Shortly after this morning’s staff meeting, I was typing away innocently at my laptop when I heard a commotion in the corridor outside. I leaped to my feet and ran to the door. In my experience of commotions in the mansion, they were generally well worth witnessing. I proceeded to see one of the oddest things I have ever seen.
The Star Trek 2009 (or was it 2008? I’ve forgotten…) version of Captain James Kirk was running down the hall in a state of some high emotion, though I’m not sure if it was terror, annoyance, or rage. Terror would have been quite acceptable and no detriment to anyone’s opinion of his manliness, as it turns out: Obi-Wan was after him in a flat-out fury, throwing things (such as Arthur’s pewter goblets, a bunch of sofa pillows, discarded garments, and Hon Rosie’s seedcakes and Thunderbeak’s rock-hard scones, among other things) at him, shouting imprecations at him in both Sindarin and Shendi. I was too amazed and bewildered by the spectacle to do anything, let alone intervene. Legolas shook his head as he made his way over to me. “The only person who does a better job of making a fool of himself is Jack Sparrow,” he said.
“Please tell me he’s not invading as well!” I groaned.
“Technically the Trekkers are not invading,” Legolas explained. “They’re authorized.”
“But I haven’t even seen Star Trek except for a few stray clips!” I protested.
“They’re authorized,” Legolas repeated. “Doesn’t mean they’re recognized.”
“Technically, the Elf is right,” Spock agreed, turning up nearby. I blanched.
“I think I’ve lost it. I should go see Galadriel.”
“I think it’s hilarious,” Kysherin said unhelpfully in her painfully whiny, reedy voice. I scowled at her.
“Shut up. I have a headache.”
“Galadriel’s a shrink! Galadriel’s a shrink!” Kysherin squeaked in a noxious chant. I pounced, fully intending to do murder on her miserable person.
“I will never be able to understand why humans react so to overcast days,” Spock observed.
“I’d give ’em all Vitamin D supplements,” Dr. McCoy added unhelpfully.
“Shut up,” I said, running off into my room and slamming the door. Now all I needed to do was bury myself alone in my story for several hours and I’d be fine at last.