Created by members of the Realm of Nessa
8:00 Monday Morning at the House of Faramir and Eowyn in Ithilien…~
Eowyn: Faramir! Wake up already! I’ve already been up for two hours; I’ve washed the dishes that YOU were supposed to do yesterday night, I’ve mopped the kitchen floor, and I’ve taken out the trash! But I draw the line at making you breakfast when you insist on sleeping in this late!
Faramir: *Mumbles* Just… five… more… minutes… Please?
Eowyn: Absolutely not!! You know you have a meeting with Aragorn at lunch, and it’s going to take you quite awhile to ride there, so you may want to get going soon. I’m meeting Arwen to do some shopping over at the Gap of Rohan at 10, but you know I can’t leave till you’re out of bed, or else you’ll sleep in till your meeting is supposed to end!
Faramir: Just give me a second and I’ll be up… And since when do I have a meeting?
Eowyn: Since Friday, but you may not have heard me as you were quite caught up in the Dwarf Wrestling Championship on the Palantir.
Faramir: Oh, ok. You do know that’s what EVERYONE will be talking about today, don’t you?
Eowyn: Yes, but I doubt that’s what the meeting is about.
Faramir: You never know… it could be. Last week Aragorn called a meeting just to discuss the Middle Earth Polo League Championship.
Eowyn: That’s because Gondor is hosting this year, remember?
Faramir: Oh… right.
Eowyn: Well I need to get going, ok? Remember… Sam and Frodo are in town for the polo match this week, and they’re coming for supper, so be home by 6. And don’t forget about this new punch I got over at the market. Apparently it’s imported from Lothlorien… very expensive. It’s really very good. You should try some.
Faramir: Ok… Ride Safely!
~Later, at the Gap of Rohan…~
Arwen: *She walks in, exasperated, after one of Aragorn’s rare “Bad Mornings.” Eowyn, coincidentally, is in the same mood.*
Arwen and Eowyn in unison: MEN!!
~Meanwhile… back in Ithilien…~
Faramir: *As he is trying to get ready for his meeting, he picks up a chain mail shirt off of floor… sniffs it… makes appalled face and drops it. Repeats this with several other chain mail shirts until he finally finds one that doesn’t smell half bad and isn’t too terribly rusted.*
Well then… now that I’m dressed!
*He walks up to the mirror and prepares to brush his hair and teeth when he suddenly realizes that he lives in Middle Earth and that those things, on the occasion, only exist to Elves, and that he is just a Man and he is accustomed to being smelly and unkempt… not to mention the other sudden realization that they don’t even own a mirror.*
Well, that was easier than I thought!
*After he rushes through breakfast, forgetting to even try the new punch, he heads off to Gondor for his lunch meeting.*
Horse: *clipity-clop, clipty-clop, clipity-clop… about an hour later… clipity-clop, clipity-clop*
*He jumps effortlessly off of his horse, only to find out that his butt and inner thighs are extremely sore. He waddles unevenly into the city, as he dreads the ascend to the topmost Citadel. After waddling for quite some time at a very slow pace, he finally reaches the top about another hour later, which is an hour later than he was supposed to have been there. He bursts into throne room, making quite a disturbance and quite a scene, as well.*
Faramir: Um… hello, gentlemen!
*He tries to waddle a bit more normally, with an effort to look as valiant as possible in the process, but actually just makes himself into quite the humorous sight.*
Other Men in the Room: *Silence… Strange Looks… Roaring Laughter*
~Meanwhile, at the Gap of Rohan…~
Eowyn and Arwen: *They browse through endless rows of chain mail, trying to find appropriate sizes for the men in their lives, with little success.*
Arwen: You’d think they might actually restock occasionally.
Eowyn: I’d be surprised if they actually knew what “Restock” means. They never have my size in, and I’ve been waiting for them to get several orders in for months.
Arwen: *She suddenly stops “mid-browse* and holds up a couple of hangers with chain mail hanging from each of them.*
Ah-ha! I find them at last! Faramir is the same size as Aragorn, more or less, right?
Eowyn: Sure… Faramir is in desperate need of chain mail. All of his smell or have rusted. He refuses to clean them!
Arwen: I know how that is. Aragorn expects little miss “Elf Princess” to know how to get things nice and clean. Hello… Elf Princess. Never cleaned thing in my life.
