The Inappropriate Elf Challenge

75 stories, 65 writers, 55 fandoms, & more elves than you can shake a stick at

Choose Elves. Choose a bow.

Choose arrows. Choose a tunic. Choose a fucking big ski lodge called Rivendell.

Choose walking on snow and having pretty hair. Choose strawberry scented baths. Choose living with Elrond still whinging about "not my fault we didn't destroy the Ring when we had a chance". Choose pretty woven fabrics which highlight your long tresses. Choose Vilya. Choose Nenya. Choose Elbereth and pretty flowing script. Choose delicate features and high cheekbones and elf women who are butcher than you are. Choose sitting on a tree branch watching Galadriel do her "look into my pool while I pick your pockets" trick to one more bunch of travelers, stuffing fucking lembas into your mouth. Choose long life, thin bodies, low constitution. Choose Lothlorien. Choose 500 years of arguing about whether you're prettier than your wife. Choose living longer than bloody rugged manly Aragorn. Choose walking away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a journey to the Grey Havens, nothing more than a poncey embarrassment to the grimey, selfish fucked up dwarves and Men and hobbits you saved in that war about the fucking Ring. Choose an endless future. Choose Elves.

I choose not to choose elves. —Elfspotting, by Blorky

Fiction Index

Elvses! Elvses! Let me be!

---

The Legend of Djo D'yk

"So I gotta tell you something." Joe Dick scratched at his crotch, then took a cigarette from behind his ear. "I'm an elf, okay?"

"An elf." Billy sighed and then blew out a long, blue stream of cigarette smoke. "You're an elf, huh?"

"Yeah. Just don't tell the guys. This is between you and me—"

"No, this thing is between you and the fucking blow, man— Fuck! I can't fucking believe this!..."

"What—you don't fuckin' BELIEVE me?"

"Fuck you! You fucking elfin FUCK!"

"I'll kick your fuckin' head in—"

"What about the ears," Billy flicked his fingers, "what about the ears, what about the fuckin' ears, huh?! You had a fuckin' earectomy or what?"

"I'll kick your head in with my curly-toed boots, you motherfucking cunt!"

"Fuck you," Billy exploded, and the smash of fist to nose was so bonecrackingly quick that Joe didn't even feel pain for a moment, "and the forest, and the fucking elves—"

"Suck my cerulean blue dick!" Joe screamed, and then the blows fell like rain, and the unicorns all galloped away, frightened.    

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Somehow, in the night, Chris had turned into an elf.

"Dude," Justin said. "You're an elf."

"By the Light of the Moon over Craig Liath," Chris solemnly replied, "I am at long last acknowledging my Sidhe ancestry."

Joey studied him carefully. "The fuck, Kirkpatrick?" He flicked Chris' ears, undeterred that Chris was trying to bat him away with pale, slender fingers.

Lance, on the other hand, was merely annoyed. He folded up his newspaper, walked over to Chris and held out his hand. "The five disc special edition DVD. Hand it over."

"Your lack of faith will not diminish mine," Chris informed him loftily, flute-like voice lilting over the crude and clumsy words of the English language.

JC wandered in, late as usual, blowdryer in one hand, half-eaten banana in the other. He saw Chris. He stopped short. He gasped in shock. "Chris!" he cried, dropping his accessories. "I love what you've done with your ears! And the shoes! They must be Gaultier?"

"But of course, dear friend," Chris said, nodding wisely. "He is of the old blood too."

"Fuck," Justin said, and turned pained eyes to Lance. "Please, man, make it stop."

"Can I have a tunic like yours too?" JC was begging, plucking covetously at the glittering emerald silk.

Lance got out his cellphone. "This is already way beyond me. I'm sorry, Chris, but I'm going to have to call Theresa."

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The one with the elf.

They were walking through the station in a very usual way, Ray bustling along with a handful of files, Fraser trailing him like a wolf followed by another wolf. "Ray, I have something to tell you."

"It's not another one of your Inuit stories, is it, Fraser, because I am chock full of Inuit right now."

"No Ray," Fraser said reassuringly, then paused and drew himself up slightly. "You know, someday I may tell my last Inuit story, Ray—"

"Christ, you're not toying with me, are you?"

"—and then I think you'll find your life the poorer for the absence of their insight and simple wisdom."

"I got a lot of simple wisdom. Ask anyone. I brim with it. Hey, Huey, what do I got?"

Huey didn't look up from his desk, where he was typing two-fingered aliases in for his eighty year old perp. "Simple wisdom, Vecchio."

"It's Kowalski now." Ray swept onward. "See? What'd I tell ya, Frase?" With a reproving look, Fraser allowed Ray to sit down at his desk, then loomed over him like a big red fire pole, turning his hat around in his hands. "What, what, *what*?" Ray barked.

Fraser cleared his throat. Five times, with slightly different inflections each time. Ray counted. Then the eyebrow was rubbed. There was eyebrow rubbing. "Well, I have something to tell you. It's rather difficult—"

"Spit."

Caught in mid-thought, Fraser blinked. "Pardon?"

"Spit. It. Out."

"Oh. Yes. Well." He hesitated, placed his hat on Ray's out-box, then paced for a moment before abruptly sitting down across from Ray and leaning forward in a confiding Mountie-like manner. Ray immediately responded to the gesture, inclining toward Fraser across the desk, as if they were about to plot world domination or discuss a Chinese take-out order so no one would overhear and ask them to pick up extra, which was no big deal, sure, if you were some kind of mutant super-octopus, because that's what you had to be by the time fifty fucking cops finished mauling you and writing orders for orange duck on your arm ("Because you'll just forget, Ray") and breezily promising IOUs that you'd never see until Mounties were hockey-skating in Hell, because cops were the worst fucking—

"—wolves and caribou, who will often sense things beyond our own level of comprehension."

Shit. He'd missed something. "Pause. Rewind. Replay."

Fraser's eyes narrowed and his face went smooth. Busted. Then he took a deep, visible breath. "I'm an elf, Ray."

Okay, he didn't just say... "I'm an elf, Ray."

"Yes."

Ray tried that one out. "Yes."

"You seem to be repeating everything I say."

"Everything you say." He shook off the dazing punch and straightened up. "Everything you *say*? Everything you say?!"

"I know you repeat yourself when under stress—"

Turning to Elaine, who was passing by, Ray said, "Fraser's an elf."

Elaine didn't break stride, but sounded thoughtful. "I always knew there was something."

She disappeared around the corner.

"You are not an elf. End of story."

A kind of reluctant regret crept over Fraser's face, as if he hated to contradict Ray, but felt the need. Ray had seen that expression often in dreams and nightmares, just before Fraser explained their boat was sinking, that they'd die of the hypothermia, that there really were rabid weasels in his car. "I'm afraid I am, Ray—"

Anger boiled up. "End of story, end of story, end of *story*!" He got up and strode out, Fraser neatly rising, grabbing his hat, and pursuing him with relentless Mountie loyalty. "Elves!" Ray seethed, making the word a curse. "So what, you're gonna go live in some cave now, spend the rest of your life bangin' your hammer against the rock and singin' a happy song?"

"I believe you're thinking of dwarves, Ray. Though it's a common misconception that mining is their only industry—"

"Shut up!"

Ray banged into the bathroom and leaned over the sink, bracing himself on both arms and staring into the drain that had sucked down his life. Fraser hovered by, emitting his usual signals of absolute self-assurance and lunacy, along with a faint anxiety on Ray's behalf. "I wanted to tell you sooner—"

"What part of shut up don't you understand?" Ray finally straightened up and looked Fraser in the face. "We were buddies."

"We still are," Fraser said stoutly, warmly, creepily.

"I can't be partnered with an elf! I'll be mocked until my ears ring and my brain falls out," he illustrated this with wide and violent hand gestures, "in a big bloody puddle around my feet to be licked up by wolves, and when they're done, you know what'll happen?" He waited for Fraser's headshake. "I'll be mocked some *more*."

Fraser's brow crinkled. "More than you are now?"

It was almost unbearable. "Is this a Canadian thing?"

"All things are Canadian things, Ray." Fraser sounded faintly puzzled.

"I hate you." Resignation was sulking into his voice.

Fraser reached out and squeezed his shoulder, a friendly touch from a careful distance of three feet. There was a dubious hesitancy to the gesture, and to Fraser's own voice as he offered, "Perhaps a hug...?" He broke off at Ray's glare, removed his hand. "Well, perhaps not."

"I'm not hugging an elf. In the men's room. With a wolf watching. That would be weird." As if this *wasn't*.

"Understood."

And then they went to lunch, and the elf threw his bread roll at a mugger and beaned him at thirty yards, and Ray won five dollars on a scratch-off card and bought Dief some doughnuts, and they made it through another day on the mean streets of Chicago.  

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"...The shoe size is also inconsistent - in addition to which the shoes are curled, and finally, as you can see, the suspect's pointy ears are fully 7 millimeters longer than Ray Vecchio's. In conclusion, this man is not Raymond Vecchio."

"Constable, you have an uncanny power of observation."

"Thank you."

"Of course he's not Ray Vecchio. He's an elf. But Ray's gone deep undercover - something to do with a stolen ring - and to protect his identity, we have to make believe that this elf is Ray Vecchio. "

"Ah. Understood."

"Really? Then would you mind explaining it to me, Constable?"

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Ray crossed his arms. "You are making this up," he accused.

Fraser started to fondle his eartips, paused, and rubbed his thumb across his eyebrow instead. "Would you like me to recite for you the relevant section of the administration manual? 'It is the duty of all police officers who are elves, subject to the order of the queen—'"

"Okay! Okay! Enough with the queen!" Ray yelled. "We have to have tangerine sex to solve every case?"

"It's tantric sex, Ray, and of course not. That would be silly." Fraser unlaced his delicately curled boots. "Usually it suffices to sing."  

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Liamiellion of Eire

Darla tapped one elegantly shod foot on the parquet and glared. "You're hiding something from us."

"Too right, he is. You've been poncing it even more than usual, Angelus —"

"The ponies," interjected Drusilla sternly, "are very, very SHARP."

"What she said. And what's with the bloody *braid*, anyway?"

