PPC: Mission Absurd Or So It Seems

Written By: wonderwow
You can read the original here:
All Credit goes to the original author

*Beep! Beep! Beep!*

“SHUT UP! OH, FOR THE LOVE OF PETE! AGAIN?!”

“You shut up!” Winnie chucked her cushion at Ember’s head. She stood up and yawned, tripping her way over to the console. “Oh, this one’s beautiful. She gets lost in the woods…except this time, she’s a female ranger…she hates dresses – what’s with the hatred of dresses all the time? – and she has Boromir fall for her instead of an Elf. Poor guy.”

Ember tumbled out of bed. “My word, that’s more unusual than the Legomances, but I still won’t stand it. I’m going to complain to the Upstairs if this beautiful console will take up the habit of waking us up while we’re sleeping.”

“Or we could just smash it and wait for them to find out,” Winnie supplied helpfully, rubbing her eyes blearily. “It won’t please them, though. What disguises are we wearing this time? Can we be Elves?”

Shaking her head, Ember brushed her hair. “We were Elves last time,” she reminded Winnie. “Won’t help to have the Canon characters think another kinslayer is on the loose. We’ll be Orcs this time.”

Winnie pouted. “Fine. But I get to keep my Elvish daggers.”

Ember shrugged. “It’s not like we use any other weapons anyway. Hey, grab those granola bars, will you? Anything else?”

Winnie changed into her uniform.

“Nope,” she said. She punched the Remote Activator. “Ready?”

“Yep.” Ember shouldered her pack and followed her partner through the portal.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Oof!” Winnie felt the wind knocked out of her as Ember fell on top of her. “Watch it! My bones are delicate, you know. Can someone please explain why there’s a sudden plain right nest to the Bruinen?”

“Charge,” Ember said automatically, getting off her partner’s body. “There aren’t any plains that I know of. Oh, there’s a sign that says, ‘The Nazgul chased the Princess here’. I don’t recall a sign. Add another charge.”

Winnie wrote it down and checked the story.

Coral felt herself fall down a tube of black. She twisted her body, trying to feel the ground. “Help!” she screamed. “Help, anyone!” Then she hit the land and slipped into merciful darkness.

“Then she hit the…wait, she hit the land? She means ‘she hit the ground’, right?”

“It says ‘land’ right here.”

“Nice grammar. Hey, is it me, or is a brown-haired man kneeling beside the prone form of a woman?”

“Girl.”

“Looks like a woman to me.”

{Coral’s POV} I looked up at the soft eyes of the man who had picked me up. “What – what is your name?” I stuttered. I was afraid that he would hurt me.

“’I was afraid he would hurt me’? What kind of sentence is that?”

“Dunno. Maybe you should mark bad grammar as a charge. Hey, hand me the Character Analyzing device. I want to check on the Steward’s son.”

[Boromir. Male. Human. Canon. Out of Character. 97.6683]

“I feel for him,” Ember said affectionately.

Winnie opened her mouth to say something, but the world suddenly spun and spun and spun. “Plothole!” she heard Ember shout from somewhere on her left.

“Sweet Eru!” Winnie gasped a moment later. “I think I lost five years!”

“You said that last time,” Ember commented. “OW! What was that for? Keep your elbows to yourself, young lady.”

Winnie blinked. “We’re still in Rivendell.”

“Oh, figured that out, have we?”

“Shut up. The Council’s going to start, and Coral’s supposed to be changing. Shall we go look?”

“Stop being such a pervert!”

“No, I meant it the other way!”

“Sure, then.”

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“If this is what you meant by ‘look’, then I am never going to look at any of the non-canon characters again,” Ember mumbled. The two of them were currently dangling by a tree branch, watching Coral try on her dresses.

{Coral’s POV} I didn’t know what dress to wear. Really, Lord Elrond has been too kind to me. I was highly grateful for all he has provided me with. Oh, this dress looks wonderful! It’s green with gold trimming –

“Add another charge. She’s describing her clothing,” Ember explained to a confused Winnie. “Oh,” her partner said. “Can we go down now?”

Ember shrugged. “Don’t know how to climb down. Tell you what, I’m going to open the portal. Oops, that’s a bit too far. Winnie, jump and you’ll probably reach it. Don’t worry, if you break your neck, I’ll bring your body back.”

Winnie looked aghast. “No!”

Then Ember pushed her through. “OI!”

The pair found themselves on the rooftop of Elrond’s house, looking down on the Council. Winnie read the story.