Eowyn and Arwen: *Both ladies stock up on chain mail, cloaks, and shirts for both men, and leave with a few nice dresses for themselves. They gather their bags and prepare to head back to Eowyn’s place for some time to themselves before Faramir is due back from his meeting.*
Eowyn: So do you have the slightest inclination as to what this big meeting today is about?
Arwen: Not a clue.
~Back at the Meeting…~
Aragorn: By now, I’m sure all of you have noticed how we all have these chain mail shirts. They are all the rage, apparently, and we all love them. However… while looking into my Palantir, I saw something that will amaze and astound you. Apparently, the Elves over in Lorien are starting a new style that is SO in and SO hip, that our mail will look like that belt Beregond was wearing last night: Sooo last age. Anyways-
Faramir: So this meeting isn’t on the wrestling match?
Aragorn: *He looks a few pins-and-needles into Faramir*
Ahem. As I was saying, these Elves are trying to out-style us! Are we going to get them get away with this?!
Imrahil: Err… no – I guess. So, wait… what is this new style?
Aragorn: *He pulls out a pair of tights, a Viking hat, and a mini skirt.*
Faramir: *He waddles over dramatically, gaining a few chuckles along the way.*
It cannot be! I thought Bakshi went out of style already! I thought we were rid of it forever! THAT IS SO FREAKIN’ THIRD AGE!
Aragorn: By order of the King, my city WILL be stylish! Wear or be worn… by… err… well, I don’t know, but WEAR THEM ANYWAYS!
Imrahil: This is crazy. I’m sorry Aragorn, but… I don’t even live in your city. You can make your own realm look stupid if you fancy, but I will not go around looking like Boromir when he went through his… how can I put this… confused stage!
Faramir: That’s right! I will not have my people looking so… drafty!
Aragorn: So be it… you have the will to govern your own cities, but as for mine… We will look very, if I should go so far as to say… hip.
Aragorn: Moving on… did anyone see the Dwarf Wrestling Match last night?
~Meanwhile… back at the Gap of Rohan…~
Eowyn and Arwen: *As they are on their way out, a new display suddenly catches Eowyn’s eye…*
Eowyn: OH! Look at those! I bet Faramir would LOVE that! I think I’m going to buy him that outfit! Hmm… I wonder what size tights Faramir wears…
*DUN DUN DUN!*
~Back at home in Ithilien… Faramir returns from his meeting, a bit frazzled, and oddly waddling…~
Eowyn: Faramir, dear! How’d your meeting go? Arwen and I had a wonderful time, and you will never BZELIEVE what I bought you!
*Eowyn holds up a pair of tights, a Viking hat, and a mini skirt. Faramir’s jaw has to be scrapped off the floor.*
Faramir: You… seriously… didn’t… But… HOW!?
Eowyn: Oh, I saw these on our way out, and we both just thought they were the cutest outfits you ever did see. So we figured we’d both buy a few and then you and Aragorn could match for the big polo match on Thursday. Oh, and how do you like my new dress? They FINALLY got it in after 3 months…
Faramir: *He wanders over to the Palantir, flips it on, and begins watching the MENN (The Middle Earth News Network), still pretending to listen to Eowyn’s ramblings about her new dress. Suddenly, he gets an idea…*
Faramir: Um… Eowyn, honey? What time are Sam and Frodo getting here?
Eowyn: Six. Why?
Faramir: Well, I thought I’d go and see what Eomer thinks about my… lovely new outfit. He’s lodged in a local pub for the match.
Eowyn: Ok. Be careful!… Oh, and Faramir?
Eowyn: You really should use YOUR saddle this time.
Faramir: You mean…?
Eowyn: Mm-Hm… I accidentally took yours all the way to the Gap this morning… Not very comfortable.
Faramir: *He groans and walks towards the door.*
Well, I’m going to run over to Eomer’s real quick.
Eowyn: *Once Faramir has left, Eowyn decided to call Arwen on the Horn of Gondor and see what Aragorn thinks of the new outfit.*
Phone: *Ring Ring*
Eowyn: Hey, how does Aragorn like his new clothes?
Arwen: He loves them! Right now, he’s dancing about wildly with his new fashion!
Eowyn: *She hears Aragorn in the back ground singing off tune.*
Faramir isn’t quite as enthusiastic about his.
Arwen: Aragorn did say something about Faramir not liking it when he showed him it during their meeting.
Eowyn: Well, I will try to make him wear it, anyways.
