I wrote this part while I was waiting in line to get my seats for Trilogy
Tuesday. That's right. I've seen Return of the King. Twice, actually, even
though it just came out yesterday. If you haven't seen it, GO! Now! What
are you waiting for? Go!
And if any of you happen to be from Cape Breton, I apologize for poking fun at you. Unless, of course, you're the morons who were on the train staring and pointing at me last March. I realize the majority of people aren't like that. I'm just being incredibly stereotypical. And please excuse my pitiful attempts at a stereotypical Cape Breton accent.
*
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Curlish Curly's Capital Circus of Doom! I'm your ringmaster Sean, and this is the most amazing show on the planet!"
The short man grinned exuberantly as he bounced around; dark curls falling into his piercing blue eyes.
"Now if I could just find my assistant Elijah..."
"Here I am Mr. Sean, sir!"
A blond man came running out. He was the same height as the first- barely surpassing three feet.
"Ah, wonderful. Now that my assistant's arrived, we can commence. And on with the show!"
In a spectacular show of fireworks, ringmaster Frodo and his assistant Sam disappeared backstage.
"How has my life sunk so low?" Glorfindel moaned, imitating his life and sinking down in his seat, nestled among screaming children at Curlish Curly's Capital Circus of Doom.
"Oh, don't be such an arse," Rúmil admonished, leaning forward in his seat and munching on popcorn. "Relax. Enjoy yourself. Have fun!"
Glorfindel glared at him. "How can I enjoy myself if these children insist upon screaming in my ear?" As his voice rose in pitch, the children nearest him grew suddenly quiet. "Why are we here again?"
"Because we're one of the few elves left who haven't been affected by fanfiction. We have to get Frodo and Sam."
Glorfindel grumbled something unintelligible.
"Hey, look on the bright side," Rúmil the eternal optimist offered. "We could be trying to find Gimli."
*
"No I don't KNOW his name," Orophin yelled over the loud noise of machinery.
"What? How canya be lookin' for someone if ya dunno their name?"
It took Orophin a moment to decipher through the accent. "Because when I knew him he went by a different name. I don't know what he calls himself now."
"That's crazy! An old high school friend, and ya don't even know his name? Not even the slightest bit o'a clue?"
Orophin shrugged. "John?"
"Ah there we go! A name I can work with." Orophin felt relieved. "Now, what's his last name?"
The elf closed his eyes, taking several deep, calming breathes. "I. Don't. Know."
"Oh. Well, can't help you then. Sorry."
Orophin's eyes flashed and he felt more like his former Galadhrim warrior self than he had in ages. "It's fucking Cape Breton. How many fucking people can there be who are short with red bushy hair and a long beard?"
"I-Ill see what I can do," the man promised, bustling off. He returned a short time later. "I think ah've found the man you're looking for. John Gloinson."
Behind him came an agitated looking Gimli. "Och," he growled. "Who disturbed my min-oh. It's you."
He glared at Orophin, who looked at the foreman pointedly. If you'll excuse us, I need to speak to... John privately." A trace of anger still remained in his eyes, sending the foreman off quickly.
"What do you want?" Gimli demanded.
"We need you to come to New York. There have been some... problems."
"Just what might those problems be?"
Orophin decided to go with honesty. "The fate of the modern world as we know it is being held in the hands of a bunch of sex-crazed maniacs."
*
"Good show, Mr. Frodo," Sam said as they sat in their trailer afterward.
"How many times must I remind you to call me Sean?"
"Sorry Mr. Frodo."
Sighing, Frodo turned around and saw Glorfindel and Rúmil enter the trailer. "Oh no."
"Nice to see you to," Glorfindel replied.
"Why are you here?" asked Sam. "And how did you find us?"
Glorfindel rolled his eyes. "It was hardly difficult. All you did was take the names of the actors who play you and switch. And you're a ringMASTER? How very original."
Frodo frowned and Sam looked hurt, so Rúmil was quick to reassure them.
"Not that it was necessarily a BAD idea, mind. In fact, it was very well thought out. But you have to understand; we've been perfecting breaking codes and the likes for centuries. And Glorfindel's got a stick up his rear because he's been having a bad day." Rúmil smacked Glorfindel's arm hard.
Frodo sighed, resigning himself to the fact that they were here, and were not leaving. "What is it you want then? Not another ring to destroy, I hope."
Rúmil laughed. "Oh no. Nothing so bad as that."
"Speak for yourself," Glorfindel retorted. "The thought of fancying Elrond and chasing after him like a giddy little schoolgirl is hardly appealing to me."
"Shut UP," Rúmil hissed, glaring at him.