{Boromir’s POV} This woman is enchanting. Her hair is the colour of autumn leaves, and her eyes two pools of emerald. She knows everything about the future, yet almost nothing about the past. Her family has abandoned her, but she lives on with courage. I find it hard to accept my mother’s passing, but she is so much younger than me and still plows her way through life. ‘Cool’ is beyond describing her.

Winnie gagged. “Cool? I didn’t know that they use such words back at this time.”

Ember growled. “They didn’t. ‘Nother charge.”

Winnie jotted down the newest charge. She straightened and squinted. “Apparently, they’ve decided that there are to be ten walkers. Hand me the CAD, will you?”

[Coral. Female. Human. Non-Canon. Marysue.]

“Great. It’s like another Miara, but with flaming red hair. God, this mission is terrible. I am so taking a vacation after this. I’ll take you with me if you want.”

“Really? Thank!”

“You’re welcome. Hey look, the other characters are almost normal. Only Boromir’s going slightly gaga. This author’s actually pretty good, considering the other ones. Believe me when I say ‘other one’…”

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

The world swirled once more.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Agh! I hate plotholes!”

“Same here! Stop vomiting, Winnie, we go through this all the time. You should know by now not to be disturbed.”

“Be quiet. Hey, we’re near the Misty Mountains.”

“You meant Caradhras.”

“I like Misty Mountains better.”

“Oh, forget it. Look, there’s the Fellowship!”

“She’s going to rescue Frodo when he collapses in the snow. Urgh, look at her. She’s simpering all over him! Now it’s the old ‘Are you OK?’ question. How creative. Oh, she’s getting buried in snow this time. There were three avalanches?”

“Add it to the charges, Winnie.”

Winnie quickly wrote it down. “Can we portal to Moria?”

“Sure.” Ember pressed the Remote Activator. “Watcher, here we come!”

Winnie looked around. “They’ve passed this spot already!” she whined. “Let’s go to Lothloríen. At least we’ll get to see Haldir.”

“I hate Haldir fangirls,” Ember muttered, opening the portal once again. “There she is! She’s going to bathe by herself soon. Oh, Galadriel’s now telling her that she’s a descendant of the Elves. She is doomed to die a mortal’s death if she chooses in order to be with Boromir. Oh, how dramatic. I’m swooning from tears! And now she’s resorting to ‘whispering softly’. Honestly, how lame can you get?”

“Lamer than this,” Winnie said, writing down another charge.

Meddling with Galadriel…Making up her family tree…Mocking whispers.

“Can we kill her yet?” Ember asked impatiently.

“Yep,” Winnie said.

They stepped silently towards the waterfall of Nimrodel.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Coral stood on the rock and undressed, pulling off her traveling clothes. She was unaware of eyes as she slipped into the cool water. Oh, it was heavenly to just float there.

“Enter Boromir,” Ember muttered.

Boromir walked out from behind the trees. Coral turned as she heard his footsteps. Her naked body shone almost silver in the moonlight. Instead of shouting at him to go away, she beckoned to him with a seductive smile on her lips.

Boromir stared, entranced by her beauty. It captured his attention and aroused something in him –

“HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!” a voice bellowed. Coral looked confused and frightened, while Boromir stepped in front of her, startled yet protective.

Ember stepped out from behind the trees. Winnie, armed with a dart lathered in sleeping powder, shot it at Boromir.

They leapt into the ripples of Nimrodel and dragged Coral out, nude body and all. “My clothes!” the Sue shrieked. Ember gave her a feral grin. “Oh, believe me, you pain-in-the-arse, you won’t need it where we’re going.” Coral’s eyes widened and she whimpered.

The two ‘orcs’ were now dragging her through a dense forest of sharp branches that tore at her smooth skin. “Open the portal,” Ember commanded. Winnie pushed the button and they stepped through into the land beyond Isengard. The pile of ashes were all that remained of Miara.

“It’s still here,” Winnie noted with satisfaction.

Ember grabbed the charges. “Coral the Sue, you are hereby charged with messing with the lands of Middle-Earth, as in creating plains, making signs appear out of nowhere, using bad grammar in your story, describing your clothing with disgusting detail, making words like ‘cool’ in a medieval landscape, creating three avalanches of snow on the Misty Mountains, meddling with the characters, making up your family tree, and forcing Boromir to lust for you. Any last words?”

All Coral did was stare at her in astonishment.

Ember shrugged. “Oh, well.” Then she lopped off her head. “You burn her this time.”

Winnie lit a match and burned her body. The assassins high-fived and walked back through the portal.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“I’m not going to even bother unpacking,” Ember groaned.

*Beep! Beep! Beep!*

“I can predict the future! How cool is that?”

