Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. It belongs to JRR Tolkien.
Author's Note:
Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I have a very busy schedule now, and I haven't all the time in the world anymore.
THE FILE CABINET
"Be... thankful..." I managed to stutter as Aldarion helped me to my feet, "That I am very used to one of you OCs," I pointed my finger in an arch, indicating that I was talking to all of my creations, "You tormenting OCs smashing into me at least three times within two hours." NahekaOC dusted herself off as she forgot to help her father to his feet.
"Actually," she corrected, "That would be five times... in half an hour. That's my record!"
"Don't remind me." I ran my hand through my hair, shaking my head as I began to walk south. "all right.... I want all of you to be in my office, in your proper file---" I glared at Elvea who was getting ready to pounce on Aldarion, "That means not visiting friends in other folders, Elvea. ---And I want you to be quiet and orderly. We have a lot of things to do today. But first, I have to stop by the Disclaimer Desk. Don't knock over any statues, artworks, or precious artifacts on the way, and please," I turned to NahekaOC, "try not to trod on the fangirls this time."
"They were gawking at my husband!" she argued, starting to break out into her speech position, "Do you want me to defend my glory, or to sit there and watch? Well? Tell me! It's just so---"
Aremis was calm enough to take her ranting mother by the hand and gradually lead her out of the north plaza toward the southeast gate where they could catch some kind of transportation to my office. Transportation devices for OCs tended to rotate a bit for some odd reason. Last week Tuesday, you could just fall out of nowhere to your destination. On the Saturday before that, there were horses that just suddenly bucked you up on their backs and dragged you off to who-knows-where. NahekaOC really enjoyed Wednesday. That was when dragons came flying and... well, a lot of people got burned because they didn't know how to ride a dragon.
This time, a hoard of rampaging Uruk-hai came. I spotted a few other OCs screaming for the sakes of their imaginary lives as the army slung my OCs over their shoulders and went prancing--I mean-- marching away.
"Glad I'm not an OC," I thought as I went southwest and caught a trolley to the Disclaimer Desk.
The Disclaimer Desk was a one-story round building in Base I. In it, there were stations lined against each other, creating a very neat ring in the center of the building. Over there, you could rent the fictional characters and places that you needed for your fanfiction. I was going to the three-hundreth eighty-second desk, which was in the south west ( there are a lot of things in the south west, aren't there? ) area of the ring.
Of course, another liscence was required to rent an official character. I would need to borrow some characters, some beasts, a few references, and of course, some land. Once again, I searched my wallet for another ID. Now days, the employees that work at the Desk were extra suspicious of certain writers. They fear what kind of stories may come out of their productions if they hand out the characters. For example... what if they wrote a Mary-Sue? Personally, I don't think that it is right to judge the authors and deny their service... but then again, don't you think it's just a tad bloody irritating when a gorgeous girl falls from the sky and flirts with Legolas Greenleaf?
Hiked-up skirt and height forging Miss "Lady Marmalade", the hooch I saw on the bus earlier this morning, roughly brushed past me, her arm swinging out like a hyperactive fashion-model (okay, bad parable. I know.) with the elf prince in tow behind her. She didn't apologize either as she tripped a passing hobbit with one of her platform shoes.
"She's new here, isn't she?" came a familiar voice from behind me. I wheeled around on my heels and grinned to see Amarth, a fellow author working at FFNH, standing in line behind me. "I swear to Manwe, she's going to get fired if she doesn't clean herself up."
"Nah," I replied, shaking my head, "She's just gonna' get flamed." I looked down at Amarth's side to see a fuzzy little creature bobbing on its heels. "Hi, Good Luck Fuzzy."
Good Luck Fuzzy held up a sign bearing the words in blue: "Greetings." Good Luck Fuzzy was Amarth's secretary. Some author's had people to help them organize their paper work.
"Who're you borrowing today?" I inquired, taking a small step up in the line.
"Smeagol!" Amarth cheered. Good Luck Fuzzy nodded his head fervently.
