Subject: The Science of Suedom, part 2
Author:
Posted on: 2012-09-28 03:39:00 UTC

((ooc note: please change 'scaf' to 'scarf' in the previous chapter; I didn't catch that until too late))

Chapter Two

“Rivendell. It’s always bloody Rivendell,” grouses John as the portal closes behind them and they look out onto the vale of Imladris, fair and green in the morning sun. The halls of Elrond can be seen faintly in the distance, roofs shining in the sunlight. Waterfalls cascade all about; the Bruinen rushes through the vale, gurgling proudly.

All of this is sadly marred by the presence of a mini-Balrog. “Bruien,” Sherlock remarks, as John opens his bag to let the mini clamber into the fireproofed compartment specifically meant for minis.

“How’d you know that? The Intelligence report said there were more.” John tries to check the Words, but they slip and slide away from his sight; the fic seems to be resisting against their presence, fighting against the Canon that welcomes them.

“We’re looking at the Bruinen,” Sherlock replies, gesturing to the river rushing nearby. They are both disguised as elves; John feels that he’ll never get used to the feeling of having hair that could be used in a shampoo commercial. It’s unnatural. Sherlock, though, takes his elvish appearance in stride.

John nods. “Fair enough.” He tries to look at the Words again, but they still evade his grasp. “Sherlock, is there something wrong with the Words? They’re not letting me…”

“The Sue is aware of our presence,” Sherlock says immediately. “Time’s running out.” And with light elven footsteps, he heads for the parapet-less bridge leading them towards the Last Homely House.

~~

Unfortunately, the Halls of Elrond are not as homely as they used to be, before the canon was so assailed by the Mary Sues. John looks up at the grotesque, distorted spires of Rivendell, and a part of him curls in anger.

Protection of the canon – that’s what he signed up for. To defend what’s right. So he squares his shoulders and follows his new partner into Rivendell, only to be greeted by a piercing shriek from his bag.

“Glaurungit!” he growls, pausing and ducking away from curious stares to open his pack and pull out his Canon Analysis Device, which seems to be emitting smoke from its very being. John looks at it in horror; the readout says:

[ERROR ERROR MR JIM JAM JELLY BING BONG DATA ERROR CANNOT FUNCTION I CANNOT I AM 34239084092384902384% DONE OLLIES OUTIE]

“Who walked past?” Sherlock demands, striding over with a scowl. John holds up his now-dead CAD, shrugging.

“I think it just bailed out on us.”

Sherlock snorts. “Clever CAD. What about the Character Analysis one?”

“Don’t you have it?”

Sherlock shakes his head. “I’m sure you can spot a Sue when you see one, unless Upstairs really is scraping the bottom of the barrel –”

“I’m not the bottom of the barrel,” John snaps defensively. Sherlock snorts, and turns away.

John pockets his CAD, the anger deep within him boiling into rage. The Sue has rendered the very air of Rivendell out of character. Someone is going to pay.

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