[Encaitare]

Encaitare's post

"Poor thing," said Wilhelmina, snatching the second cat and delicately cleaning it off on the quilt on Fléin's bed. "It can't be very nice being stuck inside someone's stomach."

"It wasn't very nice having it inside my stomach either," Fléin scowled. He didn't feel much pity for the anakronistic creature, and he said so.

"You try traveling via reverse peristalsis sometime, and then see how you feel."

The Dwarf wrinkled his nose and changed the subject. "So what do you think Anakron will spring on us next?"

"Oh, probably an Oliphaunt. Literally on us, just out of spite," Wilhelmina said, idly patting the cat on the head.

Fléin cleared his throat awkwardly. "You know," he began, "I felt something... well, something strange before."

"I'm sure you did," she said. "Both you and the cats have had a very uncomfortable time of it. Not to mention you injured yourself earlier. You might have a concussion."

"I suppose so..." Fléin murmured. Wilhelmina was clearly too absorbed in imagining a trebuchet-driven Oliphaunt to pay much attention to him, so he turned to the book on the table and began to write.

~*~*~*~*~

"How're the creative juices?" Wilhelmina asked after a long while. She saw the Dwarf jump a little bit as the silence was broken.

"Um, they're alright," he said. "I've written a few pages. They're probably about as good as my title-selecting abilities, probably."

"Oh, you," Wilhelmina dismissed, reaching for the book. "In a hall in the mountains there lived a Dwarf. Nice opening line." She continued to read, but looked up when she heard a squeak and a meow behind her. Mr. Swanky and the Siamese cat were happily frolicking about.

"How adorable; Mr. Swanky has made a new friend!" she exclaimed. "You shall have to name the kitty, Fléin." She watched Mr. Swanky paw at the cat before letting out an enormous ferrety yawn. It was contagious, as yawns tend to be, and suddenly they all felt very sleepy.

"I should let you rest," the old woman said, rising and gathering her ferret. "Say bye-bye to the kitty, Mr. Swanky."

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Feanor of the Peredhil's post


Alli diligently stumbled through several narratives, some wild ideas, and plenty of writers’ block before getting it right. She didn’t mind… she had plenty of time. First her mind was somewhat altered by the dubious effects of balrog smoke. It is a little known fact that exposure to balrog fumes causes cheerfully inaccurate feelings of invincibility. “I can fly, you fools!” Gandalf once cried jubilantly before imprudently trusting himself to the slightly less than supportive darkness of Khazad-dum. Anti-drug ads these days featured large billboards depicting the aged Istar with wild eyes throwing himself over a cliff and trusting that he could, indeed, fly. The Bemused-ship of the Ring stand shocked in the background of the image as they watch their fearless leader, hopped up on balrog fumes, fling himself to his death. “Just say no.” the billboard urged. “You won’t come back White!”

She had then cleared her disheveled head and pratchettly considered locking herself in a sublevel hotel accommodation for the duration of her break based on the belief that light merely blinds you while, when in the dark, your eyes are opened wider. That potential and possibly borrowed (though of course not admittedly, wink wink) narrative hit the ground with a resounding Thud and barely even twitched as it lay there dying.

Alli even rudely interrupted the dreams of her maker one night. As a line of potential suitors sauntered alarmingly along, she twitched and woke up. When and if Alli falls annoyingly in love, it will just happen, she thought with aggravation. After all, it was barely after seven and any time where the seven comes before the fifteen is not an appropriate one for such foul things as wakefulness. There need be no planning for romance beyond… well… all the planning that has already almost secretly occurred.

All in all, Alli had been very busy without having a single thing to show for it. She seemed to remember having called Mardil “Marshmallow” once or twice, or was that “Martini?”, but the look on his face failed to feature neither the shaking nor stirring that would come from those shorts of doings.

The Offending Party now stood outside Mount Doom Resort and Casino patiently listening to Anakron inform them in somewhat different words than what follow that Alli’s next obstacle was to manage a full four days in the same general area as Mardil without killing him in his sleep. Alli was willing to bet (though not with real money and certainly not at their current location) that she wasn’t nearly a good enough actress to successfully pretend that she harbored Mardil no ill wishes, so, on the spot, she decided to tweak the odds of his survival, or at least comfortable survival, a little bit in her favor.

