Crack-fic.
Because Elijah is The One..
There is a hush in the air as the stadium full of women wearing yellow and orange robes all focus as one....on Him. The One. The boy who would show them The Way.
You could feel the collective intake of breath as the curtains parted.... There he was! It was Him! The Prophet Elijah! Several women swooned and were soon trampled by the crowd surging forward. He looked angelic, alabaster skin practically glowing in the spotlights. And yes...the eyes....even more beautiful in person. Blue as the sky, the sea and the purest sapphire ever created by God Peter Jackson.
He held his hands up for silence. The audience obediently hushed and looked up at him in awe.
"I thank you for coming today, my beloved supporters. I always knew that I was destined for something, but I had no idea what for." He paused, obviously choked with emotion. The audience filled the pause with a roar of approval. He looked up again, once again under control. The audience beamed approval at him. They leaned forward.....expectant...eager....excited.....
And the Prophet let out a scream that shattered glass round the globe.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOOOOOING, YOU ASSHOLE????!!!!!!!"
The faithful gasped in horror and dismay as they watched their Prophet hop around the stage, frantically smacking at himself.
"Self-flagellation! The Prophet wants us to practice self-flagellation!" The hordes cried out, beginning to smack at themselves.
Still the Prophet hopped and cursed and cursed and hopped and...smoked? A thoughtful stagehand came to the rescue with a bottle of Evian.
The crowd was silenced again as a now-drenched Prophet stood, glaring at the podium in front of him. They watched as a man crept out from under it. There was another collective gasp as they realized who it was.
"The Lighter of the Sacred Flame!!!"
"The Flame of Arnor?" A small voice asked and was quickly silenced by a well placed smack to the head.
The front row was treated to another stunning display of expletive creativity by the Prophet as he berated the man, revealed to be his Friend, his Pal, his One True Love...Dominic.
The First Love stood scuffing his toe on the ground as the Prophet, bearer of the Royal Sausage of Love, told him off.
"But...but....I'm the Lighter of the Sacred Flame..." he bleated.
The women nodded vigorously.
The Prophet's eyes blazed cobalt fire. "Not. Literally. You. Ass." he hissed through gritted teeth.
Dominic's response was covered by a strange noise. The women and the Prophet and the Royal Consort all looked around. The noise was repeated.
Suddenly, from stage right, a goat erupted from the curtains, doing a good 30 mph across the stage. Following in close proximity was what appeared to be an irate Scotsman in a blue kilt, cursing in an incoherent burr. The goat made its escape as the Scotsman stopped, eyes focused on Prince Phillip Dominic. His angry emerald orbs softened to a serene jade glow. "Dominic? What're you looking sad for, laddie?"
Dominic mumbled.
"What?!!!" Emerald fire now shot out of the Scot's eyes, focused on the Prophet. He advanced, the Prophet looking a bit cowed. "You yelled at him?!!!! Answer me, Elijah Jordan Wood!"
The audience all knelt at the pronunciation of the Entire Name. The Prophet attempted bravado, failed miserably and nodded.
"Tha's it! I'm not havin' it any more! You'll not treat him like this! I don't care if they.." he gestured to the audience "all drink the Special Kool Aid in protest. I don't care if they think it's real. I don't care if there are websites and you're afraid of loss of sales or the class action lawsuits for the cost of psychiatric hospitalization. You cannae have him anymore!"
And with that, the Scot (Billy) pulled Dominic's yellow robe off (more with the gasping from the crowd) to reveal.... a blue t-shirt! That matched the colour of Billy's kilt exactly!!!! The Prohphet staggered back as if he'd been hit. The crowd began to sob. Billy threw one final glare at the Prophet, picked up Dominic and began to carry him off-stage. From somewhere, the theme to Officer and a Gentleman began to play. A caring prop man ran out to place a sailor's cap on Billy's head. Dominic smiled, nuzzling Billy's cheek. Billy was heard to mumble "S'okay, no more smelly goats now. We've got sheep in Scotland. Nice, warm, fluffy, friendly sheep. You'll love 'em, Dommie-boy."
"I love youuuuu, Billehhhh!" Dominic exclaimed as they walked out of sight.
The Prophet began to cry, then caught himself, glared at the crowd and threw himself onto a woman right in the front row, pummeling her as he shrieked like a B-movie heroine. "All...your...idea....silly cow....PR...ha!"
