[Feanor of the Peredhil]

After directing young Tom to the showers and nicking him some clothes from an unlocked room, Alli went outside to wait for Sai and to get their ride home set up. The pilot was now leaning against a wide stone wall, casually reading a magazine. Alli looked at her reflection in a window of the building and saw that she looked okay, but not shibang. She undid one of the buttons on her vest and loosened the laces of her blouse, showing a bit of collarbone. She loosened her belt so that her breeches would be slung low on her hips, revealing midriff. She pulled the ties from her hair, letting it fall heavily down her back and making sure that a few pieces were flirtily in her face so that she could flick it out of her eyes should the need arise. She fixed her posture to be alluring and slipped up to the man.

"What are you reading?" she murmered softly.

"Oh... just.. um... this article... thing... um..." he muttered, a little tongue-tied. She held out her hand with a look and he handed it over, looking right back at her, though not at her eyes.

She took a look at the title and immediately decided that keeping the magazine didn't constitute stealing, but rather desparate and somewhat important in a stretched-to-become-legitimate sort of way.

"So you're a pilot?" she purred, lifting herself lightly onto the stone wall and dangling her long legs subtly.

A very short time later, Alli had two plane tickets, a bit of reading material in hand, and saw a clean and far less odious Mr. Felton emerging from the baths. She bade goodbye to the infatuated fly-boy and took Tom by the arm and found Sai.

"We're ready to go." she whispered. "Come on."

Leaving behind a scene that looked to have a story behind it, Tom and Alli walked slowly down the hall, leaving plenty of time for Sai to catch up.

In the gardens, Tom asked once again what they were doing.

"Oh, not much. Can you stand here for a second?" Alli pushed him into the sight of the fangirls and he looked around, confused. They looked around, interested. Sai looked on with a grin and Alli, in her laughingly cheerful mood, reverted to chat speak and actually lol'ed. When, as one, the Leggyboppers became Malfanciers, Alli beckoned for him to walk toward her. When she saw that the girls were following like trained... well... she supposed she ought to think of a better example than hens, but the way that they occasionally strayed from the group and looked about worriedly, but very swiftly got back into the group when movement began again could only bring to mind... chickens. Alli wondered if her last sentence was run-on but didn't care enough to revise it.

Looping her arm through Sai's, Alli beckoned Tom forward with the hand that held the pilfered publication. He followed... and so did his fangirls.

As Alli, Sai, and their following left the gardens of Orlando, Tom looked remotely paranoid and rather worried, sneaking the occasional glance behind him as though to make sure none of the giggling girls were going to actually get close enough to talk to him. In the distance, Orlando Bloom was looking rather crushed.

---------------------------------------------------

On the plane, Alli apologized in advance to Sai for her anti-sociality and apologized a bit late to Tom and his admirers for the fact that they were going to have to travel in the hold, bagged and tagged. She bade them happy trip and hoped that none of them were as claustrophobic as she was. Now, seated in first class with a cool drink in front of her, Alli opened the magazine and began to read, trying to ignore that she was in an enclosed plane flying quite high above the ground and that when it landed, she would probably be hyperventilating at the lack of open spaces even as the plane moved murderously close to the unfriendly ground at speeds that were far less comforting than a distinct lack of them would have been.

Famous adventurer, Màrîo, has just today revealed his thoughts on the brutish attacks upon him by one kilt-clad Scotsman.

"It's the pinky." Màrîo spoke to this reporter. "You see, Brits are born with a sort of a genetic predisposition to the extending of little fingers. While it is perfectly harmless in terms of tea drinking, it causes a little known malfunction in the medula oblongata which inspires sheer bouts of insanity. The Scotsman had been drinking a cup of P.G. Tips, well known to be Feanor of the Peredhil's favorite tea, with his little finger extended when suddenly he was enraged and, with no provocation, attacked me as I was on my way to purchase a bit of lasagna.

"He ought to be locked up!" Màrîo added with a lot of gesticulation. "In a small padded room, with a straight-jacket so that he cannot hurt innocents ever again. However I do not wish that the world see me as unfeeling... I forgive him. I have offered to pay the salary of a large and strong looking guard to stay with him day and night and write whatever the Scot choses to dictate. His voice should be heard, though the public should remember that he has such a tragic case of little finger insanity and should not be taken too seriously."

Closing the magazine, Alli decided to close her eyes and pretend to nap. Should Sai have anything interesting to say, she'd wake back up, but until then, perhaps Alli could try to convince herself that she wasn't trapped far above Mordor in an uncomfortably cramped fuselage.