The Secret Lives of Elladan and Elrohir 2

"Okay, we're back in business, I got the pen."

"Oh, good. May I have the honour of breaking it in?"

"No, you didn't have to brave Erestor, he was there you know."

"Ugh, horrible old fellow."

"You can say that again, he practically made me go under the third degree and then he gave me another one of his dreadful lectures on how positively devious I was being for, let me put it this way, 'pilfering his stationery' "

"Well, never mind, let's get on with the writing."

Uh huh, we'll start with yesterday then.

All right, yesterday, mum made us clean out our rooms,

Elrohir, I think we need a bit of an introduction there.

It's coming, I'm not stupid.

Yeah, yeah whatever.

--, actually, we don't have separate rooms, it's just what we tell everyone. In actual fact, we've been sleeping in the same room all our lives, Arwen has her own room though, dad says it's because "boys and girls cannot sleep together" (although we seriously dispute that—unless of course you're the otherway inclined) but it's just 'cos dad's a miser so he just chucked the both of us together. As for our lovely little sister, she's got her very own frilly, lacy, drapey room that's filled with all the most grotesque, fluffy stuffed animals because if she didn't she'd make a huge fuss and make sure old dad never got a moment's peace again.

Uh huh, so we were cleaning out our room because dad absolutely insisted we did it… …well, no, actually he just walked in to do another one of his "spot checks" when he accidentally trod on a palette of wet paint since we were all of a sudden seized by this great urge to do some drawing, and the palette just flipped and paint splattered everywhere. Dad flipped too then, he just started yelling at us for "leaving rubbish everywhere" and about how we had "ruined" his best pair of trousers and also about how he "could have broken his back if he had fallen".

Yeah, you should have heard him roar! He started ranting and raving about what an absolute dog's nest our room was and that we "had better start cleaning the bloody pigsty out before somebody dies of the health hazard".

So we had to stop painting and start tidying up, and it's truly dreadful having to get rid of at least a century's worth of mess at one go--you mean five hundred year's mess!

"Boys, I've just managed to get a dental appointment!"

"Who's it for?"

"You two obviously, who did you think it'd be for! Me? I'm the one who knows how to take care of his teeth, now get off your lazy bums and get changed, we're going now."

"You mean we're going now?"

"Well, that's obvious, now go get changed, I expect to see you in the car in fifteen minutes."

It's us again, we're doing this writing in the car so it's a bit wobbly. Anyway, dad's just sprung another one on us again, we're going to the dentist's. He started doing that ever since the last time he told us in advance that we'd be going to the dentist's, still remember what we did Elladan? Uh huh, we ran off and hid in mum's closet and dad thought we'd been kidnapped or something. Yeah, and then he was all huffy when he finally found us 'cause he'd already lodged a police report, sent his very best press-conference outfit to the dry-cleaner's and cried buckets while being interviewed on national TV. But it was pretty much worth it, huh? Obviously, we'd missed our appointment and so dad couldn't get one for another six months!

We've always hated going to the dentist's, I still have vague memories of us in grade school, Elladan would always trot out all sorts of excuses right before it was his turn to go to the school dentist for a check-up--

"Oh look! You've just made a squiggly line there!"

"Well, it serves you right for writing that."

"No fighting in the car."

"Alright, fine."

"Deepest apologies, dad."

"That's better."

Well, I also have vague memories of you having the strangest habit of going to the bathroom and staying there for an hour right before your turn. And I strangely remember that you always tagged along with me. Only for moral support! Yeah, you dug your nails so hard into my palms that they left marks there for days to give me moral support. Oh? I remember that you did the same! Never mind! We were both afraid of the dentist, let's just leave it at that. Uh huh.

(in whispers)

"Oh dear, we're nearly there."

"I was afraid of that."

We're terrified now, ever since we left school we've been eating gummy sweets for breakfast every day, and we've been neglecting to brush our teeth when we wake up in the morning. Yeah, that dentist is a real drag and each time we go there, we get this dreadful lecture on how to take care of our teeth. Plus, the guy has this habit of sticking all sorts of things into his victim's mouth (the last time we went there, he left one of those metal mini-ice picks in my mouth when I was strapped in that operating seat) while he putters about getting all the other stuff ready.

"All right, we've arrived and I see we've got five minutes to dash up to the dentist's before you two are late, come on now, chop chop, get out of the car, I haven't all day boys."

"Coming dad."

All right, gloom and doom, we're here already and I so know what we're going to get. Yeah, Why, I tremble at the very thought--

"Come on, we're going to be late if you don't speed up there."

"I know, we're…"

"Coming dad."

of what awaits us.

"Hurry up boys! Stop writing that-that-­thing and get out of the car!"

