Disclaimer: Legolas and everything Middle-Earth related belongs to a veritable genius and (probably) saint named J.R.R. Tolkien. The voice used in all caps is reminiscent of the character Death, who belongs to Terry Pratchett, another genius but probably not a saint by any means. Death does not belong to me either. snaps fingers in disappointment Ah, well. Yeah, about the only characters that belong to me are Kay (also known as Kayla) and… well, I could say that Patsy belonged to me but honestly he doesn't, even if he is my bitch. In all honesty he belongs to himself. Oh, yeah, Gandelf belongs to me, too. He's a mini-balrog I stole from The Cap'n. Also, the ideas of mini-balrogs and urple belong to Miss Cam. I think. If I should technically not own Gandelf, let me know. Otherwise, move on and read the random rambling below that I would like to call a "story." Thanks, have a good day, and try not to set your laundry on fire.

Chapter One: A Rather Slow Beginning

"Can we go now?" I demanded. "I would like to leave before my cell phone rings again, if you don't mind."

"Apologies," Legolas answered. "But I am fascinated by this. You're telling me that by moving this lever this contraption will actually move without any beasts of transport attached to it in any way…?"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying. It's called a stick shift-"

My cell phone chose that moment to ring. I shot the blonde elf a dark look that would have scared him out of his pants had he been focusing on something other than my '88 Cutlass Oldsmobile, and I flipped open the phone, glancing at the caller ID. I growled at it in frustration, and grated, "HELLO."

"Knock it off," came Patsy's casual reply. It was annoying how the voice of Death could scare most people (including Legolas) right out of their underwear, and yet… it had no obvious effect on Patsy. God works in strange and sometimes sickly ironic ways. "I'm not a fangirl, I'm your fic-roller. Listen, I need you to-"

"No!" I shouted at him, indulging in some childish behavior and stomping my foot on the driveway. "No, no, no! I'm not doing anything for anyone. I'm not even here. I supposedly left three hours ago and am now rearranging the furniture in Rivendell's guest bedroom to my liking, and not Elrond's. No one is getting any favors for four weeks, understood?"

"If you're not here, why can I still hear you?"

I honestly think it's a British thing. Only Patsy – who is British – is so infuriating at times like this, without even getting out of line. His tone of voice doesn't even change. I really wish I could do that.

"Well… see… I wanted to show off my car, and… well…"

"You made the mistake of showing it off to someone who had never seen a car or even heard the word 'automobile' before, right?"

"Er… yeah." I shot a dark look at the bevy of fangirls congregated at the end of my driveway. People know Legolas when they see him. Fangirls know Legolas when they see him. Legolas-lusters know Legolas when they see him. They only reason they were not stampeding the elf was that my mini-balrog, Gandelf, was keeping them at bay and cackling semi-evilly. It worked well enough. Even Legolas wasn't bothered.

"You can all leave now!" I shouted at the enchanted crowd. At the rate they were drooling I probably wouldn't have to water my lawn for a week. My dad would appreciate that. I think. "He's not going anywhere except with me, and we're going back to where he's from. – No tagalongs, either!"

I probably should have just kept my mouth shut. Later, Patsy told me he certainly thought so, too. The truth is, when the fangirls decided that they were indeed not going to be able to shag Legolas dearest, they tossed aside all apparent regard for their lives and started to stampede.

"Aw, shit," I growled, snapping my phone shut. Gandelf, looking a little vexed and yet somewhat "in the know", dove into my backpack just as I opened up a plot-hole to transport me and Legolas out of there.

I had forgotten something very important, though. Being an MSTer and being immune to most of the "hot vibes" that Legolas, Aragorn, Inigo Montoya, and Jack Sparrow give off, I have access to them at any time and usually see them about every day. I spend long amounts of time with them, MSTing and so on. Now, word of this eventually got out, and suddenly I had fangirls stalking me, hiding under my bed with eating utensils as weapons… one time a girl ended up in my dryer and wouldn't come out for three days. MSTing can get to be a dangerous business.

So what did I forget?

I forgot the security system I installed last summer.

A force field shot up about four feet away from me and the sprinklers came on, dousing the fangirls with fair amounts of urple… something, and doing no damage to my lawn. Legolas glanced at them sideways and grinned at me. Several girls stopped screaming and clawing and struggling and running in circles long enough to faint.

"Forgot the urple sprinkler system?" he asked. I nodded. Gandelf peeked over my shoulder at the suffering fangirls and stuck his tongue out at them.

"Can we go now?" I pleaded. "I want to be gone before somebody commissions me to MST something else."

"Consider us gone," he answered. He took my second backpack and, slinging it over one shoulder, stepped into the plot-hole and disappeared.

I turned to the crowd of fangirls. "Adios, ladies."

"What? Where are you going?" wailed one of the girls. She was probably wondering more about Legolas than me, but what did I care?

"I'm an MSTer," I told her. "Geese fly south for the winter. MSTers head for Rivendell."

I threw them a kiss and, cackling, I stepped into the plot-hole and closed it behind me.