2. How I Spent My Summer Vacation: 2
Things have been a bit awkward at work since Monday night's revelation. I try to avoid Erestor, but he makes that very difficult by hanging about near the fax machine (which is conveniently right beside my desk). I am fairly certain all the paper jams are caused by him purposely putting substandard copies through the feeder so that I have to go over there and bend down just to unstick it.
Of course it was just my luck that when I was in the middle of unjamming the sixth paper of the day, Glorfindel came out from his office just in time to see me positioned in a very undignified manner. Erestor was standing perilously close. Glorfindel asked what was going on, and I said I was explaining the fax machine to Erestor. He shook his head and said, "Looks more like the fax of life," which made Erestor laugh madly. He sounded a bit like a sick hyena (I know this because I saw a documentary about hyena health on the Discovery channel the other week).
If I didn't feel so funny about it, I would have punched Glorfindel in the groin. I was at exactly the right height to do it, too.
I finally received an email from Elrohir today. However, after reading it over at least ten times, I am still completely baffled as to its meaning.
From: "The Best" <firstname.lastname@example.org>
hello there hoodoo tis elrohir of the gereen email
sinner wolverine the snake bear what language is
hoodo? is it voodoo? hoodoodoodoodoodoodoo! when am
icoming home elladan? aragorn?is legolas sitll alive./
is l.,egolas still alive? are you guys ever coming
here, there i go again on a mad randt. aragorn is a
snake bear.bhoiws the eating imiss you guys do one for
me if that s cool.......i bet your rooms till has the
perfect smeel, maybe i'll ring you or somehow have a
mistidrected telephone message go to your address.,
I LOVE YOU=ELROHIR
I showed the email to Legolas, and he told me that he'd had a message from Elrohir as well, only his message was just the word "focus" repeated 418 times (he counted). Then he suggested we play Monopoly.
I sometimes wonder whether Legolas has any train of thought whatsoever, or just a bunch of random cars zipping around on unconnected tracks.
There was no work today on account of how it's a festival of some sort celebrating something to do with one of the Valar. Nobody remembers which one any more; they just use the day as an excuse to drink and act indecently, and play bad music all night without the neighbours complaining.
Dad was wearing an oversized novelty foam cowboy hat and carrying a can of lager in each hand. He was watching with a dumb smile as Legolas tried to hit a piñata shaped like a hotdog. Legolas was wearing a wet suit and swim fins. I think he'd been in the river again.
A few feet away, Erestor had organised a blindfolded three-legged race. I tried to flee before he saw me and tied himself to my leg in a fit of misguided, insane passion (as he was likely to do- he had a shifty look in his eyes), but I accidentally crashed into Arwen, who was carrying a tray of devilled eggs to her volleyball team. I don't even want to talk about what happened next.
Anyway, I'm now safely in my bedroom, after having spent the past half hour carefully removing a caramel apple from my hair. From my window, I can hear Erestor trying to organise a pickle-eating contest. Legolas sounds strangely enthusiastic.
As far as I can tell, this festival seems to be in honour of Goofwë, the Vala of Tomfoolery.
LATER: Sometime after the pickle-eating contest (dad won), I realised that I hadn't seen Glorfindel all night. Being concerned about his well-being, I decided to go and casually knock at the door and casually ask if I could borrow his "I'm With Ingwë" ski hat to wear down to the festivities.
I knocked, he yelled, "Come in," so I went in.
Glorfindel was lying on his bed wearing naught but gold satin shorts, holding a 26 of rye in one hand and a pipe in the other, and watching an obscene programme on cable. He was also on his mobile, saying, "Right, sweetness, ring me tomorrow, yeh?" Then he hung up and motioned for me to sit next to him on the tiger-print velour duvet cover. His room smelled like Aragorn's van.
I felt a bit strange sitting there next to him, especially after he put his arm around me and offered me a swig from his mostly-empty bottle. I note he didn't offer to share his pipe. He talked nonsense at me for half an hour, spouting wisdom on the following subjects in this order: girls, boobs, chocolate sauce, expensive cars, leather upholstery, leather shoes, boobs, lingerie, girls, and perfume.
