Will you not come down? We've got your pipeweed! by Huinárë
Author: Huinárë
Title: Will you not come down? We’ve got your pipeweed!
Rating: PG-ish for numerous allusions to substance (ab?)use.
Theme: Potluck (now serving Merrie Month of May).
Elements: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Beta: Not as such.
Author's Notes: Alludes to an incident in Unfinished Tales, “The Hunt of the Ring” narrative C.
Summary: Humor. The Voice of Saruman revisited, beginning with the added element of every wizard’s poison of choice.
Word Count: 865
Will you not come down? We’ve got your pipeweed!
I don’t know what you’re talking about. I know nothing of this ‘pipeweed.’ Never once have I sat, brooding and haunted, in a haze of smoke, following a terrible discussion with the dark power in the east via palantiri. Nor do I own a palantír. These kinds of things do not happen in Angrenost.
Do you wish to know what does happen in Angrenost? Betimes, noisome wanderers who think it’s endearing to wear the same ghastly hat for seventeen centuries come barging in on their high horses, brandishing their insufferable moralizing and their unsolicited opinions about colors. Later on, perhaps overstuffed Eagles leave their prodigious avian blessings upon my lawn. Then, in the event that I am not enough beleaguered already, maybe a rowdy gang of wild wood-demons come tearing down my austere granite walls, flooding my state-of-the-art workshops, and using my beloved Orthanc as a scratching-post. In other words, IT’S ACTUALLY VERY BORING AROUND HERE.
…I am completely in control of this situation. I am counting to ten in Valarin and breathing regularly. I am not willing to give a limb for a pouch of good pipeweed right about now, because I know nothing of such things…
What do you mean, Isengard has proved less strong than my hope and fancy made it? You are trying to say it was unreasonable of me to think it probable that a hitherto impenetrable citadel would withstand an assault by any of my known enemies? YOU were obviously smoking way too much of that pipeweed when we sang Logic into being all those eons ago. Isengard did not prove less strong, outside forces proved more strong. Who knew they could tear down stone?! They could have done the same to your precious Helm’s Deep, had they been of a mind to.
You want to know-what? Whether I meant ‘a demon which happens to come from the wild wood’ or ‘a wild demon which happens to come from the wood?’ I am trying to have a serious, legitimate discussion here, and you’re splitting hairs? Figure it out yourself, since you seem to think you know everything. And no, I shan’t retract the statement, and I care not if you are insulted on behalf of your allies, and in fact I shall go so far as to repeat myself.
WILD.
BLOODY.
WOOD.
FREAKING.
DEMONS.
…Serenity now. I hear opiates are good for that. Not that I would know, mind…
You do not wish to hurt me, truly? Are you trying to secure my demise by causing me to choke on my own vomit? Your proffered charity makes me want to hurl. Because it is either a bald-faced lie, or an irrational load of sentimental rubbish, you dotard! And no, I don’t care to reminisce about how we used to get drunk together at parties in Valimar, because such things do not concern me and I remember nothing of them.
I beg your pardon? Did I not just hear you make the most condescending, insulting offer anyone has ever dared voice on my doorstep? You want me to forsake all access to my tower, my workshops, my library, and my staff? HOW exactly is that ‘free?’
Oh, I know, you wish me to wander about as a penitent for your cause, SINGING FREAKING KUMBAYA EVERYWHERE I GO no doubt, while you sit here in Orthanc JUGGLING CROWNS AND BOOTS AND RODS AND PROBABLY THE BLOODY KEYS OF BARAD-DÛR ITSELF.
…Well, at least I still have my pride. Though I’d trade it in a heartbeat for a bottle of absinthe. If I knew of such things, that is…
Do you wish to know what the ironic part of this is? I would have gone along with this awful suggestion of yours, if you had not BROUGHT ALL THESE LOWLIFES ALONG to witness my humiliation. Why do you think I wanted you to come up? So that the image of these CIRCUS FREAKS pointing and laughing at my concession need not to be seared into my mind for the rest of my existence. I do hope you realize you’d have gotten precisely what you now want, if you had just stayed on the roof of Orthanc for a half hour longer. There were Nazgûl at my gates, and they were scary, and I thought perhaps it was the best policy to repent of-well, my point is, too little too late!
Obviously, you do NOT understand me one jot if you thought that bringing this whole sideshow along with you would render me anything but intractable. So I’ll thank you to TAKE YOUR CLAIMS OF ‘UNDERSTANDING ME NOW TOO WELL’ and INTRODUCE THEM TO YOUR DIGESTIVE TRACT FROM THE WRONG END. GOOD DAY!
…Make that chloroform, I need a good long nap…
Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Was that really necessary? I worked very hard on that staff, you know, wrought it myself and imbued it with much of my native power before they jammed us into these wretched Man-forms and shipped us off to Mithlond.
