Author: TICS
Rating: PG13
Summery: Glorfindel pays someone an unexpected visit.
Genre: Humor. AU…please do not expect anything even remotely resembling canon here. Feedback greatly appreciated…desired…wanted…needed…:D Warning: Patricia, slash-lover extraordinaire, has requested that I include a choking hazard warning: may induce uncontrolled spewage on the keyboards. Keep fic away from food and beverages.Chapter 13
The Interviews - Elrond
She picked up her tape recorder from the library early in the morning of the next day, relieved that Celeborn was no longer lurking in the library, noting in passing that Elrond's porn stash was missing from the sofa where she'd last seen it. It also was not on the shelf, and she assumed that the Lorien Perv Lord had taken it with him whenever it was that he finally left the library. Seeing that her tape had run itself out, she figured that he'd been in here talking to himself for at least an hour after she'd run screaming into the halls.
She had an appointment that morning to interview Lord Elrond, and didn't want to be late…she had the feeling that it was going to be a doozy.
Finding her way to the study where she had been told that the interview was to take place, she rapped sharply on the mahogany door.
"Come in…"
Opening the door, she stepped into the room, allowing the door to close softly behind her. She looked over to her right and immediately noticed Erestor.
The Advisor was standing before a piece of stretched canvas on an easel, wearing nothing but a white smock, a jaunty red beret atop his gleaming ebony tresses, and holding a paintbrush in his hand.
At least, she hoped it was a paintbrush.
Her brain barely had the time to properly register the information her eyes were sending it before she noticed the reclined figure on the sofa on the other side of Erestor.
Draped over the sofa, one knee bent, one arm thrown behind his head, the other holding a bunch of dark purple grapes over his mouth, lay the Imladris Lord himself…in all his Peredhil glory.
"Um…I think perhaps I should come back later…"
"No, no, my dear," Erestor said, waving his free hand at her to enter, "you won't disturb me…I can work through anything…"
"Right, but…I think perhaps it would be better…"
"No, no…come in, come in…no need to be shy. Erestor is painting my portrait for the Main Hall," Elrond called from the sofa.
"My Lord…I would really feel more comfortable if you were, er…wearing something when I interviewed you."
"I am wearing something…I am wearing my mithril crown," he said, gesturing toward the shining metal headpiece with his bunch of grapes.
Touché.
"Okay…if you insist…"
"Oh, we do…we do…"
Damn pervy Elves.
She sat herself on the chair furthest from the artist and his model, which wasn't very far at all. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, hoping fervently that her tape recorder would continue to work despite the bath of drool she just knew she was going to be giving it.
Turning it on - the tape recorder, not…oh, you know the drill - she sat back in her chair and let her eyes wander back and forth between Erestor and Elrond.
She must have looked like she was having a seizure.
Author: So, Lord Elrond…you're having this portrait done for the Great Hall?
Elrond: Yes! It needs something classy. Nudes are always classy. I wanted Erestor to paint it on black velvet, but he refused.
Erestor: Don't pout, Elrond…I told you that I'm saving the black velvet for Glorfindel's portrait. He'll look better on the black velvet because of all that lovely golden hair of his.
Elrond: Bah. Next thing you'll be telling us is that blondes have more fun.
Erestor: They do with me…
Author: Drool.
Erestor: Elrond, your grapes are moving.
Elrond: No, they aren't. I am holding them perfectly still…see?
Erestor: Not those grapes.
Elrond: Oh. Sorry…it's a bit chilly in here.
Author: Drool.
Elrond: I met Celeborn this morning, and he was telling me that you'd had a most interesting interview with him yesterday…did you know that those booklets were first edition collector's pieces, signed by the artist?
Erestor: That's me!
Elrond: Of course, I only have them so that I could read the articles.
Author: Drool. Rolls eyes. Drool.
Erestor: Elrond, you're moving again!
Elrond: Sorry…I can't help it. Those articles were very stimulating.
Author: Drool. Clunk.
The tape rolls on, but it is clear that the interview has come to an end, since the Author has fainted dead away, hitting the floor with a rather loud thump.
Erestor cocks an eyebrow at her, holds out his thumb, judging the composition of the piece he is working on of Elrond, and quickly paints in the unconscious artist into a corner of the canvas.
Her butt in the air, head down in a puddle of her own drool, the Author's interview with Elrond is saved for posterity.