Angelus drew himself up very straight. He knew this day would come, and now it was just a matter of how he faced it. And whether his new family could accept it. "It is. An elf-knot."

"A *what*?"

"It's part of my heritage as a member of the Doaine Sidhe —"

"The *who*?"

"Daddy?"

"Angelus?"

Angelus squeezed his eyes shut. "It's true. I'm... an elf." He opened them just in time to see Darla hit the floor, Drusilla rushing to her aid.

Spike just blinked at him for long moments.

"Well?"

"It explains the nanciness."

"I'll have you know that my people have a long and proud tradition of —"

"Nanciness? Yeah, I can see that." Spike shrugged. "Right, I'll just be... um. You're not going to be wearing the curly shoes, are you? Because that's just... you aren't, are you?"

"No."

"Right, that's fine. Come on then, Dru. Let mumsy and daddy make-up on their own now."

"I must *earn* the right to wear the delicately curled shoes of my King."

"Oh, *bloody* hell, Angelus! Snap out of it! Don't you want to... you know... rape something? Look, Darla's unconscious and everything."

"Elves must not rape, Spike."

"That's not what you said last night!"

"... would you like to see me frolic?"

"What? No I don't want to see — oh dear GOD, did you just click your bloody *heels*?"

And Angelus danced the night away, reflecting that the screams of mad and terrified vampires had just enough in common with the simple hornpipes of his distant youth to make the dance giddy and full of cheer.    

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West Wood

Leo was not having this conversation with Josh.

"I'm just saying," Josh was saying. "He seems a little..."

"A little...?"

"You know, a little..." Josh made a wiggly hand gesture. Leo stopped walking for a minute.

"You're telling me you think The President of the United States of America seems a little *gay*?"

"What?" Josh stopped walking too. Leo repeated the hand gesture.

"That's not what I did with my hand," said Josh

"Yes it is, Josh. You said 'He seems a little...' and then you did this. That's the international hand symbol for gay. Or... maybe salmon. Or are you telling me you think the President seems a little fishy, Josh? Because that could be considered treason."

"Leo, first of all, the President of the United states is as ungay as a man who kisses his secretary of state on the forehead can get and secondly this," Josh flopped his hand around wildly, "is the international hand symbol for gay. I don't think there is a symbol for salmon."

"Yes there is," said CJ from behind them. She wiggled her hand. "Like this," she said. "There's also one for flounder but it requires pressing my head to the floor so you're not seeing that unless it's necessary. Is it necessary? And who's gay?"

"Josh thinks the President is," said Leo.

"Isn't that treason?" CJ asked.

"Only in Turkey and besides," Josh said. "I didn't say I thought the President was gay, I said he seems a little..." He wiggled his hand a little.

"Oh!" said CJ. "That's definitely not salmon."

"See?" Josh said to Leo.

"Not in the least," said Leo. "And we are not, nor have we ever been having this conversation." They were at the Oval office. Leo knocked.

"Speak friend, and enter," said a voice through the door.

"Excuse me."

Leo stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He looked around, but did not see his old friend Jed Bartlet. He did, however, hear whistling from above.

"Sir?" he said, calmly, looking up.

"Ah, Leo," said the President of the United States knocking two arrows into his bow as he balanced upon the frame of a painting of George Washington that had been restored to exhibit its original pointy-eared ethnicity. "Just the man. Did you know that Elves were the original First Nations people? Why there is evidence of Elven..."

"Sir," Leo began. "People are starting to notice. We can't hide this like we did the other thing."

"I know, Leo," the President said. "I just... I just want one good caper through the House in the Springtime. One last frolic round the five corners of the Pentagon. Let me have that and I'll tell them everything. Even about the curly shoes."

"You've got it, sir," said Leo.

"Thank you, friend," said Jedowyn of Bartletdown. He leapt down from the painting and dropped a light hand on his friend's shoulder. His bright eyes gazed at Leo in a way that made him feel not unlike someone was doing the international hand symbol for salmon in his belly.

"Leo," said the Elven President. "Have you ever thought of growing a beard?"    

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"Frank—come in, sit down."

"Bayliss, what the hell is this about? What's so urgent you called me away from my wife and kids?"

"I have to tell someone; it's tearing me up inside."

"Something always is," Frank muttered, then sighed. "Okay, what is it this time?"

"I'm an elf, Frank."

"Is that some sort of new slang for bisexuality?"

"No, it's just the truth. I'm an elf."

"Fine, you're an elf. Can I go home to Mary now?"

"I'm serious, Frank."

"Goodbye, Bayliss."

"It's Tym, actually. How do you think I got to be this tall?"

"Good night, Bayliss."  

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Badass

C'ansure Mawn studied the glowing tip of his lit cigarette. "There are times when it's. Difficult. To live my life," he said. His slow rasp of a voice didn't travel beyond the circle of light that illuminated the table. But when he leaned forward and put his hand out to tap ashes from the cigarette, the bells that hung from his wrists rang out clearly.

Behind him, in the darkest corner of the room, an alien cried out in pain.

Mulder winced at the rolling sound but didn't move away, didn't look away. C'ansure Mawn looked at him for a long moment before smiling just a little. "A little silver, a little iron. Keeps them all in line," he said, like that should make it clear. Nothing was clear, though. Nothing but the tinkling sound of his every movement and the accompanying groans of pain.

"Stop," Mulder choked, making an involuntary movement, like he meant to silence the bells. C'ansure Mawn tipped his head back and blew smoke up at the ceiling and didn't bother to move away. The harsh light gleamed on the points of his ears. When he moved, the bells shivered like gleeful children, and aliens screamed.

"Didn't you know, Mulder?" He smiled through the smoke. "I'd have thought that perhaps it would be obvious to you. We certainly have not tried to hide this truth from your prying eyes."

A cool hand settled on his shoulder and Mulder turned his head. There was something innately not-right about Scully smiling like that, something innately not-righter about Scully smiling like that in a smoky room, something horribly wrong about Scully smiling like that while bells dripped from her earrings.

But then, this wasn't Scully. No, she'd never been Scully.

"I think that perhaps this was the one truth you never wanted to see," Scule'lye murmured, and the sound of her voice was even more chilling than the alien cries. Mulder shuddered but did not move away.

Could not move away.

"I didn't see it," he said quietly. "I never did see it."

When Scule'lye moved into the light, the shape of her ears was more apparent, was blatantly apparent. "But you see it now," she said. "We have bells for you too, Mulder. You're not Elf, not really—your father rejected the Blood when he married your mother—but you could wear the bells. Wear the bells and rule when They come."

He licked his lips, looked from her beautiful, peaceful face to the wrinkled visage of C'ansure Mawn. "Never," he whispered, and he turned away. In the darkness, alien eyes gleamed at him, glared at him. "I could never rule Them."

Silence, and then a hiss as C'ansure Mawn drew in more cigarette smoke. "Then suffer with them for all I care," he said, and suddenly the delicate ringing of the bells was like fists slamming into Mulder's temples, the faint shivery tinkle of them was like a knife in his heart. He cried out and fell and the whole world seemed to be crying and falling like his whole life had been crying, and falling, and that would be his afterlife, his eternity—

And he awoke to hear the phone blasting away under his pillow.

At first, the drenched cotton didn't make sense and the phone was like a bell hung in his brain and bent on destroying it. Then the cotton morphed into a pillow case and the bell in his brain became a goddamned hangover—those asshole Gunmen and their cheap liquor.

He scuttled the phone out from under the pillow, wiped drool from the corner of his mouth and muzzily said, "Scully? Scully, I had the weirdest dream."

"All your dreams are weird, Mulder," she said, her businesslike tone still light with laughter. He started to grin but then he turned his head and caught a faint, acrid bit of a scent, like tar, like cigarette ashes—and he froze. He held his breath. Scully said something about an ironing board and maybe it was just a crazy hallucination, but he could've sworn he heard a faint sound in the background.

The very quiet giggle of a bell, ringing.  

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How He Keeps His Hat On

"Come on, brother. You from *Africa*. You one of us." Kenny glared at Adebisi. "You gotta join us."

"I am from Africa, this be true. But not one of you." He took a snort of the heroin, and smiled. "I am none of you, Kenny."

He moved a finger over one of his ears. A point flickered and went away. Kenny blinked and snorted his own tits. "What are you, man? From outer space or something?"

"Something like that, son." He laughed, deep and long. Kenny stared, confused.

Said, watching them, sharpened the steel point on his shiv and waited.  

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Risking Death

"Severus."

I turned. "Yes, Headmaster?"

"Your ears are showing." He untucked my hair, so that it hid my pointed ears. "You should be more cautious."

"Have I ever been caught?" I asked, raising my chin, and he shook his head. Still, Lord Voldemort did not approve of nonhumans in the ranks, and so veela and vampire and my kind, the old true-Elves, had to tread lightly or risk death.

The way I saw it, it was no more than I risked in any case.

He drew my head down and kissed my forehead. "Go, my boy," he said.

I went.

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"Casey —"

"I'm not listening to this."

"C'mon, man —"

"No, I'm really not listening. La la la, I can't hear you, and do you know why? Because I'm not listening."

"I thought you'd support me in my time of need."

"What you need are some special drugs and a quiet time in a rubber room, my friend."

"But —"

"No. You're not an elf. No pointy ears, no pointy shoes, above-average height ... these are all signs of not being an elf."

Natalie poked her head into the office. "What's going on?"

"I'm an elf," said Dan, looking mournful yet stubborn.

"Great!" she said. "Rundown in five."

Elliot appeared behind Natalie. "Can you fix shoes?"

Dan, Casey and Natalie stared at him in bemusement. "What?" he said defensively. "The Elves and the Shoemaker? Classic fairy tale?"

"He's not an elf."

"What if I was adopted? What if my parents found me in the forest as an infant and brought me home, all the while unknowing ..."

"What if I kill you now and bring you back to the forest?"

Dan shook his head. "Casey, Casey, Casey. I expected better from you. But that's the kind of thing my people have had to deal with for centuries."

"Your people?"

"The Elvish. The Old Ones."

"Dan. Listen to me now. You are not an elf."

Suddenly Dana was there beside Elliot. "What's going on?"

