[Diamond18]

Lord Etceteron itched his nose and crossed his eyes manfully, then let loose a manful sneeze into his hand. His sinuses thus relieved, he absently wiped his hand upon his sable mantle, and contemplated the ambiguous creature before him. The other members of the LetsGetOuttaThisPlaceShip began to laugh at the absurdity of Leninia’s request, and Merisu sighed delightfully as she wiped tears from her cheeks. Pimpi doubled over, holding her midsection as if she had eaten some bad mushrooms, and guffawed daintily.

Leninia muttered an invective under her breath, but allowed her lower lip to tremble mightily as she clasped her hands to her bosom and looked like the picture of Hurt Feelings.

Earnur coughed. “Nay,” he intoned, “do not laugh at the repentance of the… repentant. Quite. Mayhap her heart has been defrosted by our….”

“Hotness,” Leninia breathed.

“Er… yes.”

“But she deserves to die!” Pimpi exclaimed.

“Deserves death?” Earnur arched a brow at her, with a wise twinkle in his eye. “I daresay. Many that deserve death, live, and many that deserve life, die, and then again, many that deserve death, die, and many that deserve life, lie. So. Can you give it to them, Pimpiowyn Took?”

“What?”

Earnur waved a hand, arched both brows, and began to pontificate on various matters pertaining to life, death, and the meaning of “defenestration”. Leninia, Soregum, and the Dazedship listened in a trance for about five minutes, then Kuruharan interrupted:

“I do believe I’d rather listen to Vogonwë recite poetry.”

“Really?” said Vogonwë (who had been finding the lecture quite informative and engrossing).

“I—“ began Kuruharan, but did not finish his sentence, for Orogarn Two and the Gateskeeper fell upon him with their fists till he was silent and could not give Vogonwë any more bad ideas. Chrysophylax yawned and picked a thighbone from his teeth as he watched his master fall, undefended.

“I say,” Earnur stared blankly at Kuruharan’s insensate body, as Orogarn Two rolled his sleeves back down and the Gateskeeper smoothed his robes. Grrralph would have rolled his eyes, had he eyes to speak of.

“Er,” Lenina said. “Darlings… have we forgotten someone?”

“Oh, right,” Earnur remembered the small, helpless, kneeling figure. “I say, old girl, you’re alright in my book. Come along if you like.” He smiled balmily, and his sword muttered, She’ll be trouble, that one.

“No!” Pimpi exclaimed. “Have you forgotten? She dumped us in a dark, dank, dreary dungeon for days, and threatened to steal our souls!”

“Hiss,” said Leninia airily, smirking.

Earnur looked confused. “Well, I….”

“Ahem!” Merisu said, “have you forgotten why we are on this Quest?”

“Free passage through Muddled-Mirth?” Vogonwë gandered.

“No!” replied Merisu with a hint of impatience. “The Bow!”

“My old hairbow?”

“No, the Entish Bow, haven’t you been paying attention?”

“Well….”

“What I mean,” Merisu smiled sweetly, if a little stiffly, “is that since our reason for questing lies in the Entish Bow, obviously the leadership of the Entourageship should be the one who carries the Bow, namely, me.”

“Your point?” prompted Orogarn Two impatiently.

“Point being, that I believe that I should be consulted on matters of member turnover, that is, who shall stay and who shall go, and who shall join. Stuff like that.”

Leninia rolled her eyes, and shuffled over to Merisu on her knees. “Pretty please with brown sugar and pink frosting on it?” she pleaded.

“Brown and pink,” Pimpi said. “Ug. If you’re going to put pink frosting on something, you should powder it with powdered sugar. And if you like brown sugar, then, well, you use sour cream, not frosting.”

“Hush, I’m thinking,” Merisu said, with the barest, briefest, tiniest hint of exasperation.

“Hey, that’s a good idea,” Pimpi brightened. She pulled her dagger, the bejeweled Hush, from its scabbard. “We could carve out her heart with this.”

“Pimpi!” Vogonwë and Merisu exclaimed in unified horror.

“Nobody likes me!” Leninia bewailed prettily.

“Um, I like you…” Earnur essayed from his corner, before blushing and falling silent. He sneezed self-consciously.

Everyone began talking at once, raising their voices in a corpus cacophonous of argument, pontification, and recitation. Merisu finally whistled shrilly, and the Bickership fell silent. “Come now, children, be calm!” she exclaimed.

Kuruharan lifted his bruised head from the ground and slurred, “Don’ worry, be happy….”

“Now,” Merisu huffed. “I think….” She glanced at Leninia, then to Pimpi.

“We could put her head on a platter,” Pimpi suggested. “With her heart in her mouth… like an apple! Kind of like a wild boar!”

Vogonwë picked his jaw up off the floor and spent a moment or two trying to figure out how to reattach it to his skull.

“Pimpi, that’s… why that’s… so unlike you!” Merisu stammered. “Proper, well bred shieldmaidens do not… do not….”

“It’s the aftereffects of the tea,” Leninia sighed. “First, it makes one wimpy, then as it wears off it makes one amorous, and finally the DT’s make one bloodthirsty.”

“Am I ‘one’?” Pimpi asked suspiciously.

Leninia nodded with another sigh. “One of them.” Then she cheered. “But Merisu, the confident, capable, level-headed one, is in charge,” she turned her small, deceivingly sweet face to the Lovely Elf. “What say you?”

“I say,” Merisu began, then wavered. On the one slender hand, putting Leninia’s head on a platter seemed in very bad taste – but on the other well manicured hand, so did sucking the souls of her and her comrades in cluelessness. She was plunged into a quandary. Her generous heart urged her to forgive and forget, but the good sense in her pretty little head told her otherwise. We could always defenestrate her…. she mused.

The tension was so thick, it could be cut with a knife, topped with whipped cream and strawberries, and served as pound cake.

“I have decided,” Merisu said at length, “that… Leninia’s… fate… shall… be…..”

Vogonwë squealed low under his breath, unable to take the suspense. Pimpi elbowed him.

“…Decided by our newest honorary member and the Judge of this competition, Soregum,” Merisu finished, pleased with the way she dealt with the sticky problem. Deferral is a skill taught to Elves in their earliest youth.

Pimpi turned a hopeful face and pretty blue eyes (albeit suspiciously dilated ones) upon Soregum and smiled, holding Hush at the ready. Leninia shuffled over to him on her knees, but found that even then she was at eye level with him, and cursed the fate that made her unable to assume a properly beseeching posture.

“Well… I, um, well…” Soregum said, worrisomely. He tried to think of someone he could defer the situation to, but came up blank. The matter, it seemed, was intent on resting itself squarely on his slightly pudgy shoulders.