Frolijah – Part 19
In which people are stupid and buildings talk
Recapitulation: In the last part, Alice awoke to find out that Frolijah was going with the Fellowship, of course . . . but there was no way she could, despite the “jokes” Frolijah had been making. On the other side of things (like worlds,) Elijodo has met up with someone called Jay Walker, who has reminded him of a promise he supposedly made to audition for “Plan Ten from Outer Space in a 2005 Space Odyssey!”
Disclaimer: I don’t own Tolkien’s works, nor do I own Mr. Wood, though I can think about the former’s all day and laugh at the latter when I’m really, really bored. What I do own (so ha!) Are my original characters, such as: Alice, Lea, Dr. Wilson, Jay Walker . . . and all the rest. Whatever. Oh, and: any similarities between these characters and those in pure life is purely coincidental, unless it’s not.
Well, in the end of our meeting, nothing had been decided yet, and I learned little of the Council that I did not already know. Actually, I was quite confident in that Gandalf would not let me go even if I begged him. Well, he’d let Merry and Pippin go later, but they were special. So I didn’t have anything to worry about at all, save that Frolijah would mess something up beyond repair (like, say, dying) or that Gandalf would find us out.
Gandalf had been worrying me more the last few days, as he had been watching both Frolijah and myself very closely since our little assembly with the other hobbits and him. Gandalf had never been my favorite character in the books or movies, and now I must confess that, more than anything, he frightened me. It was if he could feel that we, Frolijah and I, weren’t who we said we were. I’m not sure exactly what he thought, as I tried to avoid him (a very hard task!) And spent most my time either near the kitchens, in the library (I’ve never much liked history, but this stuff was like candy to the mind! Hard candy, but candy still. And not Candy Land, thank goodness) or in the gardens. I did, of course, occasionally visit my room for such obsequious tasks as sleeping, but . . . well, let’s just say that it made me very homesick indeed.
Now, I’m not one to say: “Oh, what will become of me? What will become of me?” I think that’s just kind of stupid. But I still thought to myself: What was it like to be called by my real name? To slip a burger in the microwave and breathe the polluted air of New York? What was it like to have to go to work every day through miles of traffic while panicking that I’d be late? What was it like to sit at a desk all day just tapping my pencil, surfing the net and wishing I weren’t so bored? Was it like heaven?
No, it was like Candy Land, I reminded myself, using my childhood name for what hell and torture surely must be like. Stupid Alice (see, already I thought of myself with that name!) This place is wonderful! Well, except for Frolijah being here . . .
Though it was kind of nice to have someone to talk to who knew what a `car’ was.
Ah! See what I’m doing? I’m angsting! Bad Alice, very bad dog. Girl. Hobbit. Thing. Sentence fragment.
Oh, shut up.
“What, I didn’t say anything,” Frolijah protested, coming up silently behind me. Geez, had I been saying all that aloud? “No,” Frolijah answered. “Don’t be silly.”
Weird. “Practicing the soundless hobbit walk, are we?” I asked, not really caring if he answered. Why didn’t he just leave me alone? Arg. He must know I didn’t like talking to him.
“No, I didn’t bring you a cookie,” Frolijah said. “What gave you that idea?”
“I told you, Gandalf wants you, duh,” Frolijah answered. “Are you going or not?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I said in confusing. But I stood up and began to walk past anyway. Then Frolijah spoke again.
“How should I know what the square root of three hundred twenty-two and a half is?”
“What?!” I turned back to him, giving him my best `you are really, really strange’ look.
“I said, `keep him away from me, would you?’ What are you, –ing deaf?”
“Um . . .”
“Just go, I’m sick of bumblebees,” Frolijah rolled his eyes in disgust and walked away. I just stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what was going on. Was I hearing things? Was I crazy? Did this have to do with Candy Land angsting? Was that . . . was that Frolijah laughing at me?
I turned around and glared at him, but he didn’t even look back; he had left the area. “Wow,” I said to myself. “That was really real. Hey! He never told me where Gandalf’s supposed to be waiting for me! Jerk.”
“You wished to speak with me, Alice?”
“What?” I whirled around (again) and stared up and Gandalf. “No, Frodo said you wanted to talk to me!” Gandalf gave me a strange look. “Oh, I am going to kill him,” I groaned realizing what had happened. Arg!! Before Gandalf could protest (or work out what I meant by killing the Ringbearer) I was off, running with all my rather picayune speed off in the direction I had last heard a Frolijah-laugh. It wasn’t funny! He interrupted my angsting!
And I really didn’t want to have to thank him.
“Frodo! Frodo! Elijah Wood, stop this moment!” Wow, he’s fast. Inherited from the real Frodo’s body, no doubt. “Frodo!!”
At last, Frolijah stopped and turned around, grinning. He didn’t even look winded. He was just standing there, biting his freaking nails (very, very, dirty nails) and grinning at me. Kill. “Yeah?”
I came up to him, breathing heavily. What did I want to berate him about? Messing with my mind? “What do you think you were doing? Playing with my brain that way?! I thought I was going crazy!”
