There's No Accounting for Humans

by NorthStar

"There's no accounting for humans..." a conversation with a demoted wizard

The room is dim, except for the glow of the screen. A solitary figure sits alone, scrolling down an amazingly long list of responses to a post she wrote earlier that day. She is both surprised and chagrined, for it appears she sorely misjudged the audience and her friends. She leans forward and puts her head on the desk, thinking of how she can answer all the people who have so kindly asked her to keep posting her story of a thoroughly unlikable character, who she herself pities and has actually grown oddly fond of.

A sharp poke in the shoulder startles her and she sits bolt upright and finds herself staring into the coal-black eyes of the wizard-formerly-known-as-the-White.

Saruman.

She recovers quickly. “What are YOU doing here? You’re supposed to be dead!”

He answers with a loud “harrumph” and settles down in the big chair near the window. He is drinking a dark liquid with much gusto and munching cheetos. His robe is streaked with orange where he has wiped his hands.

“Seriously, Saruman – what are you doing here? And is that the last of the Diet Coke?”

“ Well, I am certainly not dead, as you can plainly see. And as for how…if that troublemaking Gondorian Boromir can be spared death, so can I. He has been here, I see. The trail of Oreo crumbs gives him away every time. He’d have been a lousy spy.”

She sighs. “You know, normally fictional characters coming to life and hanging out at my house would bother me, but lately I’ve actually found it comforting. Boromir is here on a more or less regular basis, Frodo and Sam stop by often, and Legolas came by with some tips on highlighting my cheekbones just this morning, so it’s been a tad busy. And Grima has been coming by after work…”

“Grima!” He scowled. “That traitorous slimeball. I should have suspected as much. And actually, that’s why I’m here. “ He fixes her with a stern glare and wipes his beard on his sleeve. “WHY are you writing about him when you should be writing about me? Your idea for an Istari history was a fine one, yet you set it aside to write about that, that…knife-wielding, hobbit-listening, wizard-stabbing piece of …” “Hey, careful. This is a family forum!” "Well, be that as it may – that doesn’t answer my question. Why him and not me – I mean us, the Istari. You know, Radagast, Pallando and what’s his face there, the other blue one…we deserve some play, some history. Instead you choose to squander time and energy on drivel…”

“Well, apparently some folks aren’t finding it drivel. A lot more than I would have imagined or expected. I was going to stop posting this story and said so this morning, but now look…” she gestured at the screen and the long list of blue replies.

Still scowling, Saruman gets to his feet and moves over to the computer desk, imperiously waving her out of the chair. He sits down and removes small round Lennon spectacles from a hidden pocket and arranges them on his long nose. He peers at the screen. He is (mercifully) silent for a long time.

NS takes this opportunity to secure a snack. Boromir has indeed eaten all the Oreos (even the ones she hid in the dishtowel drawer) and Saruman has drained the last of the lime Diet Coke. Blast. The fellowship and their entourage are eating her out of house and home. She finds a bag of unopened goldfish, pours some Kool-Aid and calls it good.

When she returns, Saruman is spinning merrily in the desk chair. Hearing her enter the room, he stops abruptly and resumes scowling.

“Although I am appalled at their lack of taste, it seems that your friends (his lips curled) have spoken. They actually WANT to hear about that sneaky little creep. There’s no accounting for humans, is there? I always said as much. So if you have more of this…story, you had better post it. BUT…I expect you to wrap this up and get on with the important tales-like mine. Now, where’s that disk?”

As he pops the disk into the drive, a knock is heard at the door. Sam and Frodo stroll in, bearing a box of 50-count Munchkins and an extra-large coffee with sugar. “Hi, NS,” smiles Frodo, placing the coffee on the counter. Seeing the trail of crumbs, he sunnily observes “I see Boromir has been here.” Sam plops the box of Munchkins down and extracts a chocolate glazed munchkin. “Open wide for the airplane, Mr. Frodo “ he coaxes, popping the sweetie in Frodo’s mouth. “Mummfum, Sam,” replies Frodo, rolling his eyes at NS. He gestures at the coffee. “Extra sugar, just like you like it.” Sam, meanwhile, has wandered into the living room with several munchkins wrapped in a napkin. A moment later a shout is heard and the clatter of metal rings through the house. “En guarde, foul fiend!”