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Alli glared down at the map with what could only be called total disdain. Of course there are erroneous names on the maps, she thought, because who in this dratted place ever gets anybody's name right without a good scolding? With hardly a second thought, she binned the map and hoisted her bag on her shoulders. Looking around, she had to stifle a laugh... city life, she thought amusedly... She looked at her boot-clad feet and groaned. Not here too! Painted upon the very stones of the roadway were small images and writing in what looked like a Jamesian dialect of English. What does that say? She knelt, taking a closer look.
"Buyeth thineself one Razr phone? What in the...? Must be an advertisement for some oddly shaped new form of palantir." Laughing at the pitiable state of the road, she walked off down it, oblivious to the many stares she accumulated from young men that thought she was stupid because she was pretty. They took in her slim frame as it appeared clad in her usual outfit: she had come straight to Caer Pairadocks from work, and she looked remarkably good in her uniform. She donned soft flame-retardant leather breeches tucked into sturdy boots with strong leg guards fastened above. There were a few singed spots on the sleeves of her white blouse, but the shirt was mostly protected by the fitted leather jerkin she wore laced over it. Gauntlets kept her forearms protected, and leather gloves protected the tender skin of her burned hands from the chill in the air. Being a balrog-winger was tough and she had to dress for the working hazards. Her pin-straight hair was pulled away from her face and fastened into a messy chignon. A few stray locks had slipped into her face but she ignored them, glancing about Lûndûn.
A few chavs loitered near an almost unidentifiable shop that seemed to carry overpriced smoothies by the looks of the disgruntled public who had waiting for quite some time in an unmoving queue to get them. On the other side of the road stood a marketer shouting his wares. Alli walked over and smoothly purchased one of his magazines, flipping through it as she walked.
Without consideration, Alli sauntered down the center of the road. A rude driver gave her the finger as he drove by yelling something to the point of "Get out of the road! Sidewalks are made so that you don't have to get in my way!" Realizing that there was indeed a sidewalk, also covered in luridly colored advertisements, Alli shifted there and walked a bit more with her nose stuck in the publication.
An article about a hobbit named Màrîo had caught her attention. The illustration showed the small fellow clad in red... a most unhobbitly shade. Apparently he'd been beaten unconscious by an unidentified kilt-clad Scotsman. The culprit was on the loose and the writer of the article passively voiced that Màrîo was on the mend, that if anybody spotted someone tall, dark, handsome, and flanked by screaming fangirls, they should keep their distance and report him to an official. She closed the magazine, disappointed that the other article that had caught her interest, "101 Ways to Escape Mordor", was nothing more than a lot of bologna that added up to nothing more than many variations of the phrase "smooth-talk the bureaucrats".
She wondered if she would have any company on her trip to Edge-Where. That Lord Mardil, perhaps... she could discuss politics with him. After all, surely as a lord, he would have many opinions on the government of Gondor. Or even that girl. What was her name? Sai? She seemed like she'd be a fun travelling companion. Who knew what would happen though. She had to get to Edge-Where before she could think about the rest of the trip out of Mordor. As she'd tossed her map, Alli began to look around in search of a friendly face that she could ask for directions.
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