WHOLESOME TALES

Goes to show two Chris's are better than one!

I like this Lance character.... seems to like telling it how it is, regardless of his own safety.

I have no doubt that by the end of the adventure, all of those other drama queens will not want to kill him and will in fact be very respectful.... even look up to him as the leader destiny and a broken sword intended him to be.... or was that someone else?

My fear is Lance is in for the weirdest, most painful, most humiliating death imaginable -- I imagine... What Ol' Anon has in mind, I don't know -- I dare say - at this stage - nor will he...

Chapter Ten
At the Sign of the Prancing Prancer and also what happened Inside the Prancing Prancer

No one had told Lance what horrible painful fatal things happen to people like him in tales like Wholesome Tales, which really wasn't very nice of the other Forumshirans, though they probably didn't say anything mainly because they didn't know themselves; the point being, Lance was in for a very weird and embarrassing death, probably painful, unless he changes his ways, which I'm pretty he sure he won't.

Anyway...

"I'm looking to have a fine quaff of Bree-land buckie," Lance said as he lead the Questers now, with Elthir and Eldo walking behind him looking annoyed at him, and giving annoyed side-glances at each other too. Lance continued, "The buckie at Breeland is the best in Forumshire."

"Ock tha noo! Wie talk like that I'd be surproozed if yo innit killed afore long," muttered Petty.

"Shall we be staying at the Prancing Prancer?" asked Ringo. "It's a favorite of Bertrand's and mine. What rolling tumbling good fun we've had there."

"Isn't that hostelry a little on the capital G for Gay side, Ringo?" Orwell asked suspiciously, having been there once or twice, and vaguely remembering a lot of drinking and some other things he didn't really care to remember, though he didn't doubt it was fun at the time, not that he remembered, and he was drunk, remember.

"Gay? I wouldn't know," Ringo answered, a bit too quickly, like he had expected the question.

"Oooh I've heard there are lots and lots of fairies there," Amarie cried, clapping her hands in delight.

"I've heard the same," Julia laughed. "Oh what fun a fairy girl might have there. I hope there's a lot of boy fairies."

"Old fairies by the bucketload," Orwell said thoughtfully, as if trying to remember.

"Well I don't mind if they're a little mature," Julia said, her voice dropping in volume and heightening with threat, "as long it's not used as some excuse for more of Anon's silly age-ist jokes."

And Julia fixed such a fierce and threatening gaze upon Orwell, Orwell said, "I'm sure Anon would never even think of it, Julie."

"He better not!"

"Yes, Miss."

"Old fairies, is it?" Lance mused aloud. "Prancing Prancer, is it?" And Lance ruminated and rubbed his chin extremely reminiscingly.

"I wonder if they'll be the kind of fairies who would ogle a young Whelsh fairy of not altogether unhandsome aspect?" Aleek pondered and blushed.

"I'm not sure you'll be their type," Orwell said.

"Why wouldn't she be?" Neek hissed, giving Orwell a fierce glare. (It was a good quality glare as Julia had been mentoring her). "Are they too good for Ally!?"

"No, not that..." Orwell said. "Oh Neek, you're one of the younger more impressionable Forumshirans and you've probably had never heard of a horses hoof, or a butt plunger, or a carrot protoypist before, and I don't want to be the one to burst your delusions."

"Hey!" David shouted angrily. "I might be a fairy and a carrot prototypist, but a carrot-prototypist is no horses hoof! Get your insults right, right!" And Orwell was given a fierce glare too.

"I didn't mean anything!" Orwell protested.

"You did, you know," Amarie said wisely. "You always do. Mmmm.... thinking wisely for a moment while you guys were waffling, I've decided that maybe this isn't the right kind of hostelry for a young Fjordianlandian girl after all? I mean, if the fairies are all old and male, well... they might perform certain.. err... acts... mmmm.... in front of the younger fairies.... errr.... you know what I mean...."

"I've mended an old fairy or two in my time," Azriel put in sardonically (and somewhat unexpectedly).

"Me too," Julia agreed, looking at Orwell, who surely had absolutely no idea what she was getting at. The awkward silence that followed was suddenly broken by a high pitched girly squeal.

"Is that the Sign of the Prancing Prancer?" Eldo cried excitedly. (A little bit too excitedly in my opinion).

