Disclaimer: Go see Chapter One. I'm not going to say it again.
Welcome to Chapter Two! **Looks around to see that only three people are reading, all looking bored and sleepy. Sighs. Scowls at the thought of the task she is about to attempt, and then shakes head determinedly** Before we go on, a little housekeeping:
Blue Jedi Hobbit 009: Did I even get the "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish pajamas? ; And what a coincidence. I thought **I** was the only one who'd ever heard of the Eels. Small World...
And, yes, there is another song in this chapter. This time it's:
Artist: Billy Joel
Album: Piano Man
Title: Piano Man
Now. I'm a little shaky with this chapter. I'm not really sure how to do it, in terms of the canon. I'm not looking to create a by-the-book "This-is-probably-how-Tolkien-would-have-gone-about-writing-it" type story, and yet I'm not going to have a "Okay, cool! Hey, Haldir, let's go get a burger!" feel to it.
...I hope.
_________________
Chapter Two
_________________
I woke up and promptly rolled over, hoping to gain another five, ten, maybe even fifteen minutes of sleep.
I promptly thwacked my head on something hard and rough, thus destroying any hope of catching some extra zzzs. I opened my eyes, simply thinking that my cat Cosa had dragged in one helluva twig. Instead of finding the twig, I found the whole damn tree and the forest, too.
I sighed, wondering if maybe I had just slept walked outside and into the woods behind my house. I'd never done that before, but there's a first time for quite a few things. But then again, these were some big ass trees. Nothing like the scruffy little things that dare to call themselves trees I had in my backyard.
I shrugged, and seeing as how nothing was going to be accomplished if I just stood there, took off in the direction I presumed was north. (The closest thing I had ever had to "wilderness survival training" was three days without power.) Well, after an incalculable time of bored wandering, I had accomplished absolutely nothing, save for getting myself dirty and a bit beat up and utterly confused.
I sank down onto a surprisingly comfortable rock. My current situation sucked to high heaven, but on the rose-colored side, anything was better than high school. Surprisingly, the prevailing emotion wasn't fear, like one might think. (I knew that I could survive quite a while without food and I had heard various sources of running water along the way. I figured that I could keep myself alive for a solid month, which should give plenty of time for someone to find me. So I was pretty well sure that the situation would stay stable for at the very least a few days.)
The prevailing emotion was, of all things, boredom. After you see so many different forms of vegetation, they all start to look alike. I racked my brain, trying to think of something to do. The only thing my oh-so-creative mind could come up with was singing. Now, logic told me two things:
One - That someone or something harmful could hear the singing and realize that it was coming from fresh meat
Two - I sound like a dying farm animal when trying to sing.
I just decided to screw logic and do it anyway, as the boredom was getting to be nerve-wracking. Sorting through the various songs I had stored away in my head, I finally came upon a fairly agreeable one.
"It's nine o'clock on a Saturday
The regular crowd shuffles in
There's an old man sitting next to me
Makin' love to his tonic and gin
He says, 'Son, can you play me a memory?
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes'
La la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da
Sing us a song, you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright
Now John at the bar is a friend of mine
He gets me my drinks for free
And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke
But there's someplace that he'd rather be
He says, 'Bill, I believe this is killing me.'
As the smile ran away from his face
'Well I'm sure that I could be a movie star
If I could get out of this place'
Oh, la la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da
Now Paul is a real estate novelist
Who never had time for a wife
And he's talkin' with Davy who's still in the navy
And probably will be for life
And the waitress is practicing politics
As the businessmen slowly get stoned
Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness
But it's better than drinkin' alone
Sing us a song, you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright
It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday
And the manager gives me a smile
'Cause he knows that it's me they've been comin' to see
To forget about life for a while
And the piano, it sounds like a carnival
And the microphone smells like a beer
And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar
And say, "Man, what are you doin' here?"
