Assigned to Mordor RPG

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli changed her mind suddenly and without apparent reason. Unwillingly, she felt her body turn even as she kept her eyes on the road. Wondering what was happening, she turned her gaze in the direction that her body now pointed. She saw Sai in the midst of orcs and remembered as though he spoke again in her ear (which, in actuality, he did, because he's just talented like that) the things that Khamul had told her about trust and friendship. She contemplated for barely a second before deciding quickly.

She strode back the few dozen yards to where the girl was and reached out to touch her arm.

As Sai turned her head, Alli spoke in her ear from over her shoulder.

"Will you travel with me, Sai? I am going to acquire some fangirls. I'm not sure how yet, but I figure that it will come to me. Do you want to come?"

Alli was glad that Mardil II was out of sight as she extended the nervous hand of friendship to Sai. She didn't need any extra emotional complications as she lowered her defenses slightly to let the girl in. It was hard enough to take Khamul's advice without a back-stabbing and arrogant noble of a really good looking and understanding guy around to mess with her head.

[the guy who be short]

"Whew awe we going?"

"Shut up."

"Who wath that man?"

"Never you mind."

Mordor would be bearable, were it not for the natives. Since miscellaneous Orc #1 had been damaged in that storm, Fléin had been gifted with a new one. That wouldn't shut up. Whatever he tried.

"I demand to know! I thhould've jutht fowwowed you! I don't know why I let you talk me into-"

"Shut up!"

"But whewe awe we going?"

Fléin stopped walking and turned around to face the Mordorian. "You're job" he said, "you're job, the thing you have to do, is follow me. FOLLOW. Get it? Follow! Follow! No talking. Stop talking to me! I do not want to talk to you! I do not need to talk to you! You are a distraction, not to mention an abomination. I do not need you TALKING to me when I am trying to think. I do not like it. I do not like you. I do not like green eggs and ham. Got it?"

The orc sulked, but quieted down. Fléin, meanwhile, stormed ahead. Was there even a rule about not killing kamuraorcs? Surely they could replace him?

Finally, he found a public telephone. And accompanying it - there! The Telephone Directory! Every man, woman and dwarf in Lost Angles, right there.

Ten minutes later, he was knocking on the door of a small house.

Twenty minutes later, he had left the ornithologist's home.

Thirty minutes later, he was buying a crossbow and net.

Forty minutes later, he was treating himself to a latte. He had done quite a lot in a short space of time, after all.

Forty-one minutes later, he was on the hunt. Jack Sparrow was his.

[Kath]

"Will you travel with me, Sai? I am going to acquire some fangirls. I'm not sure how yet, but I figure that it will come to me. Do you want to come?"

Sai smiled, glad she had taken the chance and gone after Alli. She could see what it cost the girl to let her in even a little bit, and thanked whatever God's might be around in Mordor that Mardil wasn't there, as she thought it unlikely Alli would have offered her company if he was. She suddenly realised that Alli had been patiently (well, at least for her) waiting for some time for an answer now.

"I'd love to come. Any idea how we're going to get there?" she replied.

And as Alli turned away from her, Sai could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

A few nano-seconds later, Alli knew exactly how they were going to get there. She just wasn't sure where there was. Where could Orlando Bloom be found? Ah... easy enough. Okay... she had it.

"Okay..." she stopped completely, turning on her heel to look behind her at Sai. She stared blankly at nothing before realizing that Sai was at her side, not behind her, and that she'd over-spun. She tried to compensate and fell over. Standing up quickly and cringing a bit at the sharp pain in her knee, she pretended that nothing had happened and was relieved that Sai acted the same. "Okay..." she started again. She looked completely serious; not moody... actually, she looked as happy as Sai had yet seen her. But she looked pensive and a little worried. "Do you trust me?"

Sai looked at her and answered. "Of course, why?"

"No... I need you to think about it a little longer. Do you really trust me? If it suddenly seems like all of my decisions have led us into immenent danger and we're about to be crushed into microscopic pieces of corpse, will you still trust that it's all part of the plan and that I'm just about to pull off my coup d'etat? Some of my decisions on my road to the destination might seem... unconventional. I'm not positive what I'm doing, but I can promise you that I'm going to try my very hardest to do it perfectly anyhow. Will you trust that I'll get us there safely? Are you certain that you know what you're getting yourself into? I don't want you to travel alongside me without knowing that things could go very wrong because I'm arrogant, perpetually impulsive, and I'm going to try hard to be responsible, but sometimes my idea of responsible seem very different to others."