Arwen: I was hoping they would both wear them to the big polo match Thursday!
Eowyn: I know, I told him that and Faramir was not very happy about it.
Aragorn: *He steals phone from Arwen frantically.*
Hey, Hey, Hey!
Eowyn: Um… hi.
Aragorn: GUESS WHAT!!
Aragorn: I LOOK SOOOO COOL!!
Arwen: *She takes back the phone.*
Sorry about that.
Eowyn: It’s ok.
Arwen: Well, I better go so I can get Aragorn calmed down a bit!
Eowyn: Ok, bye!
~Meanwhile, over at Eomer’s State Room…~
Faramir: *He knocks hastily on Eomer’s room’s door at the local lodge.*
Hello? Anybody home?
Eomer: *He opens the door and stops dead in his tracks*
Faramir: I know, I know. I look like an idiot. I can explain-
Eomer: No, No, No! You have Bakshi Boromir! It looks great! I heard that it was spreading from Lothlorien, where it is currently all the rage, apparently.
Faramir: *Sighs* Yeah, yeah… and Aragorn is set on making it all the rage in Gondor, too.
Eomer: Well I can only hope Rohan will catch on here soon!
*He turns and calls into the room…*
Lothiriel! Come see Faramir! He looks so cute!
Lothiriel: *She approaches the doorway smiling delightedly and sipping some punch.*
Oh, yes, doesn’t he look adorable! Eomer, I just HAVE to get you one of those!
Eomer: Have you seen Legolas in his? Wow, if I could look like that-
Faramir: I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! NO MORE BAKSHI BOROMIR! Please!
Eomer: Uh, yeah… sure.
*He stomps off to his horse to head back home for dinner.*
~Later, back at Faramir and Eowyn’s residence in Ithilien, Faramir is fuming as he walks into the house…~
Faramir: Why does EVERYONE like these new clothes but me? Your brother is even into them!
Eowyn: Oh, I already know that. I talked to him earlier today on the Horn of Gondor. He said he liked the new outfits, so I told him I’d give him one! He’ll be wearing it to the polo match.
Faramir: Well, at least I still have Imrahil… He’s still against the outfits.
Eowyn: Um… not quite. I also talked to Aragorn some today… Imrahil has finally come to his senses, too.
*The doorbell rings, and Eowyn goes to answers it. She finds Sam and Frodo, just in time for dinner, on the doorstep dressed in… You Guessed it!*
It looks like someone has taken a little visit to Gap of Rohan Kids! Very nice, gentlemen… very nice!
Sam and Frodo: *They thank her and hand her their Viking Hats and cloaks.*
Sam: Is it just me, or is it a little chilly in here?
Faramir: *He mutters a few inaudible words to himself that would translate to:*
Not only am I the only sane one, but I’m the only WARM one, too! Blasted tights.
Sam: What was that?
Faramir: Oh… uh…. I said… Potatoes… yea.
Frodo: O… k?
Sam: Potatoes!? I’m hungry! I’ve only had 5 meals yet today! What are we to be eating tonight, malady, if you don’t mind me asking?
Eowyn: Just wait and see. You all should eat up, the Polo match is tomorrow and you need the extra energy. We want our team to win!
Frodo: Which team? Remember… Sam and I are part of the Shire team!
Eowyn: Whatever. Anyway, come and eat.
~Later, at the dinner table…~
Eowyn: Faramir, you ARE going to wear your Bakshi to the match tomorrow, aren’t you? After all, that’s what I got it for.
Faramir: NO, I AM NOT.
Eowyn: Why not? It makes you look so… so…
Eowyn: Yes! I mean, no!
Faramir: See? Even you are beginning to have doubts!
Eowyn: AM NOT!!!!
Faramir: ARE TOO!!!
Eowyn: AM NOT!!!
Faramir: ARE TOO!!!
Sam: *Amidst Faramir and Eowyn’s bickering, he attempts to ask Frodo…*
Do you think they’ll notice if we finish the mushrooms while they argue?
Frodo: *He simply shrugs and sticks his fork back into the mushroom platter.*
Sam and Frodo: *They munch on the remainder of the mushrooms while they watch (the very entertaining) Eowyn and Faramir say “AM NOT,” and “ARE TOO,” back a forth… as if it’s going to change the other’s mind.*
Sam: I’m thinking now’s a good time to go.
Frodo: Err… yea. Good idea.
