[Bêthberry]

The Waves

They walked in single file, O Lando L'oréal leading Pimpiowyn and Vogonwë through the gloomy path where the great trees seemed to lean together, old and strangled with ivy and lichen so thick and matted that, had their feet not drummed firmly upon the ground, had they stooped to stop and linger in the greenwood trees and laid upon the brackish moss, why, they might very well have forgotten which side was up and which down, for dark was the overhang and no sky showed through. The lack of light hampered O Lando not, for without his glasses his keen sense of smell took over and he sniffed his way forward.

The third cousins took to recalling the days before the fading times while Pimpiowyn satiated herself with at least one of Maslow's hierarchy of needs.

"I will tell you enough of our fading here," said O Lando to his cousin, "for there was grief at your parting and often now I feel the horror and the shadow of the fangirls." (Here our valiant wood elf struck a particularly lithesome pose, elegant hand held aloft to his brow, his wrist held just so.) We know not now the like of our discussions of eld, the devastating wit, the pedantic jab, the po-faced oneupmanship, the arcane analysis, the sheer delight of sharing line upon line of the most obscure quotations from the ancient texts. Often, my cousin, have I longed for our FAQ about whether spiders are maiar, since they speak, or whether the White Tree could photosynthesize or not, of whether the Wood Elves differ from the High Elves and if perhaps that difference arises from the variance of mushroom grown."

Hereupon Vogonwë interrupted his comely cousin.

"I have heard tell of even more, fair cousin. For in the Wide World from whence I come, it is said that there are Lake-Elves and Pond-Elves, Boreal-Tree-Elves and Coniferous-Tree Elves, Deciduous-Elves and Scrub-Bush-Elves, Muskeg-Elves, Cave-Elves, High-Hilltop-Elves and Middle-Hilltop Elves and Bottom-Hilltop-Elves, to say nothing of Swamp-Elves. And they have grown more tree-hugging and culture-jamming as the years have passed unto the ages, for they have smoked the finest Pipeweed ever since the Age of Aquarius. Yet the coming of Men has harmed them too, sullying them with vain and empty ceremonies and forcing clerical witnesses upon their private rites. They are grown mechanical and sterile and loveless in their ways."

Here O Lando looked with horror upon this news for certainly he had hoped himself one day to partake of the open pledging of troth unhampered by any societal encumbrances and gaudy shows of shower games and Brand Name gift certificates.

Sudden squeals and cries and exclamations resounded through the gloomy forest and the three looked up. Coming upon them pell-mell was a frightful hoard of, of, FANGIRLS.

"Oh, he's mine, he's mine," shouted one, who claimed to be Chixinluv.

"No, no, I saw him first. You can't marry him," screamed another, DesiriaBloom by name.

The two were elbowed out by a third. "Who said anything about marriage?" protested she, one Bloomwinner by name.

"Oh, look, there's two of them. Is he a twin?" gasped Lecheria.

"Ew, he has such bad taste in clothes," protested Orlophoria.

"There's no Gap in Workmud, silly," retorted Legosassy.

"Take my socks, take my socks," begged PinkChihuahua while Gayflowerhottie offered up other pieces of clothing which were rapidly being stripped off. A third of this menagerie simply shouted, "Yoo hoo."

"A'maelamin," screamed two more.

"Asi i-Dhúath -û-orther, a mîn," proclaimed yet another.

"Annon vanimelda, edro hi ammen!" crooned more.

"Elen silly lummen omentioliveo," screamed yet one again.

"Noro lim, noro lim, O Lando L'oréal," called a more adventurous sort.

Pimpi looked at Vogonwë. Vogonwë looked at O Lando. O Lando looked at the FANGIRLS.

"They're speaking in tongues! Run," he shouted. "Naur dan i ngaurhoth! Every man for himself."

"Take prisoners," retaliated a voice from among the FANGIRLS.

"I'm not a man," proclaimed Pimpi, who whimpered tearfully before being knocked over in the mad tumultuous assault. She tumbled, roiling and coiling and moiling, into the enchanted stream, which fortuitously, as occurs in all fairy stories worth their salt, produced in her a deep slumber, the dreaming of which produced palpable flushes upon her beautiful features.

Alas the two elves were not to receive such a merciful respite. Their retreat was hampered by their quivers, which persisted in falling off their shoulders and laying waste their precious arrows. Forsooth, they were outstripped as it were by the howling mob, who bounded upon the terrain as pounding surf upon a sandy shore. The FANGIRLS overcame their last acts of resistance, trussed up both elves, and hurriedly dragged them off. Exit stage left, followed by a bear.

[ February 16, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]