Ah Great Fates, how you take pleasure in toying with our minds. It seems an Age has passed since my lover has spoken my name.
But at long last-The Horn of Gondor is mine own.
Boromir and I are to be wed.
Fie! What am I to wear? And who shall tend to these mangled braids?
Nelys, a belated appointment with the beauty parlor, please do make. And
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H-how? He is lost to us!
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Be merry!
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...but really, bacon grease? Couldn't you, you know... buy lube at Isildur's Secret? Or does it have t'be the bacon grease? I reckon its hell on your complexion. *nods* Doesn't have that pleasant a scent t'set the mood, and I'll be going now.
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For such newage trinkets have been unnattainable for quite some time. Dear Isildur (though try, she may) cannot keep to the demand of the Men being wed. 'Til such is replenished, bacon grease shall have to do.
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::giggles::
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