"Dan's elfish," said Natalie. "One of the Old Ones."

"Yeah, well, he's not going to live to be one of the really Old Ones if he doesn't get his pointy-eared ass into my conference room. Let's go, people."    

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It explained a lot really.

The coming back from the dead...I mean how can someone die if they're immortal, right?

And the attitude. You'd think the guy was God, not just ....

At that moment, he walked by. The captain was muttering something but Garibaldi wasn't quite sure what it could be. As he fell into step next to Sheridan, he noticed something he hadn't before. "Uh, morning, Captain."

Sheridan barely nodded. "Michael." he said benignly, almost graciously.

"Say, I've been noticing....I mean....well, are you sure you're not....." Garibaldi waved a hand idly toward Sheridan's head where small points could be seen poking out of his hair just about the level of his ears. It couldn't be, you know but.....

"What? Oh, yes." He sighed. "I should tell someone I suppose: Kosh just explained it to me."

Garibaldi stopped and put on his most understanding face. Which really wasn't that understanding.

"I'm an elf."

"An elf?" That explained the bow and arrow rather than the baseball these days. And the cutesie drinks.

This was too much. He was trying to hold the laughter in at the haughty look on his captain's face but...

Sheridan stared at the helplessly hysterical security chief. "Would you like to see my ring?" he finally asked.  

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"What do you mean, youre an elf?  Sir."

"Och, I'd think that would be obvious, Doyle. The shoes, the pointed ears, the bells..." "I reckoned you'd taken up Morris dancing."

"Morris dancing?" C'oughlie snorted, accompanied by a cascade of tinkling bells.

"Bleeding ponces."

Bodie's hanging jaw snapped shut and he shot out of his chair. "Bloody hell... But you're my *father*!"

"And that's still the case."

"So *I'm* a sodding elf?"

C'oughlie shook his head, the twinkle in his eye dimmed. "Nae, my lad. You take after your mother."

"No! You don't mean..."

"Aye. She was a fairy, too."

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"Rick, I have something to show you."

Rick grunted and opened the folder. Pictures of him and AJ as children fell out.

"Yeah, I remember that." He pointed to them on the carousel at the Santa Monica Pier.

"But do you remember this?" The picture showed AJ's blond baby curls shorn away to reveal pointed ears on the sleeping toddler. The next showed him with normal ears. "I'm an elf. A changeling. Mom had plastic surgery on my ears. Your real brother died at birth."

"So this isn't incest at all?" Rick looked stunned.

"Nope." AJ grinned sexily. "Just miscegenation."  

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"Oh captain? Have you got a minute?" McCoy asked, casually walking into Kirk's dressing room. "Here, let me give you a hand with that," he said, tugging the lace strings of Kirk's whalebone corset tighter (so THAT was the reason whales became extinct...)

"Oof!" said Kirk, gratefully. "What is it, McCoy?"

"It's Spock. Have you noticed anything strange about him?"

"Not especially, why?"

"It's nothing I can pinpoint... but he's becoming increasingly festive."

"Festive?"

"That red shirt ? and he's not even security...and the green hat, and the tights..."

"Come to think of it, I had noticed the tights. Might be going a bit far. Want me to have word with him?"

"I think it would be a good idea, sir," said McCoy gratefully.

A few hours later found Kirk and McCoy standing outside the door to Spock's cabin. "Spock, let me in, it's Jim," Kirk cooed in his best command tone. The doors whooshed open, expelling Nurse Chapel, closely followed by a plate of mince pies. Using his famous reflexes, Kirk caught the plate just in time.

"Spock....what is it?? You can tell me," said Kirk, stuffing a pie quickly into his mouth before McCoy could stop him. He stepped cautiously across the threshold, followed by the good doctor. Spock was sitting cross-legged on a toadstool, an atypical expression of irritation on his face.

"Captain... you have to take me back to the grottos of Vulcan!" Spock said.

"Er...." said Jim. "Why?"

Spock lowered his head. "It has to do with....my true calling."

"Your true calling?" said Kirk. Spock nodded.

"I thought you wanted to be my first officer forever!" said Kirk, woundedly.

"I had hoped I would be spared this, but the ancient drives are too strong," said Spock. "To return home... to tend to the reindeers, to help Him distribute joy to the worlds...."

"No! Spock! Say it isn't true!" said Kirk. Behind him, McCoy put a supportive hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, captain. It is. Sadly, I am an elf."    

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Lex looked at the dead mutant cow at his feet. Its spine was broken, and its guts spilled through a hole in its side where Clark had punched it.

Clark had the cow's head in his lap, face thrust deep in the curly pelt that was grown even with its moose-like horns. His shoulders shook silently.

"Clark? What just happened?" He knelt, felt the steaming bodily fluids from the cow wash over his knees. When he reached for Clark with his right hand, his friend was hotter, almost hot enough to burn. Not so surprising, considering that he'd run at least a mile in about fifteen seconds. "You're not...?"

Clark looked over his shoulder, shook his head. "I'm not human."

Lex smiled at him and called power to his left hand, not enough to do anything, just enough energy to facilitate Thoughtspeech. "Neither am I," he said quietly and touched Clark's shoulder.

Nothing happened.

Clark's power didn't rise to meet his, Clark's mind didn't open to his, and Lex's own power didn't enter Clark as it would have a normal human.

Lex stood quickly, backed up a step.

Clark bent over the cow again. "I thought you had guessed. I've been...careless around you."

"I thought. I thought you were like me. But you're not. What are you, Clark?"

"I don't know. I mean, I'm an alien, butÀ܈µ," Clark turned to face Lex, looked animated for the first time since he'd hit his pet cow. "Like you? What are you?"

"I'm Sidhe."

Clark blinked.

Lex realized that even if Clark had read enough fantasy to know the term, he probably didn't recognize the correct pronunciation. "I'm an elf."

Clark frowned. "But elves have long hair and pointy ears, Lex."

Lex frowned. "And aliens have green skin and wrinkly foreheads."

Clark sighed. "I won't tell if you won't."    

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Tearing through the tool-shed for flashlights, Clark stopped short when Lex appeared out of the darkness. "My mom's gone, Lex! I have to find her!"

Lex made no move to help. Surely Martha's rescue would wait. "Did I ever tell you about my mother's people, Clark?"

Still digging for flashlights, Clark frowned. "No. What about them?"

"They never grow old, they never die- unless they come into this world..." Restraining tears, Lex took half a breath and looked at the ceiling. "The way my mother did, when dad lured her from the ring with a bowl of sugared milk."

Clark stopped and stared. "I don't think I'm following you, Lex."

"I'm half-elf, Clark." Lex fixed Clark in a silver gaze, and for a moment, his three-quarters length cashmere looked rather regal and robelike. "You're my best friend. I thought you should know."

Failing to see any parallelism in Lex revealing himself to be something not quite human, Clark squinted, confused. "I thought elves had pointy ears."

Lex shrugged. "You'd be amazed what Toby can do with an X-Acto knife and a bottle of Mezcal. Feel free to use this deeply personal information against me later. Now let's go find your mom."

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"You did call her Elven, Jeremy."

"I didn't!"

"Yes, you did. I heard you."

"No. I called her Elvish. And she is."

"You know, Jeremy, this probably isn't the right time to be making jokes about her height."

"I'm not!"

"With the whole porn star thing and all."

"Adult Film Actress, Casey."

"Dan."

"Dana."

"Isaac—"

"If I closed my eyes and counted to ten, would you all magically be gone when I opened them again?"

"Natalie's the magical one, Isaac."

"Dan!"

"Dana."

"He's right, Elves are magical folk."

"Casey!"

"Dana."

"Seriously you guys, I can hear you all the way from the conference room."

"Your ears—"

"Casey!"

"For the last time, there's nothing wrong with my ears and this is not a tunic. And Jeremy, if you think this is somehow going to get you into my pants—"

"Tunic."

"Danny, I swear to god—"

"It is a tunic!"

"I don't care how, just please be gone. Now. All of you."

"Do I have pointy shoes? Do I bake?"

"Natalie, I didn't say you were a Keebler Elf—"

"What other kinds of Elves are there?"

"Santa's."

"Cobblers."

"Leprechauns."

"Dan, Leprechauns aren't Elves."

"Then what are they?"

"Leprechauns."

"Dana?"

"Yes, Natalie."

"Not helping."

"Sorry."

"Hey, did someone leave this bow and arrow in the conference room?"

"Thank you, Elyot."

"Natalie..."

"What? Geena Davis can do it and I can't."

"Ow! Dana, what the hell?"

"Preemptive strike."

"You pinch hard."

"Okay. I've had enough. Out before I fire your asses. And I don't want to hear one more thing about Natalie's ears."

"Thank you Isaac."

"Sexy though they might be."

"Thank you Isaac."

"Isaac."

"You heard the man. My ears are sexy. Run-down in five."

"I have such an ear thing."

"I can hear you, Dan."

"I may swoon."

"I have nice ears."

"Okay, Casey."

"No, I mean, they're not pointy like some people's, but they are nice."

"Are you all still here?"

"We're going."

"I have nice ears."

"Okay, Casey."

"Natalie?"

"Yes, Jeremy."

"I wasn't trying to get into your pants."

"I know. And Jeremy?"

"Yes, Natalie."

"It's a tunic.  

Back To The Index

Rogue sat stiffly in the chair as Logan paced the room. She'd been dreading this conversation almost since they'd met.

He was about to break her heart, shatter her world. She knew the words, "There's something I have to tell you" never boded well.

The silence stretched like a really stretchy thing, until it had gone on so long that Rogue had forgotten why she was sitting in Logan's room, and why he was pacing like a caged wolf. She was considering what color to paint her toenails when he said, "Rogue—Marie... I need to tell you—"

Her heart fell to the toes of her stylish yet clunky black leather boots.

"You're an Elf," she said, trying to forestall the inevitable with humor.

He blinked. "An Elf? You think *I'm* an Elf? What the fuck? Xavier's the Elf, fucking immortal Faerie bastard, but that's not important right now." He released the claws. "Elves can't fuck with me. They don't like adamantium, you know."