During this time I said nothing for fear that if I opened my mouth it would do something totally against my better judgement that would surely get me into trouble tomorrow. The obscene programme wasn't helping any. Then at exactly 11-24 he went a bit googley-eyed and passed out across my chest, spilling the remainder of his drink on my trousers (payback for the paralyser, I suppose). I carefully put his pipe onto the bedside table atop a pile of indecent magazines so that it wouldn't set the duvet on fire.
I stayed and watched the telly for a while, just to make sure Glorfindel didn't choke on his tongue and die or anything, of course. Before I left, I casually checked the numbers on his mobile. The last caller was someone named "Candir", at 10-38 pm, so Glorfindel was probably talking to this Candir when I knocked. But the only Candir I can think of is the fellow who owns the waffle shop across the river, and he's married with two daughters. Surely Glorfindel wouldn't go for him?!
Glorfindel said nothing about last night at work today. I said nothing as well. The day passed in awkward silence. Either he is embarrassed at his shameful behaviour, or he doesn't remember a thing.
Most likely the latter.
There was nothing to do at the office today, so between rounds of seeing how many times my chair would spin without me touching the floor, I made the following lists:
WHY I AM NOT ATTRACTED TO ERESTOR
*He is older than dad and acts like it.
*He labels everything, as if anyone wants to steal "Erestor's mousepad".
*He has a dumb coffee mug with his name written on it.
*He uses phrases like "thanks a million" in a sincere, white-bread way.
*He sellotapes his socks to his legs so they don't fall down.
*His favourite food is corn dogs, especially of the on-a-stick variety.
WHY I MIGHT BE ATTRACTED TO GLORFINDEL
*He is older than dad but doesn't care.
*He has a very liberal (read: socialist) policy regarding ownership and sharing.
*He has a clever coffee mug with "My Parents Had Sex And All I Got Was This S#!**y Life" written on it.
*He uses phrases like "thanks a million" in an ironic, post-modern way.
*He wears trousers long enough that you can't see his socks.
*He has been a vegan since the start of the First Age, long before it was trendy.
A strange-looking skinny blonde girl showed up at the office today, just as I was getting ready to leave for the day. She was wearing about fifty plastic bracelets, sparkley jeans, far too much black eye makeup, and a top that said "HOTTIE". At least I'm guessing that was a top. It might have been a sticker.
She hung about in the reception area as I shut down my computer and switched off the fax and Xerox. I assumed she'd wandered in by accident and would soon leave when she realised she was in the wrong place, so I ignored her. But she didn't leave. She kept staring at the staff photo on the wall (the one that's not been replaced since the Second Age and features Gil-galad standing front and centre giving his smarmy smile to the camera).
I tried to sound as condescending as possible when I asked if I could help her, but she didn't seem to notice. She just said, with a mouthful of purple bubblegum, "Yah, I'm here to see Glorfindel." I was about to ask the purpose of her visit when Glorfindel rounded the corner at an impressive speed and said that he'd take care of the situation and that I should go home without him. I pointed out that he was giving me a ride. He threw the keys to his Lexus at me and all but shoved me out the door.
I drove home in a state of confusion. Why would that girl want to see Glorfindel? She's far too young to be interviewed for a job; she looks like she'd still be in highschool. And besides, Erestor and dad do all the hiring. Glorfindel's just the chief accountant. Is she a long-lost relation of his? Was she selling something?
As I pulled into the garage, Glorfindel's mobile (which he had conveniently left on the passenger seat) rang. The number ID said "Candir", so of course I answered (in case the call was important). The fellow on the other end, presumably Candir himself, said that he was worried about his daughter who hadn't been home all day, and that he was trying all the numbers programmed into her memory dial- did I know where she was?
I truthfully replied that I didn't know who she was. He said her name was Aralindë. Then he asked who I was. I lied and said he'd reached the Cineplex box office. He seemed satisfied with that, and hung up.
Glorfindel didn't come home until past midnight last night. He looked disturbingly chipper. I didn't bother to ask who Aralindë is. I have a dreadful fear that I already know.
I spent the day playing video games with Legolas. I thoroughly kicked his butt at Bust-A-Move. I then told him about the suspected Aralindë and her superhero-tight sparkley jeans and not-quite-there top. He said she sounded like a skank.
