The Married Life - 4
by [M]ad[C]at and Heri
The Barbecue
Faramir (as the Man of the House) walks outside to the back Gardens wearing a ridiculous white
Chef's Hat and an apron saying "Kiss the Chef". Aragorn, Eowyn and Arwen are already waiting for him.
Aragorn - So, Faz, what kind of equipment do you use when you're doing the barbie?
Faramir - Well... I use the Gondor Furnace 3981, the ultimate gas-cooker of the 4th Age.
Does a crummy Tim "The Toolman" Taylor immitation. More Power! *grunt grunt grunt*
Aragorn - Unimpressed. ...yeah...?
Faramir - Feeling challenged. What do you mean "yeah..."?
Aragorn - Nothing. It's obviously something.
Faramir - Confrontational. No, go on, say it!
Aragorn - Nonchalant. Well... the 3981 model is not... bad...
if you like that kind of thing. You know, if you care more about safety than the real taste of your
barbie.
Faramir - Oh Yeah?! So what do you use?
Aragorn - I do what every discerning King does, of course. When I wear the Chef's hat, I
demand the best. And the best is the fires of Mt. Doom, of course. Analyzes a hangnail.
Faramir - ...Orodruin... ...?
Aragorn - Course. beat So, are you gonna fire-up your *cough* Gondor Furnace
*cough*
Faramir - ... Eyes glaze over as he stares off into the distance, at Orodruin.
... ... ...No. I think I'm going to show you how a Real Man cooks his steaks!
Aragorn - Oh yeah?!
Faramir - Yeah!
Aragorn - Yeah?!?
Faramir - YEAH!
Eowyn - Ohhhhhhhh Iluvatar... here we go again...
Aragornv- Arwen, Eowyn, we'll be right back with the food. I wanna show Faramir---
Faramir - *I* wanna show Aragorn---
Both - How a Real Man cooks.
They part in the direction of Mt. Doom, leaving the two women in the Gardens
Arwen - Well, guess we better start cooking something, huh? If we wait for those two to bring
home some cooked food, we might as well be on a diet...
Hours pass. Shadows move across the ground. Sun starts setting on the horizon.
Finally, two figures can be seen walking in from the East.
Their clothes are ripped, torn and soiled. They hair is dishevelled, their faces and arms are blackened with soot,
making their teeth shine a blinding white in two very open grins.
Proudly, each carries in his hand the little shrivelled charred remains of what once was an Oliphaunt cutlet, which they
lovingly place on a plate in front of their respective wives.
Faramir - Here, honey. Kisses her forehead. *smooch* I cooked this
for you.
Eowyn -Turns a sickly shade of green.
Aragorn - And I cooked this one for you, darling.
Arwen - Forces the phoniest smile in the History of Middle-earth.
The boys throw themselves with gusto at the food the women prepared in their absence.
Eowyn - Whispering under her breath. Arwen, if the next time Faz suggest a Barbecue I
say "yes", you have my permission to whack me over the head and knock some sense into me.
Chapter 1|
Chapter 2|
Chapter 3|
Current|
Chapter 5|
Chapter 6|
Chapter 7|
Chapter 8