Sai had never seen Alli speak so seriously about herself. She considered hard for a few moments before slowly nodding.

"I will trust you."

"Oh good." Alli brightened immediately. "Let's go hitch a ride. I saw a pleasantly creepy looking middle-aged man with really large glasses drive by a short time ago in a white van with tinted windows. Oh look, he's coming back."

Sai looked around quickly and then laughed, seeing Alli's tasteless joke.

"How are we actually going to get there?" she asked, now eying the kamura orcs with a bit of well-hidden disdain. "Are we actually hitching?"

"Depends on how desperate we get. It's a long trip. But I think it will all go well... we're going to Florida. It's a tourist trap, so I'm sure we won't have trouble finding foolish looking families clad in vermin-esque head-gear flocking there. We shouldn't have a problem."

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

Several hours later, Alli and Sai were seating uncomfortably in the back of a red minivan. A youngish couple and their children talked happily at them as they looked at each other incredulously. Did people really act like this?

"And then Louis here got his promotion and we moved into the suburbs and it's just so lovely there, and the street we live on is named after all of the beautiful trees that they cut down in order to make room for it, and the twins, Marissa and Lucas, share the most darling little nursery decorated all in baby bunnies. Their nanny is watching them for the week while we take little Susie here and Michael to Disney World. Tell them what you got on your test, Michael. Oh, he's just shy. He got a wonderful grade on his science test and we just had to reward him, but we couldn't take him to Disney World and leave Susie behind, so here we are and here you are with us!" The woman had the cheerful voice of a 50's sitcom's housewife and Alli was trying very hard to smile... but it was beginning to look more like a grimace.

And then Susie and Michael began to sing The Song That Never Ends.

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

Within seconds, Alli and Sai were walking again. As the too-damned-happy little family drove away, Alli pointed to the blue skies and palm trees and shocking roads, paved with seashells instead of stone.

"We're here. Orlando, Florida, Mordor, Middle Earth. Now we just need to find the gardens."

"If you don't mind my asking... why are we searching for a movie star in a little known flower garden in the middle of Florida, Mordor?"

"Well it's simple, really. It's a little known fact that Orlando was conceived in one of these gardens. It's where his name came from. Apparently something about a rose or a tulip or something. I don't know the exact story." She shuddered. "I really don't want to. But his parents named him Orlando Bloom after some flower they saw while vacationing here. It's where he comes when he's not shooting movies."

"Sweet." said Sai, grinning. "Oh god... I think we've found him."

Suddenly they were knocked into a large shrubbery (not too big or expensive) as a group of 15-year-olds ran by screaming and giggling. Standing up and brushing the mulch off of her pants, Alli looked over the hedge to where the fangirls had been running. There he sat looking very content... Now to action.

"Okay... now that we're here... Sai... I have no idea how to get those fangirls away from him. I thought of making another simulacra... but my contacts are off at Mount Doom and it would take too long. We only have a little bit of time."

She checked her watch. "Only an hour, to be precise. Oh crum..."

She pulled out her cell phone and hit 1 on speed-dial. "Hey Anakron, it's Alli. Sai and I are just about to relieve Orlando Bloom of his fangirls. We'll have the task done, but we might get back a bit late. We'll have to walk, unless we can find some suburbanites to hitch with that aren't so perfect that I feel like vomiting. Wait..." she added, seeing a flirty looking pilot eying her. "I might be able to score a jet flight back."

She hung up and looked back at Sai. "I got his answering machine. Now... how do we get those girls away? I'm pretty certain that they'll count for both of us... after all, there are more than one. If I take the president of his fanclub and you wait a few seconds for him to have a new favorite, we can then get all of the girls to come with and it counts as multiple relievings and we'll have finished the task. But we don't have much time and I've got to go secure us a ride home. You think on it and I'll go get us a free flight back to Mount Doom and then just come over if you have any ideas... or I'll run over if I come up with one... unless you want to go hit on that pilot?"

[Encaitare]

Panakeia's bleach-white smile had been nothing short of evil. "So, you're finally getting sensible and trying to look younger, Wilhelmina. Though I daresay it's a bit late to undo some of the damage, even with my Wrinkles-B-Gone Cream."

Wilhelmina had scoffed as only the elderly can. "It's not for me. It's for Pârís Hiltôn... I'm sure people of her quality would just love your products."

"Oh? And what are you going to get from her?" Panakeia said, raising a perfectly shaped brow.