As soon as they were dismissed (what is this, primary school? she asked herself with rolled eyes), she made her way to the most seedy looking corner of the place. She hoped nobody would think anything more of the action than that Alli wanted to show off a bit by cavorting with card sharks, loan sharks, petty thieves (adept at sharking people), mafiosos (such as Larry the Shark), and people who, when it all came down to it, were loyal to their friends and had some excellent connections. The Offenders didn’t need to know that she actually did tend to balance on a metaphorically sharp blade in life… While she often chatted academia with undeservingly assigned Respectables over a cuppa, she just as often could be found (or actually, she couldn’t… she was careful about that sort of thing.) with the Wrong Sort. She knew in the back of her head that she was judged by the company she kept… but it was quite alright because the company she kept publicly was very nicely judge-able… Heck… there were even a few official judges with whom she sometimes spent quiet evenings playing chess.

Slipping softly through the crowd of toughs, Alli was stopped only once. A hulking tattooed man with hand to blade halted her jarringly. She lowered her hood and glared. He released his hilt and her arm as though they burned him and nodded that she could pass with no further delays.

“Hey there, hot stuff.” joked Alli a moment later, sliding an arm around a black cloaked fellow in the corner that seemed to radiate terrifying cold. His breath rattled and he drew a pale icy blade from its sheath and sliced toward her neck with it in a rapid movement. Without flinching, Alli pulled a large magnet from a small black leather bag dangling from her belt. Mid-swing, the sword changed course and banged loudly against the magnet. The fellow swore brightly and tried to shake it loose. Alli used his momentum to fix the magnet [and the sword] to a metal pillar behind him and smirked. Finally the retired Nazgul released his hilt and motioned for his cronies to stop trying to look threatening and sit back down.

“Why is it, Miss Alumìne, that, every time we meet, you pilfer my blade? And where do you get such wonderful toys?” He cocked his head, though it was hardly noticeable given his billowing hood and cloak, toward her firmly situated magnet. “Surely not the gag shop? Such the joker, you are.”

She smiled broadly and looked around, searching to see if any of the other Offenders had noticed this exchange. She thought she saw a glimpse of the old woman over by the slot machines, but she was not certain… the ferret was nowhere to be seen.

“Khamul, m’love, you know that deep down I’d love to tell you, but if I did, every time you tried to lop off my head, my tricks wouldn’t work nearly as well as they do. I can’t share sources and suppliers with someone that keeps trying to kill me, now can I?” She scolded him with a grin and an exaggerated Southern drawl and he nodded amusedly. He rather enjoyed their little chats, with the exception of having to spend several weeks after them regaining the respect of his minions. An ancient and powerful Nazgul being disarmed by an unarmed teenage girl was not exactly convenient for scaring the bejeezus out of his followers, and unless he had terror to fall back on, he’d actually have to expend some effort to keep his minions loyal. Salaries… 401Ks… dental insurance… Ye gads, without sheer unadulterated fear, his control would be a lot more expensive. Then again, some of his cronies could use a good mouth cleaning… eh… he’d just make it a job requirement. But that was a thought for another time.

“Miss Alumine,” The shrouded Easterling offered his arm politely, “what do you say to making this chat private? I’ve been trying to keep my head down… a few weeks back some gallingly bright young reporter from Fox News decided to write his first novel about how not all of us Nazgul were destroyed. They haven’t found me, no, don’t worry, and there’s not a shred of evidence saying he’s right, though obviously he is, but now there are a bunch of pain-in-the-corporeal-posterior conspiracy theorists that would love to capture and probe me.”

Alli smiled and took his arm. “Just what I was thinking, actually, though not about probing. I’ve never been able to figure out what probing is good for anyhow… I’m supposed to be on reality television right now. I’d rather that this little chat go unrecorded and I’d prefer to be out of sight before the idiot kamura crew realizes I’ve disappeared.