Gríma's Questionable Summer Reading List

Written By: star-breaker990
You can Read the Original here:
All Credit goes to the Original Author

Finally some peace and quiet, Éowyn thought to herself, as she settled down on her home-made deck chair, carefully positioned outside the doors to the Golden Hall of Meduseld on the balcony to catch the warm sunlight, and opened her book ‘The Earl of the Earring’. She had only ever managed to read three pages at the most without being disturbed; she had found the book on her uncle’s bookshelf, and had hoped to read it quickly before he noticed it was gone, but it was proving difficult.

She flicked to where she had left off, ‘Chapter 3’, and started to read. ‘The road to their destiny was a perilous one. The flobbits were lagging behind in the heat of the vibrant afternoon, and began to wish they had never began their quest. The leading flobbit, Mojo, was just about to give up hope, when the branches of the trees proudly parted, the breeze blew his heavy fringe up, and the hedgerows along the road opened wide to reveal a’--

Éowyn froze on that line, as a bulky shadow formed over her and the book. She rolled her eyes, shut the book with a fierce ‘whop’ and stood up to face the shadow-former, uncertain as to who it was.

“Hello, Éowyn,” came an oily, gravely voice. She rolled her eyes dramatically to her unwelcome intruder. Gríma Wormtongue smiled at her, his thin, chapped lips spreading over blue-grey teeth. She rolled her eyes in disgust.

“What do you want, you swine?” she hissed. He flinched at the word “swine”, but just managed to maintain is crooked smile and oily persona.

“Well isn’t that nice?” he went on, stepping closer to Éowyn, causing her to back away. “Here I am, making an effort to be pleasant, kind, conversational,” he stepped closer again, circling the deck chair only to bend down and sit on it, putting his hands behind his head. “And you have to respond like that. And you call yourself the King’s niece?” He leaned forward in his seat, and shook his head in a mocking fashion. “Most shameful.”

Éowyn was not quite sure how respond. Her first thought was that she would now have to burn her poor deck chair she had spent the weekend making; she could not stomach the thought of sitting where Gríma had parked his rear. She folded her arms and glared at him.

“You dare you come here, confront me, and be so rude?” she glowered. She wanted to lunge out and slap him, but feared if she reached out towards him he would hold on to her and not let go. “Not to mention coming along and besmirch my personal belongings - you do realise nobody will want to sit on that now you have?”

Gríma’s smile quivered, but lashed back two seconds later. “You do realise that book is not a personal belonging of yours,” he smirked, waving a pointed finger towards the book firmly in her grip. “That belongs to the king; you are lucky you borrowed it without permission before I did - I planned to read it myself.” He let a soft laugh escape his lips. “I would have thought a book like that would be much too sordid for a young, fair maiden like yourself.”

She scoffed at him. “I am not as fragile as you like to think,” she replied, watching him raise a transparent eyebrow. “And anyway; since when could you read?” she taunted.

Gríma froze, genuinely insulted at the standard Éowyn held him at. “I will have you know, my sweet, little lady, that I am a most learned and avid reader,” he replied proudly.

It was now Éowyn’s turn to raise an eyebrow in amusement. “Oh, of course, yes,” she sneered, “Well why don’t you enlighten me, and tell me what you have recently read? What‘s been keeping your bed-side candle alight these recent nights?”

Gríma sat still with his hands on his lap, twiddling his thumbs and thinking fast. The last thing he had read was ‘A Guide to Life: For The Depressed’ by Chirpy Oakwood, but he would sooner admit that he didn’t blow the candle out at all than that - which he didn’t. He merely shrugged casually.

“Oh, far too many grand novels to recount in several seconds,” he smiled. Éowyn rolled her eyes again, even more melodramatically. “But I know one thing I can read right now,” he whispered, leaning forward again. Éowyn’s eyes narrowed. “You,” he hissed. “I can read you like a book.”

Éowyn squinted at Gríma and lowered her eyebrows at the sinister character before her, more dark and foul than any creature she had read about in any book. “I beg your pardon?” she replied, forgetting to whisper.

Gríma nodded smugly. “You heard,” he said quietly. “Oh yes, I see what’s going on in your pretty little head. You cannot hide it from me.” He enjoyed watching her start to panic.

“And, pray tell, precisely what do you think you can read from me? What do you think I would take the time to hide for the likes of scum like you?” said Éowyn, her eyes widening and narrowing as she spoke.

With a sudden air of triumph, Gríma simply stood up and looked her in the eye. “Your feelings,” he whispered, so quietly that Éowyn unfortunately had to lean closer to hear, feeling his stale breath stain her cheek. “Your feelings … for me.”