Legolas, I might point out, was wearing a pink fishnet vee-neck and black vinyl trousers. He'd written my dad's name on his arm with a jiffy marker.
The skinny blonde girl was back at the office today at quarter to five, wearing knee-high platform boots, a shiny halter top that said "DIVA", and a mini skirt that looked a few sizes too small. I wordlessly pointed her in the direction of Glorfindel's office. She wordlessly smiled and pranced off as if she already knew the way. Erestor was standing behind me. We both snickered at Glorfindel's expense.
At least I though it was Glorfindel's expense. When I got home, Legolas found a laser label stuck to my back that said "Erestor's Elladan." So Erestor could have very well been snickering at me.
I had a funny dream about Erestor last night. Perhaps I don't find him so repulsive after all.
The blonde girl has been to the office every day so far this week. Her tops have said, in order: Tuesday- "FLIRT", Wednesday- "HONEY", yesterday- "SEXY". Erestor and I have started a betting pool as to what her top will say today. My vote is with "PRINCESS". Erestor thinks "POPSTAR".
At about 10-30 I managed to corner Glorfindel in the coffee room while he was filling up his "My Parents Had Sex..." mug. I must admit that the mug did distract me from my mission- while waiting for him to finish stirring in the sugar (he always takes forever with that) I realised that I can't imagine Glorfindel having parents. I guess I always just assumed he's the result of a genetics experiment gone horribly good.
However I did manage to stand in his way long enough to prevent him from leaving while I tried to remember exactly why it was I'd accosted him in the first place. The whole parents thing threw off my concentration. But I did eventually manage to blurt out some semblance of an accusation regarding his little sparklejeans Lolita. After a few lame excuses he broke down and confessed all. Her name *is* Aralindë, she is 5'4" and weighs approximately 95 pounds, and they have been carrying on this ridiculous liaison since April. They met when he went to her highschool as a guest speaker to explain to her social studies class how the municipal budget system works. She is forty-eight years old.
Forty-eight! He is nearly 147 times her age! I worked it out on the adding machine on his desk when he was gone for lunch. Dad is going to have a fit when he finds out. However, as finding out will require him to pay attention to something other than Legolas for a few minutes, this is not likely to happen.
Aralindë showed up right on schedule, wearing a top with a picture of a butterfly on it. Nobody won the betting pool.
Due to unacceptable noise coming from Glorfindel's room down the corridor, I am now sleeping on the top bunk in Legolas' room. At first I was sure that I'd never sleep, given that he talks nonstop about anything and everything, but around midnight he got up to go to the biff and never came back. Either he was murdered by a band of hired assassins, or else hijacked outside the bathroom door by dad. To preserve my sanity, I'm going to choose to believe in the assassins theory until proved otherwise.
Aralindë has dumped Glorfindel!!! This came about late last night after she learned that, despite his prestigious government paycheque, he will not pay for her plane fare to Gondor for some rock festival in August. In an attempt to quickly snag an older and richer boyfriend, she is now hitchhiking to the Grey Havens to hit on Círdan. HA! Good luck!
Glorfindel is down at the Bottom of the Barrel pub getting thoroughly wasted. I think I will go console him. By buying him a drink, I mean.
I ended up consoling Glorfindel until well past midnight last night. I tried to explain that the breakup was for the best, and that Aralindë was a shallow, selfish brat, but he was beyond reason and just kept sobbing into something black and lacy that I sincerely hope was a handkerchief. Eventually I convinced him that he could drink just as well, if not more cost-effectively, at home in bed, and helped him out to his car. Along the way he sobbed that I was his best friend in the whole world. Then he swore at me and told me to quit touching his bum (it was an accident).
He was sick twice on the way home. I had to half drag him up the steps and down the corridor to his room and then help him out of his soiled clothes (not that I minded at all- I am always willing to help out a friend in need). I tucked him nicely into bed and gave him a goodnight kiss on the forehead, but he kicked off the duvet while whining that he couldn't handle the tiger-print because it reminded him of Aralindë. He only wanted his pink blankie, the one his mum made when he was three.
I spent the next ten minutes looking for a 7000-year-old pink blankie. I found a dirty greyish thing in one of his dresser drawers beneath a collection of ratty old clothes. It looked like it may have been pink back at the beginning of the First Age, so I tucked this around Glorfindel and he appeared to calm down considerably. Only the blankie was quite small and he had to curl up to fit under it.