"Ah.... For what reason?"
Amarth bent over and whispered her idea in my ear. I stopped in my tracks and listened attentively, not noticing the line move up in front of me. When she had finished speaking, I made peace signs with both of my hands and said: "Dude! Total originality-ness!... I don't even know what originality is!" Well, I do know what originality means: a new idea that makes sense, or something similar. But due to my oblivious hours spent in the depths of my office, I was not around the newbies enough to quite embrace the definition of originality.
"Move up, hippy-girl!" nagged the Disclaimer Desk worker, waving a wrinkled hand at me.
I jerked and ran up front. Miss Fiddlespork [Yes, I made that name up me-self] was an aging old bat of a woman with bright purple spectacles and flowing dark gray curls tied up in a curt bun. Today, her turquoise blue and green spotted dress was clearly visible from her slouched seating position in her wheeling chair. A stack of orange papers were shoved neatly in the corner of the desk, bearing the message "BAN MARY-SUES!!!" in a deep flowing script of midnight blue. A picture of Legolas falling off a cliff was the clipart in the center of the page.
"Take one, kid," snapped Fiddlespork, "And tell me what ya' want! Gimmie yer ID!"
A sharp flash of her cat-like pink nails caught my plastic card in my hand. She took a careless glance at it before swiping it under a scanner and barking at me: "Who ya' borrowin'?"
"I'll need 80 square miles of Lothlorien," I ordered firmly, "Erm... That would include Nimrodel.... 50 square miles of Mirkwood, and Lego---"
A plastic package was thrust at my face before I finished pronouncing the elf prince's name. I caught it just in time. My fingers groped the insides, confirming the particles tied away inside it: two flat, rectangular cartridges, and one small, smooth tube. I took my ID, and waved a farewell to Amarth.
"I'll see you at lunchtime," I reminded her, "And good luck with your idea!"
Joe the Nazgul was drinking from his sky blue coffee cup when I opened my office door. He casually greeted me in Mordorian Tongue, not looking up from the stack of ruffled parchment woven between his metal covered fingers. I took to my desk first, tossing the aging bag of Lembas Chips into the aluminum trash can
beside my desk. I looked down at the agenda sheet that Joe had typed out and placed on my desk, just as he had done every morning. I had a couple major climaxes to write, and a special meeting with one of my OCs. I'd write first, then I'd get to the meeting.
There was the tall metal file cabinet standing next to my station, rumbling with talking, as usual. I listened carefully to their conversations, trying to prepare myself for what they would do once I would release them from their chamber.
"It's the Teleri-boy!"
"No, Mom! Let him be!"
"Eeep!"
"I'll kill you for touching my daughter!"
The sound of a soft crunch and the smell of buttered popcorn told me that someone was entertained my this negative conflict. Onikunshu's dark chuckle came.
"Wait 'till I tell your father. Oh, Eru he'll be angry."
"No-ho!"
Switch. Flick. Click. Voosh. The 'N' droor came flying open with an outrageous NahekaOC strangling another elf. The elf was from the 'F' droor, but it seemed that one of the OCs had dug a hole connecting all twenty-six droors. NahekaOC reached back into her file and pulled out a shimmering long knife. It was about eight inches long, with a jagged edge, and a smooth edge; a.k.a. "Dragonsilk". This was a famous knife, and it was supposed to be used in the chapter that I was going to write today.
"And now," she whispered dangerously, waving Dragonsilk threateningly in front of the elf's face, "I slay thee!"
Well, I really couldn't afford one of my characters impaling another of my character's spleen upon the tip of a brutal blade. So I whipped out the slick tube from my package of rented characters and jammed it into a plug on the north wall.
A white box was screened with a sheet of safety-glass behind the north wall. Along the front, there was a gray control pad, consisting a couple funky buttons, a set of fancy-looking speakers, some complicated dials, and, of course, the keyboard. The was the Fiction Dome; the center of every author's life her at FFNH. You wrote your text on the keyboard, and whatever you wrote appeared in the box in front of you. The accessories on the side (the buttons and dials) were there to help adjust technical settings. And the speakers were there to communicate with your characters, just in case they were doing something wrong.
