A/N: I'm baaaaaaack!!! Yay, go me! My midterms are finished, so I can
put all my concentration back into the more important things in life---
namely, writing. Expect faster updates and longer chapters from now until
final exams. And thank you to all the loyal readers who're still with me;
this chapter's for you ^______^
Disclaimers: LOTR is mine. ::Tolkein's battalion of lawyers runs towards yours truly and tramples her into a bloody pulp in a flurry of briefcases and immaculate business attire:: Oookay, so LOTR isn't mine. Well. At least this fic is all mine.
Chapter 4: A Bit Further ~ ~ ~
We spent our first two hours in Bree trying to find the damn "Prancing Pony" inn. I suggested, several times, that it just might be the inn with the *statue of a prancing pony* in front, but would they listen to me? Noooooo. Frodo decided that wandering around in the goddamn rain was preferable to paying heed to the voice of the evil ring. He insisted on asking some locals instead. All the locals we stopped either a) pointed, laughed, and walked on, b) didn't see us and kept right on walking, or c) took one look at the hideous, muddy, slimy, hairy hobbit feet and ran off screaming.
We finally managed to corner a smarmy-looking old hagwoman, and Merry got the directions to the inn out of her by using sexual favours as a bribe. Good ol' Meriadock was friggin' lucky, in that the woman was nearly blind. He got away with making kissing sounds as she snogged with a lamp-post. We left her in the alley, slobbering on the post and murmuring something about "lovely young hobbit lips." If her eyesight had been intact, and had to make out with her...? Gah, nasty images in my head that make Sam's feet look good!
We finally ended up at the same damn inn that had the prancing pony statue. All the hobbits steadfastly ignored me and my "I toooooold you so!!!!!" Frodo got some looks for having a voice come from the depths of his bosom, but Bree is a very well-adjusted and open town, and no one said anything. Okay, everyone backed away from Frodo about three inches, but that was done discreetly, with as little insult as possible. Really. And no words were actually said about it.
Even though we were at least three hours late, Gandalf wasn't there. As Merry and Pippin proceeded to buy most of the bar, I realized with a sinking feeling in my jewelry equivalent of a stomach that Gandalf wasn't coming. Damn. And I couldn't even concentrate all my energy on hating him right then, because I had to keep an eye on some guy in the corner. A real shady character, who had been checking out my Frodo ever since we entered the inn. *My* Frodo. Grrr. Some fat dude with an apron passed by, and we were told that the shady guy's name was Strider. How fitting. A dog's name for a real dog. Yeah, buster, I'm talkin' to you. Keep those eyes on my boy any longer and I'll gouge them out.
Apparently, Frodo didn't share in my dislike of the man, because he had no qualms about going up to a room with him. I mean, really. Who would've thought that everybody's favourite hobbit-boy was such a slut? Landing in private rooms with strangers within minutes of meeting them. Heh. Guess you learn something new every day.
Strider had wide, crazy eyes, scraggly wet-looking hair, and a serious need for a shave. He spoke in a paranoid tone while pacing restlessly around the room, eyes darting around wildly and going on and on about how I was evil. He reeeeeeally reminded me of someone. A certain scraggly wet- looking someone, with a wheezy voice---no. No way. No. Fucking. Way. Strider couldn't be the infamous heir of Asthma Isildur, could he? No way!!! Well, I mean, it wasn't exactly impossible, and it would explain a lot of things (about his appearance, especially) but wouldn't that be too big of a coincidence? Like, the descendent of the man who got all pissy and tried to kill me is now here, getting all pissy and trying to kill me. Ain't fate just the strangest thing.
Of course, trust Gandalf to not be there to protect me from the new generation of Scruffy-Dudes-With-Asthma. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that Gandalf actually *sent* Strider to meet us in his stead. Was that, like, his idea of humour??? Because there is no fucking way that the wizard wasn't aware of the history between the Wheezing Clan and me. Stupid fucking Gandalf and his pointy hat. I'd kill him if my life didn't depend on him.
I was still grumbling and being ignored by Frodo and his new love/idol, Strider, when Sam, Pippin, and Merry burst into the room brandishing...um, assorted junk. Strider immediately slipped into the dumbass "heroic" mode characteristic of his kin. Like anyone really needs a big scary sword to defend themselves from those three. Like anyone actually needs to defend themselves from those three. They're each the size of a hairy lima bean, only less intelligent. Frodo, though, went all dewy-eyed at Strider, like he'd done something absolutely *wonderful*. I could gag. Stupid love- struck hobbit. The guy was about to lop the heads of your friends; shouldn't you be a little less adoring and a little more annoyed? And, as expected, I was told to "Shut up, Evil Ring." I told him to call me Al, but he was too busy making goo-goo eyes at Strider to hear me. And when Wet'n'Wheezy asked him to stay the night in his room, he said yes without a moment's hesitation. What a slut.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ TBC
Disclaimers: LOTR is mine. ::Tolkein's battalion of lawyers runs towards yours truly and tramples her into a bloody pulp in a flurry of briefcases and immaculate business attire:: Oookay, so LOTR isn't mine. Well. At least this fic is all mine.