She filed the information about Professor Xavier away for later. After dealing with mutants who could fly and control the weather, Elves were sort of anticlimactic.

She took a deep breath and tried to guide him back on topic. "You're in love with Jean?"

Better to have it out in the open, and maybe then she could get on with her life.

Again he looked at her like she had two heads. "What? Fuck, no. I don't know how to tell you this."

"Just say it, Logan."

"I'm Canadian. And I love you."

At that moment, Rogue knew it was all over between them. She could deal with their age difference, and his lack of a past. She could deal with never being able to touch again. But Canadian? There are some things even she couldn't deal with.

"Oh, Logan, I'm so sorry. I could never be with a Canadian."

She left him a broken man.  

Back To The Index

"Duuude."

Trent sounded even more stoned than usual.

"What? It's coffee. Even you could make it." Jane flipped the switch to "brew."

"No. It's Daria."

Jane raised an eyebrow, but Trent wasn't paying attention. She sighed and pushed her way past him.

Daria was sitting on the couch, staring at the floor. Her cheeks were pink.

The crush on Trent was long over, so what the fuck...? "Hey," Jane said. Daria didn't answer.

Trent wandered in and perched on the edge of the couch. Daria's blush intensified. Jane looked from one to the other.

"Will somebody please tell me what's going on?"

"I don't—"

Trent interrupted. "Daria's an elf."

Jane blinked. Daria leaned her elbows on her knees and hid her face in her hands.

"Okay, I realize you don't normally make a lot of sense before—"

"Check out the ears."

Daria slumped further.

Damned brother. "Trent, this isn't funny."

"He's not joking." Daria's voice was muffled.

Jane stopped mid-thought. "What?"

Daria tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, which were...pointy.

Jane floundered. Leave it to Daria to come out as something this weird.

"Hey, it's not so bad," she offered finally. Daria didn't raise her head, but she spread her fingers enough to look up.

Jane grinned. "The combat boots beat the hell out of curly-toed shoes."  

Back To The Index

"Look here," Grissom said, lifting the picture frame away from the wall. He carefully plucked a strand of orange fiber from the corner with a pair of tweezers and put it in an evidence bag. Then he pointed to a thin streak of white on the edge of the vanity. "This stain? White theatrical makeup. And these grains of powder...."

"Heroin?" Nick asked.

"Kool-aid," Grissom replied. "It was a case of coulrophobia — fear of clowns. A birthday party surprise gone wrong."

"How do you do it, Grissom?" Nick shook his head in awe.

"Easy," Grissom replied, with a mischievous smile, "I'm an elf."

Back To The Index

The Dark Elf Returns

"Wayne Manor."

"Alfred, it's me," Dick's voice came over the phone line. He sounded badly shaken. "Listen, I don't want to alarm you or anything, but Bruce is here, and, well, I think we might need Dr. Leslie to come over. And we might want to check with Babs to see where he patrolled last night, find out if he could have been exposed to something. Is the Hatter still in Arkham, or, no, this isn't the Scarecrow's style..."

"Master Dick," Alfred interrupted, "I could no doubt be of a great deal more assistance if you were to tell me what is going on."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "It's...Bruce, he, um...he's saying he's an elf."

"I see. Well, there's very little cause for alarm, then."

"No cause for alarm? Bruce is having some sort of major delusion, and..."

"I can assure you, Master Dick, that it is not a delusion."

This time, the pause was even longer.

"Okay, that's it, I'm coming over there and bringing Bruce with me. I'll call Tim and we'll start sweeping the manor, and the cave. Maybe it's some sort of contact thing, or gas..."

"Master Dick. I have served the Wayne family since before Master Bruce was born. The Pennyworths have served the Waynes for far longer than you know. I can assure you it is no delusion."

Yet another long pause, and finally Dick sighed. "Okay. I am hanging up now. I am sending Bruce home. And I am filing this with all those things that we never, ever discuss again. Ever."

Alfred pulled the receiver away from his ear in time to avoid the slamming sound. There could be only one reason that Master Bruce had revealed his secret to young Master Dick, which meant that the list of things never discussed in Wayne Manor was about to become shorter by several items.    

Back To The Index

Noldor the Grape, Sweeter the Whine

"Knock, knock."

"Shut up, Sandburg."

Blair sighed. "Come on, Jim, we've been watching this place all night. The guy's not going anywhere. Knock, knock."

Jim didn't lower the binoculars. "I swear to God I'll knock knock your head on the dashboard if you don't shut up."

"Knock. Knock."

Jim sighed and tossed the binoculars onto the dashboard, sending a cascade of light snow from the roof spilling down the windshield. "Who's there?"

"Points."

Jim turned to Blair with his best I've-eaten-Guide-guts-and-liked-it-face on. "Points. Who."

Blair recoiled and backpedaled frantically. "Points...are nice. Really. Nothing wrong with points."

Jim's jaw went all twitchy. "Spit it out!"

Blair sighed. "Jim. Come on, man. Everybody's noticed."

"Noticed what?" Jim's eyes narrowed, daring him to answer.

Blair swallowed. "The ears, man. What's with the ears?"

Jim yanked his baseball cap down, muttering.

"They've gone all...pointy."

"Damn it, Sandburg, mind your own business!"

"It's freaking me out! Is it some kind of medical condition? BecauseÀ܈µ"

"Yeah, Sandburg. It's a medical condition. I haven't fucked you in two weeks and the stuff's backing up, okay?"

"Hey, I'm just concerned here! You've got an abnormal growthÀ܈µ"

"It's perfectly normal!"

"Only if you're baking cookies in a tree somewhere."

"ThatÀ܈µ" Jim jabbed a finger into Blair's chest with a truly terrifying expression. "Is exactly the kind of racist crap that made me bob my ears in the first place."

"Uh..."

"Well, no more, Sandburg. From now on, it's the real Finwë Elanessë."

"Uh..."

"And if you can't handle a biracial relationship, you can take a long walk off a short talan."

"Uh..."

"Elbereth Gilthoniel! The shit I've had to do to pass for mortal!"

"Uh..."

"And you never once caught on, did you? Morgoth's balls, Sandburg, how many times do you think one guy can drop his gun?"

"There's a limit?"

Jim ignored him. "Well, I've had it. It's Elven grace for me from now on. Get used to it." Jim shoved the binoculars into Blair's hand and shouldered the car door open. "I'm going to the can." He slammed the door behind him.

Blair sank back into his seat, watching Jim in the rear view mirror as he sprang Elven-lightly across the surface of the snow. "Damn." He rested his curly-toed Elven-boots on the dashboard. "Time to start color-coding the lembas."  

Back To The Index

Shakedown at Titans Tower

Roy slammed the door into the room, snarling.

"Language, Roy," said Donna, hands protectively over Lian's ears. Lian squirmed away and toddled out.

Tempest paused the VCR. "Dinner with Connor didn't go well?"

"The man's practically a brother, and doesn't tell me vital information...."

"He's gay?"

"Please. Even I figured that much out. Look, no offense — but is anybody besides me human around here?"

Mutants, aliens, deep-sea dwellers, divine foibles: a big round zero. "So... Connor's a, um, mutant?" Donna guessed.

"If only. No, elf, apparently."

"It would explain some things..." Tempest hesitated as Nightwing entered, shouldering Lian. "There you go. Dick's human."

"Are we sure?" Roy snatched his daughter back. "He's a queer billionaire gypsy with a quadruple somersault."

Nightwing leaned in the doorway, unoffended. "Connor tell you about the elf thing?"

"Genius detective queer billionaire gypsy," Roy amended. "And that somersault still wants some explaining, flyboy."

Lian took her thumb out of her mouth. "What's queer mean?"

Donna glared at Roy and held her arms out. "It means it's bedtime, sugar."  

Back To The Index

"I'm an elf."

He looked over at his friend, his partner, his best beloved in the two worlds. "No, you're not."

His lover reacted as expected. Glaring, scrunching up his face in what would have been a sheer mockery of the whole point, if the whole point hadn't been that he actually looked better that way, and his lover insisted again. "I am so an Elf." He punctuated his words with short stabs with his ax.

Legolas rolled his eyes. Two thousands years in the Havens, and they still hadn't figured out how to send a senile dwarf back home where his mind be at ease. Sighing, he just did as he always did, and leant over to give his lover a pat on the head. "Yes, dear. If you say so."

As long as Gimli didn't try walking on top of the snow again, they'd be fine.

Back To The Index

Frohicke peered at the sleeping Mulder and Scully. "It just doesn't seem right letting them think we're dead." He turned to the others, and in the streetlight his true nature was revealed: a dwarf with a hero's heart (and a sluagh's vocabulary).

Byers and Langly themselves were half-ways transformed as well. For once there was a grace to Langly's long, gangling limbs, and as for Byers ... the faint curl of his ears undid the last vestiges of Young Republicans of America once and for all. "C'mon, Melvin. Not even Mulder wants to believe that much." He shifted Baby William in his arms, the first of many changelings that night. This world had been theirs long before the Others came, and they would not give it up easily.

"Yeah, man. Let's hack these bastards but good," and Langly lifted his war axe, barely looking ridiculous at all.    

Back To The Index

"Jack, Sam, Teal'c?"

The team looked at him with varying levels of interest.

"I have a confession to make." He took a deep breath.

Jack held up his hand.

"Yes, Jack?"

"You're an elf?"

"No, Jack, I'm not an elf." Daniel rolled his eyes.

"Oh."

"I'm gay."

"That's it?"

They didn't seem that surprised. Sam shook her head. "We know, Daniel — now hurry up, or we'll miss briefing."

Daniel blinked in surprise.

"You sure you're not an elf?" Jack's voice was deep, close to his ear.

"Yes..."

"Then I wonder why I have an urge for licking your ears..."    

Back To The Index

Law & Order: The Elf Files

Lennie sat in the beat-up Buick, staring down Lexington Avenue with a rather disgusted look. After a few minutes, Green came out of the deli with a coffee cup in each hand.

"Nothing yet?"

"Not a damn thing," he said, pulling his cup through the window and pulling back the tab. "You'd think he would have to come out to eat. Me and the squad went in four days ago with the warrant, and all he had were some little square biscuits."