He looked very sad and lonely all scrunched up under his blankie, so I suggested that maybe he'd be better off staying with me in my room. But he said no. It was worth a try.
I had to clean up his car this morning before I took it to work (by myself- he is in no state to get out of bed). I would have made him clean up his own mess, but he'd been drinking steadily for the past 24 hours and I didn't trust him not to try to drink the upholstery shampoo.
Now he's flopped over in bed, still drinking.
Glorfindel is still moaning on about Aralindë. Legolas is still here. Erestor is still sticking labels on me. Dad is still being lecherous. And Aragorn has been trying to be my best friend ever since Arwen left for elite volleyball camp in Lórien yesterday afternoon. However, Glorfindel did let me comb his hair before supper today (he's too lazy and drunk to do it himself), so perhaps things will be looking up soon.
Glorfindel stayed in bed all day today listening to the CD Aralindë forgot in his stereo- "Without You I'm Nothing"/Placebo. When he started making up new words to the songs, I knew it was time to intervene.
I went into his room to find him lying half-conscious atop a pile of empty bottles and other unmentionables. I drew up the curtains and he complained that the light was too bright. I dragged him into the shower and he complained that the water was too wet. I was sort of hoping he'd complain that his clothes were too covering, but no luck.
I promised to take him somewhere nice to get real food that wasn't of the dehydrated chipped persuasion. We were about to drive off, but unfortunately Legolas was sitting on the driveway doing something with croquet wickets, effectively blocking our exit. The only I could move him was to put him in the back of the car beside Glorfindel and bring him along.
I asked Legolas if he had any preference as to a nice place with good food, and he said, "Burger King." It took five full minutes of explaining before he sufficiently understood the concept of vegetarianism. His contribution after that was, "Burger King has veggie burgers." I would have tried to convince him that perhaps someplace else might be better, but Glorfindel was getting a bit quiet and looked ready to start sobbing over stupid Aralindë again, so I just hurried to Burger King.
Glorfindel announced that his veggie burger tasted "funny". Legolas tried it, and assured him that it tasted almost exactly like a real hamburger. This would be why it tasted funny. Glorfindel has never eaten meat in his life, and wasn't sure what to expect. In the end, though, he decided he liked it and we had to go back for more. He has appointed Legolas to be his official food supervisor for the remainder of the summer. Tomorrow we are going to McDonald's.
Glorfindel is still moping. It has been a week now. All he does is sit in his room and drink himself silly. The Burger King intervention appears to have failed. Legolas has grown bored with his position as food supervisor and is now flopped over on the sofa in his underwear playing Zelda on his GameBoy. Dad is no help either- he's too busy watching Legolas. It looks as if I'm going to have to cure Glorfindel by myself. He was at least halfway sober when I went to talk to him, having run out of alcohol a few hours earlier and being too lazy to stumble downstairs for more. I sat on the bed next to him, grabbed him firmly by the arm, and (looking into his teary, bloodshot eyes) said, "This has to stop."
He frowned and said, "Sod off, Elladan." I'd forgotten how grumpy he is when he's not drunk.
I tried my best to cheer him up by telling him all sorts of unattractive things about Aralindë to make him realise he's better off without her. She curses like a ranger, her favourite band is Creed, she's too skinny and suffers from plumber bum when her jeans slip down, and she colours her hair. He didn't seem to appreciate my efforts. In fact, he yelled at me for shattering his happy illusion that she's a natural blonde. Yes, a natural blonde with natural purple highlights.
I also tried every other scheme I could think of. I offered to pay his admission to the cinema if he wanted to go see a movie. I offered to make vegan chilli if he got dressed and came down for supper. I promised to buy him all the Rev he could drink if he went to the dance club with me to look for a new cheap underage girlfriend. But he just moaned that he only wanted his Aralindë back.
Exasperated, I yelled that if stupid Aralindë ever did come back she'd probably dump him again PDQ once she saw the lamentable state of both him and his bedroom.