--------------------

Hidden away in a quiet candle-lit room in the back, Alli sat primly with her fingertips gently tapping together. She was momentarily shocked when her old friend pushed his deep hood back to reveal the face of a pretty blonde child. The look in his eyes defied Alli to laugh at his currently unassuming form. Regaining her composure, she explained her request as the innocent looking lad nodded occasionally and asked a few questions in a shockingly sweet voice to clarify the nature of her order.

“Well, Alli,” he squeaked after a while, “It’s been a while… I shall have to ascertain that they are still in business.” Seeing the disappointed look on her face, he raised a hand to stop any comments. “No worries, lass… if they are unable or unwilling, I shall endeavor to find another provider. I seem to remember owing you a favor… or perhaps ten. This shall remove one from the list, I assume?”

“Of course it will. I’ll even count it as a few. This is important to me, Kammy.” She looked at him meaningfully. “Discreetly done, as well. The last thing I need is for somebody to find out any of this. Respectable Gondorian lasses aren’t supposed to have connections with the Mordorian Underworld. At least I’m not noble. That’d be a nightmare.”

“Indeed, and powerful ex-mob bosses are not expected to owe respectable Gondorian lasses favors. Makes you seem less than innocent, m’dear. I’d hate to see your pretty face on the cover of the news for being caught dealing with the likes of me. You’ve got destiny above that, lass. It would tarnish your good name.”

Alli blushed at the unexpected praise and changed the subject quickly. “Kammy, what happened to your form? You used to be so… well… scary looking.”

He made a “just a minute” motion and whistled through his fingers. He lifted his hood and adopted an intimidating posture as a sketchy looking man in black opened the door and stood ready for orders. The Nazgul beckoned him forward and whispered in his ear. The lad looked at Alli, appraising her body and measuring her up.

"One-thirdy?” he asked with a locally dialected academic interest. “Five-ayt? Lemme see… stan dup lass.”

Alli stood obligingly and turned slowly on the spot, raising up her arms and lowering them, bending her knees and elbows, and wiggling her fingers, though not all at once or her precariously bad balance would have left her all together. The man studied her, scrawling a few numbers onto a tablet.

“By’th’s aftnoon, y’ say? Xpensi--” he trailed off about the cost in order to catch the large bag of gold that the Nazgul had tossed at him. “Yessir.” He said after a quick inspection of the contents. “I’ll ‘ave m’bes’ guys on it. Room 745?” he asked to Alli. She nodded and tossed him a key.

“Realistic, and silently done.” She reminded him. “In, out, nobody sees. The key finds its way to Khamul when you finish. Am I understood?”

“Ah, ‘course, ma’am.” The seedy man was no longer interested in chat. He disappeared out the door with a look of thoughtfulness on his face.

“You’re sure this fellow can have it done that fast and that accurately?” Alli probed as the cute face showed itself once more.[/font]

“Certainly. His men are the very same that did the work for me just before start of the Fourth Age. Fooled even Sauron into believing me to be at the battle. This Mardil of yours will never guess it’s not you brooding away in your room for these few days. Anakron might… clever fella, that one… but I doubt he’ll say a word. If he gets too curious about what you’re up too, I’ll have my boys remind him that he owes me one or two favors himself. Vayor will not have forgotten the incident with the four Nurnian dancers, the chimpanzee, and the leprechaun costume. Took more than a few phone calls to make sure that got properly forgotten, let me tell you. The rest of the group won’t much notice if you take off. My sources tell me you’ve barely gotten to know them. Well… Sai might notice… sweet lass, that one. You might not want to underestimate her. Perceptive. Smart. Seems to be compassionate enough for ten but looks like she could put up a good fight if the need arose. I’d keep a sharp eye. She’d make a good friend, I believe. You know you can trust people, Alli, and not just those few that the rest of Middle Earth views suspiciously. You might get hurt a bit, but letting people see the real you will work out for the best.”

Wanting to change the subject, Alli pushed her own issues to the back of her mind for the time and turned back to the subject of Khamul’s current form of a small child.

“Speaking of the real you…” she teased. A few hours later, the fire had burned low, the good old days were thoroughly reminisced, and there was a knock at the door.

“Enter!” Khamul pulled his cloak over his face as the door opened.