“Don’t be silly. Pippin ate all the cookies.”
“Frodo!” I hit him over the head.
“Ow!” he exclaimed, rubbing it. “Fine! Lighten up! Geez.”
“You interrupted my angsting!”
“?” Frolijah replied. No, really, a question mark. Don’t ask me how he did it! What do you think I am, the author? No, you don’t have to answer that question. Actually please do. What do you think I am? Huh? Huh? Rant! Rave! Harangue! Wow, long word. Peanut! Ahem.
“You interrupted my angsting!” I repeated myself after a momentary pause. You would have paused too, if you had been randomly mouthing. Yes, mouth is another word for rant. Did you know that? Funny. I like thesauri. Thesauruses. Thingy.
“Angsting? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Angsting . . . it is a word. Really. Angst: care, worry, disquiet. So I am disquieting.”
“No really, I got it from my sister’s friend’s uncle’s half-brother’s first adopted mother’s fifth cousin once removed on her brother’s father’s sister’s in-law’s side’s dog. His name was Spot.” Frolijah just stared. “Hey . . . you’re just trying to distract me, aren’t you? Huh? Huh? What’s this all about? Really? Come on, spill the beans, turnip boy.”
“Excuse me? Turnip boy? If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be in this whole mess in the first place!”
“You mean the Black Riders would have killed you in Bag End?”
“Exactly – no! No, I mean, we wouldn’t be in Middle-earth, and I would have never met you! I could have been happy! I could have chewed my toenails without Sam stopping me, I could be eating fast, greasy food right now while making `Plan Ten from Outer Space in a 2005 Space Odyssey!’ I could have been content! I could have been taller than three feet! I could not have an evil ring that is trying to kill me! I could be -“
“Elijah Wood, lust object for drooling fangirls.”
“I miss it. –it. It’s all your fault.”
“Don’t swear. And do you want girls to drool on you? No! Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. You keep avoiding my question. Why were you trying to mess with my brain back there? Why, Frodo, why? Why were you trying to drive me nuts?”
He grimaced at me. “I don’t want to go with the Fellowship. I want to go home.”
“Well boo hoo, we already talked about this, and guess what? We’re stuck!” So I wasn’t being very nice. I was in a foul mood. Think of the great angsting – excuse me, disquieting – I had been doing, and then Frolijah had to come and cheer me up. It was time to make him miserable. “And it’s your fault, so you shouldn’t complain.”
“Firstly, it’s not my fault.” Frolijah was getting angry now. He probably thought he was the suffering one. Yeah, right. “Secondly, I don’t want to go with the Fellowship, but I have to. And you’re coming with me.”
“No, I’m not! Nine in the Fellowship, remember?” I tapped the side of his head. “Anyone home? Frodo, Sam, Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, Merry and Pippin. Not Alice What-ever-the-heck-my-last-name-is. I can’t go. And I don’t want to, either.”
“Duh,” Frolijah smirked at me, indicating dark music and a sinking feeling in my hobbit-feet. “I spoke to Elrond, and he agrees with me, as I knew he would. He doesn’t want Pippin along – you’re coming.”
“Pippin? Pippin has to go! The world will end without him!”
“Then you have to take his place, dear Alice. Give your bleeding heart to the Quest and your life to your people.”
“I’m not going.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not!
“Yes, you are.”
“NO, I’M NOT!!”
“Excuse me, is there a problem?” A Random Elf asked.
“Hello, Legolas,” Frolijah said to him, half smiling. “Meet my `friend’ Alice.”
I very nearly slapped myself in the face, I was so embarassed. Legolas! Arg! Of all people, it would have to be a member of the Company that I made myself a fool in front of! He bowed and said something, but I wasn’t listening. Good going, Alice. Oh, very nice. Why not spit in his face now? And find the others to make yourself a fool in front of!
“Alice, hello,” Frolijah said, waving his hand in front of my face. “Anyone home?”
“What? I’m here! Sorry, dazed off . . . er . . . hello, Legolas, Alice – er – Alice . . . Alice Smallburrow! That’s my name. Right. Hi!” I just wanted to hit my head on something. Hard. That would knock me out. Forever. So I settled for the second best thing: I ran.
You know what they say about first impressions? Well, I’m glad you do, `cause I forgot, but I’m sure whatever it was, this meeting wasn’t going to help. “And no, I’m not!” I called over my shoulder, for Frolijah’s benefit. Forget Legolas. Forget Legolas.
Dang it. I really screwed that one up.
As Alice was making a right fool of herself (well, a wrong fool, actually) in front of Legolas, Gandalf, Frolijah, and just about everyone else in Rivendell (if only she had known) Elijodo had his own problems to deal with. As in: Jay Walker, a paranoid man who wanted to get Elijah Wood to audition for “Plan Ten from Outer Space in a 2005 Space Odyssey!”
“Ah, no, sir, I’m sorry, but I do not think you have the correct hobbit – ah, person. You see, I took a short vacation . . . and no, I don’t think this is a very good idea,” Elijodo protested as Jay Walker pulled him along. “No, really.”