He sat straight up and said, "You're right!" as he looked around at the horrid mess of bottles and magazines and half-empty Pringles tubes. Then he ushered me out with instructions to fetch the vacuum, Bee-mop, loo brush, Mr. Clean, paper towelling, Windex, Tilex, Febreeze, Comet, and Lysol. He has been cleaning like mad for the past four hours.
Glorfindel's bedroom is now on par with a five-star hotel for cleanliness. He's even washed the walls and replaced all the burned-down candles. Glorfindel himself is also shiny and clean, having washed his hair and put on fresh clothes. Real clothes too, the non-stretchy sort with zips and buttons instead of elastic. He's even wearing lace-up shoes.
So now he does all his drinking outside on the deck furniture while watching nature instead of inside in bed while watching cable. He's out there now. He was drinking rum and Coke, but he ran out of rum. Then he was drinking whiskey and Coke, but he ran out of Coke.
Now he's drinking whiskey and Gatorade.
Glorfindel came in to work today. I was sure he'd stay home to drink, but he was in his office at 8-30, busily going at the computer. He stayed at the computer all day, only leaving his desk for five minutes at lunchtime to microwave some weird thing that involved pita bread. He was still sitting there when it was time to leave, clicking the mouse and staring at the screen with a maniacal glazed look in his eyes.
I asked what he was doing, and he said, "Compiling a database of therapeutic resources pertinent to my current emotional condition." I jokingly asked if that meant bookmarking porn sites in his Favourites folder on Netscape. He replied with a disturbing, hollow laugh.
I think he was.
Aralindë has come crawling back to Glorfindel. Not literally crawling, but close enough: she was staggering a bit and looked dehydrated. She proceeded to throw herself upon the mercy of Glorfindel's raging libido. Lucky for her he's a sexual deviant and will accept this sort of erratic behaviour so long as he eventually gets laid.
I was glad to be able to go to work and be rid of them. I got a ride with Erestor. He had an Iggy Pop tape in his car. He is really quite nice when I'm just talking to him and don't have to look at his freakish blue contact lenses. I can almost forgive his irritating overuse of the word "basically" in conversation.
When I came home from work I found Glorfindel sitting at the computer playing video pinball. He cheerfully explained that Aralindë had won two tickets to the Gondor rock festival from the radio, so now the both of them are going to the show, in a hired Winnebago. He looked strangely pleased with this. I hope he realises that rock festivals can be hazardous. The only music Glorfindel listens to is abstract jazz from the Second Age and other cheap crap that he probably finds in the bargain bin at Safeway's. The CD in his car right now is a compilation of television themes to shows only old people watch. I remember this because his indicator light blinks perfectly in time with the theme from Masterpiece Theatre.
Later, when I nearly had a head-on collision with Aralindë in the corridor, she admitted that she'd won the tickets not from the radio, but by taking off her top for a Mirkwood television crew while declaring her undying love for the newest pop sensation to come out of the forest (whoever that is). She made me promise not to tell Glorfindel. And I did promise, though this seems like something that Glorfindel should surely be told. It's times like this when I'm sorry I'm not a more dishonorable person, like Elrohir.
However, she did not make me promise I wouldn't tell Legolas. And he's liable to blab to everyone within a five mile radius, so perhaps Glorfindel will eventually find out.
I went to find Legolas this afternoon, and found him standing in the kitchen scratching himself with a fishing knife. I asked if he really considered that a wise thing to be doing, and he just stared at me blankly.
Then I mentioned the pop-related programme featuring nudity as a means to win concert tickets. I wanted to know the specifics, but he called it a "load of sexist crap" and refused to tell me what time it was on, or even what channel. I said that I didn't realise he was such a feminist, and asked if he was opposed to the programme's objectification of women. He said no, he was just opposed to their refusal to tape him dropping his trousers to win tickets to Shakira.
Aralindë came to work with Glorfindel. They stayed in his office all morning, with the door shut. I got a ride with dad, who had managed to tear himself away from Legolas' one-man fashion show long enough to remember that he has a job to do. I think he realised he'd been away from work too long when he sat down to log onto his computer and couldn't remember the networking password. He had 129 new messages in his Outlook, most of them crummy forwarded jokes from Gildor.
