Disclaimer-We own nothing you even vaguely recognize, including but not limited to JRR Tolkien's creations, the necromancy bells and the Abhorsen trilogy (who belong to Garth Nix), and the Keltiad to Patricia Kenneally-Morrison. Nor do we own the PPC, we just work there. The 'Sue and her story belong to LifeMistressGreenleaf.

Chapter 6

The day of the council dawned bright and early. The birds outside were singing their morning song greeting the new day. I was trying to get ready to go while eating a piece lambas bread, which didn't wrok to well.

gosh dang it, I'm going to be late, I thought to myself as I put on my makeup. I put on a little bit of light brown blush and a bit of strawberry lipgloss that was in my pocket when I came. I then put up my hair in a loose bun with strands of hair hanging out. The bun was held up by two chopsticks.

I then got into my dress that I laid out for myself. It was a baby blue color that ended at my ankles. It had two slits on the sides that went up to my knee. This dress covered my back but not my stomach. So it showed my firm stomach that I had worked so hard on exercising. The top of my dress was that of a chinese dress. The collar and the buttons were there.

I had just gotten finished when there was a knock at my door. It of course was Master Elrond.

"DIE!" Myth snarled, lunging for the 'Sue.

"Not yet, love." Isabel said calmly, restraining her. This was difficult, as Myth seemed suddenly possessed of incredible cunning and strength, squirming, kicking, and biting to get to the 'Sue. Isabel sighed, and regretfully (and very, very hesitantly) removed Ranna from the bandolier still slung around Myth's shoulders. Making absolutely certain it was Ranna, she rang it.

"You can have a midriff-exposing dress, just so you know," Isabel calmly addressed the unconscious figure lying in a failed mid-lunge position on the ground. She went and sat on the ground by her partner (who was used as a backrest) and continued watching the story.

"At least she remembered Gloin was Gimli's father…" she mumbled to herself. Suddenly, she sat up so quickly Myth moved over a few inches from the shock.

"…is Boromir French or am I going crazy?" 'Borimier' perpetuated all the French stereotypes – striped shirt, beret, silly mustache, everything. Oh… and an added air of sneakiness. This all looked rather strange on a mini-balrog. Myth groaned and shifted, then lifted up her head and blinked at the Frenchman.

"…There are no Frenchman in Middle-Earth."

"I know, Myth – I know."

"Well, Elrond's getting fancy on us. The ring must be coming up. Five seconds to ring... three... two... one!" A mysterious man named "Borimir" appeared and walked to the ring, but before he could, Gandalf began speaking the black speech of Mordor. The 'cluds darkend', and everyone reacted like they were either very afraid or rather constipated. ...And then it happened.

Gandalf finished and Elrond spoke," no one has ever dared to speak that tongue in Imiladeris."

"IMILADERIS!" Myth screamed, so angry it was possible to hear the excess punctuation.
"Charging..." Isabel muttered, pencil flying.

sniffle.
"Hey, Myth? Could you check on that? It doesn't look like the Sue's crying..."
sniffle. sniffle.
"Myth!" Isabel turned, slightly irritated by her partner's lack of response, only to discover that the Sue wasn't the source of the sniffles.
"Myth?"

"It-It's t-too mu-much!" Myth cried, breaking into full-fledged sobs. "Th-the, and Erond, a-and NO QUOTATION MARKS for Mithros's sake! Is she allergic to spell-check? If you can't spell Imladris, put Rivendell!" the last was, along with a conveniently placed rock, directed at the Sue. Fortunately, Myth's aim wasn't phenomenal at the best of times, let alone when confronted with the root of all evil (as far as she was concerned). The rock landed directly in front of Elladan.
"Would that I were that rock, Elladan, for then I could gaze into thine eyes." Myth sighed, rage forgotten for the moment.

Isabel blinked a few times, watching her love struck partner. The girl had just gone from sobbing rage to fangirl mode in less time than it would take Legolas to string his bow.

"Profesy isn't a word." Myth muttered, still sullen about being put to sleep. speaking of which... "I want my bell back!" Isabel blinked a few times. From fangirl mode to cranky… this girl was worse on a normal day than her in the full swing of PMS, and that is saying something.

"My bell?" Myth could somehow sound sickeningly sweet and demanding at the same time. It was one of her not-so-essential skills.

Isabel handed it over with a sigh. "Oh, looky - he's telling the 'elements' tale. Bla de bla bla, Megan's real name is Ruby and she's a Mistress of Fire, bla bla, immediate acceptance on her part, bla de bla, hoo ha hoo ha... finally they get to the ring."

"Hit with water balls. oh yes, that does sound menacing." Myth was utterly unimpressed, and very bored once the novelty of watching the male members of Elwing's descendants wore off.

"Oh noes!11!1!one!1shift11!1" mocked Isabel, pronouncing all of the punctuation. "You threw water at me! I die now! Argh! Lust object, save me!"

"Yes, that does seem to be the general trend, does it not?" Myth lapsed into her formal speech.

"C'est très vrai, mon cher Myth," responded Isabel, slipping into her native French. She gave her head a quick shake and said, "That's very true, my dear Myth."

"é, Elwe ar fea onóre." Myth said absently, looking out over Imladris.

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that's good." Isabel grinned a bit cheekily.

"Roughly, I said whatever you say, person who is a very close friend."
"And what did you say exactly?"
"The way I used it, or literally? Never mind. 'Indeed, sister of my heart and soul'"

"...That's nifty. I'm gonna have to remember that." Isabel grinned, less cheekily and more sincere, and turned to the council. "...are you aware they just made Pippin ask "when are we going"... stupidly?"

"Actually, I was attempting to doze off."

At that moment, a sucking noise similar to a toilet plunger being un-plunged came into being, startling the agents. Then a two-dimensional figure came hurtling out of thin air, knocking Myth flat.

Myth's A/N: wow. French and Elvish in the same story… and Quenya, no less.

Isabel's A/N: Hmm... how not to make this AN repetitive... I have a pineapple, yes I do, I have a pineapple, how about you, I have a pineapple, yes I do, Toss it in the pot and make shrimp-fried steeeewww.