Oh, la la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da
Sing us a song, you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright"
I sighed yet again. Somehow that had made me feel a bit better about things. But that bit was still only a tiny fraction. I was still confused and pissed off, the latter stemming from the former. Seeing as how no-one had shot at me yet and that nothing had eaten me, I decided that I would be okay as long as I moved. So my little woodland adventure continued.
Some unspecified time later (that felt like forever, but one can never tell with these types of things...suffice to say that it was over fifteen minutes?) I almost walked right into a sharp, pointy thing. An arrowhead to be precise. I looked up to see that the guy pointing it at me looked like a Renaissance Faire escapee, all earthy colored clothes and leather boots and long hair and whatnot. Maybe he'd gotten lost.
"Look, I don't know where the Renaissance Fair is, but it's not here." He simply blinked at me. Maybe he wasn't a native speaker of English, then.
"Habla Ustead Espanol?" Hopefully that would be it. I was in Spanish One, which would at least give me enough vocabulary to communicate. But, alas, no dice. Figuring that neither of us could be of any help to the other, I turned to go.
Only to find more Renaissance Faire escapees, all of which were pointing arrows at me, too. Being the cynical person I was, I snorted in their faces.
"Oh, please! Be logical! I am obviously in the worst shape of my life, I'm unarmed," to prove this, I held out my hands so they could see them, "I'm lost, and I'm generally confused. What chance do I have against some clearly fit, armed people who know where're they're going?" This appeared to have the desired effect. One of the men stepped forward and said something in a language that was quite clearly not English to the others, who dropped their weapons. That was an improvement.
"We are terribly sorry, milady," he said in what definitely was English. I wrote off the "milady" as simply role-playing. I don't know why, seeing as how I didn't look the part, but the Renaissance Faire type can be like that. "Tell me, what is your name?"
"Fiona Pizzacorroli. Pleased to meet you. And your name would be...?"
"Airegolloin, Son of Morelin. May I be of assistance to you, Lady Fiona?"
"Sure. Just point me to the nearest highway, and I can probably hitch to where I want to go from there." I had drawn a blank, apparently.
"What is a highway, and what exactly would you hitch to once you were there?" Okay, that was too much role-playing.
"Okay, look, I know you Renaissance Faire types like your role-playing, but I'm kind of in need of some help. Just tell me how to get to the nearest road, and I'll find my way home from there."
"The nearest road is not far, Lady Fiona, but it only leads to Rivendell."
"What is that? A backwoods motel or something of the like?" I had drawn a blank. Clearly, if I wanted to get home, I had to play by his rules.
"An inn, Lord Airegolloin." I said curtly. He looked insulted.
"Rivendell is far more than a simple inn."
"So it may be. Let me ask you: Does it have a telephone?"
"No, I do not believe there is a...'telephone' to be found in Rivendell, Lady Fiona."
**This does pose a slight problem, dunnit?**
"Is there any way of contacting the outside world, then?"
"Yes. You can walk outside through a door. Or a window, if you prefer." Airegolloin replied, a bit of mockery glinting in his eyes.
"What I mean is, would I have any way of contacting my parents in Annapolis, Maryland?"
"Pray tell, where is that?"
**Okaaay. This'll be something to tell the grandkids. Sleepwalking to another country!**
"The United States, Lord Airegolloin."
"I am sorry, but I do not know where that is, Lady Fiona."
**Jeez, where am I, anyways?! The only places that I can see not having heard of the US are some of the more remote provinces in Africa. And this doesn't look like Africa.** I figured I'd try a different approach.
"And where am I, pray tell?"
"You are in Rivendell, Lady Fiona."
"And pray tell, where is that?"
"You have never heard of Rivendell?"
"Not once." I answered truthfully.
"Then, pray tell, have you ever heard of Middle-Earth?"
"Not once..."
**Not good. I'm stuck in a place I've never even heard of, with no phone and no way of contacting my parents. Or, in others words...
I'M ROYALLY SCREWED!!!**
_________________________
_________________________
I'm sorry for the abrupt ending, but I don't think I have any more in me…
Questions? Comments? Philosophical ramblings?
