[Diamond18]

“I’m surprised that you of all people should ask!” Merisuwyniel replied with a laugh. “We eat it, of course!”

Indeed, this was a very logical conclusion, and a practical one as well, since they were all covered in the white fluffy stuff. It was all over the place, splattered here, there, and everywhere in liberal amounts. Apparently it had been a left-wing monster.

The company (of varied political mixage, no doubt) proceeded to scrape the sucrose rich glop off of themselves, transferring the puffy porridge into their mouths. It was sticky and sweet, like whipped sugar. The taste was also akin to beaten, kicked, and strangulated sugar. They slurped and licked and sucked at the stuff, murmuring their compliments to the non-existent chef all the while. Chrysophylax took care of cleaning the floor, walls, ceiling, and light fixtures. And a good time was had by all.

Vogonwë was the first to complete his self-grooming process, due to his redundantly catlike flexibility, and sandpaper tongue. He then occupied himself with gathering up his arrows, which had been spat out into all corners of the room when the creature which had “swallowed” them exploded.

Then he got an idea!
An awful idea!
THE HALF-ELF
GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

Slowly, he walked back to the scene of the feasting. All the while his mind was whirring like a cooling fan, his gray matter grating against all morality, decency, and rational thought. Perhaps it was because his head wasn’t screwed on just right, or because his shoes were too tight, or maybe even because his heart was two sizes too small. It could be those things, but it wasn’t at all. It was simply because his brain was two sizes too small. And Pimpi hadn’t let him lick any marshmallow residue off of her. Not even a little. And we all know the reason for that.

And now, the Mangler of Poetry, perceived… His time had come. He couldn’t do anything about O Lando, because he was family. He had almost despaired of being able reek vengeance on Gravlox (even if the Orc had bathed and didn’t reek anymore). But, now it came to him. It came without ribbons, it came without tags, it came without packages, boxes or bags. The perfect plan.

“Ahem…” he cleared his throat after a moment. “Er… Gravlox… Sir…?”

No, no, no! his Idea said in a tiny, tinny voice. You have to be assertive! Talk tough! Say something manly!

Vogonwë tried again, “Hey you! Orc scum!”

“Are you speaking to me?” Gravlox asked politely, glancing up and pausing in the task of licking between his toes.

“Yes, I am.”

This is boring. Say something pithy.

“I mean… Do you see any other Orcs around?”

Egad.

“Hey, I’m trying!”

“Pardon me?” Gravlox furrowed his brow.

“Vogonwë, what are you doing?” Merisuwyniel sighed impatiently.

“He’s talking to himself again,” Pimpi shrugged, trying to get at a spot between her shoulder blades.

“I’m trying to do something,” Vogonwë insisted. “So everyone be quiet.” He turned back to Gravlox. “I hereby challenge you to a duel, to defend the honor of my lady, Pimpiowyn Daughter of Éohorse.”

Merisuwyniel’s expression turned irate. “How dare you imply that—”

“I’m talking about the cruel murder of her parents,” Vogonwë rolled his eyes.

“Wait a minute, you are challenging me to a duel? Aha, aha, aha!” Gravlox laughed with exaggerated italics. He sobered momentarily and added, “Again, I’m sorry for my past deeds, especially as pertains to Pimpi here, but—” he paused and sized up Vogonwë, and then began to laugh heartily.

“That seems to be a correct assessment of the situation,” Vogonwë replied, lapsing into Nerdian, a little known Workmudian dialect.

“But Vogonwë!” Pimpi suddenly exclaimed, a look of concern in her eyes (which were still blue). “He could kill you!” She glanced between the two and amended, “he will kill you!”

Oh! This is good, she’s worried about you, that means she still cares, Vogonwë’s ever present and pesky idea said to him.

“That is a risk I am willing to take,” he proclaimed, striking a heroic pose, “for I love you, my Pimpiowyn, with every fiber of my body, even the yellowish-purple bruises in my gut, which you put there with your dainty elbow.”

“But…but…” she stammered.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? To see the monster slain?” Vogonwë asked, motioning to the conveniently idle Gravlox, who looked rather innocent with a smudge of marshmallow on his face.

“Yes, but… now that it comes down to it, I’m afraid you’ll get hurt, or something. Don’t be rash, Voggy,” Pimpi pleaded prettily.

“I’m sorry to interrupt this touching scene,” said Merisuwyniel, “but you cannot be serious, Vogonwë. And Gravlox, you can’t accept his challenge, anyway, because it just wouldn’t be fair.”

If anyone is curious as to what the Etceteron, Orogarn Two, Kuruharan, Chrysophylax and Pettygast were doing, they weren’t doing much. They were simply watching the goings-on with rapt attention.

“This is better than a movie,” Kuruharan remarked to his dragon.

“Do you think Gravlox will accept the challenge?” Orogarn Two asked Pettygast.

“How should I know? I don’t even know who he is,” Pettygast replied.

“Well, if he does, I’ll miss Vogonwë’s poetry,” Earnur remarked.

“What is a movie?” Chrysophylax wondered.

Then, Gravlox stood up. They all turned their eyes to him, and waited. Would he accept? What would be the weapons of choice? Would Vogonwë die or merely be wounded? Would this post ever end?