“Done.” The man said, closing the door and bowing slightly. “She’s’leepin’ peace’ully in your room, ma’am. She’ll be ou’ ‘n’ abou’ once she wakes up and wi’ a keen int’res’ in a few games of Blackjack t’boot. Hope y’ drink… took the liberdy of fillin’ ‘er wi’ a strong d’sire f’r a few shots of Jack… maybe even one ‘r two…” he paused, reconsidering the name of the mixed drink he’d been about to use. He had nothing against making a lass blush, but he had a feeling that her cloaked companion might not be so favorable about him coloring this lass’s cheeks. “mix’ drinks. Id’ll explain quick t’anyone int’ristid why she’s got trouble rememberin’ details. Id’ll alsa cover the mornin’… too sick t’gid up ‘til afternoon, they’ll think.”

He laughed and Alli grinned with delight. “And she looks just like me?”

“Down t’th scar on yer lip and th’ gloves on yer ‘ands ‘n the missin’ gauntlet on yer right.”

Happy with the job, Alli tipped him a few trolls and the man left. “Well, Kammy, I’m off. Thanks for your help. Give my regards to the missus and here’s to hoping the heat’s off quick so you can go back to your usual body. The five year old kid look just isn’t working for inspiring terror. Oh, and if you want to get your blade back, just ask for Lia at the bar. She’ll get it released for you quick.”

He shook his head wonderingly as she opened the door and disappeared into the crowd, pulling up the deep hood of her own borrowed cloak. With minimal fuss, she was out the door of the casino in moments.

SimulatAlli was happily napping up in Room 745 and the real thing was happily escaping the Resort and Casino to enjoy the local haunts by herself and get some undisturbed thinking done. Perhaps a latte at a little place downtown? Who knew? Certainly not Mardil… She scowled at the thought of him and quickly lied to herself about not letting him ruin her day. At least not more than him holding her hostage to manipulate one of her best friends after he’d gotten the friend’s leg blown off had. Well, she thought pessimistically, such is life. She walked down the road enjoying the swishing sound of the black cloak, if nothing else. She thoughtlessly hummed the bridge to a song that she couldn’t get out of her head. “…and my parents will never consent to this love… but I hold your hand…” She paused for a moment and sang the refrain in a soft soprano. “And while the seagulls are crying, we fall… but our souls are flying.”

Looking around, though forgetting to check behind her, Alli disappeared into a small coffee shop nearly hidden from the casual passerby by absurdly large and lurid advertisements hanging on the walls, the windows, and even the doors. Without uncloaking, she set some gold on the counter and received a sweet smelling drink for it from the Native Mordorian on the other side of the counter. Moodily she found a seat in a dark corner, staring with unfocused eyes into the hot swirling liquid. She couldn’t be sure how long she sat there alone.

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She made her way silently back to the Resort some time after sunset with a bag in hand. She passed nobody in the halls and, feeling relieved at the lack of conversation, she decided to examine the status of the Resort’s pool. Following confusing directions on one of the walls, she quickly got lost and managed to find the laundry room. A short time later she found herself standing on the edge of a murky green pool of unguessable depth and life-containment.

Giving up on a swim, she slipped up the back stairs to her room. Coming in, she’d seen herself having quite a good time with a number of good looking men. She blew on one man’s dice while another slid his arm around her. Mardil glared from across the room and Alli watched as she won several men money, won several dirty looks from their women, and tipsily ordered another drink. She hoped she’d have a good time and not get into too much trouble. She didn’t want to see herself on television later. The idea of explaining that it wasn’t really her to her irate older brother when she got home wasn’t appealing.

Now in her room, she decided that she was done wandering for the night. She’d had an idea in the café and wanted to extrapolate now that she would be undisturbed. She bolted the door and sat beside it, unlacing her boots. Still seated, she unfastened her shin-guards and remaining gauntlet, leaving them in a pile on the table. Stocking-footed, Alli walked to the bed where she had set her bag. Khamul had seen to it that her pack made its way up here safely some time ago. It lay beside the bag. She pulled out its contents, smiling. Tiredly she traded her soft leather breeches and jerkin and her singed cotton shirt and hose for a pair of too-large flannel pajama pants and a black tank top. Even after tying the drawstring of the pants, she had to roll the waist-band thrice before they fit. Finally, barefoot and pj-clad, she went to her desk and the magic box positioned there.