Chapter 4: A Bit Further ~ ~ ~
We spent our first two hours in Bree trying to find the damn "Prancing Pony" inn. I suggested, several times, that it just might be the inn with the *statue of a prancing pony* in front, but would they listen to me? Noooooo. Frodo decided that wandering around in the goddamn rain was preferable to paying heed to the voice of the evil ring. He insisted on asking some locals instead. All the locals we stopped either a) pointed, laughed, and walked on, b) didn't see us and kept right on walking, or c) took one look at the hideous, muddy, slimy, hairy hobbit feet and ran off screaming.
We finally managed to corner a smarmy-looking old hagwoman, and Merry got the directions to the inn out of her by using sexual favours as a bribe. Good ol' Meriadock was friggin' lucky, in that the woman was nearly blind. He got away with making kissing sounds as she snogged with a lamp-post. We left her in the alley, slobbering on the post and murmuring something about "lovely young hobbit lips." If her eyesight had been intact, and had to make out with her...? Gah, nasty images in my head that make Sam's feet look good!
We finally ended up at the same damn inn that had the prancing pony statue. All the hobbits steadfastly ignored me and my "I toooooold you so!!!!!" Frodo got some looks for having a voice come from the depths of his bosom, but Bree is a very well-adjusted and open town, and no one said anything. Okay, everyone backed away from Frodo about three inches, but that was done discreetly, with as little insult as possible. Really. And no words were actually said about it.
Even though we were at least three hours late, Gandalf wasn't there. As Merry and Pippin proceeded to buy most of the bar, I realized with a sinking feeling in my jewelry equivalent of a stomach that Gandalf wasn't coming. Damn. And I couldn't even concentrate all my energy on hating him right then, because I had to keep an eye on some guy in the corner. A real shady character, who had been checking out my Frodo ever since we entered the inn. *My* Frodo. Grrr. Some fat dude with an apron passed by, and we were told that the shady guy's name was Strider. How fitting. A dog's name for a real dog. Yeah, buster, I'm talkin' to you. Keep those eyes on my boy any longer and I'll gouge them out.
Apparently, Frodo didn't share in my dislike of the man, because he had no qualms about going up to a room with him. I mean, really. Who would've thought that everybody's favourite hobbit-boy was such a slut? Landing in private rooms with strangers within minutes of meeting them. Heh. Guess you learn something new every day.
Strider had wide, crazy eyes, scraggly wet-looking hair, and a serious need for a shave. He spoke in a paranoid tone while pacing restlessly around the room, eyes darting around wildly and going on and on about how I was evil. He reeeeeeally reminded me of someone. A certain scraggly wet- looking someone, with a wheezy voice---no. No way. No. Fucking. Way. Strider couldn't be the infamous heir of Asthma Isildur, could he? No way!!! Well, I mean, it wasn't exactly impossible, and it would explain a lot of things (about his appearance, especially) but wouldn't that be too big of a coincidence? Like, the descendent of the man who got all pissy and tried to kill me is now here, getting all pissy and trying to kill me. Ain't fate just the strangest thing.
Of course, trust Gandalf to not be there to protect me from the new generation of Scruffy-Dudes-With-Asthma. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that Gandalf actually *sent* Strider to meet us in his stead. Was that, like, his idea of humour??? Because there is no fucking way that the wizard wasn't aware of the history between the Wheezing Clan and me. Stupid fucking Gandalf and his pointy hat. I'd kill him if my life didn't depend on him.
I was still grumbling and being ignored by Frodo and his new love/idol, Strider, when Sam, Pippin, and Merry burst into the room brandishing...um, assorted junk. Strider immediately slipped into the dumbass "heroic" mode characteristic of his kin. Like anyone really needs a big scary sword to defend themselves from those three. Like anyone actually needs to defend themselves from those three. They're each the size of a hairy lima bean, only less intelligent. Frodo, though, went all dewy-eyed at Strider, like he'd done something absolutely *wonderful*. I could gag. Stupid love- struck hobbit. The guy was about to lop the heads of your friends; shouldn't you be a little less adoring and a little more annoyed? And, as expected, I was told to "Shut up, Evil Ring." I told him to call me Al, but he was too busy making goo-goo eyes at Strider to hear me. And when Wet'n'Wheezy asked him to stay the night in his room, he said yes without a moment's hesitation. What a slut.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ TBC