Éowyn looked at Gríma in utter disbelief and outrage. Her eyebrows shot up so high they almost hit her hair line, and her eyes shrunk to slits. Gríma miss interpreted her reaction, and began to nod with satisfaction. “You,” he snarled, “are a foul, sick, twisted man,” she concluded, pointing angrily at him.

Gríma watched her and grinned broadly, his cloudy eyes suddenly bright and shining in a way Éowyn had never seen before. “Oh, come on,” he replied, his voice wobbling with sudden excitement. “You know you want it really!” And he started to walk towards her.

Éowyn gasped, and in a state of shock, swung out with the first thing that came to her; the ‘Earl of the Earring’ book went flying in her hand and slammed into Gríma’s face, turning it’s milk complexion to peony pink.

“Did you just hit me?” he growled, holding his hands to his face, and glaring at Éowyn.

“Did you just hit on me?!” she cried in outrage, holding the book out in front of her again. “I cannot believe you would have the nerve to stand here and talk to me in such a…” she waved her free hand in the air helplessly for a moment, “…such a confrontational, suggestive manner!” She shuddered. “I have never seen you like this before!”

Having recovered from his attack with the book, he grinned again. “Really?” he replied. “Do you like it?” He raised both brows, where his eyebrows should have been, and Éowyn stepped backwards in utter disgust.

“You sicken me,” and she turned on her heel to walk away - but a split second later she realised it was a mistake. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gríma raise his hands in the air in anguish.

“Éowyn!” he cried out, his hands in front of him as if he were about to fling his arms around her. “I’m sorry! I just don’t think I can handle this anymore!” He smacked his hands to his face, as if to hide his sudden shame. Éowyn froze on the spot, suddenly concerned for Gríma’s well-being, but more worried about her own. He came close to her, right up to her face. “I think - I think I -” he stammered.

“You think you what?!” she gasped, watching him with horror. He stared at her and pressed his lips together as if he was compressing a dire secret. They both paused. “What?!?”

“I think I love you!!!” he shouted. Éowyn dropped her book in a state of shock. Without a moment’s hesitation, she lifted the hem of her long terracotta skirt to her ankles, kicked the book aside, and simply ran. “No, Éowyn, wait! You have to let me speak!” Gríma called to her, but she could barely hear as she was already down the steps and sprinting past the houses and down the grass bank.

He hastily followed after her, carefully not to trip over his heavy black, velvety robes. She was already so far ahead of him she was down the bank and heading for the wooden-frame entrance to Edoras. Her hair was flown all over the place by the whistling wind, but she continued in her run, disregarding her gasping breathe and aching thighs.

“Éowyn! Please! My love, let me explain!” he called out tragically, waving his hand in front of him as a means of begging her to come to halt. But she didn’t even spin around to look at him, despite the fact that the image would have amused her. Gríma resembled a galloping black mound, with thin strands of hair slapping in the face, with brilliant red cheeks, and robes flying dangerously high over knobbly grey knees.

She merely shouted behind herself, keeping her eyes focused ahead of her, “get lost - psycho!” But she was in dire need of air, so once she reached the city’s gate, she slowed down and steadied herself, breathing sharply. She looked up briefly to see how far away her pursuer was, and the sight of him trying to run was so chronic that it gave her pain in her chest. “Read my lips! I said get lost!” she screamed at him as he toppled closer.

She looked around desperately for something that could act as a weapon, and spotted a long, wooden pole, conveniently lying inches from her foot. She spotted Gríma barely feet away from her, and without considering the complications of paralysing the King’s adviser, she swung the pole around and over her head, forcing Gríma to break and duck.

“Argh!” he wailed, flapping his hands over his head as if the pole was just a fly he could wave away. “Don’t swing that a-round!” he darted to the side as it flew towards his face - swooping lower than the first time. While she had the pole lowered, he took his chance to confront her. “Éowyn!” he gasped in desperation, reaching out and taking hold of her shoulders.

Éowyn screamed at such a violent pitch, that he had to cover his ears. Once he let go of her, she swung the pole again and hit him right on the very top of his ugly head. He so loud and ferociously in pain that he made the birds in the trees fly away, terrified.

“If you come near me again, I will kill you!” she spat, holding the wooden pole out in front of her. Gríma dropped to his knees, and held up his hands, practically sobbing with the pain.

“Could you really live with my blood on your hands and heart?” he whined, his voice trembling as he spoke. He closed his eyes, inhaled slowly, and went on to all fours to crawl towards her. “All I want is to love, and to be loved, my dear Éowyn,” he stammered, “is that such a ludicrous request?”