"I think those are called scones."

Lennie paused mid-sip to stare at his partner, but before he could get out his trademark snappy comeback, they both caught a glimpse of long blond hair coming out of one of the tenements on 107th. Green immediately ran to the right; Lennie started the car, sliding the coffee cup into the holder beneath the radio with the ease of habit.

The perp looked up suddenly, his aquiline nose pointed towards the Buick as if sensing the presence of danger. Lennie cursed, knowing he'd been spotted, and reached for the CB.

"This is Unit 4, I got a 10-10 here. 1L50 has been identified, repeat, the perp has identified the unmarked. I need 10-13 to block off Central Park. This guy hits the woods and we're never gonna find him." He dropped the CB and slammed the car into gear just as his quarry leapt into action.

Green was circling around, coming at him from an alley beside his building. The tall, fair suspect seemed to glide across the sidewalk, graceful as a swan and just as beautiful. He made it to Madison, gently skimming across the pavement as Green tried valiantly to keep up with his smooth movements. He heard sirens, and saw two more marked units pull across Park Avenue, blocking off escape to the trees; Lennie had pulled across Madison, blocking them onto North Madison. Green felt himself faltering, and knew he couldn't keep up.

Suddenly a huge man stepped off a stoop and simply put his hand out. The perp, not expecting such a move, slammed his face into the fist and crumpled.

Green reached them and stood over the guy, panting, then looked up at the man who'd stopped him.

The thug kicked the semi-conscious man and sneered at him. "Stupid bastard. Should've known better than to go prancing around Harlem. Lock this fairy up, brotha." The thug grinned, revealing that his mouth had as much gold in it as he had around his neck. Green made a fist and the two men touched knuckles, then he pulled out his handcuffs.

* * *

Lt. Van Buren looked through the glass partition into the interrogation room, shaking her head. A small click, and McCoy was in the room with her.

"What the hell is this guy?" he said, setting his briefcase down next to the door.

"Says his name is Legolas Greenleaf. He's got no ID, no green card, nothing on file for us to check his background. But he's left his fingerprints all over the crime scene. And let's face it: he looks the part."

McCoy nodded, taking the file from her and thumbing through it. They watched a moment more as Lennie loomed over the eerily calm perp, surely saying something illegal.

"What about his lawyer?"

"Shimbala Green was assigned to him; decided to go with insanity, which is smart for her. I have a feeling that even Skoda would say he's loony. Miss Green said the guy started speaking some weird foreign language, saying the same thing over and over again."

McCoy looked through the file, flipping pages. "What is this? Yanante cormacolindor? Fainu nillo! What is this, Klingon?" He sighed. "Any ideas what it means?"

"Yeah, one of the detective's kids was in the office, said he knew the language. Translates to "Where are the ringbearers? Release me" or something like that. Kid said he learned it on TV."

McCoy only shrugged and stepped opened the door. Legolas' eyes widened as he entered, and he fidgeted in his chair; the handcuffs attached to the table clinked loudly.

"Well, mister Leaf, it seems you're in a bit of a bind. You're charged with second degree murder, assault for the incident with the homeless guy, and possession with intent to sell. Care to explain yourself?"

The man's blue eyes flickered from the two detectives and back to the lawyer. "You are the leader here, so I shall make my case before you. These are foul deeds indeed, but know that I have not broken any of the Sacred Laws."

McCoy gave the lieutenant a bemused smile, enjoying this little show. "Okay, I'll bite. What's your excuse?"

The man collected himself and stared intently at McCoy for a moment. Jack sighed, not needing this dramatic pause, but finally the man spoke.

"I am one of those protecting the Ringbearer on his quest to dread Mordor. He was wounded on his way to Rivendell, and the great Elrond sent me in search of medicines to aid his healing. I wandered over hill and vale, and soon found myself in this strange land. By great luck, however, I was approached by a man with many medicines who was willing to help."

Another flip of the file. "That would be Gustavio Ramirez, correct? So you weren't buying heroin off him for another fix..."

"Only the greatest fix that needs mending: the wounds of the ringbearer!" His eyes widened artfully, and he managed to seem even more regal for a moment. Lennie broke the scene by yawning loudly.

"You think me a deviant, but I needed an opiate to aid with the removal of the Nazgul's metal."

Van Buren stepped in. "Look, I gotta pick my son up from soccer in an hour. Let's speed this along. Gustavio cornered you in Harlem and offered you some smack, you took it, and when he asked for payment you killed him."

"Nay, good lady!" he said, nervously twirling a tendril of platinum hair. "I offered him one of my daggers in return for such medicines, but he refused, asking for something called 'cash.' I promised to return and quest for this item once I'd brought the opiate to Elrond, but he refused. Then he became increasingly agitated, and began spewing forth such foul language as I had ne'er heard before. I feared he was beginning an invocation, and realized that he might be an agent of Saurumon. I did for the good of the realm, and removed his evil presence from our world."

"According to his girlfriend, he began demanding money in Spanish, and when she blinked, you had shot him." Lennie picked up the intricately craved bow and a plastic bag with half a bloody arrow in it. "With these?"

Legolas nodded. "Yes, that is my weapon, though I know not of this 'Spanish' you speak of. I then returned to the woods in search of my home, but what I thought was the entrance was blocked by a hideous orc-goblin, surely sent by Saurumon to avenge his servant's death."

Green rolled his eyes. "I see where this is going. You found a bum under the 60th Street bridge, and you thought he was a big bad troll trying to keep you from your quest."

Legolas heaved a sigh of relief, glad that someone understood his situation. "Of course! This beast was covered in filth and garbage, and smelled as if he hadn't bathed in months. I suspected at first that it was Aragorn, but he had not the amulet of Arwen around his neck, so I knew him for an Uruk-hai. His thick girth and black skin gave him away immediately."

Green started to stand up, but Van Buren headed him off and pushed him out of the interrogation room.

McCoy simply sat, chuckling to himself before standing up. "You were right, Anita. This guy's half-baked. But he just confessed to all the crimes, so I say book him. Let Skoda and Abby hash out what should be done with him. I have to pick up my tux for the Mayor's banquet tonight."

Lennie promptly unlocked the cuffs and began dragging Legolas out of the room, who started screaming "Fainu nillo! You will doom our world! I am a Prince, you sons of Balrocs!"

Van Buren shook her head as everyone left and murmured, "Weird about the ears, though." She shrugged and pulled the door closed behind her, searching her pockets for the keys to the minivan.    

Back To The Index

Backstage At The VMAs

"I was in the group dressing room," Johnny said portentously, "and I found this." With a flourish, he produced a strange garment.

It was silvery. It was shimmery. It was filmy. It had a weird jagged hemline. "And I want to know which of you it belongs to, right now. Because I can spin babies and public groping with Lenny Kravitz and space trips and stalking your ex-girlfriend"—Justin squeaked indignantly—"but this magical creature bullshit is going to really test my patience. and my media contacts."

There was silence, and then everyone turned in JC's direction. "Hey, don't look at me, cat," he said. "I'll wear a lot of things, but I wouldn't be caught dead in handkerchief points."

"What do you mean, magical?" said Justin.

"Watch this." Johnny reached for JC's lighter, which had the range and directional capabilities of a flame-thrower.

"Oooh, let me!" cried Lance.

"Pyromaniac," Justin muttered. "Think I'm crazy?" But he leaned forward with the rest of them as Lance applied the flame to the garment's sleeve. The flame turned hot pink and then a brilliant blue, and there was a flash of blinding white light. When their vision had cleared, everyone could see that Lance's hair was standing even more wildly on end than usual, and his eyebrows were slightly singed. But the garment was completely untouched, the fringe on the sleeve's edge merely fluttering in the hot breeze.

"Okay, that was cool," Chris said. Johnny turned a speculative eye on him.

"Think so, Kirkpatrick? You're the one with the high voice. How about we take a closer look at those pointy ears of yours?"

Chris held up his hands. "Hey. It's not me, dude. I'm scared of heights, remember? and I have sex with women." Lance snorted, and Chris hastily added, "most of the time." Lance snorted again. "Sometimes, okay? fuck off."

"Maybe it's a costume," said Justin. "For that Iron Maiden retrospective tribute thingy. Maybe they have dancers."

"Flameproofing might be useful," Joey agreed. "But those MTV assholes are way too cheap to go this far."

"Check the tag," JC said.

"Tag?" Johnny said skeptically. But they all crowded around and peered as he flipped the gauzy collar inside out. Sure enough, there was a tag. "Rivendell Rags. All Elvish Manufacture," Lance read. "Hey, there's something written on it. With a purple Sharpie, it looks like." Johnny snatched it up close to his eyes.

"M. A. R," he spelled out. "S? H." He paused. "Marshall. You've got to be kidding."

Joey stared thoughtfully into space. "Well, it does kind of make sense with the pale skin. And the lyrical skills. And the sensitive, yet sinister mien." He focused his eyes on the rest of them. "What? I read."

"What was it doing in 'nsync's dressing room?" Johnny said. "That's what I'd like to know."

"Hey, I wasn't even in our dressing room," Chris said. "Justin locked himself in there to meditate."

He turned on Justin, who was spluttering and blushing, and screeched, "Timberlake, no way! if you've fucked Eminem, I owe JC twenty bucks, and it's coming out of your hide, man, because I bet him I'd get there first."

"We just talked, okay?" Justin said hotly. "He's a very spiritual person."

"Obviously," said Lance.

"To hell with his spirit," Chris muttered. "I intended to get nasty with his magical ass."    

Back To The Index

What I'm going to tell you right now will most likely change the way you look at me...forever."

Ted announced solemnly.

"Let me guess. You asked someone to come home with you, and you weren't rejected!" Brian smirked.

"This is serious, Brian!" Ted said.

"Well, what is it, honey?" Emmet frowned, concerned.

"Viagra doesn't help you get it up anymore!" Justin mocked.

"Shut up, you little brat!" Mikey snapped.

"C'mon! I don't have all night. Unlike the rest of you, I have better things to do with my time." Brian yawned.

"Please!" Melanie laughed dryly. "I wouldn't call picking up young fucks at Babylon 'better things to do'."