"Quickly!" Halfy cried. "Now that we've seen it I would like to go inside and see what the buckie's like. I've heard it's better than Scotshobbit buckie!"

Petty winced to hear it and gave Lance such a gaze now as would make a pint of milk turn to yogurt, but not a good yogurt, a rather unpleasant yogurt, possibly peppermint or carrot flavoured, or both. It might also have been interpreted as a look that could kill...

Anyway, after a brief further discussion that I can't be bothered typing (as this chapter is already long enough as it is), everyone decided to go and visit the Prancing Prancer.

"What's that artwork meant to mean?" Neek asked as they approaced the two-story ramshackle timber hostelry on Puddle Lane, Bree. "The sign swinging under the verandah has two old fairies in a peculiar relationship to each other."

"I wouldn't say 'peculiar'," Ringo offered.

"Quickly!" Orwell yelled. "Get the younger fairies inside, before they get hopelessly impressioned."

"What we find inside might be even worse impressionistic," Amarie said drily.

"I'm kind of excited," Rodney said as he trotted through the saloon doors. "I've never drunk Bree-land buckie before."

"I'll expect you to watch that young fairy's back, Lance," Orwell instructed the grizzled tactless fairy (Lance that is). "I fear Rodney knows not what he might be in for."

"Aye! Un I'll be watchin' mi oown buk, darn toodly!" Petty grumbled. "The buckie's like mud here and makes yon go all frisky as I've heard, laddies and ladies! Eye for one doen plan to wak up a pathetic despoiled Glugbuggered Woozie, me reputooshon all befrazzled!" (And who could blame him?)

"Perhaps we male heterosexual fairies should just stick together for protection," Orwell said as he followed Rodney inside.

"What about us ladies?" Tin asked in consternation (mainly because she hadn't been mentioned in this tale for ages).

"I think we'll be safe enough," Ringo said gleefully. "I'll take my chances, I think." (Of course, it was alright for Ringo as he had been trained in Martial Arts and knew how to make a soldier (or fairy) do a thing or two).

"I don't mind an occasional homo joke," Chris averred suddenly, "but can't we have something different for a change? What about mysterious shadows in the night? Or monsters in the cellar? Or Magic Mirrors? Why does have it to be sex sex sex all the time?"

The rest of the Questers were quite shocked at that. By now the Questers were in the main bar of the Prancing Prancer but, instead of being happy and gay and excited, they milled under a pall of uncertainty, shifting nervously from foot to foot in silence. A sense of doom had fallen upon them, thanks to Chris's intemperate outburst (and him usually a jolly chap and never - to my knowledge - a party pooper).

A large Bree-man with a big bushy beard stood behind the bar. "G'day fairies from Forumshire," he said in a big booming friendly - but very masculine - voice. "Would you be looking for Unqueer Lodging for the night, me having turned the Prancing Prancer all heterosexual, what's more in an ultra Puritan way where the girls and boys sleep in separate rooms and an alarm goes off at the mere hint of lesbian or homosexual behaviour."

"See what you've done, Chris!" Orwell scowled. And you should of seen the look all the Questers gave Chris just then!

"I was only joking," Chris said meekly, and a little desperately. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Not in the least. I like a bit of nudge nudge wink wink as much as the next fairy..."

Then his voice trailed off, for he knew as certainly as night follows day, that the damage had been done.




Chapter Eleven
In which there are no rude jokes or even one Little Inunendo.

to be continued...




{{{Yeah thanks a lot, Chris! }}}

A guy walks into a bar...




and says to the barman, "Give me six double vodkas."

The barman says, "Wow, you must have had one hell of a day."

"Yeah, I just found out my oldest son is gay."

The next day, the same guy comes into the bar and asks for six more double vodkas. When the bartender asks what's wrong, the man says, "I just found out that my youngest son is gay, too!"

On the third day, the guy comes into the bar and orders another six double vodkas. The bartender says, "Jesus! Doesn't anybody in your family like women?"

The man downs the first drink and shakes his head, "Yeah, my wife!"

That, Azriel, is indeed a wholesome tale! Such an open minded and modern man, boasting and celebrating at the bar. Makes me all warm and fluffy inside.

Buckie like mud- that sounds about right for Bree!
Mind you I am sorely disappointed at the lack of gayness in the Prancer these days- I was hoping to get free drinks all night (that happens more often than you might think when you wear a kilt!)