As soon as the tube had plugged into it's outlet, a green flash had appeared in the Dome. Through the brightness, you could see a silhouette of a tall male with long hair and pointed ears. Legolas Greenleaf coughed and dusted his tunic off. With a stride and a bound, he popped out of the entrance to the Fiction Dome, which was a white door on the left of the screen.
"Weggy-wassy!" cried NahekaOC, thrusting the elf aside and jumping on top of him, "Where have you been? Aremis is flirting with the Teleri-boy!"
"What?!" gasped Legolas... well, the Legolas that I had 'created'.
The characters you rent are ones that you specially design to fit your purpose. My Legolas knew who NahekaOC was, and all of the other things that my story Legolas knew.
Legolas and NahekaOC were about to pounce of the other elf, when Joe stepped in. Thank Eru for Joe.
"Fiction Dome!" he ordered in his Wraith-ish voice, "You all have a lot of work to do today! We have to get this done, ASAP! Come on! Go! Go! Go!"
Elenwe Pilininge jumped out of his file in the 'E' droor and followed the others to the Fiction Dome. Elenwe was the son of Thranduil's closest advisor. He was a great friend to both Legolas and NahekaOC, and was on a quest with them in the story that I was writing. Today, he was needed to do a little angst scene, and a frantic horse chase.
Legolas shot a glare at Elenwe. Elenwe frowned. NahekaOC looked sympathetic. Legolas growled. As my overwhelming composition went, NahekaOC and Legolas were rivaling enemies. Elenwe was stuck in the middle. But as the plot continued, both had fallen in love with NahekaOC... sad little story, isn't it? Now, destiny and fate intertwine with each other, waiting to crush one lover's heart... meep.
~*~
"Stop.... Don't waste your energy. I'm sorry, but I have to," she choked and coughed out blood. It stained her shirt. "I have to leave you now... forever." Legolas couldn't stop the tears from flowing down his face, and neither could Naheka, but she smiled up at him through them, "I wish I could have been with you for longer.." she grinned softly, "I had plans."
Legolas smiled slightly, but not even for a moment. Out of the bushes, more elves and people came through. Elenwe was among them. A crowd of races began forming behind them. All was silent except for the quiet sobs that came from Legolas.
"I'm leaving now," she murmured, "Good bye.... I love---"
Ring! Ring!
NahekaOC wiped the fake blood off of her face in dismay and flopped onto the artificial grass as Legolas released her to answer the cellphone that was ringing at his waist. "Suilad?" he answered to the call, "The Sea? Sorry. You have the wrong Legolas. He's in Office---" he continued talking to the person on the other line, standing and leaning against a nearby mallorn tree. Naheka stared grumpily at him with a disappointed face.
I had the urge to go in the Fiction Dome myself and toss the elf's cellphone down the Cracks of Doom, but instead I had decided to make it just a little interesting. I got up from my seat and tapped at the window. Legolas was too busy talking and didn't notice me, but NahekaOC turned her head on the grass at me. Reaching into the receiver for my OCs earphone, I licked my lips and prepared to do some quick language forging. I created NahekaOC's original language, thus she should be able to understand whatever random gibberish came out of my mouth.
"Jur chalad elfay," I spoke matter-of-factly, pretending that I was the Master of All Language, "Porzughad flirtuee huang attejihuer, Elenwe*."
Truth be told, I hadn't the slightest idea what I had really said, but NahekaOC definitely seemed to get my message. Following my advice, she flipped onto her stomach in front of Elenwe. Leaning her head into her left hand, she shot a very seductive gaze at the lesser elf, waving her slender fingers at him. Elenwe blushed and slouched as he returned a shy wave at her. Legolas suddenly paused dead in his speech and flicked his cellphone off in realization that he was being fooled behind his back. He glared at me through the window. I just shrugged my shoulders.
