Thread: ATM II RPG
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Old 05-21-2006, 04:43 PM   #35
Celuien
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Assigned to Mordor
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Celuien has just left Hobbiton.
The never-ending din of traffic, horns, and assorted ubiquitous irritants of city life drifted in through the half-open, chintz-draped window. The noise wafted through the room, settling on the form of Panakeia of Harad as she napped on a divan. She twitched now and then in response to any particularly loud sound, but was apparently accustomed to the racket of Lûndûn's busy streets.

But her rest was not fated to last. Outside, a speeding PT Cruiser slammed into a stopped garbage truck blocking traffic (one that, in Mordorian fashion, delivered rather than collected rubbish) directly outside her window. Fenders bent, metal grated, and Panakeia's eyes flew open. Stretching cat-like, she pulled herself to her feet and went to the window, slamming it closed with a glare and a bang.

"Confusticate and bebother these Orcs!" she muttered. Panakeia did not appreciate being awakened. This day was not going well; shares of Àivônë, the cosmetics company she founded after her adventure with the Offending Party, were off their peak price. While this made little difference to her savings, as she sold most of her interest in the company shortly after founding it, what stock she retained for dividend income would suffer. She had come to rely on that income, though she knew Anakron did not approve of her company, even if the products it produced were genuine – by Mordor’s standards. But he couldn’t fault her, she thought. After all, she was barely involved with the corporation following the sale.

Anakron. At least something would go well today. They had a dinner appointment for the evening. It had been cancelled, rescheduled, cancelled, and finally rescheduled for tonight. Things were busy in White-All with all of the non-approved escapes from Mordor, and Anakron's time had been scarce. Too scarce.

A faint smile curved around Panakeia lips. After so much delay, he would make it up to her. Surely he would. Perhaps even with the proposal she so eagerly awaited. Anakron had to know that she was ready for the step. Why else would she constantly speak of celebrity weddings or show him magazines filled with gowns and rings over dinner?

The time for their rendezvous was drawing near. Panakeia hurried to her closet to select a dinner dress. She returned to her divan an hour later, clad in a gown of pale seafoam green and a sparkling necklace of emeralds and diamonds. Makeup was carefully omitted from her toilette. She knew that Anakron disliked it, and though she ordinarily would have used just a smidgeon for her own satisfaction, tonight was different. Nothing must go wrong with her plans for the evening. She had the oddest feeling of now-or-never. Yes, tonight was the night.

A sharp rap at the door caused Panakeia's heart to skip a beat. She jumped to her feet, and with a quick glance to her mirror to check her carefully coiffed hair, opened the door with an expectant smile and greeting to Anakron...only to see Lûgnût, genderless Orc of Caer Pairadocks.

The smile faded from Panakeia’s face more quickly than an ice-cream cone melting in the summer sun.

"What do you want?" she snapped at the officiously simpering Orc.

"Greetings, good evening, and all other well-wishes and salutations to you."

Panakeia tapped her foot impatiently. "Yes, yes. Get on with it," she said. These meddlesome Orcs never ceased to annoy her, particularly if the Orc in question was Lûgnût. She had not forgotten his role in the Offending Party's tasks the year before.

"It is my task to inform and otherwise make you aware that as the presence of Anakron Istkon Vayor, otherwise known as the Grand Anakronist, is required at the negotiations currently transpiring at the Mount Doom Palace and Casino, he will, regretfully, be unable to dine with your most charming self this evening."

A flush of crimson suffused Panakeia's cheek. Had it not been accompanied by a heated glint in her eye and a set jaw, the color could have been called attractive. As it was, the combination showed only fury. How could he do this? Anakron had already cancelled several times. This was the last straw.

A horrifying thought occurred to Panakeia. Was he falling out of love with her? After all they'd been through? Panakeia was determined to find out once and for all.

"Lûgnût! Where did you say Anakron was going?" The words were clipped and short.

"To the Palace of His Highness, King Roggie of Mordor, at which magnificent locale…"

Panakeia cut off the speech. "Get your car," she ordered. "We're taking a little trip."

"To which destination is it your desire to wend?"

Could anyone be more obtuse? Panakeia stared at the Orc. "We, my friend, are going to find Anakron. And we are going now. Any questions?"

Despite the question, the expression on her face was enough to tell that questions would not be entertained.

Lûgnût gulped and led her to a bright orange Hummer, emblazoned with the image of a Siamese cat.

"Are you sure you will not reconsider?" he asked hopefully.

"Be quiet and drive!"

And the Hummer sped off, bearing one worried Orc and one angry woman in the direction of the unsuspecting Grand Anakronist.
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