Frodo and Sam: *They both stand to exit and bow to their hosts.*
Sam: Thank you for your hospitality, and we’ll see you tomorrow at the Polo Match!
(Of course Eowyn and Faramir were too involved to notice)
~Later, in the middle of the night, after they two of them finally became hoarse and resolved to switch to the silent treatment instead, and both had gone to bed… Faramir gets up and tip toes into the hallway after retrieving the dreaded Bakshi ensemble and stuffing it under his arm…~
Faramir: *Whispering to himself* Time to get rid of this for good! I can’t wear it… if I can’t find it!
*So Faramir decides to shred the clothing items, hat and all, and send them up-stream in a nearby… well… stream.*
Now that that’s done!… I can finally get some sleep!
~The next morning (the morning of the big match, mind you), Eowyn is making breakfast when Faramir walks into the kitchen…~
Eowyn: Listen, Faramir… I’m sorry I made such a big deal out of those clothes. You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to. Just give them to me and I’ll return them for you.
Faramir: *A look of complete shock and dismay comes over his face.*
*He looks around nervously for some solace of a distraction.*
What time is it??
Eowyn: Nine-thirty. I decided to let you sleep in today.
Faramir: Oh dear lord, I’m late!
Eowyn: For what? Polo doesn’t start until 4.
Faramir: Um… Aragorn wants Eomer, Imrahil, and I to get there early so we can go over a few details. Gotta run!
*Faramir dashes outside, does the little handy dandy whistle that Gandalf taught him, jumps on Shadowfax, and rides as fast as Shadowfax’s little feet can carry him to the Gap of Rohan. He buys yet another Bakshi outfit, is told by the sales lady that it’ll look oh-so-cute on him, and rides back home… all before 11.*
Eowyn: *Alas, he is too late. Eowyn is standing at the door, fuming, with a pile of wet rags in her hand. A Viking hat sticks out from beneath the pile.*
What, may I ask, is this??
Faramir: Oh… um… looks like a Bakshi outfit. Very stylish. One of the Hobbits might of left it behind. Why they would do a thing like that, I just don’t know. Hmm… there must be a naked Hobbit running around here somewhere! Oh no, dear! Cover your eyes!
Eowyn: *She doesn’t look amused.*
How would you expect this hat to fit a Hobbit?
Faramir: Frodo does kind of have a big head…
Eowyn: Not that big. Faramir, honey… would you like to explain anything?
Faramir: Nope… not really. Well… maybe… Hate Bakshi, am afraid of Bakshi, why must we wear Bakshi?, tore up Bakshi, threw Bakshi in stream, Bakshi went bye-bye, no more Bakshi… problem solved… right? NO! Not right! New problem… Angry wife, never good, especially when angry wife is Eowyn…
*Faramir returns to house still talking to himself.*
Eowyn: *She simply remains standing at the door, clothes in hand, pondering in vain over everything Faramir just said, trying her very best to comprehend any of it.*
~Meanwhile at Aragorn and Arwen’s house…~
Aragorn: *He continues dancing about with his new fashion.*
Arwen: Honey, are you EVER going to stop?
Aragorn: *He suddenly stops.*
Oh my goodness! Do you know what I just realized we need!?
Arwen: *She sighs impatiently.*
Aragorn: A LLAMA!!
Arwen: *She stands there, looking are her husband strangely.*
Of course, you, of ALL people, would be the only remaining mortal capable of reclaiming the throne of Gondor and practically ruling the world of Men. Ugh… what is Middle Earth coming to?
Aragorn: No, but you see… I want it so that I can train it to bite people like Pippin!
Pippin: HEY! I heard that!
Arwen: Pippin! Where did you come from?
Pippin: I have NO idea, actually… Hum. Oh well… I guess I’ll just leave then!
Aragorn: *Waves frantically at Pippin.*
Anyways… I think it would be so cool, because then I could ride around with my new fashion and be seen on a llama!
Arwen: Honey, you need to lie down.
*He then crashes excitedly to the ground and snores.*
Arwen: Phew… what a day!
~The next day at the Polo Match…~
Faramir: *He stands at the check-in booth, awaiting his fellow Gondor-goers, dressed in his normal attire (After Eowyn became persuaded that Faramir didn’t HAVE to wear his Bakshi clothes, he took the chance and ran with it). He hears trumpets ringing, and turns to the gate only to see Aragorn, making a grand entrance in his Oh-So-Lovely Bakshi ensemble riding… yes, you guessed it again… a llama.*
Aragorn: Salutations everyone! A fine day, is it not? A trifle warm perhaps, but ’tis all the more enjoyment for the mach!