I'd love to hear them all!
Welcome to Chapter Two! **Looks around to see that only three people are reading, all looking bored and sleepy. Sighs. Scowls at the thought of the task she is about to attempt, and then shakes head determinedly** Before we go on, a little housekeeping:
Blue Jedi Hobbit 009: Did I even get the "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish pajamas? ; And what a coincidence. I thought **I** was the only one who'd ever heard of the Eels. Small World...
And, yes, there is another song in this chapter. This time it's:
Artist: Billy Joel
Album: Piano Man
Title: Piano Man
Now. I'm a little shaky with this chapter. I'm not really sure how to do it, in terms of the canon. I'm not looking to create a by-the-book "This-is-probably-how-Tolkien-would-have-gone-about-writing-it" type story, and yet I'm not going to have a "Okay, cool! Hey, Haldir, let's go get a burger!" feel to it.
...I hope.
_________________
Chapter Two
_________________
I woke up and promptly rolled over, hoping to gain another five, ten, maybe even fifteen minutes of sleep.
I promptly thwacked my head on something hard and rough, thus destroying any hope of catching some extra zzzs. I opened my eyes, simply thinking that my cat Cosa had dragged in one helluva twig. Instead of finding the twig, I found the whole damn tree and the forest, too.
I sighed, wondering if maybe I had just slept walked outside and into the woods behind my house. I'd never done that before, but there's a first time for quite a few things. But then again, these were some big ass trees. Nothing like the scruffy little things that dare to call themselves trees I had in my backyard.
I shrugged, and seeing as how nothing was going to be accomplished if I just stood there, took off in the direction I presumed was north. (The closest thing I had ever had to "wilderness survival training" was three days without power.) Well, after an incalculable time of bored wandering, I had accomplished absolutely nothing, save for getting myself dirty and a bit beat up and utterly confused.
I sank down onto a surprisingly comfortable rock. My current situation sucked to high heaven, but on the rose-colored side, anything was better than high school. Surprisingly, the prevailing emotion wasn't fear, like one might think. (I knew that I could survive quite a while without food and I had heard various sources of running water along the way. I figured that I could keep myself alive for a solid month, which should give plenty of time for someone to find me. So I was pretty well sure that the situation would stay stable for at the very least a few days.)
The prevailing emotion was, of all things, boredom. After you see so many different forms of vegetation, they all start to look alike. I racked my brain, trying to think of something to do. The only thing my oh-so-creative mind could come up with was singing. Now, logic told me two things:
One - That someone or something harmful could hear the singing and realize that it was coming from fresh meat
Two - I sound like a dying farm animal when trying to sing.
I just decided to screw logic and do it anyway, as the boredom was getting to be nerve-wracking. Sorting through the various songs I had stored away in my head, I finally came upon a fairly agreeable one.
"It's nine o'clock on a Saturday
The regular crowd shuffles in
There's an old man sitting next to me
Makin' love to his tonic and gin
He says, 'Son, can you play me a memory?
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes'
La la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da
Sing us a song, you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright
Now John at the bar is a friend of mine
He gets me my drinks for free
And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke
But there's someplace that he'd rather be
He says, 'Bill, I believe this is killing me.'
As the smile ran away from his face
'Well I'm sure that I could be a movie star
If I could get out of this place'
Oh, la la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da
Now Paul is a real estate novelist
Who never had time for a wife
And he's talkin' with Davy who's still in the navy
And probably will be for life
And the waitress is practicing politics
As the businessmen slowly get stoned
Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness
But it's better than drinkin' alone
Sing us a song, you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright
It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday
And the manager gives me a smile
'Cause he knows that it's me they've been comin' to see
To forget about life for a while
And the piano, it sounds like a carnival
And the microphone smells like a beer
And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar
And say, "Man, what are you doin' here?"