*fade to black to the sound of bagpipe music*
*with a faint bleat of a sheep*
There is a hush in the air as the stadium full of women wearing yellow and orange robes all focus as one....on Him. The One. The boy who would show them The Way.
You could feel the collective intake of breath as the curtains parted.... There he was! It was Him! The Prophet Elijah! Several women swooned and were soon trampled by the crowd surging forward. He looked angelic, alabaster skin practically glowing in the spotlights. And yes...the eyes....even more beautiful in person. Blue as the sky, the sea and the purest sapphire ever created by God Peter Jackson.
He held his hands up for silence. The audience obediently hushed and looked up at him in awe.
"I thank you for coming today, my beloved supporters. I always knew that I was destined for something, but I had no idea what for." He paused, obviously choked with emotion. The audience filled the pause with a roar of approval. He looked up again, once again under control. The audience beamed approval at him. They leaned forward.....expectant...eager....excited.....
And the Prophet let out a scream that shattered glass round the globe.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOOOOOING, YOU ASSHOLE????!!!!!!!"
The faithful gasped in horror and dismay as they watched their Prophet hop around the stage, frantically smacking at himself.
"Self-flagellation! The Prophet wants us to practice self-flagellation!" The hordes cried out, beginning to smack at themselves.
Still the Prophet hopped and cursed and cursed and hopped and...smoked? A thoughtful stagehand came to the rescue with a bottle of Evian.
The crowd was silenced again as a now-drenched Prophet stood, glaring at the podium in front of him. They watched as a man crept out from under it. There was another collective gasp as they realized who it was.
"The Lighter of the Sacred Flame!!!"
"The Flame of Arnor?" A small voice asked and was quickly silenced by a well placed smack to the head.
The front row was treated to another stunning display of expletive creativity by the Prophet as he berated the man, revealed to be his Friend, his Pal, his One True Love...Dominic.
The First Love stood scuffing his toe on the ground as the Prophet, bearer of the Royal Sausage of Love, told him off.
"But...but....I'm the Lighter of the Sacred Flame..." he bleated.
The women nodded vigorously.
The Prophet's eyes blazed cobalt fire. "Not. Literally. You. Ass." he hissed through gritted teeth.
Dominic's response was covered by a strange noise. The women and the Prophet and the Royal Consort all looked around. The noise was repeated.
Suddenly, from stage right, a goat erupted from the curtains, doing a good 30 mph across the stage. Following in close proximity was what appeared to be an irate Scotsman in a blue kilt, cursing in an incoherent burr. The goat made its escape as the Scotsman stopped, eyes focused on Prince Phillip Dominic. His angry emerald orbs softened to a serene jade glow. "Dominic? What're you looking sad for, laddie?"
Dominic mumbled.
"What?!!!" Emerald fire now shot out of the Scot's eyes, focused on the Prophet. He advanced, the Prophet looking a bit cowed. "You yelled at him?!!!! Answer me, Elijah Jordan Wood!"
The audience all knelt at the pronunciation of the Entire Name. The Prophet attempted bravado, failed miserably and nodded.
"Tha's it! I'm not havin' it any more! You'll not treat him like this! I don't care if they.." he gestured to the audience "all drink the Special Kool Aid in protest. I don't care if they think it's real. I don't care if there are websites and you're afraid of loss of sales or the class action lawsuits for the cost of psychiatric hospitalization. You cannae have him anymore!"
And with that, the Scot (Billy) pulled Dominic's yellow robe off (more with the gasping from the crowd) to reveal.... a blue t-shirt! That matched the colour of Billy's kilt exactly!!!! The Prohphet staggered back as if he'd been hit. The crowd began to sob. Billy threw one final glare at the Prophet, picked up Dominic and began to carry him off-stage. From somewhere, the theme to Officer and a Gentleman began to play. A caring prop man ran out to place a sailor's cap on Billy's head. Dominic smiled, nuzzling Billy's cheek. Billy was heard to mumble "S'okay, no more smelly goats now. We've got sheep in Scotland. Nice, warm, fluffy, friendly sheep. You'll love 'em, Dommie-boy."
"I love youuuuu, Billehhhh!" Dominic exclaimed as they walked out of sight.
The Prophet began to cry, then caught himself, glared at the crowd and threw himself onto a woman right in the front row, pummeling her as he shrieked like a B-movie heroine. "All...your...idea....silly cow....PR...ha!"
*fade to black to the sound of bagpipe music*
*with a faint bleat of a sheep*