ATM II RPG

[Lhunardawen]

How, Maika wondered with an amazed sigh, all thoughts of Bobawen momentarily forgotten as she gazed at Elrogorn carefully so as not to be noticed, could anyone smell so foul, yet look so fair? She casually reached out and flicked the clump of hair standing on top of his head, at which Elrogorn the ever-alert flinched. He looked up at her questioningly.

"There was a piece of rub- wereduck on your hair," replied Maika matter-of-factly. Elrogorn thanked her with a dashing smile (Maika had to pinch herself to stop smiling back) and turned back to Hyarmenwë, who now stood beside Bobawen.

"Elrogorn," the Gondorian said, "this is my dau—"

"Wait."

All eyes swung towards Maika. "Hyarmenwë," she continued, "I don’t know, but this is all too anticlimactic."

Before he could protest, which with his disbelieving expression and open mouth it seemed he was about to do, Maika faced Aleksandur and Fíriel urgently. “Do you know anyone else who could fit the bill?”

Hyarmenwë found his voice; the look on his face, if Maika had seen it, should have been enough to make her stop. "Maika—"

"Yes," exclaimed Aleksandur triumphantly, "Maika’s nineteen!" The Mordorian ambassador was about to respond, but Fíriel shook her head.

"No, my dear, Maikacoreion’s a boy."

"Right," sighed Maika, "anyone else?"

"Maika, that’s enough!"

All talk ended abruptly.

"Meow?"

Everyone looked down at the floor to see feline Maika sitting on her hind legs, her tail neatly tucked around her feet. She was looking up at them with her head tilted to side, her large mismatched eyes (one blue and one brown) blinking curiously. The old woman materialised behind her, out of breath.

"Maika," she panted, "one more escapade and I promise I’ll forfeit your desserts for a week. Come on now, there’s a good kitty!"

With a final meow Maika turned, her tail swishing, and walked back to their own table. The old woman bowed slightly and whispered her apologies before following her cat. The tension surrounding the silenced group deflated a bit.

"Lady Maika," Hyarmenwë finally ventured, in a tone more subdued than moments before, "there can be no mistake. Her resemblance to my dear wife is uncanny. What further proof is required?"

Maika shook her head, exhaling heavily. "When I told you this task won’t be easy, I was speaking as a Mordorian. As someone who has lived here all her life, and knows very well that many things are not what they seem. Yes, she could be your daughter for all we know, but I didn’t think you would be this easily convinced."

"Maika, I asked you to aid me in my search—"

"And that’s what I’m doing!"

"—and not to interfere." He looked at her sternly. "There’s a difference, my lady. Who better to know my daughter than I?"

Bowing her head, Maika sighed, resigned. "Yes, my lord. I’m sorry. I was out of line."

She looked up and saw that Hyarmenwë was taken aback. As she expected. She had never called him that before.

"Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go somewhere required of women when in a place like this."

Drawing to her full height, which honestly was not much, Maika walked resolutely away from the table towards the restroom.

[littlemanpoet]

Everyone had fled, except for Skittles, her cat, and Igor. Anakron turned upon them, his staff raised. Skittles' cat hissed at the staff. The staff hissed back.

"Shut up, staff," Anakron said matter of factly.

"You can't say that matter of factly," the cat on the staff said back.

"Shut up anyway," Anakron growled.

"You should konvay DoggISM on yourself, you evil man you," said the cat on the staff.

Anakron rolled his eyes and ignored the cat.

"What are you staring at?" he demanded of Skittles. He was feeling ready to konvay the aitch ee double toothpicks out of anyone who crossed him, and was hoping Skittles would. Just for the fun of it. Evil was supposed to be fun, he thought, so he had decided to make the best of it.

[Celuien]

Sounds of singing, laughter, and rejoicing resounded in the depths of the Valley of the Hippies. Somewhere among the gathered celebrants, a woman sitting crosslegged on the ground in a flowing skirt, peasant blouse and Birkenstocks tied a wreath of wildflowers into her hair like a crown. She looked strangely like Panakeia. On second thought, it might have been noted that the resemblence wasn't strange at all. She was Panakeia.

She had been happy during her stay. It was true that she heard strange noises by night, and that in the morning there were large footprints outside where a herd of large animals trampled the ground. But no harm had come to her once, so Panakeia was content.

Across from her, a trio was trying to write a song.

How many weeks can a sandbox exist
Before it is filled up by fleas?
Yes, 'n' how many years must coffee exist
Before they learn to drink tea?
Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head
Before he just gets dizzy?

The answer, I said, is hidden in the sand
The answer is hidden in the sand.

"Well, what do you think?"

Panakeia shook her head. "I don't know..."

"I know. We need something to protest. Can't write a good song without a protest."

A light bulb went off over Panakeia's head, or would have gone off had such a device been suspended in that position.

"I've got it! Let's go to Lûndûn. We'll have a protest against the establishment, the Blue Istari, the Grand Anakronist and everything!"

Cheers went up. There was a great movement of scurrying into battered buses and soon, a large party was Lûndûn bound.