Faramir: Um… What’s gotten into you?
Aragorn: Into me? It is you who is standing there dressed like a fool.
Faramir: *Faramir backs away slowly.*
*He then runs off to find Arwen in search of some answers.*
Arwen! What’s up with-
Arwen: I wish I knew, but I don’t, so don’t ask!
Faramir: What’s gotten into you?
Arwen: Now would be a good time for you to… oh, I don’t know… LEAVE, maybe?
Faramir: *He backs away slowly, yet again, in fright and disgust. Faramir turns to see Imrahil standing amongst some other Gondorian men and hopes to Eru that he can find some response to all his many questions.*
Imrahil: …And did you hear? The Bakshi line is coming out with a new kind of gear for our horses, and they’re also making a new color! Guess what it is!
Faramir: *His eyes widen in repulsion.*
Imrahil: It’s PURPLE, with yellow and green dots! I’ll look so cute in it! Don’t you think?
Faramir: AH! No!
Imrahil: I bet it’ll be the BEST on Faramir. I hope Eowyn can get some sense into him!
*He turns to see Faramir standing alone looking a tad bit nauseous.*
Oh! Hello, Faramir! Didn’t see you here! We were just talking about you… Are you Ok?
Faramir: I CAN’T TAKE IT!! WHAT’S UP WITH EVERYBODY??
*In his distress, Faramir rides away frenetically, taking a detour to the Minas Tirith library. He pulls up a seat at one of the Palantirs there and logs onto “www.galadrielsmirror.com” and looks up the local news, looking for anything that might help him find a cause for the mayhem that has and possibly is about to ensue. Finally, he stumbles upon a headline in the Isengard Issue that reads, “Spiked Punch Causes Bakshi Revival.” Reading further, he discovers that someone has been issuing a very popular punch all throughout Middle Earth that is spiked with some substance that gives the drinker the sudden craving for Bakshi garments. He figures that that must be the new punch that he has seen everyone drinking lately, and is relieved to know that he didn’t have time to try it yet. His relief greatens when he reads that symptoms should last no more than 95 hours. However, the article does not say WHO did it. With this information, he calmly returns to the polo match, all the while constantly telling himself that it will only last 2 more days…
On his way back to the polo match, a small shop catches his eye, and he takes a double take to see what exactly it is. The sign above it reads “Gimli: Private Eye.” While this seemed a little strange to him, first of all because it’s a Dwarf-ran business in Gondor; and secondly because he didn’t know that there was any need for detectives in Middle Earth (up until now), but he decided to give it a shot, anyways. As he enters in, he sees a dwarf sitting at a desk with his head down on the desk-top, making strange growling sounds resembling snoring. He lightly taps the dwarf on the shoulder, and Gimli himself sits up very abruptly, looking very startled*
Gimli: GAH! Who’s there!? Why are you… oh…. uh…. hello! Gimli, son of Gloin, at your service. I apologize for that! It’s been very… um… busy here lately, and I barely have time to sleep! May I be the first to welcome you to the best in the business!
Faramir: *He looks around at all the cobwebs and dust skeptically, but decides that that isn’t important since Gimli is the ONLY one in the business*
Right… um… ok, then. Anyways, now for the point… I have a very urgent case for you. Someone in Middle Earth has been spiking all the punch with some substance that makes its drinker suddenly become infatuated with the Bakshi line. The symptoms only last for 95 hours, but that only leaves us with 2 days until the majority of it starts wearing off.
Gimli: Ah, yes… *shudders at the remembrance of such horrid attire*… the great punch mystery. I read something about that on the Palantir, the other day.
Faramir: Indeed! That’s where I saw it.
Gimli: Say… did you see that Dwarvish wrestling match on there the other day?
Faramir: Man, did I! Oh! Could you believe when… wait… that’s beside the point. I need your help. Whoever did this should NOT go without punishment! This is just sick and wrong, and must be stopped!
Gimli: Agreed! I wonder what would posses someone to reek such evil!
Faramir: I can only hope that you, my friend, can help me find out!
Gimli: I will do my best!
