[the guy who be short]

One thought rushed through Fléin's mind: PT Cruiser! PT Cruiser! PT Cruiser! Well, perhaps two words, then. Growing up in a business family, the calculations had been performed in his head almost instantaneously, and he headed towards the purple Cruiser as fast as he could - the colour of nobility, that was for him!

That idiotic charlatan, Panakeia of the Dubiously Authentic Face, tripped over him before rushing on. Luckily, this only served to push him forward - he was the third to reach a car, and rushed into it as quickly as possible.

He looked to his left and was startled by an orc. He shuddered, then turned to look in the back seat. There was another orc there, with an odd machine.

An expectant silence followed, with Fléin looking pointedly at the orcs in turn.

After about three minutes, it was clear the orcs weren't getting the message.
"Well...?" he ventured.

"Well what?" replied the orc in the passenger seat.

"What by Mahal's beard are you two doing here?" the Dwarf roared. "Did I order two imbecilic, debased, disgusting life-forms with this car?" The night hadn't been a particularly restful one; he had been tense about the next task, and having to share a car with two orcs definitely wasn't making his day.

"My, what a shocking display of profane prejudice, if ever I saw one... I should tell Anakron, I should. You Mordorian-haters disgust me... we're people too, and deserve as many rights as you do. Probably more."

"Well ruddy go and tell the freak! Get out of my car! You're not wanted here, you... you Orc!"

The creature hissed at him. "Fine then... fine, I'm going. We'll see soon enough... yes, you'll see." He snickered, threw a piece of paper at Fléin, and exited the car. "Do... enjoy your ride" he smirked, and went off.

"Good riddance," Fléin muttered under his breath. He picked the little slip of paper up - apparently it was a driving licence, with his name and everything. That was horrendously easy... no wonder there were so many accidents in Mordor, if all you had to do to obtain a licence was roar at an orc.

The very thought made him chuckle. He turned around, in far better spirits, to the orc in the back seat, whence came a low murmuring sound, presumably from the kamura. The orc's expression caused him to break out into a roar of laughter.

"I'm not going to bite your head off," he exhaled once it had passed. "What do you need then? Will a shout get rid of you too?"

But apparently it was not to be so. The kamuraman would stay. Fléin wouldn't let that bother him. "Stay in the back and stay quiet, will you? I don't much feel up to conversation with an Or- Dorian. Mordorian." With that, he turned back to the wheel.

He frowned a little. His knowledge of cars was hazy at best. Pedals... there were pedals to make you go forward, pedals to make you stop. But... how was he to reach them? These cars weren't designed for Khazad, that was certain. And if he couldn't reach the pedals, he couldn't drive... A fleeting thought of attaching little sticks to his feet rushed through his head before he disposed of it.

Well, he could deal with that later. He lined himself up, and placed both hands on the wheel.

Something like an electric shock passed through his body. He convulsed a little, then lay still a little, then yelled a lot.

Well, at least the transformation had leant him a little height. He noted with glee that he could reach all three pedals. Perhaps he could get used to being a goblin.