A/N: Make me happy and review! Pretty please? Lots of explanations in here; tell me if I got Tolkien right!
"Tolkien?"
"TOLKIEN?"
"Oh, my God!"
"What the hell?"
"Curious."
There was a muffled crash as Maddie's chair toppled over.
The distinguished gentleman stripped off his gloves neatly and threw them down on the table. He tipped his chair backwards with the air of a man who is very well at home, then slapped his pockets for his pipe. "Ah!" he said, clamping his polished buckthorn pipe between his crooked teeth. He offered them a smile as he lit his pipe with a flare of a match, striking it against his thumb. There was a cloud of contented smoke around him, and he joined Gandalf in blowing smoke rings. Gandalf languidly changed them colors as they smoked, and for some minutes all that could be heard was Madison hyperventilating and the tiny 'pop' of Gandalf changing the smoke into new and interesting colors. Daphne swatted at the wreaths of powder blue smoke that was wreathing her head, and then bounced in her seat impatiently. She wanted some answers, but she didn't want to demand them. She was in the presence of one of the greatest literary giants of all time! And he was blowing smoke rings! With Gandalf! After a long moment, Tolkien spoke up. "I suppose you do want some answers," he said regretfully, pushing his pipe to the corner of his mouth.
"Duh," Michael said, sitting on his hands to keep himself from applauding his favorite author. Isabella leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, dark eyes narrowing as she examined Tolkien. Madison's fingers twitched impulsively, and she wondered if it would be rude to ask for an autograph. Melody, spangled eyes wide, was staring like a stuck pig at Tolkien, as though he would dissolve into sand or pull firecrackers from his ears at any moment. Considering whom he was, she wouldn't have been surprised.
"Well, it all began when I first wrote The Hobbit," Tolkien began reflectively. "It wasn't my first book, you know; I'd published a few capitol ones before that. But The Hobbit had such funny characters - Bilbo was always my favorite to write," he said with a large smile, as if the old Hobbit might poke his head around the doorway at any moment. "When The Hobbit became such a smashing success, I woke up one morning here. Not here, specifically, but in Middle Earth. I'd arrived in Mirkwood, one of my favorite places to write about." He stopped to chuckle a bit. "Had I known I would end up there, I would have made it a bit more comfortable! It wasn't at all easy for a young man - for I was young, a good long time ago - to live by himself in a strange place. But when I bumped into my friend Gandalf here, it was mildly tolerable.
"Gandalf knew who I was right away. 'You're the Author!' he cried, and you can imagine it gave me quite a turn to be addressed as such by one of my very own characters. 'I've been sent to meet you,' and he went on to explain that there was a bit of trouble with Middle Earth. The Hobbit had been a lovely book, and it was quite a wonderful world, but there was a young lady in Pembroke who was writing a terrible version of it! For you see, all stories, published or unpublished, have an impact on the world they are involved in. Stories are the most powerful things in the world; never underestimate them. Apparently, Lucy Donahue - for that was the lady's name - was putting in the perfect character and absolutely ruining my story! I had to do something," - here he glanced apologetically 'round at his captivated audience - "So I popped into her house and told her right off that she had to stop her story. She did so, thank heavens, but apparently other people got the same idea she did. So Gandalf and I developed this wonderful idea.
"If we searched and searched, bringing in only the best people - the people who truly appreciate my work and my effort - they could keep my story safe! It is a little known fact that all authors are not just writers; they are the caregivers for that world. Gandalf accompanied me back to my own world, and we looked and looked for someone to help protect it. It took quite a while, but we finally found a spiffing lad named Edgar who was ready and willing to help us. So he stayed here, under another name, and for a good many years kept my story safe. There wasn't much to do back then; for you see, I hadn't published The Lord of the Rings yet. Once I did so, there was quite a pick up in Perfect Characters - as I like to call them - and it became too much for poor old Edgar to handle. So we brought in yet another writer, this time a lovely young authoress. It was decided - Gandalf and I decided, anyway - that there would be two Authors in every story at all times; the Author, and his or her's apprentice. When the original Author was tired of protecting the story, and once his apprentice was ready, the apprentice would take over.