Now to learn just who is traveling with me… she thought grimly. She could easily have had Khamul do the search for her… his people could learn anything about anyone… but she’d rather enjoy the magic of Gugl. What wizard had brought such spells across so wide a sea, or even what Dark Lord of the ancient past had used this tool for his own malicious use, Alli did not know, but she did know that Gugl was a tool of the Valar. With some patience and a good idea of what she was after, Alli was able to find a number of things very quickly. Just as she was close to finishing, the screen at which she looked turned blue. The magic suddenly stopped working. The box made several odd noises and suddenly she heard a crack. She smelled the acrid scent of burning metals and plastic and pulled the line through which the mysterious power of the box came from out of the hole in the wall through which it passed. The system had died but she didn’t mind… she had learned what she was after.

For a long time she sat in grumpy silence, staring at the blank screen. She fell asleep where she sat and woke up in the morning with a crick in her neck.

As the sun came through the wide windows, Alli saw herself laying sprawled in bed in the clothes she had worn yesterday. She wondered what time she had gotten in. She doubted that even she had any idea. She shook herself impatiently and rolled her eyes at the smell of alcohol on her breathe. She slapped at herself and muttered angrily. She was hungover, but more importantly, she was laying on her pack and she wanted to get to it. Alli grabbed herself under the arms and heaved herself to the other end of the large bed. She groaned and fell back asleep quickly as she grabbed her bag and pulled out a notebook and pen. Moving back to her desk, she ignored her snores and began to write in a fast and moody scrawl.

I have discovered, with the help of Gugl, the following about my companions:

The… Others: nothing important. I didn’t actually care enough to really look. I submitted their names and got nothing that I didn’t already know.

However what was important was that as I sat pondering over my latte yesterday, I began to remember my local history. I had been too busy before for the information I had available to connect into any sort of meaning, but I was feeling miserably angsty and felt like cheering myself up with a bit of leisurely name recounting. It went as follows:

Elendil begat Isildur and Anarion and Inzillomi known as Lothlome though she was oft forgot, and she begat Kathaani who was lost ere they reached Middle Earth. Isildur begat Valandil who through a long line of Aras and the occasion Orn came to Arathorn and his son Aragorn who became King of all of the lands of Importance in the days after the Ring and of him was born Eldarion whose name won Feanor of the Peredhil a book of maps once upon history surely soon to be lost. Anarion begat that guy who begat another guy and this continued in such a fashion until the line came to an end with that guy who decided to declare war on the Mafia of Mordor and rode to meet the Witchking who slaughtered him easily because That Guy was a bit of a wimp and didn’t even bother to beget anybody before getting himself killed.

At this point in history the Stewards of Gondor took over, making sure that every family had a nice bowl of hearty soup to eat at dinner and reminding everybody that they ought to stand in silence facing West before they eat it in order to remember Numenor that was around before the idiots declared war on Eru’s will and expected to win, to Valinor that is in some alternate dimension at this point and that mortals really ought to give up on since they can’t get there anyhow, and that which will ever be even if most of the world is clueless about it.

The Stewards of Gondor did a fantastic job making sure that none of the bad guys made it past the Anduin to steal the Soup of Kings and, really, could have gone on indefinitely protecting Gondor if Aragorn hadn’t shown up and said “Behold, I am Aragorn who is called Elessar the Elfstone of the North, as well as Wingfoot, Strider, Telcontar, and a whole lot of other names, and am born of Arathorn who was born of another guy whose name starts with Ara and probably also ends with Orn and that was born in a long line from Isildur whose name is utterly bereft of Aras and Orns but who was your last king’s really-great grandfather’s brother. I have come to reclaim the Stew of my people and get married and coronated in a few obscenely expensive ceremonies that will bankrupt your city!” And so Faramir gave up warding Minas Tirith because he knew that Aragorn would do a pretty decent job keeping the recipe secret and safe and that the Gondorians would ne’er go hungry again, except for a brief period after the coronation and wedding where the whole city was a bit keen for vittles while the Important Ones tried to figure out a way to pay off the bill.