Oh, la la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da
Sing us a song, you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright"
I sighed yet again. Somehow that had made me feel a bit better about things. But that bit was still only a tiny fraction. I was still confused and pissed off, the latter stemming from the former. Seeing as how no-one had shot at me yet and that nothing had eaten me, I decided that I would be okay as long as I moved. So my little woodland adventure continued.
Some unspecified time later (that felt like forever, but one can never tell with these types of things...suffice to say that it was over fifteen minutes?) I almost walked right into a sharp, pointy thing. An arrowhead to be precise. I looked up to see that the guy pointing it at me looked like a Renaissance Faire escapee, all earthy colored clothes and leather boots and long hair and whatnot. Maybe he'd gotten lost.
"Look, I don't know where the Renaissance Fair is, but it's not here." He simply blinked at me. Maybe he wasn't a native speaker of English, then.
"Habla Ustead Espanol?" Hopefully that would be it. I was in Spanish One, which would at least give me enough vocabulary to communicate. But, alas, no dice. Figuring that neither of us could be of any help to the other, I turned to go.
Only to find more Renaissance Faire escapees, all of which were pointing arrows at me, too. Being the cynical person I was, I snorted in their faces.
"Oh, please! Be logical! I am obviously in the worst shape of my life, I'm unarmed," to prove this, I held out my hands so they could see them, "I'm lost, and I'm generally confused. What chance do I have against some clearly fit, armed people who know where're they're going?" This appeared to have the desired effect. One of the men stepped forward and said something in a language that was quite clearly not English to the others, who dropped their weapons. That was an improvement.
"We are terribly sorry, milady," he said in what definitely was English. I wrote off the "milady" as simply role-playing. I don't know why, seeing as how I didn't look the part, but the Renaissance Faire type can be like that. "Tell me, what is your name?"
"Fiona Pizzacorroli. Pleased to meet you. And your name would be...?"
"Airegolloin, Son of Morelin. May I be of assistance to you, Lady Fiona?"
"Sure. Just point me to the nearest highway, and I can probably hitch to where I want to go from there." I had drawn a blank, apparently.
"What is a highway, and what exactly would you hitch to once you were there?" Okay, that was too much role-playing.
"Okay, look, I know you Renaissance Faire types like your role-playing, but I'm kind of in need of some help. Just tell me how to get to the nearest road, and I'll find my way home from there."
"The nearest road is not far, Lady Fiona, but it only leads to Rivendell."
"What is that? A backwoods motel or something of the like?" I had drawn a blank. Clearly, if I wanted to get home, I had to play by his rules.
"An inn, Lord Airegolloin." I said curtly. He looked insulted.
"Rivendell is far more than a simple inn."
"So it may be. Let me ask you: Does it have a telephone?"
"No, I do not believe there is a...'telephone' to be found in Rivendell, Lady Fiona."
**This does pose a slight problem, dunnit?**
"Is there any way of contacting the outside world, then?"
"Yes. You can walk outside through a door. Or a window, if you prefer." Airegolloin replied, a bit of mockery glinting in his eyes.
"What I mean is, would I have any way of contacting my parents in Annapolis, Maryland?"
"Pray tell, where is that?"
**Okaaay. This'll be something to tell the grandkids. Sleepwalking to another country!**
"The United States, Lord Airegolloin."
"I am sorry, but I do not know where that is, Lady Fiona."
**Jeez, where am I, anyways?! The only places that I can see not having heard of the US are some of the more remote provinces in Africa. And this doesn't look like Africa.** I figured I'd try a different approach.
"And where am I, pray tell?"
"You are in Rivendell, Lady Fiona."
"And pray tell, where is that?"
"You have never heard of Rivendell?"
"Not once." I answered truthfully.
"Then, pray tell, have you ever heard of Middle-Earth?"
"Not once..."
**Not good. I'm stuck in a place I've never even heard of, with no phone and no way of contacting my parents. Or, in others words...
I'M ROYALLY SCREWED!!!**
_________________________
_________________________
I'm sorry for the abrupt ending, but I don't think I have any more in me…
Questions? Comments? Philosophical ramblings?
I'd love to hear them all!