"It all depends on your perspective," Brian said and made a face. "And I'm not going to Babylon tonight."

"We have a date!" Justin said with enthusiasm.

"A date?" Lindsay raised an eyebrow and smiled sweetly at Brian.

"Wo-would all of you just shut SHUT UP!" Ted said, beginning to stutter. "I called you all here tonight because I have to tell you the truth about me!"

Everyone looked at him silently and waited.

"I'm an elf."

"A what?" Came the unison from Mikey and Emmet.

Brian rolled his eyes. "Thanks for wasting my precious time." He picked up his jacket and stood up.

He motioned for Justin to follow.

"Okay, Ted...I think you need to repeat what you just said." Melanie placed a hand on his forehead.

"I don't think he has a fever."

"Teddy, honey...are you feeling okay?" Emmet jumped on the couch next to Ted.

"I'm sure he's fine," Brian called from the door. "Just needs to lay off the drugs!"

"Look!" Mikey gasped. "His ears do look kinda pointy."

"Great," Brian said dryly. "Why don't you all fuck him. And take lots of pictures."

"An elfish-fuck-fest!" Justin grinned.

And Brian pulled him out the door by the ear, which was not pointy.  

Back To The Index

Bad Magic

"Jackie, look what I found! It's the thirteen talisman!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Jade. There are only twelve talismans, one for each sign of the zodiac. You know that."

Jade pouted and insisted, "Then YOU tell me what this is."

Jackie took the small disk from her hand. It certainly looked like a talisman, but what was that pointy-eared creature pictured on it? And the character on the other side, he didn't recognize it...

The object suddenly began to glow. Instantly Jackie sensed he was growing smaller and his ears began to tingle. He could tell from Jade's horrified expression that the situation was not at all a good one.

"Ai-yah!" Uncle picked that exact moment to come into the room. "Elf! Bad magic! Bad, bad magic!" Uncle whipped out a charm that looked like a carrot wrapped in tinsel. "Evil demon, go away quickly," he began chanting in Cantonese.

"Uncle, stop! It's me, J—" but before he could finish, Jackie felt the world swirl around him as Uncle's chi spell banished him into another dimension.

"Ow!" he exclaimed as he backed into a very large tree.

"Stupid elf," the tree grumbled. "Watch where you're going, would you?"

"Aaaaah!" Jackie screamed and ran for the hills, muttering "bad day bad day bad day" under his breath every step of the way.    

Back To The Index

Explanations

"Aw, Benny! I can't believe this," Ray moaned, looking down at the ruins of yet another Armani. "Look at you! You're not even smudged. Sometimes I think you're not human or something."

Fraser looked away uncomfortably and scratched his eyebrow with a thumbnail. "Well, now that you bring it up, Ray..."

"What? You're finally gonna admit you're an alien from the planet Scotchguard?"

"Now that's just silly, Ray. I'm an elf."

Ray blinked. "That explains a lot, somehow. Wait'll I tell Frannie!" He paused. "Why don't you have pointed ears?"

Fraser looked even more uncomfortable. "They weren't regulation, Ray."

"Ah."

Back To The Index

Justin was already in the back of the SUV when he realized he'd left his cell-phone behind in the studio. He thought about just leaving it, sending someone back to get it in the morning, but he'd managed to have this number for quite a while and the last thing he needed was some janitor selling it to a radio station.

With a sigh, he slapped Eric on the shoulder. "Dude, I have to run back. Can you wait a few?"

"Sure, man."

The studio was empty and dark, but the guard at the front desk let him in with a sleepy nod.

The 'tics were all long gone, and the only remaining engineer had walked out behind him a few minutes ago. Still, pale light spilled out from under the studio door.

"Hey," he said, knocking softly as he opened the door. "I left my phone..."

Nelly didn't see him at first. His trademark Nike headband was laying on the board and he had his head down, rubbing tiredly at both his ears. Justin couldn't tell in the dim light, but he thought there was something strange about Nelly's ears.

"Um..." he said, but Nelly looked up, pinning him with dark eyes.

"Hey, Dirty," he said. "What you need?"

"I left my phone," Justin answered, moving into the room and grabbing the phone off the chair next to Nelly. From there, he could see the ears clearly. They were pointed and strange, sorta like Spock. Or, well, that black Vulcan guy from the other show. "What's up with your ears, man?"

Nelly gave him a pained smile and looked away. "J, I'm an elf."

"An elf?" Justin shook his head and blinked his eyes, wondering if maybe he'd smoked too much weed earlier. "Like the Keebler elf? Or whats-his-name in Lord of the Rings?"

Nelly snorted. "That scrawny, white, pretty boy? He don't look nothin' like a real elf."

Justin stared at him for a moment and Nelly grinned, reaching out and pulling Justin in by his belt loops. "Not that I have anything against scrawny, white, pretty boys."

Justin grinned back and let himself be pulled in, straddled Nelly's lap and sat down. "Uh huh. Can I touch them?"

When Nelly just nodded, Justin reached out and touched the pointed tips of his ears. It was still weird, but kinda sexy too. "So do you have any special powers?"

Nelly laughed and shook his head. "Nah. Nothin' worth anything these days. Well, except," his eyes twinkled up at Justin mischievously, "an uncanny ability to rhyme and with a certain inflection, I can convince anyone to take off their clothes."

"You don't say?" Justin flipped open his phone and told Eric he'd be getting a ride back to the hotel from Nelly's driver and to go on back without him. Tossing the phone aside, he grabbed the edge of his t-shirt and fanned himself. "It's gettin' awfully hot in here."

Nelly grinned and leaned back. "Well, you better take off all your clothes then, Dirty."

Yeah, those ears were pretty damn sexy, Justin thought.  

Back To The Index

Not *that* kind of fey...

"So Benny," Ray said, when he finished the last slice of pizza, ignoring the reproaching looks Diefenbaker was giving him from the floor. Tonight was the night, and he needed his strength. He wasn't going to keep his sexual orientation a secret from Fraser any longer, and Fraser wasn't going to freak out. At least, he hoped he wasn't. He didn't think he was. Hell, most of the time he was convinced Fraser knew all ready, had known from the start. All that stuff about detective Armani, and 'like you, he's pretending to be someone he's not'. Fraser had him pegged. But he did seem sort of uncomfortable when it came to personal issues, especially anything relating to sexuality and attraction. Because Fraser was a very private person. Sometimes it made Ray wonder if Fraser wasn't keeping some things to himself, too. Well, tonight he was going to find out.

"So Benny, There's something I've been meaning to... I mean, you've probably noticed certain signs yourself, even... So I thought you and I, we don't... You know."

"We don't what, Ray?"

"We don't need to keep secrets from each other."

Fraser eyed him warily. "Is this about your sister again?"

"What? No! No it is not."

"Ah, well in that case, no. Of course not. Well," he conceded after a moment's thought, "there are certain matters pertaining to International Diplomatic relations which I have sworn to exercise discretion about, and also in my personal life there are those occasions when one is told more than one can in all honesty divulge, but in general—"

"That's not what I mean. I meant personal things." Fraser looked blank. "Things between men." If possible, Fraser looked even more blank. "Adult things." Ray gestured meaningfully.

Understanding started to dawn in Fraser's eyes. He licked his lips nervously. "You mean things that are... Kept secret from children?"

Vecchio frowned. "Well, I don't think I've heard anyone refer to it in quite that way before. I suppose you could put it that way, yeah." Ray started to wonder how Fraser had even found out there was such a thing as same-sex love, probably through some library book he hadn't been supposed to read. "I guess growing up near the polar circle you're not going to be exposed to a lot of..." Was Fraser blushing? "Hey, I didn't mean you were backwards, or anything."

"It's not that, Ray. To the contrary, I found out about it much earlier than any *human* kid—"

Some days, Ray wished Fraser's grandmother was around so he could punch her. To make her grandson feel less than a person because of his feelings —something snapped inside him. "Fraser, *you're* human!"

"Ray, I kind of doubt tha—"

As much as anybody. Possibly more!"

"Hmmm, I think you are laboring under a mis—"

"I don't know anybody as good, as kind, as caring as you!"

"It's very kind of you to say so, but I really—"

"just because you love men, it doesn't make you—"

"Just because I *WHAT*?"

Ray took a deep, shuddery breath and tried to calm down.

"Okay, so maybe this talk isn't quite going the way I had planned, okay?" He grinned at Fraser, who smiled back, so maybe he hadn't completely fucked up yet.

"And maybe this is going a bit fast. But Fraser, really," he implored, "you don't have to be ashamed of it. It's okay. You're not the only one. In fact..." And after all this time it still took some effort to say it, to come out to somebody new. He ducked his head, thought better of it, caught Fraser's eye. "In fact, it might be something we have in common."

Fraser's eyebrows reached for his hairline.

"Ray, are you saying you're gay?"

Ray frowned. "You got a problem with that?"

"No! No. It's just. Oh."

"What, 'oh'?"

"Then you weren't asking about my...?"

"I wasn't asking about your what?"

Fraser sighed. "I must ask you to treat this information with the utmost discretion." Fraser had that stern look he got when something was really serious. Ray felt his gut knot up, like a snakepit full of boa constrictors. He nodded, gesturing for Fraser to go on.

Fraser looked Ray square in the eye. "Ray, you were thinking of fairies. I am an *elf*."

Ray crossed his arms across his chest. "And that is different how?"

"Well, fairy's have wings—"

"Ha, ha. This fairy doesn't."

"—or alternatively have sex with other men, whereas I am, as I said, an elf."

"What with pointy ears and shit?"

Fraser chuckled. "No, no, no Ray. I'm not *that* kind of elf, obviously. I work in Santa's workshop."

Ray's jaw dropped.

Fraser looked down. "Or at least, I used to, before the privatisation. Now I am stationed with the RCMP for eleven months out of the year, excepting the winter holidays when I," his voice hitched, "am part of the elite 'wrap 'em and stack 'em' team, where I am praised for my efficiency."

"Before the privatisation?" Ray wasn't sure he'd heard that right. In fact, Ray wasn't sure anything was right.