Faramir: *Gimli collects information from Faramir about where he can be reached, and bids him farewell with a handshake and his word. Faramir remounts his horse and rides off into the city in a much better mood, hoping that Gimli is as good as he proclaims.*
Gimli: *Once Faramir is gone, he sighs and walks over to a closet in the back of the office. He opens the closet door, revealing a very pale, malnourished Legolas.*
Go find out who spiked the punch and I’ll give you some Lembas.
Legolas: Yes master!
*After a few hours, Legolas runs back into the shop after taking a little visit over to the Polo Match, where he knew he’d find the culprit, as everybody who was anybody in Middle Earth would be there. Gimli is slumped at his desk making his odd snoring sounds, but is awakened by Legolas slamming the door.*
Gimli: Huh? What? Oh, Legolas. Did you find anything?
Legolas: Well, yes… It seems that Galadriel spiked the punch on a rather high-stakes bet from Elrond. Something to do with who would control the new Elf Empire when they take over Middle Earth.
Gimli: Oh, all right. Thank you very much. Go back to your closet now.
Legolas: Oh, and I also contacted my father. He said that if you dared to lock up the prince of Mirkwood in a dusty closet again, then he would be forced to have you stuffed in a barrel and sent downstream in the Long Lake from his castle to Dale.
*Legolas runs out, laughing wildly, and Gimli mutters something about his father’s stupid adventures. He then goes to contact Faramir on a public Horn of Gondor, since he can’t afford the bills of his personal one. While Gimli is in mid-dial, feeling bit baffled at what he is going to tell Faramir, since he isn’t quite sure of the source nor the means in which Legolas acquired this information, he sees Galdadriel herself storm into his office. Seeing that Galadriel seems a bit enraged, Gimli hangs up the horn and runs back to his shop, attempting to greet her as he enters in behind her.*
Gimli: Welcome to…
Galadriel: Listen here, you nasty midget! I know you’ve been sending your little lackey out and about to spy on me… I saw him rustling in the bushes while I was trying to enjoy the polo match, and decided to follow him here. So, tell me… what is it you want in order to keep you from letting out all this information to the public? It would simply ruin my reputation, even is Erlond did loose the bet!
Gimli: Ah… so it was you, then?
Galadriel: Of course it was me… do you actually think I was going to sit back and watch Elrond rule in place of me? I think not! Besides… I found it quite amusing to see all the silly mortals running around in such outlandish apparel, thinking that they actually looked GOOD.
Gimli: Well then… If that is your mind-set, I’m afraid that there’s nothing you can do to keep me from informing Faramir of this new… state of affairs. The Captain, and the King will know of this… but I don’t think that it’s the spiking of the punch that will be your main concern.
Galadriel: What? Why not?
Gimli: That is not NEARLY as bad of an offence as trying to take over Middle Earth.
Galadriel: Oh… darn it! Let that one slip right out, didn’t I?
Gimli: Legolas! Come back in here, please!
Legolas: *Pops back in the door, munching on some Lembas*
Gimli: Please show our lady, here, to her new, temporary quarters.
*He nods towards the dusty closet*
Galadriel: NO! But you… you can’t! It wasn’t just me! It was Elrond, and Frodo, and GANDALF, too! You can’t let them go unpunishished!
Gimli: *ponders* Indeed, no. Well then… Legolas, we’re going to be needing a bigger closet. But for now, see Galadriel to her chambers, and go out to find our other suspects.
Legolas: Will do!
*He locks Galadriel in the musty excuse for a form of storage, and frolics out the door in search of Elrond, Gandalf, and Frodo. Fortunately for him, as soon as he steps out the door, he spots the three eavesdroping by the window.*
Legolas: Why, hello, you three! Did you follow me here from the Polo match, too? Hm… Well, you might as well come on inside! We were all just having a lovely chat, and I would hate for you to miss out on all the hospitality!
*The three other partners in crime unsuspectingly accept the invitation graciously and walk right into Gimli’s office*
Gimli: Hello, all! So… It’s mildly strange to see you all here on this lovely day. Tell me… what business do you purpose here on?
Gandalf: *nervously* Well… *ahem*… uh… We were in town for the Polo Match, and… um… see…
*He continues to stumble over his own words as he looks back and forth between Frodo and Elrond guiltily, looking for some solace of an answer, when Frodo suddenly burst out…*
Frodo: OK! OK! It was us! I admit it! Is it such a bad thing to want a little place to call your own?
