The boy smiled briefly, and said, 'I'm from New Line Cinema; I'm here to take you to the set.'
With much pomp and ceremony a giant ocean liner sailed into the harbour. There was a crowd of people waiting for it, or rather the passengers, who were now beginning to disembark. Among the waving relatives and friends standing on the shore, was a young man in a driver's uniform, leaning up against a car. His eyes were trained intently on two men who were walking down the gangplank. The older one waved to his companion as they parted and walked over to the car. He looked about sixty with grey hair and piercing blue eyes.
'Sir Mckellen?' The young man at the car asked.
'Yes, I am he.' The older man answered with a distinguished British accent, 'are you from Mr. Jackson?'
As before, the youth flinched before affirming.
'Excellent. I think I shall do some studying before I arrive.' Mckellen announced, as he rooted through one of his bags, producing a new copy of "The Lord of the Rings". He got in the car and settled comfortably into the back seat.
A twin-engine Cessna landed in the private area of the New Zealand Airport. A sandy-haired, thin-faced man came out of the cockpit. He looked around until his grey-green eyes alighted on a young man leaning against a car, reading Havelock Vetrinari's "The Servant". The pilot grabbed his bags and walked over to him. The youth looked up.
'Mr. Bean?' He asked.
'Yes,' the man started in a British accent that bordered upon menacing, 'Ar-'
'Yes, please don't ask, I am from Mr. Jackson.' The boy interrupted in an irritated tone before Bean could say another word.
'Good,' he growled, angry at being cut off. Then he got into the car.