[Encaitare]

Wilhelmina frowned to herself, trying to decide how to handle this next task. It made the first two tasks seem easy -- at least they were a simple matter of getting from Point A to Point B. Now there was actually something she had to do, and it involved these so-called celebrities. One couldn't long be in Mordor without hearing about celebrities; Mordorians seemed to be obsessed with following their every move in the hopes of learning how to be cooler. I'm too old to dabble in that nonsense, Wilhelmina thought, and good thing, too. Honesly, who cared about what brand of dress this one was wearing to the Ozkars, or who that one was marrying (especially since statistically it wouldn't last more than a year)?

No, celebrities certainly weren't the sort of people Wilhelmina wanted to go looking for. That was the problem, though -- she knew there had to be plenty of them about, but how was one to find them? What she'd really love to do was get Pârís Hiltôn's stupid little dog. Of all the celebrities she'd heard about, Pârís Hiltôn was without a doubt the worst. Firstly, she hadn't done anything to attain celebrity status. Secondly, she had a catchphrase which was almost as bad as Mârtha Stewârt's, and equally worthy of boldfaced type. And thirdly, no dog should ever wear clothing that costs more than most people earn in a year. Yet Wilhelmina suspected that no amount of begging, cajoling, or bribery could separate the heiress from her canine companion. So how to do it?

A grin spread across her face as she realized there was a simple solution. Maybe that Panakeia wasn't a total waste of oxygen after all.

"Panakeia!" she called, walking quickly towards the saleswoman. "I need to buy some of your, ahem, products. Namely some Pearie Ockcide Potion and a bunch of cheap perfumes in fancy bottles, if you please."