|
Éomeléo was becoming seriously annoyed. His captors had devised quite the ingenious method of slow, grinding torture in placing him in the dark cell with Miko, a character who appreciated silence less than any other living thing. The Gondorian was curious as to who else resided with them here, but not curious enough to go poking about blindly.
Miko, to no-one's surprise, spoke: Horrible, grating noise, isn't it? That drip, I think it's a drip. Water, or a burst pipe, or something, water outside I think. Hmm, doesn't it just tear at you? When it's all quiet like this but there's a noise that just won't go away? Isn't it just dreadful? Hated that back at my house, always something going wrong. Always up about five times a night checking on things, making sure they're still working, trying to fix things. Dislike it greatly, hmm, I must say. Horrible, grating noises."
At this, Éomeléo knew he was being tested, toyed with, and mocked, because there was no way this Miko could be that dull. After considering this possibility for the best part of twenty minutes, he settled on the conclusion whereby the robbers were trying to teach him a metaphysical lesson. Only a band of philosopher bandits with too much time and resources on their hands could devise such a scheme; it had to be a scheme because Éomeléo could not be this unlucky.
Miko changed subject, to "those ungrateful Shirefolk and their ways" and Éomeléo pondered how best to utilise Miko's tremendous power to his advantage.
|