For a long time, Aragorn was a wonderful and charismatic King and everybody loved him and wished that he would just get on with it and die so that they could marry his wife who used to be an Elf and was seriously really hot. And the kids he spawned wound up being pretty wimpy and let things get totally out of hand and Anakronisms popped up and here we are in this mess.

And then I began feeling a bit better, because I realized that it was really Elendil’s fault that we’re all stuck in Mordor because if he hadn’t come to Middle Earth with those darned kids he spawned, Aragorn’s tool of a descendant wouldn’t be mucking things up so bad and you know, we could really do with having another Steward of Gondor because Faramir’s grandsires were doing a pretty good job of things except for Crazy Ol’ Denathor who almost ruined everything, but he doesn’t count, and you know, I bet I’d feel even more cheerful than I do now if I started naming all of Faramir’s grandsires. If naming the Kings of old and casting blame on them for the way I’m trapped with a bunch of strangers and an arrogant noble from my hometown while in the midst of Mordor could put me in such a cheerful mood, then naming Stewards ought to work even better!

Now what was the name of the first ruling Steward? I don’t remember. I think I’ll go Gugl it.

And so it was that Alli learned a few things that she probably should have remembered some time ago but had been distracted from noticing. She knew now that if she just had some time to write things down and sort them out in her head, she’d be fine, but where in the world was the appeal of sorting out emotional messed-up-ness when she could remain wallowing in self-pity for quite a long while?

And so Alli spent her break sleeping late, rising sometime after morning had officially ended, taking obnoxiously long showers, and trying to figure out the best way of convincing the world that Balrogs weren’t evil while occasionally wondering just when Life would start up again. The rest of the time she spent sorting out personal issues, but not The Issues, because those ones would take entirely too much effort and she didn’t feeling like paying them any attention just yet, so instead she concentrated on things like “What do I want to do with my life once I go back? I can’t be a Balrog-Winger in Gondor… Balrogs aren’t found in Gondor. Maybe I could establish a society for the protection of balrogic welfare and show people their horrible living and working conditions while trying to stop the film industry from type-casting them into the roles of monsters and convince brutes to stop trying to attack them.” and “What color do I feel like painting my toenails?” while locked in her hotel room with a lot of fresh produce, a pen and notebook, a large number of books, some art supplies that she couldn’t use for lack of rough-toothed paper, and a lot of repeats of the same songs because she had forgotten to bring along her own music and was stuck listening to that which was available, only about four songs of which she actually liked. She sang along occasionally because she really loved the line “And the anchor-person on TV goes ‘la de da de da‘.”

Occasionally she rousted SimulatAlli to go wander the Resort so that questions would not be raised about her staying hidden for so long, but really, come now, she was on break and would use every excuse in the book in order to avoid doing any real work until it was over. And then… before she knew it… the break actually was over and SimulatAlli had disappeared in a wisp of smoke even as Alli stood ready to leave and wondered what to do with her simulacra.

She stood now in the bright morning sun with the rest of the Offending Party and with her pajamas, supplies, peculiar items and weapons, and a pretty dress that she really didn’t want the rest of the party to know that she had shoved into the bottom of her pack. She was clad again in her Balrog-Winging outfit as she’d realized that the sturdy material was dead convenient when it came to things like not tearing. She’d had to purchase a new shirt to wear under the vest, as the old one was burned and torn and she was unsatisfied with the amount of skin that it now covered. The new shirt was a pale grey that somehow made her eyes seem very blue. As Anakron gave the instructions for their next foray, Alli tried not to be spotted as she glanced side-long at Mardil II of Gondor. Sai slid to a spot next to her and tapped her on the shoulder. Alli looked slightly down into her eyes and saw a question there. Alli had tensed first but now remembered what Khamul had told her. This girl could prove a strong ally. Alli nodded and smiled hesitantly, a question in her own eyes. Sai smiled back and handed Alli the gauntlet that she had lost at RCA. Alli grinned now and fastened it to her right arm as Anakron spoke. The next step was about to begin.