Lea, who had been sitting inside the Italian restaurant nearby with Dr. Wilson saw him, but was loath to interrupt the good doctor. After all, he was paying for the meal. So Lea, making a rather stupid split-second decision, decided that Elijodo would surely be fine on his own. I mean, just because he was from an entirely different world, had no idea what was going on, couldn’t act and was in someone else’s body didn’t mean he couldn’t cope.
“Oh, —–,” Lea muttered, not even noticing that the story here, too, was deleting any curse words the characters dared utter. “Does this mean I have to help him?”
“YES,” the author answered. “IT MAKES A MORE INTERESTING PLOT LINE. AND TURN OFF THE ALL CAPS, IT’S GIVING ME A HEADACHE.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lea muttered. Then, “Who just said that?”
“ER . . . NOT ME.”
“Oh, all right then.” Lea turned to Dr. Wilson, panic writing itself across her face in red ink. “Um, sorry, but . . .”
“Lea,” Dr. Wilson said, noticing her distracted expression. Is something wrong?”
“Why did the actor cross the road?” she answered, feeling a little delirious.
Wilson, thinking she was actually asking him said: “Because he wanted to? There was a job on the other side? He was following the chicken?”
“I really should go get him before he’s in any more trouble,” Lea interrupted, tapping Wilson on the arm. “I’m sorry, but he’s under my charge, and has suffered . . . a, ah, head injury.”
“Hey, no problem” Dr. Wilson answered. “I understand perfectly – I saw him come in, remember? Besides, it’s kind of funny . . . why did the doctors cross the road?”
Lea stared at him for a moment, at the pure randomness of his subject change. “Er . . . there was a patient on the other side? Patients have money?”
“And if you have patience, you get money.” Wilson picked up the bill, counted up a tip, and stood. “We have patience. And to have patients, one needs patience.”
“Yes, well, I think if we don’t get there soon, I’m going to lose patients. Or, at least, the one . . .”
“That’s the spirit,” Wilson quickly paid and held the door for Lea as they left the restaurant. “Now we need to be patient for the light to change so we can get your patient.”
“I’m very patient!”
“But you’re not a patient. So why did the Lea cross the road?”
“To get my patient’s money through patience.”
Wilson began to nod, but very suddenly stopped, saying: “You’re patient is leaving.”
But it was true. By that time, Lea and Wilson had been so long in pointless conversation, that Elijodo was stepping into a Taxi with Jay Walker. Lea groaned. Why? And, especially, why did this have to happen to her? “I hate to ask you this,” she said. “But -“
“No problem,” Dr. Wilson broke in cheerfully. “Taxi!” One stopped, and the got in. “Driver, follow that taxi!”
“The yellow one!”
” . . .”
Despite the ellipses of his answer, the driver promptly followed Jay Walker and Elijodo’s taxi. “Where are they going, do you think?
Lea shrugged. Who knew? She just hoped it wasn’t –
Elijodo stepped out of the cab and looked expectantly up at the bizarre building before him. “Lzzrs,” it said. Elijodo pondered the strange ability for buildings to speak, and without any vowels. Oh, well, this world was strange.
“This way,” Jay Walker said, and led him inside. “Now if you’ll wait here for a moment -“
“Ah, Mr. Wood! You are here for the auditions, I suppose? But no need! We’ve all seen you act! You were wonderful in `The Lord of the Rings,’ Frodo. Ha, ha. Come in, come in please! We’ll show you about the place where you’ll practically be living for the next couple months! Wait, you will be living here! Come on, don’t dally, ha, ha!!”
The very confused hobbit . . . actor . . . person . . . followed him to an unknown fate. What was going on? Surely he couldn’t know Elijodo actually was Frodo – no one did. And everything was so sudden here! That couldn’t be usual, could it? No one else could have set it up!
These foreign places sure were weird.
I will try to get them out sooner. Really I will. Comments help though . . .
The true, blue Sue knew who strew stew through two zoo yews. Her IQ is a mildew old-shoe that a kangaroo could out-do with Waterloo shampoo. If you interview or talk to a Sue, don’t just overview the residue of the honeydoo that’s her follow-through. Hitherto the deja vu the bungaboo of a Mary-sue (who’ll be black-and-blue when we are through) twice over-threw the make-do defenses of an agent. So don’t under-view who you must barbeque on the avenue of a walk-through to success. Carry a thumb-screw you can redo (and renew) to safely subdue the Cebu of a new Sue. When naught is askew or ado please say adieu to your once well-to-do (and now whoop-de-do) Mary-sue.
Flying away on wings of gold
Is just a story, told by the old
To the young, and likely sort
Who later join the last resort
And become what they think is grand,
Fighting monsters in a foreign land
And never gaining a true family
I know this is true; it happened to me.
And let me say this, to you who know not
For it is something I never forgot:
What is it `I’ never forgot? Feel free to submit your replies – an end to the poem, if you will. It’ll be in the next part in full with whatever end. To whatever end. Ha.