Frodo and Sam were both looking more and more suspicious.
"What is it you ant with us?" Sam demanded. "Have you not put Mr. Frodo in enough danger?"
"It's not dangerous," Rúmil assured him.
"That would depend," Glorfindel muttered, "On whether he enjoys being chased around for maniacal sexual activities."
Both hobbits paled and Rúmil whirled on Glorfindel. "Alright. You-out!"
"But-"
"No! Out!"
'But-"
"I'm tired of you being mean and messing things up. Out!"
"You can't order me! I have superiority!"
"Don't care! Out out out out out!" Rúmil pushed the older elf out of the trailer and slammed the door, locking it behind him. Then, for spite, he stuck his tongue out at the door. Rúmil turned back to the hobbits. "Please, just let me explain."
*
Glorfindel sat outside the trailer, idly braiding his hair. A tall redhead passed by and smiled at him. He followed her with his eyes appreciatively, wishing he could go with her. Preferably to a hotel room or apartment. Rúmil would kill him though. On the other hand, fuck only knew how long he had before he found Elrond (Glorfindel shuddered physically) sexy. And it might be only a matter of days before Rúmil was in love with him. Glorfindel jumped to his feet, racing after the girl. "Excuse me!"
*
"Well?" Rúmil looked at Frodo and Sam hopefully.
"I don't know..." Frodo looked at Sam.
"It's your decision, Mr. Frodo, sir."
"Sam, please stop calling me sir."
"Sorry sir."
Frodo looked at Rúmil. "Do you know for sure this will affect us?"
The elf shook his head. "No. But if it does, where you are won't matter. It would be better for you to be in New York, where an eye can be kept on you. After all, you work in a children's circus. Best not to terrify the children with mad copulating hobbits." Frodo and Sam stared at him. "Sorry. Twisted sense of humour."
Frodo sighed again, rubbing his forehead. "Alright. We'll go."
"Oh boy!" Rúmil jumped up. "Let's go."
"Now?"
"No, next year. Yes now."
"But there's stuff," Sam protested. "We have to take care of."
"Already done. Come on!" Rúmil grabbed their arms and pulled them outside. "Fuck."
"What's wrong? Frodo asked.
"Glorfindel's gone." Rúmil frowned for a moment, then his expression brightened again. "Oh well."
"Shouldn't we wait for him?"
"No!" Rúmil yelled, pulling them down the street. "He left. He can find his own way to New York."
"But we're in Albuquerque!"
And if any of you happen to be from Cape Breton, I apologize for poking fun at you. Unless, of course, you're the morons who were on the train staring and pointing at me last March. I realize the majority of people aren't like that. I'm just being incredibly stereotypical. And please excuse my pitiful attempts at a stereotypical Cape Breton accent.
*
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Curlish Curly's Capital Circus of Doom! I'm your ringmaster Sean, and this is the most amazing show on the planet!"
The short man grinned exuberantly as he bounced around; dark curls falling into his piercing blue eyes.
"Now if I could just find my assistant Elijah..."
"Here I am Mr. Sean, sir!"
A blond man came running out. He was the same height as the first- barely surpassing three feet.
"Ah, wonderful. Now that my assistant's arrived, we can commence. And on with the show!"
In a spectacular show of fireworks, ringmaster Frodo and his assistant Sam disappeared backstage.
"How has my life sunk so low?" Glorfindel moaned, imitating his life and sinking down in his seat, nestled among screaming children at Curlish Curly's Capital Circus of Doom.
"Oh, don't be such an arse," Rúmil admonished, leaning forward in his seat and munching on popcorn. "Relax. Enjoy yourself. Have fun!"
Glorfindel glared at him. "How can I enjoy myself if these children insist upon screaming in my ear?" As his voice rose in pitch, the children nearest him grew suddenly quiet. "Why are we here again?"
"Because we're one of the few elves left who haven't been affected by fanfiction. We have to get Frodo and Sam."
Glorfindel grumbled something unintelligible.
"Hey, look on the bright side," Rúmil the eternal optimist offered. "We could be trying to find Gimli."
*
"No I don't KNOW his name," Orophin yelled over the loud noise of machinery.
"What? How canya be lookin' for someone if ya dunno their name?"
It took Orophin a moment to decipher through the accent. "Because when I knew him he went by a different name. I don't know what he calls himself now."
"That's crazy! An old high school friend, and ya don't even know his name? Not even the slightest bit o'a clue?"
Orophin shrugged. "John?"
"Ah there we go! A name I can work with." Orophin felt relieved. "Now, what's his last name?"
The elf closed his eyes, taking several deep, calming breathes. "I. Don't. Know."