…Methinks it’s finally time to break the hallucinogenic millipede out of the specimen jar…
Title: Will you not come down? We’ve got your pipeweed!
Rating: PG-ish for numerous allusions to substance (ab?)use.
Theme: Potluck (now serving Merrie Month of May).
Elements: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Beta: Not as such.
Author's Notes: Alludes to an incident in Unfinished Tales, “The Hunt of the Ring” narrative C.
Summary: Humor. The Voice of Saruman revisited, beginning with the added element of every wizard’s poison of choice.
Word Count: 865
Will you not come down? We’ve got your pipeweed!
I don’t know what you’re talking about. I know nothing of this ‘pipeweed.’ Never once have I sat, brooding and haunted, in a haze of smoke, following a terrible discussion with the dark power in the east via palantiri. Nor do I own a palantír. These kinds of things do not happen in Angrenost.
Do you wish to know what does happen in Angrenost? Betimes, noisome wanderers who think it’s endearing to wear the same ghastly hat for seventeen centuries come barging in on their high horses, brandishing their insufferable moralizing and their unsolicited opinions about colors. Later on, perhaps overstuffed Eagles leave their prodigious avian blessings upon my lawn. Then, in the event that I am not enough beleaguered already, maybe a rowdy gang of wild wood-demons come tearing down my austere granite walls, flooding my state-of-the-art workshops, and using my beloved Orthanc as a scratching-post. In other words, IT’S ACTUALLY VERY BORING AROUND HERE.
…I am completely in control of this situation. I am counting to ten in Valarin and breathing regularly. I am not willing to give a limb for a pouch of good pipeweed right about now, because I know nothing of such things…
What do you mean, Isengard has proved less strong than my hope and fancy made it? You are trying to say it was unreasonable of me to think it probable that a hitherto impenetrable citadel would withstand an assault by any of my known enemies? YOU were obviously smoking way too much of that pipeweed when we sang Logic into being all those eons ago. Isengard did not prove less strong, outside forces proved more strong. Who knew they could tear down stone?! They could have done the same to your precious Helm’s Deep, had they been of a mind to.
You want to know-what? Whether I meant ‘a demon which happens to come from the wild wood’ or ‘a wild demon which happens to come from the wood?’ I am trying to have a serious, legitimate discussion here, and you’re splitting hairs? Figure it out yourself, since you seem to think you know everything. And no, I shan’t retract the statement, and I care not if you are insulted on behalf of your allies, and in fact I shall go so far as to repeat myself.
WILD.
BLOODY.
WOOD.
FREAKING.
DEMONS.
…Serenity now. I hear opiates are good for that. Not that I would know, mind…
You do not wish to hurt me, truly? Are you trying to secure my demise by causing me to choke on my own vomit? Your proffered charity makes me want to hurl. Because it is either a bald-faced lie, or an irrational load of sentimental rubbish, you dotard! And no, I don’t care to reminisce about how we used to get drunk together at parties in Valimar, because such things do not concern me and I remember nothing of them.
I beg your pardon? Did I not just hear you make the most condescending, insulting offer anyone has ever dared voice on my doorstep? You want me to forsake all access to my tower, my workshops, my library, and my staff? HOW exactly is that ‘free?’
Oh, I know, you wish me to wander about as a penitent for your cause, SINGING FREAKING KUMBAYA EVERYWHERE I GO no doubt, while you sit here in Orthanc JUGGLING CROWNS AND BOOTS AND RODS AND PROBABLY THE BLOODY KEYS OF BARAD-DÛR ITSELF.
…Well, at least I still have my pride. Though I’d trade it in a heartbeat for a bottle of absinthe. If I knew of such things, that is…
Do you wish to know what the ironic part of this is? I would have gone along with this awful suggestion of yours, if you had not BROUGHT ALL THESE LOWLIFES ALONG to witness my humiliation. Why do you think I wanted you to come up? So that the image of these CIRCUS FREAKS pointing and laughing at my concession need not to be seared into my mind for the rest of my existence. I do hope you realize you’d have gotten precisely what you now want, if you had just stayed on the roof of Orthanc for a half hour longer. There were Nazgûl at my gates, and they were scary, and I thought perhaps it was the best policy to repent of-well, my point is, too little too late!
Obviously, you do NOT understand me one jot if you thought that bringing this whole sideshow along with you would render me anything but intractable. So I’ll thank you to TAKE YOUR CLAIMS OF ‘UNDERSTANDING ME NOW TOO WELL’ and INTRODUCE THEM TO YOUR DIGESTIVE TRACT FROM THE WRONG END. GOOD DAY!
…Make that chloroform, I need a good long nap…
Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Was that really necessary? I worked very hard on that staff, you know, wrought it myself and imbued it with much of my native power before they jammed us into these wretched Man-forms and shipped us off to Mithlond.
…Methinks it’s finally time to break the hallucinogenic millipede out of the specimen jar…