"Never you mind that. Now, a bottle of Pearie Ockcide Potion, and those cheap perfumes that look fancy, if you please."

"I sell nothing cheap," Panakeia had sniffed.

"Shiny, then! I need things with glitz! I've got a bimbo to find!"

~*~*~*~*~

Wilhelmina had also stopped at a pet store and a beauty shop, where she'd purchased a bag of doggie biscuits and a mirror, respectively. Now, she was walking down the streets in the resort area, looking for a certain venue: Club Pârís. She felt quite out of place, as the majority of the people surrounding her wore sleek suits with nary a wrinkle to be seen, or thousand-dollar dresses with matching shoes, sunglasses, and purse.

The old woman's hat clashed with each and every one of the outfits, and she reveled inwardly at that fact as she wandered, unable to see the skeptical looks she was receiving from the other passers-by -- not because of poor vision on her part, but because nearly all of them wore dark glasses of exorbitant price and nominal value.

As she stopped at the corner to wait for the traffic light to change, she noticed a man with a little table piled high with pamphlets of some sort. Tacked to the nearby telephone pole was a sign that said "STAR MAPS" in big letters. To get the point across, large painted stars surrounded the text, glittering jadedly.

"Can I interest you in a Star Map, madam?" the man asked, holding up an equally glittery pamphlet.

"Don't be silly, young man," Wilhelmina replied, checking the traffic light again. "Whatever would I do with a map of the heavens in broad daylight?"

The man laughed as though there was a joke the whole world knew and Wilhelmina somehow didn't understand it. "You do not understand me! This map," he said as he unfolded into a quite unwieldy size, "tells you where you can find the homes of celebrities in this area. It's only one Troll, madam, a very good bargain!"

Wilhelmina regarded the map with a degree of doubt. "Can it tell me where to find Johnny Depp?"

A nervous laugh escaped from the man's throat. "Perhaps we'd best leave matters of Mr. Depp alone... strange things have been happening." Suddenly, like a light bulb growing brighter after someone turns off a massive, electricity-hogging machine in the other room, he burst out with, "But this map also tells you the favorite venues of these celebrities -- who knows, if you're lucky you might get to meet one of them!"

Something clicked. "Is Club Pârís on that map?"

"But of course!"

"Then I'll take it," she decided, thrusting a Troll at the salesman, seizing the map, and barely making it across the street before an eighteen-wheeler barrelled past.

[Kath]

When Alli had made her serious little speech Sai hadn’t answered right away for fear of laughing in her face and losing her only companion. After what she had experienced the last few days she would go with pretty much anyone who seemed to know what they were doing! So far she had faced the BliddyUnnerground, been stuck in RCA records, confronted a Balrog, driven a car (mostly into things but still driven), nearly got killed on the motorways of Mordor and faced the Balrog again (who admittedly was a little friendlier the second time once they’d got past the whole Mardil threatening Alli thing). However, on almost all of these occasions she had been with Alli, and whilst the girl seemed to have a knack for getting into trouble, she had almost equal abilities at getting out of it. Sai had realised this after her first encounter with Alli’s methods, and had long since decided that it was better to simply trust to the plans and the luck that went with her. Finding Alli was staring at her again, she put as solemn an expression on her face as she could muster and gave her assent.


A little later, stuck in that van with the Brady Bunch family, she began to wish she hadn’t. There was a sticker on one of the windows, Baby on Board, and for a moment she wished she was back in her old car as an orc, as the sticker would surely cause inexplicable violent tendencies, allowing her to run up the back of them to make sure that dear little Michael and Susie would never be able to sing again. She was certain they were about to start up with I’ve Got A Song That’ll Get On Your Nerves, and if that happened bloodshed wouldn’t be far behind. The mother was just as bad, going on and on at Alli until Sai feared for her safety. The father simply looked shellshocked, and Sai wondered whether he had known what he was getting himself in for when he agreed to marriage, or whether he had simply been around so many people who thought that not having a significant other lowers your value as a human being that he eventually gave in. She thought the latter was most likely, and smiled at him. He returned the smile a little tiredly, and then motioned that they had reached their destination.


Standing in the gardens, Sai had to admit to confusion, until a group of raging fangirls hit her from behing. She stood up again, half listening to Alli and half watching as the girls flocked around the object of their affection. She wondered whether it was really him they were into, or whether it was just the fame and air of superiority he carried around with him. If it were the latter she mused, would some kind of swap work . . . ? With one ear she heard phrases like “might get back a bit late”, “how do we get those girls away”, and “unless you want to go hit on that pilot” coming from Alli, and as that last sentence trickled through into her brain she realised she had been caught not listening.