"Oh. Well, can't help you then. Sorry."
Orophin's eyes flashed and he felt more like his former Galadhrim warrior self than he had in ages. "It's fucking Cape Breton. How many fucking people can there be who are short with red bushy hair and a long beard?"
"I-Ill see what I can do," the man promised, bustling off. He returned a short time later. "I think ah've found the man you're looking for. John Gloinson."
Behind him came an agitated looking Gimli. "Och," he growled. "Who disturbed my min-oh. It's you."
He glared at Orophin, who looked at the foreman pointedly. If you'll excuse us, I need to speak to... John privately." A trace of anger still remained in his eyes, sending the foreman off quickly.
"What do you want?" Gimli demanded.
"We need you to come to New York. There have been some... problems."
"Just what might those problems be?"
Orophin decided to go with honesty. "The fate of the modern world as we know it is being held in the hands of a bunch of sex-crazed maniacs."
*
"Good show, Mr. Frodo," Sam said as they sat in their trailer afterward.
"How many times must I remind you to call me Sean?"
"Sorry Mr. Frodo."
Sighing, Frodo turned around and saw Glorfindel and Rúmil enter the trailer. "Oh no."
"Nice to see you to," Glorfindel replied.
"Why are you here?" asked Sam. "And how did you find us?"
Glorfindel rolled his eyes. "It was hardly difficult. All you did was take the names of the actors who play you and switch. And you're a ringMASTER? How very original."
Frodo frowned and Sam looked hurt, so Rúmil was quick to reassure them.
"Not that it was necessarily a BAD idea, mind. In fact, it was very well thought out. But you have to understand; we've been perfecting breaking codes and the likes for centuries. And Glorfindel's got a stick up his rear because he's been having a bad day." Rúmil smacked Glorfindel's arm hard.
Frodo sighed, resigning himself to the fact that they were here, and were not leaving. "What is it you want then? Not another ring to destroy, I hope."
Rúmil laughed. "Oh no. Nothing so bad as that."
"Speak for yourself," Glorfindel retorted. "The thought of fancying Elrond and chasing after him like a giddy little schoolgirl is hardly appealing to me."
"Shut UP," Rúmil hissed, glaring at him.
Frodo and Sam were both looking more and more suspicious.
"What is it you ant with us?" Sam demanded. "Have you not put Mr. Frodo in enough danger?"
"It's not dangerous," Rúmil assured him.
"That would depend," Glorfindel muttered, "On whether he enjoys being chased around for maniacal sexual activities."
Both hobbits paled and Rúmil whirled on Glorfindel. "Alright. You-out!"
"But-"
"No! Out!"
'But-"
"I'm tired of you being mean and messing things up. Out!"
"You can't order me! I have superiority!"
"Don't care! Out out out out out!" Rúmil pushed the older elf out of the trailer and slammed the door, locking it behind him. Then, for spite, he stuck his tongue out at the door. Rúmil turned back to the hobbits. "Please, just let me explain."
*
Glorfindel sat outside the trailer, idly braiding his hair. A tall redhead passed by and smiled at him. He followed her with his eyes appreciatively, wishing he could go with her. Preferably to a hotel room or apartment. Rúmil would kill him though. On the other hand, fuck only knew how long he had before he found Elrond (Glorfindel shuddered physically) sexy. And it might be only a matter of days before Rúmil was in love with him. Glorfindel jumped to his feet, racing after the girl. "Excuse me!"
*
"Well?" Rúmil looked at Frodo and Sam hopefully.
"I don't know..." Frodo looked at Sam.
"It's your decision, Mr. Frodo, sir."
"Sam, please stop calling me sir."
"Sorry sir."
Frodo looked at Rúmil. "Do you know for sure this will affect us?"
The elf shook his head. "No. But if it does, where you are won't matter. It would be better for you to be in New York, where an eye can be kept on you. After all, you work in a children's circus. Best not to terrify the children with mad copulating hobbits." Frodo and Sam stared at him. "Sorry. Twisted sense of humour."
Frodo sighed again, rubbing his forehead. "Alright. We'll go."
"Oh boy!" Rúmil jumped up. "Let's go."
"Now?"
"No, next year. Yes now."
"But there's stuff," Sam protested. "We have to take care of."
"Already done. Come on!" Rúmil grabbed their arms and pulled them outside. "Fuck."
"What's wrong? Frodo asked.
"Glorfindel's gone." Rúmil frowned for a moment, then his expression brightened again. "Oh well."
"Shouldn't we wait for him?"
"No!" Rúmil yelled, pulling them down the street. "He left. He can find his own way to New York."
"But we're in Albuquerque!"