"Sure, we're,"

"Hurry up then, hurry, hurry, hurry! We're going to be late already so if you don't get your bloody ass out of the car right now I going to kill you both!"

(in whispers)

"Better get a move on now. Well, anyway, farewell my dearest brother."

"Yeah, same to you too my good comrade."

Well, here we are and we're back in the car on the way home. We got three hours each of TTT, Terrible Tooth Torture in case you don't know (which is obvious 'cos you must have spent the last millennium in Erestor's stationary closet which is even more isolated than the Dead Marshes which is now a major tourist attraction), and came out of the O. R (Operating Room) with braces. Uh huh, and they aren't even the nice, rainbow-coloured plastic types, dad wanted them boring grey to match his election campaign colour scheme (election campaigns come once every eighty years, this is one of those unfortunate years, we're afraid)and anyway, the pretty type costs about two times the price of this variety. In addition to being the sort of dad who expects his kids (well, only the two of us) to walk around wearing billboards saying "Vote for Lord Elrond" each time an election campaign rolls along, he's also a cheapskate. Another thing is now, we've got to be absolutely quiet, dad's in a bad mood--you mean a towering temper, you should have heard the old man just now, he was ranting and raving and absolutely thundering at us 'cos we acted "undignified" in front of all the "Citizens of Imladris" and made him "appear cruel" and look like a "bad father". We didn't make him appear cruel and a bad father, he is cruel and a bad father. Of course, he doesn't know that.

Look! We're nearly home. Uh huh, you know what it means, ­don't you? Yeah, same thing every time—it's what keeps our heads sitting on our shoulders. So it's still on the count of three? Mm hmm, in case you're lost in there, we're discussing survival measures (it might sound a bit extreme to you all lovely sappy-dappy story-book people but real life's different. Yes indeedy, t'is a perilous world--you're channeling Leggy-dear there--obviously, who else in this bloody-shit world sounds so gay? But back to thesubject, we're digressing there. Okay, so where were we? Survival tactics. Ah, yes, here we are. So we were about to explain the whole enterprise to you, dear diary, until we got, hmm, slight bit distracted there. So, yeah, this is the way whenever Dad gets mad which is, like, all the time--don't interrupt Elly--so, as I was saying, whenever Daddykins throws another one of his little tantrums in the car, we always try to make ourselves scarce when we reach home. Now it's practically protocol for us two though the whole thing gets him damn mad. Before the car stops completely enough for common sense to tell everyone else to get out, we count to three, then fling the car doors open (this is why we've made it a habit to sit on either side of the car, never the middle), jump straight out and bolt off to a suitable hiding place.

(in whispers)

"Elrohir, we're nearly there."

"Okay, on the count of three, ­One……….­Two………"

"All together now."

"THREE!"

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU BOYS THINK YOU'RE DOING!"

(Random gardener looks up and gasps, Elrond stares daggers at him. Gardener looks away, goes back to trimming the hedges.)

Okay, it's us speaking right now.

"Elrohir, your foot's sticking into me."

"Which bit?"

"Don't even think of making one of your fucking jokes here! I mean it both ways, I can see your face there."

"Oh, look babe it ain't my fault I inherited all the funny genes in the family, and it wasn't me who chose this shitty shed in the first place so if any bit of me is sticking into you, well, you know whose fault it is."

"Yeah, you're funny alright--up there."

So anyway we're stuck in some moldy little garden shed and it's really dark and damp here so our handwriting's sure to turn out wobbly--bear with it. Uh huh, dad's still mad, he'll kill us if we come out now, so here we are, stuck in little old Mini Mirkwood. Really, we ought to buy the gardener a nice, colourful sign saying just that. Thranduil wouldn't appreciate that—remember, diplomacy. Oh well, in life one can't expect everything--oh no, I'm getting hungry. So am I, urgh--stupid! When do you suppose we can come out of this bloody place? No time near. Do you think we'll actually have to camp out here? Perhaps……oh, bloody-blast, it's dark out already. Shit. Shit is right.

"My god, I'm sore all over and my eyes hurt."

"Not much we can do about it, ­why don't we just get some sleep here? Then tomorrow we'll get up extra early and sneak in before anybody else is up."

"Sounds good to me. Night."

"Sleep tight then. I expect the stars are out."

"Good."

"You know, I'm glad I'm not alone."

"I suppose I could say the same."

Hi everybud, we've been taking a super-long, long, long time to upload our little journal for your viewing pleasure 'cos the formatting went all wrong in our shitty computer--well, no, Arwen borrowed it and after that, buggered up the thing-- the whole page of typed-up journal became a blizzard of upside-down exclamation marks and we had to send our computer for serviceing before we could type the stuff in again.

Okay, nobody is allowed to read it, but everyone out there is nosyand we've given up--anyway, we live in a seperate universe.