Sorry I haven't replied to comments on the last post yet; as you will see, I've been fully occupied in writing. The series of insane Lord of the Rings crossover drabbles/ficlets bouncing between beer_good_foamy and me now runs: Everybody Knows Men Never Ask Directions, The Only Way To Travel, The Evils of Capitalism, There’s Something About Frodo, Be Adequite, In The Dark, and Hey Mr Clean, You're Dirty Now Too. Beer Good is going to be off-line for a week, he says, and I want to get on with ‘Tabula Avatar’ and ‘Came The Thunder’, and so I’m moving the War of the Ring on with a series of 7 linked 100-word drabbles. Chronologically they come before ‘Hey, Mr Clean’.
“Urn of Osiris, check,” Willow muttered. “Okay, what’s next?” She studied the book intently. “Sacrifice a faun? Meep! Oh, well, I guess you can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.” She went to the kitchen, selected the largest and sharpest knife, and then went upstairs to her bedroom. She opened the wardrobe and entered, pushed aside the fur coats, and walked on until she was brushing past tree branches and snow crunched under her feet.
Willow saw a figure beside the lamp-post and hid the knife behind her back. “Hey,” she called, “I’ve a little surprise for you, Mr Tumnus...”
. . . . .
“Osiris!” Willow called. “Let the warrior of the people crossover!”
The others watched, horrified, as Willow vomited snakes and writhed in pain. Eventually her spasms eased. “Open the coffin,” she ordered.
Xander jumped down into the grave and pried open the coffin. He peered inside and recoiled. “She’s still dead, Will,” he reported.
“No!” Willow rushed to check for herself. A withered corpse met her gaze. “It didn’t work,” Willow lamented. “But why? I did everything right!”
“Technically, isn’t Faith the warrior of the people now?” Anya pointed out.
“Hey, yeah,” Xander agreed, “and what did you mean by ‘crossover’?”
. . . . .
Hit Me With Your Best Shot
The Lord of Nazgûl rode towards Gandalf. “Old fool,” he sneered, “This is my hour. Die now, and curse in vain.” Flames ran down his blade.
Gandalf did not retreat but stood waiting.
“Wicked cool,” a voice interrupted from behind the Nazgûl, “I’m out of jail. Hey, monsters to Slay. Five by five.”
“Begone, foolish one,” said the Morgul-Lord, turning to face the newcomer. “No living man may hinder me.”
“Yo, ringwraith dude, you blind?” Faith pointed to her chest. “This girlie is gonna kick your ass.”
“It is you that is blind,” the Nazgûl-lord retorted. “This is a horse.”
. . . . .
Stop Using Sex As A Weapon
It was beginning to sink into Lindsay Lohan’s addled mind that flashing her boobs to an army of lustful orcs perhaps hadn’t been the wisest move she could have made. “Uh, you don’t want to do this, guys,” she pleaded.
“Oh yes we do,” gloated a drooling orc chieftain. His hands went to his belt buckle, and his whole army followed suit.
The black fleet landed unobserved. Down the gangplanks rushed Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, the Rangers of the North, and the Grateful Dead. They fell upon the host with great slaughter; for the orcs were caught with their pants down.
. . . . .
Love Is A Battlefield
The Witch-King fled before Faith’s onslaught. Faramir led forth the army of Minas Tirith and they joined Aragorn in routing the orcish army.
Faramir slew the last lust-blinded orc and approached the semi-nude starlet. “I say unto you, Lady of Lohan, you are beautiful,” he said.
“Like, duh, totally,” said Lindsay.
Faramir frowned. “Yet less intelligent than my horse,” he decided. “Lady Faith, wouldst thou...?”
Faith shook her head. “Sorry, F, I know how this works,” she said. “I’m the crossover character. I get to boink the major sex symbol. Legolas.”
“Alas, Lady,” Legolas confessed, “my heart belongs to Gimli.”
. . . . .
“Bugger off, ye steaming great pansy,” Gimli told Legolas. “Yon lassie Galadriel is the one for me.”
“Tough luck, L,” said Faith. “Okay, then, I get Aragorn. Five by five.”
The rightful King of Gondor sighed. “Truly, you would make a worthy Queen,” he said, “but I have fallen for another.”
“Oh, yeah,” Faith said. “Arwen, right?”
“No longer,” said Aragorn, “for crossover characters take precedence, in the absence of a Mary Sue, and you are wrong in your claim that you are the primary crossover character in this tale. That position, and thus my heart, belongs to Jessica Fletcher.”
. . . . .
Les Orcs Dansant
“Thanks to your knowledge unrivalled, Madame Fletcher,” said Poirot, “we avoided the perils of Cirith Ungol and Shelob. Our destination lies before us.” He gestured across the barren land toward the fiery Mount Doom.
“Yes,” said Frodo, “but what are those orcs doing?” He pointed at a vast horde of Uruk-hai who pranced and gyrated on the plain. The thunder of heavy metal music filled the air.
“It’s like a huge mosh pit, Master Frodo,” remarked Sam, as the orcs played air guitar and banged their heads.
“It’s Sauron’s last line of defence,” Jessica explained. “Mordor on the dance floor.”