"Oh, before the privatisation I worked in the toy workshop most of the year, and come December, we'd be out there with the sled, traversing the rooftops." Fraser looked wistful in that way that could make his eyes light up with the memory of snow, and north and sleds, at the same moment his heart was breaking. It was scary. Almost as scary as the weird *sense* this was starting to make. "Of course, that was before the boss started importing the toys from Taiwan, and then when they signed that exclusive contract with that commercial courier company... Ray? Ray, Ray, *Ray*!"

Ray's eyes focused again, on sweet, concerned Mountie face, mere inches from his own. Fraser smiled apologetically.

"I realise this is a lot to take in."

"You bet it is." His voice wasn't quite steady.

"It's why we try to keep a low profile. We realise how important the idea of presents being hand-crafted with love and attention for each person is, even if the boss seems to have forgotten it."

Thinking he was either going to wake up and realise it was a dream, or not wake up and end up institutionalised, Ray decided to make the most of it. He leaned forward and touched his mouth to Benny's.

Who kissed back.

After long minutes, Ray slid his arms around Fraser's back, and patted the flat between his shoulderblades.

"Ray, what are you doing?" Fraser said. It came out rather muffled, because he hadn't stopped kissing Ray.

Ray broke the kiss to get a good look at Fraser's face. A little flushed, and a lot smiling.

"I don't feel any wings," he said.

"Then I'll just have to take you to heaven some other way," Fraser said, and kissed him again.  

Back To The Index

Draco Malfoy and the Dirty Little Secret

"Draco, there is something I must tell you." Lucius Malfoy regarded his son seriously.  "You are old enough to know your heritage."

"I know my heritage," Draco said.  "I'm a Malfoy. I can trace my lineage back 30 generations. "

Lucius looked increasingly uncomfortable.  "Yes, well, as to that..."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"You are, indeed, a Malfoy.  But..." Lucius hesitated, not meeting Draco's eyes. "You are also an elf."

"I'm a WHAT?"

"You are the product of a liason between myself and Slinky the house elf."

Draco stared.  "You fucked a HOUSE ELF?"

"No, Draco," Lucius said, looking dignified.  "I made love to a house elf."

"But... my mother... Narcissa..."

"Window dressing.  To keep our forbidden love secret from the world."

Draco opened his mouth, shut it again, and sat down hard.

"You needn't worry, Draco.  I had Slinky killed shortly after your birth.  Your secret is quite safe."

Draco's face, which had been becoming steadily redder, turned a nasty shade of green.  "You fucked a house elf, and then you killed it?"

Lucius sighed.  "You know how females are. Provide you with an heir and suddenly they think certain... oral favors... are no longer required of them..."

Draco choked, and kept choking.

"I see I have given you a lot to think about," Lucius said gravely.  "I shall leave you to ponder." He laid a hand on Draco's shoulder.  "Don't let it trouble you too much, boy. There's only a slight chance you'll develop elven characteristics when you turn 18. And a good glamour charm can usually hide most of those."  He turned to leave, ignoring the desperate coughing sounds coming from the bed.

Back To The Index

"Sydney, do you remember that paper I showed Sloane?"

"The one you were all stupid and secret about?"

"Yes. You'll need to know the contents for our next mission."

"And?" She looked closer. "The paper said you got plastic surgery on your ears?"

"Sark is not the name I was born with. I am Valandil of Mirkwood."

"Huh." She stared at him for a long time. "Okay."

"What did you think it said?"

"I thought it was a paternity test. I was getting ready to send congratulatory cigars to Sloane."

So that was how to say "stupid bitch" in Elvish.    

Back To The Index

Shane pulled Vic into Striketeam headquarters. "Listen, man, I can't take it anymore."

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'? We killed a cop!"

"No, we didn't."

"Don't give me that bullshit about Twotone—"

"No, dickhead, I mean—well, I guess technically he was a cop, but he wasn't human. We had to take him out."

"Wasn't human—is this some sort of a joke? You haven't—jesus, Vic, you haven't been checking out that crank we picked up the other night, have you?"

"Of course not, idiot. I'm telling you, Terry wasn't human. He was an elf."

"An elf."

"That's right."

"Right, Terry was an elf, and I suppose Aceveda's a vampire, and of course Dutch must be an alien."

"No, dipshit, that's Lemonhead's gig. Although you might be right about Aceveda—nah, he's out in the sun all the time." Vic ran his hand over the back of his head. "The point is, Terry's an elf, and as such he's not actually dead. Lemonhead's got a sensor that's picked him up, and Ronnie's gotten a special strike team of Uruk-Hai put together. We're heading to the Hollow Hills, and we're going to take him down, for good this time."

"And what's my role in this grand adventure?" Shane asked sarcastically.

"Ronnie and I are going, and you and Lemonhead are holding down the fort. Aceveda thinks we're taking some time to look for Corrine and the kids, so you two just have to keep it together while we're gone—no strippers this time, you hear me?"

"She was a dancer, Vic."

"Yeah, right. Listen, I've got to go. I'll keep you up to speed."

"Sure, sure, thanks." Shane turned back to his solitaire game. Once the door closed, he spoke up to the empty room. "Okay, where's the camera? Or did you just get it on tape? Whose idea was it, anyway?"

No answer.

"Fine, I can wait."

A minute later, Lemonhead walked in. "You talk to Vic?"

"Yeah, I talked to Vic."

"Cool. I am so fucking hot in this thing. Let me just lock the door—great. Time to get comfortable."

Shane stared as his friend and partner turned and stripped out of his skin like it was a jumpsuit, revealing something that resembled a stick figure crowned by a small, tart, citrus fruit.

"Shane? Shane? Shit, man, I thought you said you talked to Vic!"

Shane, having fainted, made no response.

"Shit, I guess I'd better reconsider telling Tigre," Lemonhead muttered.  

Back To The Index

"Lex, he can first stab an orc in the eye with an arrow then shoot the same arrow and kill another orc in 5 seconds."

"So? He's an amateur, Clark"

"So you're saying *you* could stab an orc and kill another one with the same arrow in 5 sec?"

"..."

"So?"

"..."

"Then admit it, you're not an elf, Lex."

"But..."

"There's no *but* here, Lex."

"*But* I could do the same with a foil. Even more quickly."

"Ok, let's admit that. Do you want me to lick your ears?"

"What? No!"

"Have you ever seen red-haired elves?"

"No, but..."

\"Then you're not an elf."

"But I *do* have a cerulean blue dick!"

"Post-lollipop-blow-job results don't count."

*sulk*

"Oh, come on, Lex, so ok he's hot sex on toast, but you'll still be the Sexy for me."

"Really?"

"Really. Now, can we watch the movie?"  

Back To The Index

"Brian?" Dom's voice rumbled against Brian's neck.

"Yeah, Dom?" Brian kept his eyes closed, not entirely ready to be awake.

"I have to tell you something." Brian could feel the tension in the large body behind him.

"You leaving me for another woman?" Brian asked, hoping to defuse the tension. A hot gust of air, that made his whole body tighten with an entirely different tension, was his only answer. "Okay, man. Spill it."

Brian tried to turn over, wanting to see Dom's eyes, but found himself securely held.

"Dom?"

"You've got to promise not to..." Dom's voice trailed off and his grip on Brian tightened.

"Dom, it's okay." Brian squeezed the arms that held him. "Whatever it is, I promise."

"Brian," a soft noise, punctuated by a firm kiss.

Seconds ticked by and then, "I'm an Elf."

Back To The Index

"Stuart? Are you wearing makeup?"

"I don't have time for this. Later, Vince, I promise."

"Oh no, you don't. You're shining like mother of pearl. What's going on?

"If you must know, you nosy bastard, it's Moonglow.

"I knew it was makeup! Stuart, I know you don't like being thirty, but you've got to grow old with some grace."

"The glow's natural, you idiot. I've just dropped the glamour for a moment because I can't concentrate on that *and* on what to wear tonight!"

"Bollocks. You never have to concentrate on what to wear. What's really going on? Come on, you can tell me. Have you got into something kinky?"

"Vince, I'm Fae."

"Of course you are. Known that for years, but what's *this* about?"

"No, you twat. Fae. One of the Fair Folk. You, know The Sidhe. Unseelie to be precise. It's the hair that gives me away, really, and the eyes. Well, that and the fact that I've gone into advertising."

"Stuart, I mean it! Do I have to call..."

"Vince, you stupid cunt, I'm coming out to you! You were going to find out sooner or later. The clubs are just mad with Fae these days. In fact, it's getting damned hard to find a real human to fuck.  Simply everyone's slumming now, and they're not being careful either, especially the Seelie. Give them any kind of brew and they're fine but they've got no head for pharmaceuticals! We're going to get caught out soon, and there'll be hell to pay."

"Pharmaceuticals? Fuck! Fuckin' Anita, I'll kill her. What have you been taking? Let me see your eyes, Stuart."  

Back To The Index

How embarrassing. How convenient.

Chloe bit her lip to stifle the giggles that threatened to burst out of her. It wasn't wrong of Chloe to lock them in, right? The Torch stationery cupboard might not have been the most romantic place on earth, but with the amount of hours Lana had been working recently, Chloe would take any chance she got for some time alone. Chloe was just calculating exactly *how* long it had been when Lana said,

"Chloe, could I get by you?"

Not if I have anything to do with it, thought Chloe. "We're kind of locked in, sweetie," she said aloud.

It wasn't really a lie. They *were*.

"You shut the door?" Lana rolled dismayed eyes at Chloe. "I told you we should have gotten that fixed."

"Well, at least it's not too dark," said Chloe. She moved closer to Lana and took her hand. "I can still see your face."

Lana smiled, pretty and pleased.

Huh. "Wait. There's no light in here. How *come* I can see your face?"

Lana's smile faltered a little.

"Lana! You're glowing!" Somewhere in Chloe's head, a little voice wondered why she always picked the mutants. "It must be the meteor rocks!"

Lana looked in turns shifty, bashful, sneezy, grumpy and Doc. "No, Chloe. I'm...I'm an elf."

Oh. Okay.  "Is that why we always have to do it with the lights on?"  

