B2MeM Fic: The Mouth (PG-13, humor)
Title: The Mouth
Author: illwynd
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Rating: PG-13 for yuckiness and mention of torture
Genre: silly movieverse humor, not to be taken seriously!
Notes: This came about as a result of chatting with lilan14 about the Mouth of Sauron's hygienic habits, and I ran with it. Hopefully it's worth a giggle or two.
“MOUTH! MOUUUUUU-TH!” the Orc looking out over the Black Gate hollered. The call came out sounding rather shrieky and impatient, even though he tried to force some of the usual growly quality into his voice, but it was hard to do when hollering at the top of his lungs. He tried to make up for it by scowling and snarling a bit, but the effort was wasted as no one was there to see.
Moments later, Sauron’s chief lieutenant stuck his head out from the little building at the foot of the gate. “What?” he shouted, expertly retaining his sneer with a professionalism that lesser evils could only envy.
“The army from Gondor… they’re almost here!”
The first few rows of the assembled Legions of Orcs and Evil Men of Mordor grumbled at this news, but the grumbles turned into shouts of feigned enthusiasm and the thumping of scimitars against shields as the Mouth emerged, hissing loudly and threateningly in their direction. He glared at the troops, and hissed “We will be ready.”
The Mouth of Sauron, crueler than any Orc and more evil than any but his master (whose name he liked to say, sometimes repeatedly, whenever he felt he could get away with it), made a great show of walking up and down the front line of troops, inspecting their stance and weaponry and armour. Here was the cream of the crop; the wickedest Orcs and the toughest evil Men, all armed and outfitted in the most frightening of Mordor fashions. He sneered at each as he passed (for true evil does not smile, or at least only smiles when doing something truly malevolent, like popping out the eyeballs of prisoners with his thumbs, or defeating and fouling entire lands) and glanced at their personal decorations. Some had painted gory images around the Eye on their shields, and some had added personal slogans. “I’d rather be whipping underlings” read one. The Mouth sneered at this; a sentiment he could agree with. The next was painted with a rather artistically muddled mixture of dark red and black, like blood on a battlefield. The Mouth nodded judiciously, and walked on. He passed a few of the more boring type before stopping cold in front of a towering Orc a full head taller than himself.
“WHAT is the meaning of thissssss?” The Mouth hiss-shrieked, losing his evil composure for the first time in more years than he could count (at least without taking out his bag of severed trophy fingers). He poked disgustedly at the shield, painted in pastel shades and adorned with fluffy bunnies and cute puppies and colorful flowers.
“I thought it was scary,” the big Orc muttered apologetically, cringing away from the Mouth’s obvious ire.
“SSSCARY? You thought thisss was ssscary? You wouldn’t know ssscary if it bit you with Warg’s teeth!” the Mouth hissed fiercely.
All the Orcs and Men within a 10 foot radius inched backwards, and surreptitiously wiped the brown droplets of spittle from their faces. The Mouth was not called the Mouth for nothing.
The Mouth hissed at the cowed Orc before him once more, then sneered, “You’re a sorry excuse for evil! I would flay the skin from your back if we weren’t at war! As it is, I’ll let the enemy do that; we can’t let one of Sauron’s soldiers be seen with fluffy bunnies on his shield, so you’ll go into battle without it!” Smiling truly now, lips stretched and pulled back from brown teeth widely, he snatched at the offending shield. The Orc stepped back and clutched it protectively.
“But I like it! …It’s… it’s lucky, that’s right! Lucky shield!” He shook it slightly, to emphasize the words. Suddenly, however, with fantastic strength, the Mouth yanked it from his grasp and tossed it down… where it landed face-down in a foul patch of something that might have been ordinary mud, had not the dirt all around it been dry. The big Orc leaned and picked it up, looking decidedly upset by this turn of events. His fluffy bunnies were now smeared over with filth. He grimaced and held it staunchly again. Growls of laughter rumbled through the ranks behind him.
“Better!” sneered the Mouth, who then turned and stormed back to the building at the base of the Black Gate. That fool knows absolutely nothing about making a dramatic appearance! No idea how to be properly evil! the Mouth thought to himself as he entered the little room. Being evil, and looking evil, takes work, preparation, and planning!
He looked over the little stoppered bottles, and the plates and bowls containing substances brought fresh from the slave-farms around the Sea of Núrnen. What should he use for this most momentous meeting? It had been long since he had had a chance like this… nothing but the best would suffice.
He reached for a plate piled with little black things, and popped a handful into his mouth, and chewed them thoughtfully before donning all of his blackest, most evil garb.
A few minutes later, he ordered the Gate opened, and went out. He stretched his lips into his widest, most vicious smile, the one he only wore when preparing to lead the battle that would crush the spirits of all free people, or perhaps when saying “Sauron Sauron Sauron Sauron!” while alone in his rooms. And from his long jagged teeth, mulberry juice dripped menacingly.