Gandalf and Elrond: *They simply hand their heads and shake them in shame*
Gimli: And you planned on calling the entire land of Middle Earth your own?
Elrond: Well geez. You make it sound so implausible!
Gimli: *sigh* Legolas… into the closet with them!
Faramir: *Faramir decided to just head home instead of back to the Polo Match after his little visit with Gimli, as he was under much pressure, and didn’t feel he could take the distress of all the unfortunate happenings there. Besides… he was always more of a put-put golf person, himself. He did, however, miss a humiliating defeat on Gondor’s part, and could at least be thankful for that.*
~Later That Night…~
Galadriel, Elrond, Frodo, and Gandalf: *As they are starting to feel a little cramped in the closet, they begin to formulate an escape plan*
Gandalf: Well, I suppose I could just use an ancient opening spell to open the doors… after all, they’re just cabinet doors. I don’t see them being too hard to open!
Galadriel: *She groans impatiently along with all the other folk trapped in the tiny space*
Why didn’t you tell us this earlier!? I’ve already been in here with all of you FAR longer than necessary!
Gandalf: OK then… but after we get out of this closet, where do you propose we go?
Elrond: Well, I suppose we could make for the Grey Havens and sail away as convicts to Valinor! That seems to be the popular thing to do here, lately. (Ha! And you thought that they left because “the time of the Elves was over.” Pft! Riiiight)
Frodo: Sounds like a plan! Have at it, Gandalf!
*Once they are all out in the open air again, they go around the office and replenish their supplies with anything they can find and get ready for the long journey ahead*
~The Next Morning…~
Gimli and Legolas: *They come into work pumped up and ready to question the whole guilty party, when they find the closet doors thrown open and the inside empty, except for a note that read:
Thank you so much for your kind hospitality, but I regret to inform you that we decided to take leave a little earlier than expected. We are currently on our way to the Grey Havens to sail away to Valinor. Don’t bother following, as you would not be permitted there. Thank you, anyways!
Elrond, Galadriel, Gandalf, and Frodo”*
Gimli: BLAST! They got away! *sigh* Oh well… at least Middle Earth will be rid of them forever and they will not be able to reek their havoc here any longer.
Legolas: *sigh* I suppose… You better call Faramir.
Gimli: Yes, I guess I probably need to.
*Gimli walks outside to the nearest public Horn of Gondor and dials up Faramir. After explaining the whole situation, Faramir resolves to go over himself to discuss this with Gimli in person*
Faramir: *On the way to Gimli’s, Faramir is stopped by Aragorn, surprisingly dressed in completely normal clothing. He was sporting fall’s latest fashions, including Gondor’s new line of chain mail.*
Aragorn: And that’s a surprise… why?
Faramir: Uh, you know… that whole Bakshi/llama revival?
Aragorn: What on earth are you talking about?
Faramir: Wait, you don’t remember that… at all??
Aragorn: Remember what?
Faramir: IT’S GONE!!
*Faramir runs off to tell Gimli the good news, while Aragorn is left very, very confused.*
Faramir: *When he arrives at Gimli’s agency, he rushes in all in a tizzy about the punch finally wearing off.*
The 95 hours are starting to arrive for all these crazed punch-drinking fanatics!
Gimli: Ah yes… and I have sent Legolas to confiscate all the remaining punch in the surrounding areas. I also made a few calls to have the source of the punch shut down in Lothlorien.
Faramir: This is wonderful!
Gimli: Well, ma’lad… all is well once again. I recommend you go back home and celebrate with your wife.
Faramir: I think I’ll take your advice!
*He stands and takes leave of Gimli, bowing and shaking hands with him. He walks outside, mounts his steed, and rides back to his own house.*
~That night, at Faramir’s House…~
Faramir: *He bursts in the door and finds a large pile of Bakshi attire laying in a heap in the floor.*
Eowyn: Oh! Hello, dear! Look at what all I found in your closet. You really should clean it out more often… these are probably just a few old hand-me-downs from your brother.
Faramir: *Chuckling to himself, he replies:*
Ah yes… probably so.
~Back at “Gimli: Private Eye”~
Legolas: *He walks back in after gathering all the remaining punch for sale, with arms full of jugs (some of which are empty) and clothed from head to toe in the typical Bakshi ensemble.*
Gimli: What happened to you!?
Legolas: Oh… heh… I got thirsty.