“Sorry, no, please you go do that. But we still have about two days to do this, maybe a little less if you take time off for getting back to Mount Doom, and if you get a promise of a lift from that pilot we should be ok on that front. The only real problem is working out how to convince those girls to come with us. I suppose if they really are hardcore Leggy-boppers there isn’t much we can do, though your plan might work, but most fangirls are fickle aren’t they? What if we could offer them a better obsession? Think they’d come back with us?”

Alli turned to look at her (not falling over this time), seeming surprised that Sai had come up with an idea all by herself.

“That sounds like it could actually work – but who could we bribe them with?”

Sai thought for a moment. Who would Orlando Blooms fangirls find attractive? She ran through a list of young, tall, apparently goodlooking celebrities in her head, and came up with just one that might meet the criteria.

“How about that guy from Harry Potter? Tom something, the one who plays Malfoy? He might work. And you know, they’re filming something from it around here so if we could kidnap him and then tell these girls that we have him they might come with us. This is all getting a bit farfetched, do you think we could do it?

[the guy who be short]

Jack Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow. Fléin mulled it over in his head. It wasn't really a very cool name for a pirate, even if he had become a bird. What he needed was something concise and threatening. Jack Black, that had a nice rhythm to it. Jack Death, maybe. Jack Morgue.

Sparrows, he had been told, eat seeds. He looked at the unappetising mixture of crud-in-a-bag he had bought. Hopefully, he could lure Jack out with this. Then it was a question of netting. He didn't want to use the crossbow except as a last resort.

He wasn't exactly sure where to find Jack. The city was huge, and finding a sparrow therein, albeit a gigantic one, was somewhat like finding a needle in a haystack, considered mathematically.

Except that this wasn't maths class. Sparrows are found near sparrow food. That's obvious. Sparrow food is found in the narrow tracks of parkland in Lost Angles. And, as a Dwarf, old Fléin had a few tricks up his sleep.

"Chooo-chooo fwoo twu-wu-wu-wu?"

"Fwoo-ooh-OOOH-oo-wu-tutututu"

Fléin allowed himself a little smile. For perhaps the hundredth time since setting out, he thanked Mahal that he'd been born a Dwarf. He rushed off in a northeasterly direction, purposefully keeping the pace a little too fast for the Mordorc behind him.

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

There was earth below Fléin's feet once more. Crumby, infertile, weak earth. He could immediately see why this patch of land had been reserved as parkland. Any attempt to build on it would result in collapse, and an attempt to farm it would result in famine. Only hardy grass managed to grow here, and a few tough shrubs.

And all around, birds of every sort. There must have been a couple of hundred, all told, but no oversized sparrows. And that idiot orc had caught up behind him, and was making far too much noise! He'd scare what there was away. The temptation to turn around and drive a bolt through his face was so great that Fléin forced himself to shove the weapon into his pocket, and keep his fist closed tightly.

He turned around, walked back to the orc, and growled up at him. "You want your ratings, don't you? Keep back, or nothing happens."

"I'm afwaid I can't. Latht time woo wouldn't tell me what had happened, and-"

"I don't care," the dwarf quivered. "If you move any further forward, these birds will fly off, and I have no chance of capturing-"

"Capturing what?"

"Just watch." He walked back to the flock of birds littering the floor, the orc sulkily watching. The orc trained the kamura on the Dwarf bending over and cooing at the birds, then tramping off. He took his eye off the dwarf for a minute to adjust the lens, to find he had disappeared.

Fléin had, however, found his way underground; marvellously with this soil, he thought. It was a wonder it hadn't fallen in. And it seemed to go down quite deep. Fléin would have felt quite at home, were it not for the skulls at the entrace. Some would consider vole skulls a little unintimidating, but their message was clear. "Here there be pirates."

"Who goes there?" a voice screeched up from below in sparrow when Fléin was about 50 feet in. Apparently, he had been treading too heavily.

"A friend," he replied in English.

There was a panicked twittering. Fléin saw light ahead of him.

"Who? What is your name?"

"Fléin, Fréinson of the Ironfoots. I come as an emissary for the Incarnations of Johnny Depp."

"Why did they send a Dwarf?"

But Fléin did not respond. He turned a corner, and was momentarily dazzled by the brilliance around him. Torches burned, not so very brightly, but their light was reflected from the piles of gold all around the small cavern. And there, perched, literally, in the centre of it all...