Around quarter of eleven he came down to the reception area looking for Glorfindel because he couldn't remember how to make a pie chart on Excel. I lied and said that Glorfindel was in with a client. Or at least I tried to. I was a bit flustered and accidentally omitted the word "with". Luckily I don't think dad noticed. He was too busy remembering how the Xerox duplexer worked.
For someone who knows so much about history and lore and so forth, dad is a real dunce when it comes to technology. He still doesn't know how to play a DVD by himself.
When I checked my inbox after work, there was another email from Elrohir. A real email this time, which contained actual information, so I'm assuming he was at least half-sober when he wrote it.
From: "The Best" <email@example.com>
Subject: time to get out of hear
you might not afgree with me but this is the paln...
cal sold the restaurant to his friend mariens dad so
were leaving lake town adn heading south... going to
lorien first but then maybe gondor and who knows wehre
else. cal wants to open an new restaurant that seells
authetnic laketown food/, he thiks that would do good
in gondor wear peoiple dont travel much. we got cheap
flight sto caras galadhon leaving intwo days and then
well take the bus from their, ive been making jewelery
out of copper and turqoise and ambre and stuff to sell
too, and cal also, we might try to sell that in
ithilien... dont know for sure tho... ill email you
wheni get to grammas place,.
see ya round like a record
I wrote a reply stressing how nice it was to hear from him, so perhaps he'll get the hint and write me more often. I also suggested he spellcheck his emails before he hits send.
Glorfindel and his horrid girl (I cannot bring myself to write her name) have left for the rock show. Without them to spy on, what am I supposed to do to entertain myself for the next three weeks?! Legolas, who spent the day trying to fix his wind-up jumping tin chicken (it accidentally had a run-in with my foot), wanted me to go hiking in the mountains with him. Frankly, I would rather stay home and be bored.
So I stayed home and was bored. Erestor lent me a DVD, though. He has quite an extensive collection of obscure indie films I've never heard of.
I watched Erestor's DVD last night. He is suddenly much more interesting now that I know he's into hardcore S&M.
However, I still couldn't look him in the eye when I returned the DVD this morning. I was unsure whether this was because of some sort of giddy uncertain romantic interest on my part or just because he was still wearing his scary blue contacts.
He lent me another DVD.
I honestly thought things were going along the right track. I mean, I'm over my ridiculous obsession with Glorfindel, dad has finally come to his senses and stopped mauling Legolas in public, Elrohir is not dead, and I no longer find Erestor to be too icky. Which is a good thing, because I think we're dating now. Or at least we were dating. I seem to have a talent for being perpetually single.
Everything started to go wrong just after noon today. Prior to that, I was floating though a life of blissful ignorance, completely oblivious to the fact that I was about to be thoroughly buggered by fate. Also by Erestor, but more on that later.
I woke up at 8-30 this morning with the sun shining into my eyes. At first I was alarmed, since my bed is nowhere near a window, but then I realised I'd fallen asleep on the floor while watching one of Erestor's DVDs. There were birds chirping and squirrels chattering and only a few white clouds in the bright blue sky- the whole proverbial nine yards to make up a stereotypically perfect morning. And I didn't have any crick in my neck, despite having used a wadded-up bath towel for a pillow all night.
I somehow decided that this would be an ideal time to return Erestor's DVD, so I went down to his room and knocked at the door. Of course he was still asleep. There was a long wait and a surprising amount of foul language before he answered. But when he did open the door, I was stunned.
With uncombed, sticking-up hair and sleepy natural grey eyes, wearing a ratty old plaid houserobe, Erestor looked unnervingly beautiful. The light coming in all golden and glorious from the window behind him almost made him look like he was glowing. I would have fallen to my knees right then and pledged eternal adoration, but I thought I'd better give back the DVD first. So I nervously held it out in his general direction. Unfortunately I think I held it out a bit too quickly, because I accidentally jabbed him in the ribs with the hard corner.
He scowled at me and muttered, "Thank you." Then he looked about to shut the door, so I had to think fast.
Seeing as I've never done anything like this before, I wasn't completely sure what to do. I tried to think of what dad would do, and decided that would be too risqué. Then I tried to think of what Elrohir would do. But I didn't think quickly enough, and Erestor started to shut the door. So I did the best that I could think of and said, "Wait!"