Chapter Eleven
In which there are no rude jokes or even one Little Inunendo.

The Ostler (that is, the man with the Big Bushy Beard behind the bar), by name Oatychap Creamprickle, said, "You all seem burdened under a cloud of sad atmospherics, so what I'll do is get The Storyteller to appease your woes with an uplifting tale... But first, pull the chairs out from the tables and form them in a ring on the Polkafloor and sit yourself snugly upon them --- of course, feel free to use the Prancing Prancer appliqued cushions that are provided."

"Well, this at least sounds like something fresh and new," Eldo said as he dutifully went to get his chair.

"I wouldn't be too sure," Amarie said - and probably wisely, but let's see.

"Refreshments anyone," asked Oatychap benignly.

The Questers put in their orders in a rush: that is, beer, vodka, Bloody Marys, Bloody Brians, Martinis, sherry, porter, and buckie. Oatychap let out a friendly guffaw, and served them all raspberry cordial - but not too strong so as not to unduly excite the senses.

Petty, cross eyed, peered at the red liquor in the glass provided. "Ock! Iz this sum powfool inebriator?" He tasted it suspiciously - as did all the others - and they found it rather nice. Cool, refreshing and just the right chill factor. But...

"I don't feel any different," Ally said in surprise.

"And you don't look any different," Rodney said.

"Your ears are still the same size, Ally," Chris commented in a slightly surprised tone. "Nor is your nose longer, nor shorter."

"Oh you delightful fairy types," Oatychap chortled. "It is not an enchanted mixture, nor a drug, no it is merely a health conscious natural elixir made of raspberry juice mixed with a little water so as not to be too raspberry-y."

"Oh it's raspberry-y enough for my taste," Eldo said, and he meant it.

"Perfectly rasperry-y enough," Julia agreed. And she being usually such a dsagreeable argumentative lass, everyone did wonder if the not too raspberry-y drink had not been enchanterated after all, or at least had had an anti-aggressive substance added to it.

"Are you all sitting comfortably?" Oatychap asked in his cheerful heterosexual tone.

"I know I am," Orwell said, his fears at rest, for he was rather fond of appliqued cushions, not that he was one for communicating the fact too widely. "They are full of finest down," he added, his face an expression of childlike innocence and joy, as if he was savouring the memory of some little good and nice and simple pleasure that he had once experiened in childhood at the house of his friend Peter, who was the second son of Jan, a Cushionmaker .

Julia smiled, "Oooh Orwell. I'm seeing a side of you I never thought you had."

"Oh perish the thought," Orwell answered. "Fifty years ago all hobbit children had this side of them."

Just then a rather surprising person walked into the bar. It was Frodo Baggins.

"My goodness, we thought you were in Valinor!" Elthir exclaimed.

"The Undying Lands, was it?" Eldo asked.

"The same thing," Lance (or Rodney, or Ringo, or someone) put in.

"Now, now," Oatychap broke in politely. "Let's not get ourselves submerged in discussions of obstruse dreadfully dull subjects which none of us are really interested in."

Elthir and Eldo were about to say something, but Oatychap gave them such a glance of benign rebuke - with just the right amount of a subtle threat - that they shut their mouths like traps. This, of course, drew a round of polite applause from the other Questers.

"This is The Storyteller," Oatychap told them. "What tale shall we have of it tonight, dear Frodo?"

Frodo Baggins cleared his throat as he came to stand in the centre of the circle. "I think it shall be the First Story from the Forumshire Bible."

"'Bible' means 'Book', actually," Elthir whispered to Eldo who sat beside him as if he was keeping that brainy fairy under surveillance.

"I knew that!" Eldo hissed.

"Shush up!" the other Questers frowned at them.

And Frodo Baggins began....

Frodo lives.

''And she being usually such a dsagreeable argumentative lass''

thats true that is, but only against Petty. The rest of You lot get off lightly, oh yes indeedy doo.

So unfair!

yep.

Ned Kelly said on the day of his lawful execution, "Such is life", and surely this shows "Such it is!" --- at least for Scotshobbits --- though Ned, of course, was Irish!

Its kiltist, that what it is.

-------

Continued here: http://www.hobbitmovieforum.com/t549-wholesome-tales