And power metal isn't my cup of tea. Actually, music isn't my cup of tea. But I assure you that it went down well anyway.

I do what I do:
He cuts off, glanced away, then looks back at the camera and smiles.
Tense shift.

HG

Wobbles, it had to be said, wasn't normally one for power metal, not least because she could only intermittently get her stereo to work and, when she did, her partner had a tendency to perform violent acts when it played anything louder than cool jazz. She'd been looking forward to Former Agent Illian's program for some time and, when it was broadcast, she went down to the A/V Division and watched it with an expression of glee, only intermittently interrupted by small explosions as her weight shifted on the sofa cushions and found various lost remote controls. Not even the occasional bursts of silvery sparks could stop her from bouncing up and down with excitement, and when the program was finally over she bounced up off the sofa and somersaulted over to the coffee table.

"Oh gosh oh gosh that was AWESOME! Thank you so much for letting me watch it with you, gangeroos! I gotta get to my RC and work on something for Mister Illian to say thank you for making more good TV, so seeya later!"

She tumbled -- in the circus tumbling sense, it must be stressed -- out of the A/V Division's door and launched herself back towards her RC. A few dazed-looking technicians crawled out, one of whom was holding the remains of a genuine sonic blaster and making small whimpering noises. In complete silence, a senior geek walked over to the notice board and flipped the "Days Without Incident/Terror/Fire And Screaming/HER" counter back to 0, then curled up in the corner with a teddy bear and started to cry. The room stank of burnt plastic and whatever pollen the purple daffodils growing out of the sofa cushions were spreading around the place. There was wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Wobbles, as was her wont when dealing with the A/V Division's techies, did her best to ignore it.

Instead, she went to her RC and began work on something very, very elaborate. After about an hour, she took the first few pieces out into the hallway and went off to Stores to sequester more white sculpting balloons. For eighteen solid hours she worked, the near-constant squeaking burrowing into her partner's ears until she stomped off to Rudi's for drinks and filing, lamenting a lack of pins or sharp objects in the immediate vicinity. Wobbles worked and sweated over the sculpture, consulting printed diagrams and photographs, even a watercolour of the place in question, until at last it was complete.

A few days later, a delivery arrived by portal in the Illians' garden. Wobbles carefully lowered it into place and began to lash it to the ground, tying and staking with handmade ropes and a mallet made of Discworld bog-oak she was having seriously possessive thoughts about. She wanted to see Dafydd's family's faces (and his own) when they woke up to see Mindon Eldaliéva, that most kingly of all towers and seat of Ingwë Ingweron, in splendid bouncy castle form. With that, there was but one last finishing touch, and Wobbles paced deliberately backwards from her work.

"Okay, Mister Sproggins, I'm at the distance you said you wanted. You're good to go!"

A/V Technician Albert Sproggins emerged tremulously from the portal, clutching a gravity globe from Doctor Who like it was a bomb about to go off. Wobbles personally thought it was a bit unfair, but she had brushed past him once and his digital watch had ended up as a tattoo on his forehead, so she understood why he was scared. He tapped the globe and sent it upwards, letting its silvery light shine out as the globe reached its nest of white balloons at the top of the tower and hung there, awaiting the wonder of the children.

Albert, being a cautious sort who had no idea what Wobbles' acute arcane technometaplasia would do to an antigravity device, promptly hurled himself through the portal and was currently running towards the Cryptomusic Archive. His scream, according to the various computer monitors listening out for Wobbles' approach, was a comparatively mild Grade 4, so the other technicians were content to let their delicate repair work continue.

Wobbles, still in the garden, dexterously unfolded an old wooden deck chair (a feat not since repeated in the annals of human history), sat in the garden, and listened to the birdsong.

---

I hope that's okay, and while I understand it might give Dafydd flashbacks to the massive, massive stupidity of the Oath of Feanor, Wobbles isn't that up on the First Age. Enormous tomes like The Silmarillion aren't really her bag; to paraphrase Better Than Life, it's not that she doesn't read, it's just that she generally waits for the cartoon to come out. Also a slight case of well-intentioned B&E, but whatcha gonna do? =]

And I shall, if you're amenable, prepare a ficlet response when I have access to my laptop. Needless to say, Wobbles enjoyed it very much, after she managed to catch it.

Also, isn't this technically a songfic? >=]