Fléin had been told he was a large sparrow, but he had not expected this. The bird must have been forty centimetres high. But - no, thirty. His helmet of tin - cap indeed! - was high and crested. And there - a dagger, strapped to his side? On a bird? What could he possibly hold it with.

The bird looked directly at him, inquiring. "Who are you?"

"I have told you, Mr Sparrow. An emissary. I come to ask your aid in the coming struggle."

"Ha. And for which side would you have me waste my time and life?"

"Mr Wonka sent me."

The bird made a curious chirping sound, that the Dwarf knew for laughter. "Old Willy? Ha! They speak of war, but they know not what they say. What will he do? Throw chocolate bombs at them? Make an invincibilty gum?"

"Come now. It is inevitable, and with your aid, it can be over far more quickly, and with far less difficulty. You will not abandon those who are as your kinsmen?"

The bird did not answer, but repeated his own question. "Why did they send a Dwarf?"

"I am a friend of Willy's," the Dwarf invented instantaneously.

"You are a liar."

The Dwarf stared at the sparrow. He stared back, reptilian eyes betraying only a hint of humanity. There was silence, and then, "I will not join this war. It is foolery. Leave."

"I'm afraid I cannot do that." The Dwarf drew his crossbow.

The bird eyed him critically, then laughed once more. "And what will that achieve?"

The Dwarf opened his mouth to reply, but before this was possible, there was a great screech, and Jack had bounded off his perch. He loosed the bolt, but it soared over the bird and hit the wall behind him.

Then there were talons, sharp little claws in his face. The screeching would not stop when he punched the bird, nor when he hit it with the crossbow. Still, the incessant clawing and screeching.

Finally, with another punch and a resounding smack, the bird fell flat on its back in front of him. He drew the net, but swiftly the bird drew its dagger, holding it in its beak, and jumped up, slicing at his foot. Only the thick leather protected Fléin.

But the bird must have been tired of the effort - he was scurrying rather than flying, and occasionally tumbling most ignobly over the ground.

In the end, Fléin stepped on him.

[Durelin]

Panakeia seemed very intent on her driving. Indeed, her orcish form’s brow was furrowed to the point that her eyes seemed to have been forced back into her head. Valde had heard of looking into the mind of another, but he now had a newfound image to associate with that. He made no bother to break the silence for several minutes, bored of words for the moment. Staring broodingly out the window at the passing landscape was more than enough entertainment, and he would thus allow the kamuramen in the back seat to get a few close-ups of his strikingly gloomy profile. Every few moments he would adjust his cloak, ran a hand through his shaggy dark hair, or would adjust slightly the way he sat. Sadly, his poses were simply that limited in a moving vehicle. No wonder only orcs drive cars, he thought, sparing a disapproving glance for Panakeia the orc. He still had yet to decide whether or not it was an improvement or if it simply her appearance worse that her face still looked as plastic as ever. Valde was just thankful that she had not yet tried to do anything to his face. If he had bags under his eyes, it was because of all those sleepless nights when he lay awake pondering the meaning of his life, the matter of his death, or if anything was really a matter at all. Or it was due to when he cried himself to sleep over his lost love, who he never did and never would find.

Suddenly lightening flashed in his mind as he was imagining himself staring down from a high, dark tower, with the ran pouring down and the thunder rolling all around him, shaking the ground beneath his feet. He realized something, and his life’s deleted scenes flashed from before his eyes. He had no idea where they were going. That had not seemed to matter in the last challenge, but he was getting tired of feeling as if he were being dragged along simply as an additional handsome face. Though now that he thought about it…

“No no no! Simply, no! That is your worst angle yet. This is not MTV, Fear Factor, or the Blair Witch Project. We do not want the off-road racing camera effect, nor any rude close ups.”

Valde’s head shot around to stare at the kamuramen in the backseat, who seemed to be having a debate about their kamura angles. His eyes were slightly wide with shock, and his lips were slightly pursed. He was supposed to look indignant, but it might have been more an appearance of a fish out of water. Or a fish who had just heard something about ‘rude close ups’ when he knew he was being filmed. If a fish indeed had any kind of self-awareness when being filled for a documentary on mating in particular, I am sure that he would have looked just as bug eyed as Valde did, and of course he would always have fish lips, no matter what he did.

“Rude close ups? What on earth are you talking about?!”