"And it worked wonderfully for a number of years, and then I passed away," he looked towards the heavens merrily. "And I suppose you're wondering how I got here. Well, in every story there is a 'heaven', of sorts. Mine was the Undying Lands, as you very well know. All Spiritual Realms are connected, so when I was needed, it was merely a trifle to whistle for me and bring me here. When I got to Middle Earth - I popped into Imaldris this time, (I have a natural affinity for elvish cities) - I met up with Gandalf again. Our current Authors, Patricia and Louis, had disappeared without rhyme nor reason! It was quickly discovered that the presence of a Perfect Character so powerful had simply blotted them out of existence. When we found our Perfect Character, we immediately located a number of talented authors to 'write' her out of the story. Unfortunately, the same fate befell them one by one. None of them had the strength to undertake such a massive Perfect Character. And this, my dears, is why you're here."
There was a long silence for a while, and then Isabella opened her eyes. She had been meditating as she allowed Tolkien's words to wash over her, and now she was bright and alert. "I don't understand," she said waspishly. This was a phrase she had only uttered a handful of times. "How do you 'write' a Mary Sue out of a story?"
"Oh, is that what you call them?" Tolkien said offhandedly. "Mary-Sues. Peculiar. Yes, well, the way you write a Perfect Character - or Mary Sue, if you'd prefer - is by essentially going through the story with them and keep them from changing the storyline. It's quite difficult, as you cannot, under any circumstances, repeat what any other Author or Authoress has written in the past. No phrase, sentence, quote, or paragraph can be the same. The plotline must remain intact; but how your characters reach their destinations is entirely up to you. I do advise, however," - his brow furrowed and he frowned deeply - "that you do not change the wording too much. Many Authors have gone through their histories perfectly well by altering my original work only slightly. They find that my story is enough to ward off any minor Perfect Character. But because of the unnatural strength in this Perfect Character - or Mary Sue - I suggest that you be as original and fresh as possible. That is partly why we brought so many of you into this world."
"So, we'll be going with the Fellowship?" Madison squeaked, her frizzy hair wild and her smoky blue eyes huge. Tolkien gave one affirmative nod, and Maddie toppled off her chair again. "We're going with the Fellowship!" she squealed, still lying on the floor. Daphne looked down at her bemusedly, then turned to Tolkien with an interested expression.
"Cool. So we have to go through the entire story and keep the Mary Sue - or Adavis, I guess her name is - from changing anything. I have a question though. What happens to the Sue? Do we just kill her off, or something?" Daphne asked.
"As it is with most Perfect Characters, she must die a tragic death." Tolkien answered, blowing a lavender smoke ring towards the exposed rafters high above their heads. "Although some have found other ways, it's not nearly as effective. And you cannot simply write 'Adavis died, the end'. For one reason, it's cheap, and I simply will not allow it. Another reason is that it won't work against sophisticated Sues."
"Oh, God," Melody groaned. "Just what we need. Sophisticated Sues."
"You'd be surprised how much work goes into making Sues," Michael answered. "I mean, I see 'em every day and these people are like 'Oh, I worked hard on this, review please!' and I'm like 'flame, flame, flame'."
"You flame stories?" Madison gasped. "That's mean!"
"Hey, Maddie, my username's Flaminator. Of course I flame." Michael answered. Daphne gasped so loudly everyone looked over in surprise. Both of her hands were clamped on her mouth.
"That's you're handlename? Oh, my God! You're horrible!" she cried. Michael shrugged.
"Some stories are really bad. And I mean, really bad. Why are you so upset?" Michael asked.
"When I was just starting out, you flamed one of my stories! You made me cry!" Daphne said, annoyed.
She flapped a hand at him. "I deleted it, of course, and the story was insipid, but there's no reason to flame. Seriously."
Tolkien, who was looking a bit lost, shrugged. "Well, you young ones obviously wish to talk, and Gandalf and I have a meeting with Elrond that we must get to. It was charming to meet you all!" And with movements quite deft and rapid for a man his age, he strode to the door behind his character and shut it behind him with a snap.
All of them let out a breath simultaneously, unaware that they had been holding it in. Then they glanced at each other. "Weird!" Michael said.
"What is?" Isabella said frostily. Michael threw his hands in the air and then slapped the table.
"Everything! We're in a different world, meetin' new authors, everything! It's some deep shit, man!" Michael said. Daphne rubbed her eyes slowly.
"Okay. We need to brainstorm." she said. Melody buried her face in her hands.
"I hate brainstorming. It takes all the fun out of writing. Can't we just, you know, wing it?" Melody whined. Daphne looked irritably up at the beautiful blonde.
"No! Not when the entire world rests on our words!" Daphne snapped.
It took a moment for it to sink in fully, what Daphne said. For it was perfectly true; they were in a place where whatever they wrote could tip the balance and plummet Middle Earth into unpublished, Mary-Sue infested chaos.