Scary things happen when this girl remembers.
And what she remembers, she hasn't thought about in years. And now, suddenly, she has an idea again.
She picks up her laptop and begins to type. She has a few minutes before percussion club. And she's not going to dinner for half an hour . . .
CHAPTER 2
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl who went to a private school for very rich kids who wore Versace sunglasses and towel dresses and paid a lot of money to look tacky. She liked to have her boyfriend over at two in the morning and played Evanescence when everyone else was trying to study, and she never seemed to do any homework. The people in the room next door called her their Dumbass Loud Hallmate and consoled themselves by thinking of how she would probably not still be in school next year, but she called herself Moraeariel, because she was an idiot.
Moraeariel was very beautiful. She wore, as has previously been stated, Versace sunglasses and towel dresses, which were very expensive and made her look like a high-class sort of homeless person, or a particularly large variety of insect. She had long blonde hair that was frizzy from being bleached and spent her Saturdays by the pool, working on her impending case of skin cancer. But what nobody knew about Moraeariel was that she was really a highly skilled assassin, trained in the mystic and ancient art of Udon, which had been taught to her by her grandfather when she was young. Moraeariel was very strong and very fast and very good at concealing a gun in her towel-dress, which would have been impressive enough on its own even if it had been a handgun and not an AK-47.
At this point in her life, Moraeariel had already taken out many high-profile targets, the deaths of which were hushed up because (once again) Moraeariel was rich, and often left lots and lots of money at the scene of the crime. This system had never failed her once, and although the FBI had already found fingerprints and hair samples and false nails painted "Passionfruit Purple Pontification" and a bloody towel dress and a library card belonging to "Bilberia T. Loontifferitz," (which was her real name), and a piece of personalized stationary that said "from the desk of Moraeariel A. Starshinedust," (which was what she said her name was) at the scene of, well, pretty much every single one of her crimes, thanks to her they also had a bitchin' new stereo system with an eight-disc changer and brand-new tires and velvet-lined bulletproof vests, and for months they'd had their eyes on an eight-wheeled extra-reinforced armored van with spinning rims and blacklighted interior with real shag carpeting and glow-in-the-dark paint on the outside that said "FBI, Bitches, word to your mother," so at that moment they told everyone they really didn't have enough evidence to convict her. And Moraeariel was thankful for the corruption inherent in the system.
However, Moraeariel was also a sensitive and thoughtful soul, who loved singing and nature and looking at the stars and her kitten Mr. Fluffles, who was her best friend in the world. Moraeariel would whisper her deepest, darkest secrets to Mr. Fluffles, and Mr. Fluffles would look at her with big brown kitteney eyes and pee on her shoes, and Moraeariel would know that she was truly loved.
As it so happened, Moraeariel was walking in the woods one day with Mr. Fluffles, her hot pink towel dress stained from her latest kill. She sat down on a rock, meaning to touch up her nails and maybe polish her AK-47, but suddenly found herself falling through a dark and endless abyss, along with Mr. Fluffles. When she landed, she found herself in an entirely different place – a barren wasteland full of rocks and dust and big giant towers, a hopeless place of despair and darkness. Moraeariel had fallen into Mordor, and standing before her was none other than the Dark Lord Sauron.
Now, Moraeariel had a thing for bad boys, so she instantly fell in love, and apparently Sauron had a thing for bloodstained towel dresses, because so did he. They promptly had mad hot monkey sex, took a cigarette break, had mad hot monkey sex again, had randy crazed monkey sex, just for some variety, and finally remembered that they hadn't actually exchanged two words, apart from "Yes!" and "Oh!" and "Your tower! It's so . . . compensated for!"
"What is your name?" asked Sauron, completely enamored of this foreign beauty from another world.
"My name," said Bilberia T. Loontifferitz, with a proud toss of her hair, "is Moraeariel."
"And what is that?" asked Sauron, pointing at her AK-47.
"This is a gun," said Moraeariel.
"And what is it for?" prompted Sauron.
"It is for killing things," said Moraeariel.
Sauron said "Sweet," or something similar, and promptly stole the gun from Moraeariel and blew her full of bulletholes.
"My tower ISN'T compensating," he said, rather sulkily, and wandered off to inspect his new toy.
The next day, hordes of orcs attacked Middle-earth, armed with AK-47s. However, they still lost, because the orcs turned out to be terrible shots and mostly ended up killing each other. Moraeariel's estate went to the FBI, who got their bitchin' van. And her hallmates were never disturbed at 2 in the morning again. The Goth girl from the previous chapter salvaged all the AK-47s and used them in her performance art, while the girl with the guitar provided the background music.
As for Mr. Fluffles, he became Sauron's official Petting Kitty, as those were very much in vogue with Dark Lords.
The end.
Dedicated to everyone who has even had an annoying hallmate.
-Lú