Both kamuras were focused on him. Now that he thought about it, it was rather intimidating to be on film twice at the same time. Did that mean that there were two of him? No, because that would be suggesting that he was his image. But then again, he was a Lead Tragic Actor, a specie of his own, and it was all about the image. It took the kamuramen a minute or two respond, though. It was a kind of deer in the headlights moment, except that Valde would never have allowed a deer in the car with him. Well, unless it was an emergency. Simultaneously, each kamuraman pointed their fingers at Valde in a motion that made him furrow his brow and wish he had the kind of death-ray powers that he had heard some strange creatures such as ‘Póst-Mëno-Pausál’ women had. Apparently they were cueing him now, since they had finally gotten the shot right after a number of alterations. Valde rolled his eyes, and turned to Panakeia.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but…do you know where we’re going?”

“Well, generally,” Panakeia replied. Valde was not comforted. “I’ve been on the lookout for signs with ‘Lost Angles’ on it. You’d best do the same.”

Valde folded his arms around his chest and ‘hmphed’ slightly, but he did start paying attention to the signs. Suddenly he had an awful idea, which cued a ‘Grinch’ smile to spread across his face. “Exit 666a, Bloodshot Row, Turnaround Pike, Turnback Key Parkway 17 miles…” He started reading every word off of every sign they passed by. It did not take long before Panakeia threatened to ‘pull a lemming,’ but soon after Valde let out a shout. “Lost Angles! That exit. No, not that one. The one off the precarious cliff there. Of course it’s that one!” He turned to the kamuramen in the back, a sideways grin untidily pinned to his face and threatening to slide off. “You’ll have to be careful now, or you might lose your angles!”

His butchered pun was met with silence, and Valde heard a derogatory and of course purely metaphorical cricket chirping in his ear. The grin slid from his face, leaving it look even more skewed. Panakeia raised an eyebrow at him, and suddenly stepped on the break, and the car came to a sudden hault with a loud screech. Valde observed that they had come to the bottom of the exit ramp, and every orc driver had to stop there, to increase the chances of at least one good fender bender every five minutes. It kept the ratings up for the whole driving thing, and apparently made someone tons of money.

“Now, before we get into the city, we have to discuss some plans,” Panakeia said.

“Are you sure it’s alright to stop here?” Valde asked, shooting a glance behind the car. The screech of their own breaks had been followed by several more, and he had sworn he had heard some kind of thud.

“Pfft, of course!” Panakeia said with a careless wave of her hand. A horn blared from behind them, and a whole chorus followed. The woman simply raised her voice. “I have heard tale of a strange cultic gathering of peoples who worship this William Shatner as a god, and Spockú as a kind of demi-god, through ritual prayers, offerings, pleadings, and effigies meant to honor them. Sometimes the Shatner and his underling will grace the most fervent of followers with their presence. And this is Los Angles.” She gestured out, referencing the land around them.

“Fervent,” Valde said simply.

Then they were off again, merging onto the Debauchémain Street of Lost Angles. “What is it you're after?” he asked, slightly hesitantly because he feared that if she turned to look at him at all his life would be in danger. “I’ve been eyeing the very brow that crowns the demi-god Spockú’s frozen face.” He paused but for an amputated second, and suddenly spoke again, before she could answer. “Say, do you sell him makeup?” he asked, resting a hand of pondering upon his chin as he peeked at her from a side glance. He received only a glare back, and a sudden jolt as the car stopped again. She had pulled over to straddle the sidewalk by the side of the road.

“Are you sure it’s alright to park here?” Valde had grown to dislike cities. The drama there was superficial.

“Chances are this was a parking lot at some point.”

“Ahhh…” They were always paving over parking lots in Mordor.

The two hopped out of the car, followed by their probing electric eyes who scene by scene were capturing the shear reality of their mission of subterfuge-ation of a religious ceremony. Panakeia quickly turned back into normal Panakeia, and Valde decided that the overly synthetic look of her face had certainly been detrimental to her appearance as an orc. He was not sure it helped now, either, but he still politely offered her his arm, though he did it stiffly, with a choppy bow and his jaw set. He couldn’t look happy about it; she should know that. It was always about the image: whenever, wherever. And today he even considered a little help from Panakeia’s makeup might not be a bad idea. They were, after all, in Lost Angles.

“Off to the ‘Cultivation Center,’ then?”

“And so the two contestants, with a temporary and tender alliance agreed to, set off to cause a cultic catastrophe at the ‘Cultivation Center.’ (‘Cultivation Center’ is a trademark of Zeal and Borg Industries),” Valde’s kamuraman narrated.

“I hope he finds the Kûl Aíd,” Valde muttered.