Chapters 4-8
Disclaimer: I don't own Eragon, nor do I own the Lolcatz (no one owns the Lolcatz), nor do I own Up, nor do I own Twilight. I also don't own Lord of the Rings or Star Wars, but neither does Christopher Paolini.
Eragon: Hmmm. What happens if I pound on this weird rock with a hammer?
Eragon pounds on the egg with a hammer. Nothing happens.
Eragon: Oh. Nothing. Huh.
Saphira: SQUEAAAAAAAAAAAAAK!
Eragon: What was that? Better get out my trusty old hunting knife!
Saphira: SQUEAAAAAAAAAAAAK!
Eragon: You suck, mysterious stone. I don't feel the need to wonder why a frickin' rock would be squeaking at all. In this way, I am unlike the authoress of this fic. And pretty much the rest of the world. I have a brilliant idea. I'll bury it somewhere!
Saphira: SQUEAAAAAAAAAAAAK!
Eragon: The rock is breaking…OMFG, it's a dragon! …..aw, hey, there!
Proceeds to baby-talk to Saphira and then pet her head.
Eragon: AAAAHH! Mind-numbing pain! Whoa, now I have a gigantic shiny scar. I can use it as a pocket-mirror!
Eragon proceeds to examine himself in pocket-mirror scar
Saphira: Me want food.
Lolcatz: You stealed our linez!
Spellcheck: Just because you're small cute creatures does NOT mean you can get away with that!
Eragon: I am keeping this dragon, foo. Even though it's totally impractical, 'cause that's how I roll. Here, dragon, I have found you a tree in which to live. Good night!
Saphira: But—wait—hey—damn, I wish I could talk.
SPCA: Did you really just do that?
Eragon: Oh, thank a bunch of random gods, you're still alive. *He notices the various claw marks all over the trees* Hiding this dragon is not going very well. Clearly, I need to talk to Brom, not least because I apparently can't name a dragon on my own.
Saphira: This is very true. Thank you for not trying.
Eragon: Bye-bye!
Saphira: Now I'm going to repeat your name a bunch of times, really creepily, in a tone of doom.
Brom: Oh, shit, not you.
Eragon: *in a tone of oblivious cheer* Hi there! I'm going to ask you some unsubtle questions about dragons now.
Brom: They're really old. So are the elves.
Eragon: How old? What are they like? Where do they come from? Do you think Dug the Talking Dog is based on me?
Brom: SHUT UP! So they come from a place called Alalea—
Everyone who has relatives from the southern USA: Hey, I have a great-aunt named Eulalia, which sounds weirdly similar!
Christopher Paolini: *sheepishly* Uh…yeah, so do I. That's sort of where I got the name.
Brom: No one knows anything about it, except that it sounds like Eulalia, my great-aunt's name. So, anyway, dragons and elves were of equal awesomeness as well as racist-ness, and they attacked each other a lot. Then an awesome dude named Eragon—
Eragon: Say WHAAAT?
Brom: Ah, yes, he was the first Rider. It is a badass name, Eragon. Bear it well.
Eragon: That is so cool!
Brom: Beware, Eragon, for when you get excited your voice rises in pitch and uncannily resembles that of a California valley girl.
Eragon: Oh, God.
Brom: So they also lived for hundreds of years.
Eragon: No way. That's impossible!
Brom: Ah, but not for a Tolkien rip-off, my young apprentice.
Eragon: Aaand…can you tell me some dragon names that kick ass?
Brom: But of course! Aaso'alskdhip, Ipiodkspikcchh, Roslarb, Tyeopskn, Gretiem…and…*sob* Saphira.
Eragon: I'm going to ignore that foreshadowing completely. Those were beautifully unpronounceable names! I love them! Okay, now that I've gotten what I want, I'm leaving.
Brom: Oh, yippee. I get to sit alone some more.
Ghost of Selena: *in a haunting voice like a will o' the wisp, almost indistinguishable from the wind* Youuuu…muuuussstttt…getttttt…laaaaiiiiid…
Brom: Oh, Selena…That will never happen, both because in Alagaësia we have an inordinate and alarmingly long-lasting attachment to our first loves—that's you!—and because I'm very, very old and it would be creepy.
Edward Cullen: Don't even worry about that.
Roran: So guess what? I get to work as an apprentice with—drumroll please—the miller!
Eragon: That is massively unthrilling. People lose their hands and fingers in that job.
Roran: You are such a killjoy. Okay, how about this—I'm going to marry Katrina!
Eragon: Marry her? What's wrong with a nice one-night stand?
Roran: You are SO unsupportive.
Eragon: ….I feel abandoned.
Saphira: Deal with it, bitch.
Eragon: Hey, you can talk!
Saphira: Yep.
Eragon: Do you want a name? How about Roslarb?
Saphira: *snort* That is the single most bizarre name I have ever heard.
Eragon lists off a series of weird names
Saphira: *snort*
Eragon lists off more names obliviously
Saphira: *snort*
Eragon: Heyyyy…you're a girl!
Saphira: No duh.
Eragon: Hmmmm…how about…Saphira?
Saphira: Hells yeah!