Éowyn lowered the pole, but maintained her guard all the same. “Coming from a snake like you, yes, it is, Gríma,” she replied, sneering. “I have to say, yes it is.” Gríma tilted his head to the side at her words, searching for an answer. “Who in their right mind would love you? I would say your mother, but I even have doubts about that!” She paused after she spoke, suddenly aware of how cruel she must have sounded.

Gríma knelt in the grass, his head bowed. She still did not feel brave enough to put a hand on his shoulder, or even bend down to his level, but she now wondered whether she had gone too far.

“I am sorry, Gríma,” she sighed, “but you are such an alien, lurid creature that you repel any good feeling.” She felt no guilt in saying that - it was completely true that he repelled kindness. He looked up at her, his eyes watering.

“Well…what can I do?” he asked in a tiny voice. He stood up and steadied himself. “I can change, Éowyn. I really can change!” He stepped forward and gingerly took her hand and held it between his own. Éowyn vowed to wash her hands as soon as she got back inside, but remained silent whilst he spoke. “I would change for you, Éowyn.” He took his hand off hers and aimed for her cheek. “I promise I can--”

“Don’t push your luck,” she replied bluntly, smartly shifting her head out of the way of his gnarled fingers.

“Oh, yes, sorry,” he muttered thickly. But he continued to look into her eyes earnestly. “But I mean it - if there is anything I could do to prove to you that…” he seemed lost for words. Éowyn took the opportunity to carefully slip her hand out of his while he stood and pondered. “Is there anything I can do?”

Éowyn stood awkwardly in front of him, many questionable images of Gríma cleaning her room, sitting at a piano, performing an out of time tap-dance, juggling swords and sitting with a quill and parchment flooded in and out of her mind. But suddenly she had a brain wave. A quill and parchment, she repeated in her head. Could he write me something? No! Read me something! Something he would hate…?

Gríma watched her scan the grass below, deep in thought, and widened his eyes hopefully. He went to grab her hands again, but swatted him away in case she changed her mind and did not help him at all. Finally, she looked back up at him, and a smirk crept onto her face.

“Curiously, Gríma,” she began, smiling, “I think there is something you could do for me.”

“Name it!” gasped Gríma, clapping his hands with eager anticipation.

“Well…”

**about an hour later**

“Éomer, sir,” whispered Gamling, peering from beneath the balcony outside the Golden Hall doors, his eyes level with two pairs of feet; one pair hidden by black robes, and the other slanted as though the owner was sitting down. “What are they doing? Can you see them?”

Éomer strode over to where Gamling stood, and took a good look at the scene in front of him, and rose his eyebrows in alarm. “Is that Gríma Wormtongue there, in such close proximities with my sweet sister?” His eyebrows went from high up his forehead, down low enough to partially cover his narrowing eyes. “Why, how dare the fiend?!”

But Gamling held up an arm, causing his angry companion to refrain from pulling out his sword. “Wait, sir,” he hissed, “I don’t think he is doing any harm.”

“What do you mean?” replied Éomer, incredulously. “Why, he has the nerve to stand indecently close to my poor, defenceless, little sister; and you are telling me you believe he is innocent?”

Gamling nodded, and signalled for him to look again. “Sir…I think he is reading…he is reading to Éowyn…”

“And so, the good knight rode with his fair maiden upon his fine white horse into the shimmering sunlight. ‘My fair lady, we have an eternity of life and love ahead of us’, he said proudly, as she held her arms around him. ‘We shall be wedded tomorrow, for you are the most beautiful young lady I have ever seen,’” Gríma recited, carefully turning the page. “‘Oh, Edwarn,’ sighed Shyla, ‘this is a dream come true. Take me away now, to your wonderful castle.’ They rode onwards into the distance, the horizon spreading far and wide before them like a wave breaking on a shore…’”

Gríma read on, as Éowyn sat back in a brand-new deck-chair, her hands folded neatly around a goblet of pink grape juice, and smiled to herself, her head tilted to the side as she pictured the scene.

The bright afternoon sun bore down on the two of them, dousing the balcony in summer sunshine. The light breeze fluffed Éowyn’s hair and gave her a cooling effect.

Now this is my idea of a perfect afternoon, she thought to herself. She suddenly noticed Gríma had stopped, and was giving her a worn-out look.

“Keep going!” she ordered. He sighed, and continued reading to her.

His voice, uncharacteristically animated and bright as he read, faded and echoed out over the rolling Rohan hills, as it rode the gentle wind. Edoras was finally peaceful and quiet.

And Éowyn finally got her story!

*The End!*