Author's Note:
It wasn't enough that I went 'there' and wrote it, but I had to go back and write it again! Coffee corrupts! Please enjoy...
Special Extended Extra Revised Perk Galen Scene
NescaFrodo was roused by Sanka, with a great steaming cup of coffee. He found that he was lying, well wrapped, under tall grey-coloured marquees depicting the virtues of BlackPerk Coffee. These signs had begun to appear with increasing frequency after they had left Lóriandadánish, so that it was impossible to travel for any length without seeing their neon glare, their eye-searing pop blandishments depicted in primary colours. In spite of their distasteful advertisements, NescaFrodo had slept the night away, and the grey of morning was dim among the bare branches of the winter-bitten trees. Gemli was busy with a small fire near at hand.
They started again before the day was broad. NescaFrodo was content to let the decision he must make, come their arrival at the Candirock Isle, remain unchosen. He did not even want to choose whether to have cookies or poundcake with his coffee. Luckily, he had Sanka to provide for him.
They saw no sign of the Enemy that day, nor the next. The dull grey hours passed without event. MochaMerry and Drippin began to play a game of Eye-Spy, which all the Companions joined in half-heartedly, except for Boromocha; he was distracted, frowning and nibbling on his fingernails, sometimes talking to himself in a strange voice. The two half-caffs scooted as far away from him as room in their small boat permitted.
Soon the trees thinned and disappeared, and even the billboards, scrawled with horkish graffiti over the StarBrandyBuck announcements, were few and far between. On the eastern bank to their left they saw long formless slopes stretching up and away toward the sky; brown and withered they looked, as if hundreds of years of old coffee-grounds had been dumped upon them, leaving no patch of earth or shard of china unstained; they had come to the Brown Lands that lay, vast and desolate, between Southern Milkwood and the hills of Egon Medimucil.
Upon the west to their right the land was featureless and flat, and in many places green with wide plains of grass or reddish with clay, not unlike Western Kansas. As the Company floated past, many were heard to mutter under their breath the wish that someone would plant a tree or two, already. There was no sign of living moving things, save birds and a few naturalists wandering amid the windswept meads living off of bugs, bark, lizards and leaves.
"How wide and empty and mournful all this country looks!" said NescaFrodo. "I always imagined that as one journeyed south, it got warmer and merrier, until winter was left behind for ever. My travel agent is a bold-faced liar!"
"We have not journeyed that far south yet," answered Aromagorn, who hoped one day to be employed as a travelguide, if that Kingship-thingy in Gondaroma did not work out. "It is still winter, and we are far from the best resorts."
As they sailed on, the land growing bleaker and the river wider and more shallow, there was little speech and no merriment in the boats, only the murmur of MochaMerry and Drippin, persisting in their game.
"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with...'W'." said Drippin.
Even MochaMerry sighed. "Please, don't tell me... 'water', right?"
"Very good, MochaMerry!" exclaimed Drippin. "Your turn!"
"I don't want to play anymore," MochaMerry said sourly, trailing his hand in the water and hoping for an alligator attack or something to liven up the afternoon.
"Okay, I'll go again... I spy with my little eye, something beginning with... 'M'."
MochaMerry looked around, but all he saw was brown grass, green grass, boats and water. "'More water'?" he ventured a guess, hoping he was wrong.
"Right again! How did you know? I spy with my little eye something beginning with 'E'."
"'Even more water'," said Boromocha between clenched teeth. MochaMerry closed his eyes and started to cry from boredom.
Sanka was listening half-heartedly; even the moronic games of MochaMerry and Drippin were more interesting than the scenery. He sat in the boat, facing back, over the bowed heads of NescaFrodo and Aromagorn and the following boats. Something caught his eye, and he said aloud suddenly, "I spy with my little eye, something beginning with 'G'," but by then, even Drippin did not want to play anymore.
They camped on a miserable patch of gravel in the center of the river. Sanka took first watch, mumbling about logs with eyeballs and the possibility of early senility settling in. He woke NescaFrodo for second watch, and so he sat up in the dreary darkness, listening to the muttering of the river and the snores if his companions, until he was half asleep again, himself. Then he saw it, too: a dark shape floating close to one of the boats; a long pale hand with fingers stained with caffeine that reached out and grabbed the gunwale; two lamplike eyes that blinked and watered and shone coldly as they looked about, and they lifted and gazed up at NescaFrodo on the sandbar. NescaFrodo hastily unsheathed Zinger, facing the eyes. There came a hiss like an angry kettle and the thing dove back into the water.
Aromagorn stirred in his sleep and sat up. "Why have you drawn your sword, NescaFrodo? Cut off a slice of that lembascotti for me!"
