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"I hate to tell you this, Gandalf," said Galadriel slowly, chewing on a stick of candy she'd stolen from a child. "But I don't think New York, New York is a small town."
Gandalf poked a skyscraper. His finger came back black.
"You know, Gally, I think you may be right."
Frodo, who was riding on Galadriel's shoulders, waved hi to every person he met, smiling cheerfully. Elrond was significantly less happy, as Bilbo was riding on his shoulders and constantly drooling on his head.
Gandalf strolled up to a passerby in a suit. "Excuse me, sir, do you know where we could find Círdan?"
"C...írdan?" repeated the man in the suit slowly. "What's that?"
Gandalf scowled and crossed his arms. "You're so ignorant. Círdan is only the best stripper in all of Arda, surely you must know-"
Elrond cut him off, rolling his eyes. "Gandalf, look, he doesn't care about Círdan's personal life. Just tell him his profession."
"Oh that," scoffed Gandalf. "He builds boats. Do you have a port anywhere?"
"Um...kind of...not this downtown...or for, like, miles around," said the scared businessman. "Trying boat building companies."
And the businessman, like so many others, scurried away quickly.
The company, used to this by now, set off in search of a port. It took them the better half of two weeks, sleeping on awnings, eating in sewers. Bilbo must have thrown up at least three times due to "overactive thyroid problems," and Elrond spent his time looking in all the window reflections to make sure his eye-shadow was spot on.
The first port turned out to have no leads as to where Círdan was. The second was also a no go. The third, however, knew of the missing shipwright, also when they brought him up they all sniggered and turned red from trying not to laugh. However, since people reacted to them like this on a daily basis, they thought nothing of it.
When they finally approached the fated ship harbor, Frodo decided to see if he could jump off Galadriel's shoulder without breaking his legs. It turned out he could, although he wasn't sure if his ankle would ever really be the same again. Oh, and his Nazgul scar still hurt, like, all the time. Ow.
"Guys," he said softly, nursing his ankle, "I don't know if I wanna get on that boat."
"What?" asked Elrond, so surprised his lipstick missed his mouth, smearing across his cheek.
"I just...I sorta like it here."
Gandalf nearly choked on his laugher. "Like it? Why would you ever like this place?"
"Well...I dunno. The candy?"
Gandalf shook his head. "C'mon, you little fart, enough with that. We're going."
"No!" protested Frodo, stomping his foot. "I refuse to move! I'm staying here!"
Galadriel rolled her eyes and picked him up by the armpits. "C'mon, you little shit," she said grumpily. "Let's go."
With no regard to Frodo's free will, they continued into the harbor, which was decorated in pink neon lights. Gandalf aprroved, while Elrond and Bilbo argued over whether or not pink constituted as a real color. Galadriel just closed her eyes, tried to drown out the sound of Frodo sobbing, and walked into a pole.
They aprroached a man dressed in only a pair of lavender khaki pants. He was appraising his boat, which was pink and had "Fairy Queen" painted on the side in glow-in-the-dark green.
"Do you know where we could find Círdan the Shipwright?" asked Elrond plantively.
The man raised a manicured eyebrow at them.
Galadriel gave him the once over. "Or Círdan the stripper, if that's how you know him."
They heard a soft cough behind them, and they all turned around to see a tall, mannish woman with pointed ears smiling at them from within the depths of her withered old face. She tapped a high-heeled foot at them and winked.
"C-Círdan?"
"It's Círdana now," she said pointedly.
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