[The Saucepan Man]

Throughout the audience with the Velour, Soregum had kept his cloak and cowl tightly wrapped around him. Given his previous employment history, he couldn’t afford to take any risks. And so he lurked silently behind his companions, trying to find a convenient shadow to conceal himself in. Unfortunately, in the Blessed Realm of the Light-Fittings, shadows were in short supply.

“Hey, who’s the dude in the black cloak?” said Mantoes.

“You should like know, man,” quipped Tickle-Me Ulmo.

“Du-ude!” they chimed together as they gave each other a high five.

Meanwhile, all eyes in the Uh-oh-ship turned nervously to the prone figure of Grrralph.

“Er …” began Merisuwyniel.

“No, the other dude in the black cloak,” interrupted Mantoes, taking out a small white paper tube and setting light to the end of it. An aromatic scent filled the air as he puffed on it.

The Non-black-cloaked-ship began studiously to examine each other’s apparel in confusion.

“No, that dude in the black cloak. Like, the little guy hiding at the back,” continued Mantoes, pointing at Soregum and passing the white tube to T-M Ulmo.

“Who? Oh him. That’s just Soregum,” said Merisu, as the poor Halfling began to back towards the door to the chamber.

“Hey little fella. Why don‘t you like introduce yourself,” said Manuël Sántana languidly.

With a nod from Manuël, the Nîlon twins manoeuvred Soregum forward towards the front of the group until he stood quaking before the mightily bronzed Lords and Ladies of the West Coast.

“I dig the black threads, dude. But why don’t you like lose them so we can see you like for real.” said Prada, her voice rising at the end of the sentence as if she were asking a question.

Slowly, Soregum removed his cloak and hood. The Velour stared. Soregum’s cheeks flushed red. The Velour carried on staring. Soregum cheeks carried on flushing red. The Velour still stared. Soregum’s cheeks were by now a bright shade of crimson and dangerously approaching meltdown. The white tube, which had been slowly making its way round the Round Table had reached Manuël. As he took a drag on it, he started to chuckle.

“Man, what is that!” he giggled.

One by one, each of the Velour began to snigger, until the whole Chamber was filled with the melodious, if rather cruel, sound of their mirth. Most of the Titter-ship joined in too and Orogarn Two was soon on the floor, convulsed with fits of laughter.

“I am a H-h-h-obbit, s-sir!” stammered Soregum as his cheeks engaged shutdown mode and he turned a shade whiter than Leninia‘s palest foundation. Hoots of merriment rang out

“A Huhuhuhobbit?” guffawed Manuël, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“Awesome!” sniggered Mantoes.

“Rad!” giggled Nír-Vana.

“Cool!” chortled T-M Ulmo.

“Far out!“ laughed Prada.

“Cowabunga!” roared Tulk Hogan.

Immediately, the laughter stopped and the Velour all turned to him disdainfully.

“Ew. That’s like so Second Age, Tulk.” said Prada. “You can be such a retard!”

“So amigo, like what’s a Huhuhuhobbit got to do with my Council?” asked Manuël, starting to chuckle once more.

“He’s a Hobbit, and so am I.” said Pimpiowyn, stepping forward defiantly. “Well half of me is anyway.”

She would not stand by while her mother’s race was held up to ridicule. And she felt rather sorry for Soregum too. Vogonwë fumed silently.

“Oh, so that’s what a Hobbit like looks like,” said Mantoes. “ Way cool!”

“Yea, I think that I like sang about them,” added Nír-Vana, the Maiden of Grûnge.

“No wonder they live in a place called the Mire”, quipped T-M Ulmo.

“Du-ude!” he and Mantoes sang out together as they high fived again.

“Ew. It’s so like short!” sneered Estë-Lynn.

“Omigod, and so fat!” added Chanessa contemptuously.

“Like gross. Just look at those teeth,” chipped in Vairsacë, screwing up her pretty Velour nose.

Soregum earnestly scanned the floor of the Chamber for any hint that it might swallow him up. Then, his hands trembling, he reached for his pipe and tried to fire it up.

“Hey, hobbit dude,” Prada said sharply and pointed at a no smoking sign on the wall. Soregum stared speechlessly from the sign to Prada to the smoking white tube, which had now reached Tulk Hogan.

“Man, Yawanna. That’s like great gear you grow in your garden,” said Tulk, as he puffed on it. “Like totally tubular, man.”

“Hey, where is Yawanna?” said Manuël, belatedly noticing her absence.

“Search me,” answered Prada. “Nír-Vana?”

“How should I know?” replied the Maiden of Grûnge. “I’m not my sister’s keeper.”

“Hey, like the Breadhead’s missing too, man,” said Mantoes.

“Yea, where’s Häulié?” added T-M Ulmo.

“The Dweeb’s probably in his workshop, trying to make some more of those little dudes with the beards,” replied Mantoes. “He’s so like lame.”

“Oh man, you mean Dwarfs. Remember them? Man, they were like hardcore,” said T-M Ulmo. “But so gross. He sure made them with the ugly-stick, man.”

“Dwarves!” Kuruharan muttered angrily under his breath, his beard bristling, as the Velour duo once more high fived with a resounding “Du-ude!”