Nov. 25th, 2007

Spamalot!

SPAMALOT!!!!!!

It was awesome and wonderful and hilarious and... and... and... *gibbers*. Best. Musical. EVER. More coherence later.

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Here's a Howard, there's a Howard,
And another little Howard
Fuzzy Howard, funny Howard,
Howard, Howard, Rudd!

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And here's a little snippet of fic I'm working on, which features Beruthiel of all people. My muses are so unfocused, they sprawl everywhere.

Osgiliath under a bright summer sun was quite an agreeable place, BerĂșthiel concluded. It was not as warm as Umbar, but like the city of her birth it was a trade centre, and while the wares were not as exotic the marketplaces helped to curb her homesickness. It was, in any case, preferable to Pelargir, which stank of fish, salt and fresh-cut wood, and seemed to her to be permanently grey and foggy whatever the weather elsewhere. As an added bonus, Osgiliath did not, at the present time, contain her husband.

A romantic tradition in Umbar said that the men and women of that city had fire in their veins. If that were true, BerĂșthiel thought scornfully, Gondorian blood would be muddy salt water. These people had little wit and no sense of adventure.

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elvenpiratelady

May 2012

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