Elves and cellphones, I concluded, were probably not the best combination in the world.
Several other little bloopers happened during those five straight hours of work. A lovely climax took place once Legolas' phone had gotten out of the way, including angst and a bit of ... sadistic uncoverings, I would say. For once, I actually pitied my OCs as I watched them walk out of my office for a break. NahekaOC was crying near bawling, as Onikunshu was deadly silent and pale. Poor Elenwe had a bad case of Disturbious Twitchious, so he was off to the Health Station for a good remedy. When Joe had shut the door after they had all trudged out, I sat in my black spinning chair and flipped through the hour's accomplishments. I soon began to wonder if my OCs were weak because they were sorrowful for the climax, or just majorly impacted by the other mess-ups we came through....
Onikunshu observed the lesser dragons that sat all around him. There were five of them, one white, one red, another green, a third blue, and a shiny copper one. He had reached Mirkwood last night in only five miuntes, and he took hospitality with the creatures he rested with.
"And what is your name?" spoke the white gently in dragon tonuge, "We accept your presence here. Mother accepts all dragon visitors."
"My name is... My name is...." Onikunshu lowered his head. He couldn't remember what his secret name was supposed to be.
"O-S-C-A-R!" cried Aremis from her file. Aldarion joined in with her.
"My bologna has a second name," he sang.
Together, they finished: "It's M-A-Y-E-R!"
Three of the dragons in the scene burst out laughing. One of them laughed so hard that he snorted an enormous jet of flames from his nostrils. Presently, I turned to the glass window that separated myself from the story. I would have to clean up that nasty burn mark later.
Bing! Bong! Bing! Bong! Bong! Bing! Bing! Bong!
"Aha!" I announced, watching my OCs sit directly on the spot and flip out their metal lunch boxes. "Joe! Lunchtime!"
Joe got up from his secretary desk and followed me out of the door. To the Great Dining Hall!... well, actually, it was The Great Cafeteria. Oh well.
*see http://naheka.tripod.com/dragoneyeryu for reference to the source of this language.
Author's Note:
Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I have a very busy schedule now, and I haven't all the time in the world anymore.
THE FILE CABINET
"Be... thankful..." I managed to stutter as Aldarion helped me to my feet, "That I am very used to one of you OCs," I pointed my finger in an arch, indicating that I was talking to all of my creations, "You tormenting OCs smashing into me at least three times within two hours." NahekaOC dusted herself off as she forgot to help her father to his feet.
"Actually," she corrected, "That would be five times... in half an hour. That's my record!"
"Don't remind me." I ran my hand through my hair, shaking my head as I began to walk south. "all right.... I want all of you to be in my office, in your proper file---" I glared at Elvea who was getting ready to pounce on Aldarion, "That means not visiting friends in other folders, Elvea. ---And I want you to be quiet and orderly. We have a lot of things to do today. But first, I have to stop by the Disclaimer Desk. Don't knock over any statues, artworks, or precious artifacts on the way, and please," I turned to NahekaOC, "try not to trod on the fangirls this time."
"They were gawking at my husband!" she argued, starting to break out into her speech position, "Do you want me to defend my glory, or to sit there and watch? Well? Tell me! It's just so---"
Aremis was calm enough to take her ranting mother by the hand and gradually lead her out of the north plaza toward the southeast gate where they could catch some kind of transportation to my office. Transportation devices for OCs tended to rotate a bit for some odd reason. Last week Tuesday, you could just fall out of nowhere to your destination. On the Saturday before that, there were horses that just suddenly bucked you up on their backs and dragged you off to who-knows-where. NahekaOC really enjoyed Wednesday. That was when dragons came flying and... well, a lot of people got burned because they didn't know how to ride a dragon.
This time, a hoard of rampaging Uruk-hai came. I spotted a few other OCs screaming for the sakes of their imaginary lives as the army slung my OCs over their shoulders and went prancing--I mean-- marching away.
"Glad I'm not an OC," I thought as I went southwest and caught a trolley to the Disclaimer Desk.