He opened the door again. I tried desperately again to think of something clever or at least halfway decent to say, but only managed to stand there foolishly with my mouth hanging open like a goldfish. Eventually he said, "Do you want something, Elladan?"
I think I managed to mumble something terribly interesting like, "Erm, well, I don't know, I just... I think... uhhhhhhh..."
He put me out of my misery by saying, "Come in, then," and walking back into the room, motioning for me to follow. I followed.
While he put his DVD back on the shelf I tried to casually flop down to sit on the end of his bed, but my flopping was a bit off and I banged my leg on the bedpost. I had to pretend it didn't hurt for the next ten minutes while he put on a Velvet Underground record (and by "record" I do mean 33 RPM vinyl; he is the only person I know who still owns these) and made the requisite smalltalk about weather and such and offered me the requisite drink. I really didn't want any drink (I seem to have gone off alcohol due to spending so much time with Glorfindel these past few weeks), but Erestor looked surly and determined and I didn't dare refuse.
After the talking and drinking he suavely moved on to the kissing by way of grabbing my glass away from my mouth and putting his tongue there instead. I think this was a bit rude of him, but I was in no position to complain. What I did complain about, though, was when he (after only thirty seconds!) went about trying to stick his hand in my pants. So I said that maybe this wasn't such a good idea.
He said, "Look Elladan, you woke me up at half nine in the f@#king morning to return my bloody DVD while standing at the doorway like a moron and then coming in here for a drink and taking up my time when I should be sleeping. Now if you're not going to let me sleep in my bed, I damn well want to do something else in it, eh?" I couldn't argue with his flawless logic. Hand down pants action it was.
This naturally progressed into half naked action, followed by mostly naked action, followed by completely naked. I noticed that Erestor has a piercing someplace I never would have guessed. It made for a very unique experience, though. Afterward I managed to stay in the earlier-mentioned state of blissful ignorance for a good few hours, and fell asleep leaning on his shoulder.
At thirteen minutes after twelve he threw me out of his bed for making what he considered to be a disparaging remark about Gil-galad. How was I supposed to know he's Gil-galad's number one fan?!! Well, maybe number two, after dad. But honestly! All I said was something completely innocent about not understanding Gil-galad's strange preference for always wearing bright floral print shirts, even in staff photos. Granted I did use the phrase "worst dressed", but I hardly think that warrants being shoved naked into the corridor with clothes tossed out afterward!
As luck would have it, dad came walking by just as I was pulling on my trousers. He gave me a strange look and asked what I was doing. I curtly said that I was getting dressed in the corridor, of course. He said I should make a better effort to get dressed in my bedroom from now on. I almost punched him. Really, Legolas changes his clothes in public places all the time, so I don't see why everyone makes such a big deal when I do!
Supper was a hazard. Erestor kept scowling at me. I'm sure he told dad about the Gil-galad fashion sense remark, because dad was acting distant as well. More distant, at least, than was required after the corridor scene this morning. Nobody around here appreciates me! After all I do for them! I drive them to work, do their washing-up when they're too drunk, put up with far more nonsense than I ought to, remind them how to use their computers, and even let them do unmentionable things to my heinie and they still act as if it's not good enough!
Therefore I have made a decision to run away from home. I will go to Lórien and meet up with Elrohir. Surely he will be glad to see me! And I'm sure he could use my help on his journey south. Those mountain orcs prey almost exclusively on drunken college students, and as Elrohir appears to have been on one long bender since May, he will need protecting.
I told Aragorn all about the floral shirt row. He agrees with me. So at least one person is on my side!
He is going to join me in my running away and is now, as I write, out in the garage improving his van for the drive. In truth I think he just wants to go on a road trip, but I will take his noncommittal grunts and shrugs as signs of support for my cause.
We leave in eight hours. If all goes according to plan, I may never see Rivendell again. I am leaving a note for dad under the King Turgon coronation tea creamer, a note for Legolas on top of the Play Station, and a note for Glorfindel on his email. Erestor doesn't deserve a note. I did, however, spit on his pillow.
Then I realised he'd probably find that erotic, so I changed his pillowcase. But I made sure the fresh pillowcase was an old bally, scratchy poly-blend one. The jerk.
Now I have to stop writing. Staring at the dim LCD notebook screen is making my eyes water, and I need a Kleenex.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.