Author: illwynd
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Rating: PG-13 for yuckiness and mention of torture
Genre: silly movieverse humor, not to be taken seriously!
Notes: This came about as a result of chatting with lilan14 about the Mouth of Sauron's hygienic habits, and I ran with it. Hopefully it's worth a giggle or two.
“MOUTH! MOUUUUUU-TH!” the Orc looking out over the Black Gate hollered. The call came out sounding rather shrieky and impatient, even though he tried to force some of the usual growly quality into his voice, but it was hard to do when hollering at the top of his lungs. He tried to make up for it by scowling and snarling a bit, but the effort was wasted as no one was there to see.
Moments later, Sauron’s chief lieutenant stuck his head out from the little building at the foot of the gate. “What?” he shouted, expertly retaining his sneer with a professionalism that lesser evils could only envy.
“The army from Gondor… they’re almost here!”
The first few rows of the assembled Legions of Orcs and Evil Men of Mordor grumbled at this news, but the grumbles turned into shouts of feigned enthusiasm and the thumping of scimitars against shields as the Mouth emerged, hissing loudly and threateningly in their direction. He glared at the troops, and hissed “We will be ready.”
The Mouth of Sauron, crueler than any Orc and more evil than any but his master (whose name he liked to say, sometimes repeatedly, whenever he felt he could get away with it), made a great show of walking up and down the front line of troops, inspecting their stance and weaponry and armour. Here was the cream of the crop; the wickedest Orcs and the toughest evil Men, all armed and outfitted in the most frightening of Mordor fashions. He sneered at each as he passed (for true evil does not smile, or at least only smiles when doing something truly malevolent, like popping out the eyeballs of prisoners with his thumbs, or defeating and fouling entire lands) and glanced at their personal decorations. Some had painted gory images around the Eye on their shields, and some had added personal slogans. “I’d rather be whipping underlings” read one. The Mouth sneered at this; a sentiment he could agree with. The next was painted with a rather artistically muddled mixture of dark red and black, like blood on a battlefield. The Mouth nodded judiciously, and walked on. He passed a few of the more boring type before stopping cold in front of a towering Orc a full head taller than himself.
“WHAT is the meaning of thissssss?” The Mouth hiss-shrieked, losing his evil composure for the first time in more years than he could count (at least without taking out his bag of severed trophy fingers). He poked disgustedly at the shield, painted in pastel shades and adorned with fluffy bunnies and cute puppies and colorful flowers.
“I thought it was scary,” the big Orc muttered apologetically, cringing away from the Mouth’s obvious ire.
“SSSCARY? You thought thisss was ssscary? You wouldn’t know ssscary if it bit you with Warg’s teeth!” the Mouth hissed fiercely.
All the Orcs and Men within a 10 foot radius inched backwards, and surreptitiously wiped the brown droplets of spittle from their faces. The Mouth was not called the Mouth for nothing.
The Mouth hissed at the cowed Orc before him once more, then sneered, “You’re a sorry excuse for evil! I would flay the skin from your back if we weren’t at war! As it is, I’ll let the enemy do that; we can’t let one of Sauron’s soldiers be seen with fluffy bunnies on his shield, so you’ll go into battle without it!” Smiling truly now, lips stretched and pulled back from brown teeth widely, he snatched at the offending shield. The Orc stepped back and clutched it protectively.
“But I like it! …It’s… it’s lucky, that’s right! Lucky shield!” He shook it slightly, to emphasize the words. Suddenly, however, with fantastic strength, the Mouth yanked it from his grasp and tossed it down… where it landed face-down in a foul patch of something that might have been ordinary mud, had not the dirt all around it been dry. The big Orc leaned and picked it up, looking decidedly upset by this turn of events. His fluffy bunnies were now smeared over with filth. He grimaced and held it staunchly again. Growls of laughter rumbled through the ranks behind him.
“Better!” sneered the Mouth, who then turned and stormed back to the building at the base of the Black Gate. That fool knows absolutely nothing about making a dramatic appearance! No idea how to be properly evil! the Mouth thought to himself as he entered the little room. Being evil, and looking evil, takes work, preparation, and planning!
He looked over the little stoppered bottles, and the plates and bowls containing substances brought fresh from the slave-farms around the Sea of Núrnen. What should he use for this most momentous meeting? It had been long since he had had a chance like this… nothing but the best would suffice.
He reached for a plate piled with little black things, and popped a handful into his mouth, and chewed them thoughtfully before donning all of his blackest, most evil garb.
A few minutes later, he ordered the Gate opened, and went out. He stretched his lips into his widest, most vicious smile, the one he only wore when preparing to lead the battle that would crush the spirits of all free people, or perhaps when saying “Sauron Sauron Sauron Sauron!” while alone in his rooms. And from his long jagged teeth, mulberry juice dripped menacingly.