The Disclaimer Desk was a one-story round building in Base I. In it, there were stations lined against each other, creating a very neat ring in the center of the building. Over there, you could rent the fictional characters and places that you needed for your fanfiction. I was going to the three-hundreth eighty-second desk, which was in the south west ( there are a lot of things in the south west, aren't there? ) area of the ring.
Of course, another liscence was required to rent an official character. I would need to borrow some characters, some beasts, a few references, and of course, some land. Once again, I searched my wallet for another ID. Now days, the employees that work at the Desk were extra suspicious of certain writers. They fear what kind of stories may come out of their productions if they hand out the characters. For example... what if they wrote a Mary-Sue? Personally, I don't think that it is right to judge the authors and deny their service... but then again, don't you think it's just a tad bloody irritating when a gorgeous girl falls from the sky and flirts with Legolas Greenleaf?
Hiked-up skirt and height forging Miss "Lady Marmalade", the hooch I saw on the bus earlier this morning, roughly brushed past me, her arm swinging out like a hyperactive fashion-model (okay, bad parable. I know.) with the elf prince in tow behind her. She didn't apologize either as she tripped a passing hobbit with one of her platform shoes.
"She's new here, isn't she?" came a familiar voice from behind me. I wheeled around on my heels and grinned to see Amarth, a fellow author working at FFNH, standing in line behind me. "I swear to Manwe, she's going to get fired if she doesn't clean herself up."
"Nah," I replied, shaking my head, "She's just gonna' get flamed." I looked down at Amarth's side to see a fuzzy little creature bobbing on its heels. "Hi, Good Luck Fuzzy."
Good Luck Fuzzy held up a sign bearing the words in blue: "Greetings." Good Luck Fuzzy was Amarth's secretary. Some author's had people to help them organize their paper work.
"Who're you borrowing today?" I inquired, taking a small step up in the line.
"Smeagol!" Amarth cheered. Good Luck Fuzzy nodded his head fervently.
"Ah.... For what reason?"
Amarth bent over and whispered her idea in my ear. I stopped in my tracks and listened attentively, not noticing the line move up in front of me. When she had finished speaking, I made peace signs with both of my hands and said: "Dude! Total originality-ness!... I don't even know what originality is!" Well, I do know what originality means: a new idea that makes sense, or something similar. But due to my oblivious hours spent in the depths of my office, I was not around the newbies enough to quite embrace the definition of originality.
"Move up, hippy-girl!" nagged the Disclaimer Desk worker, waving a wrinkled hand at me.
I jerked and ran up front. Miss Fiddlespork [Yes, I made that name up me-self] was an aging old bat of a woman with bright purple spectacles and flowing dark gray curls tied up in a curt bun. Today, her turquoise blue and green spotted dress was clearly visible from her slouched seating position in her wheeling chair. A stack of orange papers were shoved neatly in the corner of the desk, bearing the message "BAN MARY-SUES!!!" in a deep flowing script of midnight blue. A picture of Legolas falling off a cliff was the clipart in the center of the page.
"Take one, kid," snapped Fiddlespork, "And tell me what ya' want! Gimmie yer ID!"
A sharp flash of her cat-like pink nails caught my plastic card in my hand. She took a careless glance at it before swiping it under a scanner and barking at me: "Who ya' borrowin'?"
"I'll need 80 square miles of Lothlorien," I ordered firmly, "Erm... That would include Nimrodel.... 50 square miles of Mirkwood, and Lego---"
A plastic package was thrust at my face before I finished pronouncing the elf prince's name. I caught it just in time. My fingers groped the insides, confirming the particles tied away inside it: two flat, rectangular cartridges, and one small, smooth tube. I took my ID, and waved a farewell to Amarth.
"I'll see you at lunchtime," I reminded her, "And good luck with your idea!"