"We've got company, Styroamer," said NescaFrodo. "Gulp'up, I would guess."
"Ah, so you know about our little moocher, do you? He padded after us all through Moreeka and right down the Nimrodeli. Since we took to the boats, he has been swimming along behind, with only his snorkel visible in the reeds. I wish I could get my hands on him. We might make him useful, as he knows these lands fairly well, being a nosy little git as he is. We shall have to move faster after today. The plot is beginning to drag."
And so the moved faster there after, mostly because the river became rough and quick-moving, and of the creeping Gulp'um, no more was seen. At one point, when the waters turned white as churned cream, horks appeared on the east bank to pepper them with arrows tied with coupons for accelerated edibles establishments, shrieking curses and commercial jingles at them in their foul languages.
The Companions forged ahead, ignoring them. Under the shadow of bushes leaning out over the water, they halted and drew their breath. Legolatté threw down his paddle and took up his slingshot, a parting gift from Haldiroast in Lóriandadánish. He sprang ashore and climbed a few paces up the bank. Fitting a rockcake in the pouch, he drew back the sling and turned, peering back over the River into the darkness.
NescaFrodo looked up at the Elf standing tall above him. His head was dark, backlit by the sharp white stars that glittered in the blackboard of the sky, spelling out self-help slogans in Elvish. But a dark cloud sailed up from the South, blotting out the stars.
"Elberethin Minthel," sighed Legolatté as he looked up. Sudden dread fell on the company, and NescaFrodo felt a sudden chill running through him, as if he saccharine-poisoned shoulder-wound were suddenly re-opened. Not a cloud at all, but a great winged creature it was, blacker than the darkest roast coffee, and with it came a bitter wind that stank like putrid peanutoil.
Suddenly the rubberbands of Legolatté sang out. Shrill went the scone from the Elven-sling. NescaFrodo looked up. Almost above him the winged shape swerved. There was a harsh croaking swearword as it fell out of the air, crashing down on top of a group of horks with a splat.
"Praised be the hand and eye of Legolatté, and the slingshot of the Godivarim!" said Gemli, after they had made their getaway and had pulled up their little boats on a smooth green lawn.
The Dwarf quickly lit a fire, and soon the coffee was bubbling and steaming in NescaFrodo's favourite cup. Still, he was not comfortable, for the eyes of Boromocha followed him wherever he went, and it was starting to get on his nerves.
Now came the time that NescaFrodo had dreaded; now he must choose which way to go. But what choice was there? There was only one road to Mordonut, and on that road he could ask no one to follow him. Gathering his resolve and all the instant coffee and lembascotti he could stealthfully carry, he slipped away from his companions, farewelling them in his heart, that they might find a safer path than that dark one he saw rising before his own feet. Terrified as he was, he would not lead his friends to darkness and death in that land of dread danish and diluted coffee. Swiftly, he made his escape.
At the top of the hill, NescaFrodo slowed his pace. His resolve was not lessened, but the weight of the coffee and travelbread he carried was very great, much heavier than he was accustomed to bearing. He set his burden down beside an ancient espresso machine, overgrown with ivy, and tried to catch his breath.
NescaFrodo looked up, for he felt unfriendly eyes upon him, but when he turned he saw only Boromocha, and his face was kind.
"I was afraid for you, NescaFrodo. The gobblings may be on this side of the river now, and it is not safe for one to brew alone. May I stay and speak with you, now that I have found you? The others debate endlessly, yet we two together may drink coffee. Will you hear my advice?"
"I know already what you would say, Boromocha. Go to Minas Teabag, and use the coffee-ring there. And it would seem like good coffee, but for the warning in my heart."
"Warning? Warning about what? Do you need a Rol-aids?"
"No, 'tis not heartburn, but fear. I am afraid, Boromocha."
"If it is so, even the boldest would pardon you. Are you sure you do not brew needlessly? Come with me, NescaFrodo! My city is not far. You can go on the Mordonut from there, if you wish. Trust me..." Boromocha's eyes lit with a strange light, and his voice became odd, "Lend me the coffee-ring!"
"No! No! It is for me to bear! Keep your hands to yourself!"
"Will you not even let me make trial of my beans? Curse you, you and all the half-caffs!" Boromocha chases NescaFrodo around the glade, his hands shaking, until he trips over the powercord to the espresso machine, and falls on his face. NescaFrodo flees from him, disappearing into the forest with the aide of his Elven-cloak, woven in the colours of coffee with much cream.
Boromocha raised his head after much weeping. "NescaFrodo, come back! A madness took me, but it has passed! Don't take the coffee away!"
But NescaFrodo did not heed him. He was far away, running as fast as he could without spilling his coffee. He shouted over his shoulder as he ran, "Try some de-caff!"