Author: TICS
Rating: R
Summery: Glorfindel pays someone an unexpected visit.
Disclaimer: I don't own them…I just play with them for a while, and always make sure to put them back exactly where I found them.
Genre: Humor. AU…please do not expect anything even remotely resembling canon here. Feedback greatly appreciated…desired…wanted…needed…:D
A/N: I have changed the rating of this fic to "R" since it seems to be developing a tad more bawdier than I had first envisioned it to be.Chapter 21
Mr. Maia
The Author, having left the bickering Elves behind in the kitchen, left the House in search of Mithrandir. Slowly strolling down the main street in town, she realized that Valinor reminded her a lot of every tourist trap seaside village on the East Coast.
On one side of the cobble stone street were small shops, each pastel colored clapboard façade lined with long window boxes filled with fragrant flowers - except for one. This one particular shop was rather run-down, its clapboard fading to a nondescript gray, its window box filled with tacky, plastic daisies. An overhead sign, faded and cracked read, " Gil's Smoke Shop."
Smirking, she knew exactly where she could find the Maia.
Opening the door, a small bell tinkled somewhere over her head as her nostrils were assaulted by the pungent odor of tobacco.
Squinting, standing by the door waiting for her eyes to adjust to the smoky, dim interior, her eyes picked out a long glass counter that ran the length of one side of the room, filled with boxes and pouches, pipes and papers, and a variety of glass jars which were filled with dark leaves, presumably tobacco. Scanning the store, she finally saw three figures gathered around a chessboard off to one side of the room. Each held a pipe between their teeth, puffing away, concentrating on the game. One seemed elderly, having long white hair and an equally long white beard, his battered, dusty, pointed hat plopped on his head, the point flopped over to one side. Another seemed younger, an Elf with glossy black hair, swarthy skin, and dark blue eyes, while the third was short, squat, and sported thick, frizzy red hair and a long, braided beard.
"Argh…what are ye thinking? Are ye daft, Gil-Galad? If ye move yer knight, it will put yer Queen in jeopardy!" the short figured grumbled to the dark haired figure. "Think before ye move, ye damned silly Elf!"
"Mind your tongue, Dwarf!" muttered the white-haired figure. "Always sticking that mountain in the middle of your face that you call a nose in everyone else's affairs…"
"Bah…yer just bothered because the Elf is beatin' ye, Gandalf…"
"Gimli, I've a good mind to cast a spell that will put that mouth of yours to rest for a milennia."
"Leave him be, Mithrandir. At least he only runs at the mouth when he has something to say, unlike a certain Maia in this room who can ramble on for hours about absolutely nothing!" Gil-Galad growled, placing his Bishop in position to block Mithrandir's anticipated move.
The Author cleared her throat politely, waiting for one of the three to acknowledge her presence.
"ARGH! Gandalf! Not yer rook, man! Not yer rook!" Gimli cried, pounding his fist into his knee in frustration.
"Are you playing this game, or am I, Dwarf? I know what I am doing!" Mithrandir exclaimed, knitting his considerably bushy brows at the Dwarf, sniffing imperiously as he moved his rook on the board.
"Checkmate," Gil-Galad said, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest, looking as smug as only an Elf could manage.
"Pardon me…" the author said, stepping into the store and walking closer to the trio hunched over the board.
"I tried to tell ye, Gandalf…" Gimli muttered, shaking his frizzy head. "But ye never listen to me."
Mithrandir studied the board, staring at the pieces as if their positions on the board might change if he glared at them long enough. Finally, he tipped over his King and sighed. "Good game. Play another?"
The author cleared her throat politely, but only the Elf acknowledged her presence. "Welcome. How may I help you, young woman?"
"Hi. I was looking for Mithrandir…" the author answered, eyeing the white bearded figure who was busily setting up the chess board for another game.
"By the Valar, Gandalf! How is it that your wrinkled, puckered old puss can manage to keep attracting such lovely young creatures as this? I can barely manage to convince anyone to take a tumble with me without giving her a pocketful of gems…" the Dwarf laughed, elbowing the Maia.
"…or a great deal of liquor," Mithrandir mumbled through his beard.
"Uncalled for, Gandalf…poor form, my boy," Gil-galad laughed, clapping his hand on the Dwarf's shoulder.
The author placed her tape recorder down in the center of the chess board, and turned it on.
Author: Mithrandir, I wonder if I might have a few moments of your time.
Mithrandir: Of course…if you'll allow me a moment to collect myself, I believe Gil-galad has a bed in the backroom we can use. It's probably a bit dusty, but 'twill serve for a quick tumble."
Author: Eww. I'm not here to sleep with you, Mithrandir.
Gimli: How about me, Lass? I am willing…
Author: Double Eww. No, I just wanted to talk to Mithrandir.
Mithrandir: Talk? Well, isn't that refreshing! Certainly, my young woman…what would you like to talk about?
Author: Me, getting home.
Mithrandir: Oh, now I remember…you're the young human Glorfindel brought here…the Interment writer.
Author: Internet, sir…it's the Internet. Yes, I am. And I'd like to go back now, if you please.
Mithrandir: Why?
Author: Why? Because it's my home…I don't belong here…these Elves are all nuts. No offense, Your Majesty.
Gil-Galad: No offense taken. Have you seen Thranduil's Elvis? He's actually quite good…
Author: Yes, sir…he's very convincing. For a loon.
Gimli: What do you mean 'double eww?' What's wrong with a Dwarf?
Author: Nothing…I just don't sleep with anyone who can't climb on the bed without help. It's not you…it's just me.
Mithrandir: I suppose I could send you back…it may take a little while though…perhaps a few hundred years.
Author: A few HUNDRED years? You're as batty as the rest of them around here! I'll be dead before then!
Gil-Galad: Then it won't matter if he sends you back, now will it?
Author: I want to go home, now! Not tomorrow…not next week…DEFINITELY not in a few hundred years…NOW!
Mithrandir: These things take some time, dear. They must be done with finesse…with careful planning…deep consideration…a good…deal…of…zzzzzzzzz.
Author: Mithrandir?
Gimli: The bloody slacker's nodded off again. GANDALF!
Mithrandir: Cough. Huh?
Gimli: Fer the love of Eru, wake up! Ye damned old coot!
Author: Send me home, Mithrandir!
Mithrandir: Oh hello…who are you?
Author: ARGH!
the tape rolls on for as Gimli and Gil-galad snort, and the Author slaps at Mithrandir's hat
Gil-galad: He's been having a bit of a memory problem lately…he is over…well…Mithrandir…how old are you, anyway?
Mithrandir: Huh? Who are you?
Gil-galad: Oh my. You may as well go back to the House, young woman…when he gets like this it is often quite a while before he feels himself once more.
Gimli: Aye, Lass…we'll bring him to ye when he's back to his old self again.
Author: Damn it. Fine. But if I have to sleep with one more Elf because of this, I'm holding the three of you completely responsible!
The author clicks off the tape recorder, and prepares to storm out of the Smoke Shop. Gimli's voice reaches her just before the door swings shut.
"Lass! I found me stepladder! Lass? Lass!"