Joe the Nazgul was drinking from his sky blue coffee cup when I opened my office door. He casually greeted me in Mordorian Tongue, not looking up from the stack of ruffled parchment woven between his metal covered fingers. I took to my desk first, tossing the aging bag of Lembas Chips into the aluminum trash can
beside my desk. I looked down at the agenda sheet that Joe had typed out and placed on my desk, just as he had done every morning. I had a couple major climaxes to write, and a special meeting with one of my OCs. I'd write first, then I'd get to the meeting.
There was the tall metal file cabinet standing next to my station, rumbling with talking, as usual. I listened carefully to their conversations, trying to prepare myself for what they would do once I would release them from their chamber.
"It's the Teleri-boy!"
"No, Mom! Let him be!"
"Eeep!"
"I'll kill you for touching my daughter!"
The sound of a soft crunch and the smell of buttered popcorn told me that someone was entertained my this negative conflict. Onikunshu's dark chuckle came.
"Wait 'till I tell your father. Oh, Eru he'll be angry."
"No-ho!"
Switch. Flick. Click. Voosh. The 'N' droor came flying open with an outrageous NahekaOC strangling another elf. The elf was from the 'F' droor, but it seemed that one of the OCs had dug a hole connecting all twenty-six droors. NahekaOC reached back into her file and pulled out a shimmering long knife. It was about eight inches long, with a jagged edge, and a smooth edge; a.k.a. "Dragonsilk". This was a famous knife, and it was supposed to be used in the chapter that I was going to write today.
"And now," she whispered dangerously, waving Dragonsilk threateningly in front of the elf's face, "I slay thee!"
Well, I really couldn't afford one of my characters impaling another of my character's spleen upon the tip of a brutal blade. So I whipped out the slick tube from my package of rented characters and jammed it into a plug on the north wall.
A white box was screened with a sheet of safety-glass behind the north wall. Along the front, there was a gray control pad, consisting a couple funky buttons, a set of fancy-looking speakers, some complicated dials, and, of course, the keyboard. The was the Fiction Dome; the center of every author's life her at FFNH. You wrote your text on the keyboard, and whatever you wrote appeared in the box in front of you. The accessories on the side (the buttons and dials) were there to help adjust technical settings. And the speakers were there to communicate with your characters, just in case they were doing something wrong.
As soon as the tube had plugged into it's outlet, a green flash had appeared in the Dome. Through the brightness, you could see a silhouette of a tall male with long hair and pointed ears. Legolas Greenleaf coughed and dusted his tunic off. With a stride and a bound, he popped out of the entrance to the Fiction Dome, which was a white door on the left of the screen.
"Weggy-wassy!" cried NahekaOC, thrusting the elf aside and jumping on top of him, "Where have you been? Aremis is flirting with the Teleri-boy!"
"What?!" gasped Legolas... well, the Legolas that I had 'created'.
The characters you rent are ones that you specially design to fit your purpose. My Legolas knew who NahekaOC was, and all of the other things that my story Legolas knew.
Legolas and NahekaOC were about to pounce of the other elf, when Joe stepped in. Thank Eru for Joe.
"Fiction Dome!" he ordered in his Wraith-ish voice, "You all have a lot of work to do today! We have to get this done, ASAP! Come on! Go! Go! Go!"
Elenwe Pilininge jumped out of his file in the 'E' droor and followed the others to the Fiction Dome. Elenwe was the son of Thranduil's closest advisor. He was a great friend to both Legolas and NahekaOC, and was on a quest with them in the story that I was writing. Today, he was needed to do a little angst scene, and a frantic horse chase.
Legolas shot a glare at Elenwe. Elenwe frowned. NahekaOC looked sympathetic. Legolas growled. As my overwhelming composition went, NahekaOC and Legolas were rivaling enemies. Elenwe was stuck in the middle. But as the plot continued, both had fallen in love with NahekaOC... sad little story, isn't it? Now, destiny and fate intertwine with each other, waiting to crush one lover's heart... meep.
~*~
"Stop.... Don't waste your energy. I'm sorry, but I have to," she choked and coughed out blood. It stained her shirt. "I have to leave you now... forever." Legolas couldn't stop the tears from flowing down his face, and neither could Naheka, but she smiled up at him through them, "I wish I could have been with you for longer.." she grinned softly, "I had plans."
Legolas smiled slightly, but not even for a moment. Out of the bushes, more elves and people came through. Elenwe was among them. A crowd of races began forming behind them. All was silent except for the quiet sobs that came from Legolas.
"I'm leaving now," she murmured, "Good bye.... I love---"
Ring! Ring!
NahekaOC wiped the fake blood off of her face in dismay and flopped onto the artificial grass as Legolas released her to answer the cellphone that was ringing at his waist. "Suilad?" he answered to the call, "The Sea? Sorry. You have the wrong Legolas. He's in Office---" he continued talking to the person on the other line, standing and leaning against a nearby mallorn tree. Naheka stared grumpily at him with a disappointed face.
I had the urge to go in the Fiction Dome myself and toss the elf's cellphone down the Cracks of Doom, but instead I had decided to make it just a little interesting. I got up from my seat and tapped at the window. Legolas was too busy talking and didn't notice me, but NahekaOC turned her head on the grass at me. Reaching into the receiver for my OCs earphone, I licked my lips and prepared to do some quick language forging. I created NahekaOC's original language, thus she should be able to understand whatever random gibberish came out of my mouth.
"Jur chalad elfay," I spoke matter-of-factly, pretending that I was the Master of All Language, "Porzughad flirtuee huang attejihuer, Elenwe*."
Truth be told, I hadn't the slightest idea what I had really said, but NahekaOC definitely seemed to get my message. Following my advice, she flipped onto her stomach in front of Elenwe. Leaning her head into her left hand, she shot a very seductive gaze at the lesser elf, waving her slender fingers at him. Elenwe blushed and slouched as he returned a shy wave at her. Legolas suddenly paused dead in his speech and flicked his cellphone off in realization that he was being fooled behind his back. He glared at me through the window. I just shrugged my shoulders.
Elves and cellphones, I concluded, were probably not the best combination in the world.
Several other little bloopers happened during those five straight hours of work. A lovely climax took place once Legolas' phone had gotten out of the way, including angst and a bit of ... sadistic uncoverings, I would say. For once, I actually pitied my OCs as I watched them walk out of my office for a break. NahekaOC was crying near bawling, as Onikunshu was deadly silent and pale. Poor Elenwe had a bad case of Disturbious Twitchious, so he was off to the Health Station for a good remedy. When Joe had shut the door after they had all trudged out, I sat in my black spinning chair and flipped through the hour's accomplishments. I soon began to wonder if my OCs were weak because they were sorrowful for the climax, or just majorly impacted by the other mess-ups we came through....
Onikunshu observed the lesser dragons that sat all around him. There were five of them, one white, one red, another green, a third blue, and a shiny copper one. He had reached Mirkwood last night in only five miuntes, and he took hospitality with the creatures he rested with.
"And what is your name?" spoke the white gently in dragon tonuge, "We accept your presence here. Mother accepts all dragon visitors."
"My name is... My name is...." Onikunshu lowered his head. He couldn't remember what his secret name was supposed to be.
"O-S-C-A-R!" cried Aremis from her file. Aldarion joined in with her.
"My bologna has a second name," he sang.
Together, they finished: "It's M-A-Y-E-R!"
Three of the dragons in the scene burst out laughing. One of them laughed so hard that he snorted an enormous jet of flames from his nostrils. Presently, I turned to the glass window that separated myself from the story. I would have to clean up that nasty burn mark later.
Bing! Bong! Bing! Bong! Bong! Bing! Bing! Bong!
"Aha!" I announced, watching my OCs sit directly on the spot and flip out their metal lunch boxes. "Joe! Lunchtime!"
Joe got up from his secretary desk and followed me out of the door. To the Great Dining Hall!... well, actually, it was The Great Cafeteria. Oh well.
*see http://naheka.tripod.com/dragoneyeryu for reference to the source of this language.