Back To The Index

Cage disabled the computer's phone function and tossed it onto the table, flipping it the bird. If that damn guy didn't stop calling... How it'd gone from "just do this one thing" to "bend over for the US government" he had no idea, but if they wanted his help, they'd damn well get it in his time.

Couldn't hurt to help out, though. It was hard to find truly challenging, life-risking hobbies in this day and age. Besides, with perqs like these... He took a long swig of beer as well-manicured hands reached around his chest to caress his tattooed glamour-spells.

"Anything important, Xander?"

Yeah, perqs like these didn't hurt. "Business," he told her with a smile. "It'll wait."

"That's good," she told him huskily, "because I won't."

He chuckled as he grabbed her and ran for the bed. It was a long time since he'd had this much fun.

Besides, so long as everyone was busy not knowing he was a secret agent, he'd never have to worry about keeping them not knowing he was an Elf.

Back To The Index

"Pacey, I have something to tell you."

"Joey, I'm late for something."

"I'm an elf." Joey beamed her patented tongue-between-her-teeth grin.

"Uh-huh." Pacey didn't seem very impressed.

"Don't you get it? I'm ineffably beautiful. Intelligent and wise. Immortal." Time for the death-by-laser stare. Gotcha.

Or maybe not. "Look, Jen and I have decided to revive our aborted fuckbuddies agreement, only we're going to carry through this time, so if you'll excuse me?"

"But Pacey, I'm beautiful and immortal. I can do magic!"

Pacey turned on his way out the door. "Jo, do the world a favor and get over yourself."

Back To The Index

Elfwing

"So, Bruce. Have you ever wondered just how I was able to do that quadruple somersault?"

"I never once wondered. I knew what you were from the moment I first saw you."

Dick rolled his eyes. "You know, just once, you could let me actually make a grand revelation."

"I could, I suppose. If you have any others on hand."

"Well, there was that weekend in Barbados with J'onn, but I suppose you know all about that, too."

Batman actually looked up. "J'onn, the Martian Manhunter?"

An impish, no, an elvish, grin crept over Dick's face. "Well, you know, only so many people can really scamper well."

"Scamper. You spent a weekend scampering?" Batman's expression went from a glower to a glare.

"Hey, I had to do something since I gave up the boots."

Batman almost chuckled, staring up at the ceiling of the cave. "For what it's worth, I liked the boots.  And the shorts."

Dick raised an eyebrow. "So...how do you feel about ears?"

Batman leaned forward and pushed Dick's hair back, tracing one point with his fingertip. "I always felt that you should keep yours decently covered. In public, anyway."

"How about in caves filled with other pointy-eared creatures?"

Eyes narrowed behind the cowl. "I don't want to see anything of yours exposed while I'm working."

Dick sighed and pulled back with a shrug. "Too bad. Aerial somersaults aren't all my kind has a special gift for."

Batman leaned against the console, a patented lean from the offices of Bruce Wayne. "The cowl comes off, you know."

"I've heard rumors to that effect. Not sure I believe them. I might need proof. Which means repeat experimentation."

"You've proven yourself to be resourceful. Not to mention unnaturally long-lived."

"True. I should probably start soon, though."

"You should probably start ten minutes ago. Or possibly five years."

"Ah. Well, then." Dick leaned forward, fingers slipping underneath Batman's cowl.

"Wait." Bruce glanced up toward the Batcave entrance, as if to make sure no one was watching. "Get the boots."    

Back To The Index

Dark Paths

Luke glanced over as Leia walked over. She looked beautiful — as always — but his thoughts and heart were in so much turmoil that the usual calming affect of her presence barely seemed to register. As she sat down beside him, he tried to control the mental swirl lest she catch too much of their meaning.

He knew, being who she was, that she would feel some of it, and he was right. He'd barely told her who he was — who his father was, and she was already making the connections.

Luke hated to spin her world upside-down, as his own had been, but it seemed his Force-held shields were strong. Strong enough, at any rate. He let the simple fact of their relation slip through, let it distract her, to hide the other thing his father had told him.

"You're not fully human, Luke," Darth Vader's voice breathed in his mind. "I'm an elf, as my father before me, given to the human Shmi to raise as her own."

Luke turned his head to look at the stars above Endor.

What the fuck was an 'elf'?  

Back To The Index

"I say, Jeeves, there is something deuced peculiar going on here."

"Sir?"

I gave the good and faithful servant as stern a look as I could muster, and we Woosters are masters of mustering. "Your ears, Jeeves."

"Yes, sir."

"They have somehow, and I'm dashed if I can understand it, turned pointy. I never took you for the type to play practical jokes."

"No, sir. If I may be permitted to explain—"

"I'm counting on that."

"I'm an elf, sir."

I looked. I looked again. I looked more closely. I have never seen Jeeves pie-eyed, but I am, if I may say so, a fairly good judge of when a man has imbibed to excess, and he showed no signs of it.

What he did show signs of were two rather pointy aural appendages that protruded through his hair.

"A what?"

"An elf, sir."

"Oh. Ah."

"A refugee from fairy lands forlorn, one might say, sir."

"Ah." I yearned for a stiffish drink, but clearly there was an important matter to be investigated first.  "Jeeves."

"Yes, sir?"

"Would you consider wearing a hat?"

"Yes, sir. This is merely temporary, sir. A forthcoming realignment of the stars should take care of it."

"Very well," I said. "Carry on, Jeeves."    

Back To The Index

Basking in the afterglow, Harper pulled a few braids back and went to nuzzle a pointy ear.

Ubers had a lot of interesting differences, he had noticed. Muscle definition, arm spikes, and seriously big-or maybe that was just Tyr. What Harper had not noticed was the pointy ears. On any uber. Ever.

Harper couldn't resist.

"Um, Tyr, is there maybe something else in your highly superior genetics that I should maybe know about?"

"If I tell you will I be forced to listen to comments about tree dwelling bakers or noble blond archers?"

"Um, no?"

"We'll talk in the morning."

Back To The Index

Geoffrey came down to breakfast with the woolly knitted hat he recieved for Christmas wedged right down over his ears. Mrs Wainthropp eyed beadily him over the bacon and fried eggs for a moment and sighed.

"Geoffrey, dear. Please take your hat off at the table."

Geoffrey shook his head. "I can't Mrs. W"

"And why not?" she enquired as she bustled around the table and pulled it off and froze. Sticking out through Geoffrey's hair were a pair of large pointy ears.

He sighed. "I woke up this morning and there they were! I look like a poncy elf!"

Mr Wainthropp looked up from behind his newspaper. "There's nowt wrong with elves, m'lad. Fine folk they are. Graceful and strong."

Geoffrey sulked, the hat jammed back into place over his ears. "I just don't see where they came from."

Mrs Wainthropp sat back down heavily. "Did you have any tall blond relations?"

Geoffrey thought for a moment. "Well, there was Uncle Andrew, I didn't see him very often though. Mom didn't like him."

Mr Wainthropp shut the newspaper and reached for his tea. "Well, there you are lad. It obviously runs in the family."

"But I don't want it too! I want them to go away."

Mrs Wainthropp sighed. "I'll knit you some more hats and we'll see if they go away."  

Back To The Index

Mal shut his eyes and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. When he looked up, Jayne was still sitting there with his arms crossed, just glowering. "You want to explain to me how that is?"

With a grunt, Jayne said, "'m an elf."

Zoe failed to stifle a smirk as she hit the intercom button. "Could everyone come to the galley? Jayne's got something to tell us."

"Don't matter none if you believe me 'r not - I'm an elf, just like my pappy before me." Jayne uncrossed his arms and held up one hand. As he touched the tip of each finger, he counted off, "Me, my pappy, my grandpappy, *his* pappy, and, uh...." Jayne ran out of fingers, and he seemed at a loss for how to continue.

Simon and River entered the galley just after Kaylee, but Simon didn't even make it all the way into the room before his jaw dropped open and his eyes widened comically. He pointed at Jayne and stammered, "You're ... What are you *wearing*?"

Jayne lifted his chin proudly and stated, "Them's my elf duds."

Simon moved very slowly, so as not to startle Jayne (or any other elves that might be hiding in the galley), and asked, "And you're wearing 'elf duds' why?"

Mal gritted his teeth and said simply, "He's an elf."

Wash grinned and slapped Jayne's shoulder. "Go on, tell 'em, Jayne!"

Half the crew experienced a moment of deja vu as Jayne said, "'m an elf." He went on to explain, "How'd you think I got such good aim?"

Simon gave an exaggerated nod and said, "I see. So that's why your guns look like tree branches. It all makes perfect sense, now."

Jayne gave Simon an annoyed look as Wash chimed in with, "And that's why he's so light on his feet, too. You should hear him sing - it's magical." Wash waved his hands through the air, in an attempt to visualize the effects of magical singing.

"T'ain't magical - it's just Elf-like," Jayne snorted.

Wash gave an exaggerated wink and said, "and you know what *else* is Elf-like?"

Mal cut him off with a grimace. "That's enough. There'll be no more talk of Elf-like anything. Jayne -you can wear that ... those clothes 'round the ship but don't be thinkin' you can go on jobs looking like that."

Jayne put on his best "Aw, Mal!" face and opened his mouth to say so, but Mal raised his hand for silence and continued his instructions.

"For the rest of you, I don't expect things to change just because we got us an elf on board. Jayne, if you want lembas, it's coming out of your share." Mal left the galley muttering quietly in Chinese.

Simon had moved closer to Jayne during all this, and he reached out one hand to lightly touch a pointed ear. "I think," he began, then cleared his throat. "I think you should come to the infirmary for a full examination."

Everyone else turned to stare at Simon, who immediately blushed and said, "Because of the ... So I can... In case you get sick later, so we'll have a baseline for, uhm, comparison."

Zoe and Wash winked at each other. Kaylee and River giggled. Book and Inara merely shook their heads.

Simon blushed, Jayne leered, and things were soon back to normal aboard Serenity.  

Back To The Index

Fuck. They came back. After all that happened when Mary Beth came to town, probably the best he can hope for is Zeke hitting him in the eyeball with his Special Brand, while Delilah holds him down.

Zeke corners you in the stalls of the men's room and shoves his hand down your pants, sucking on your tongue. He stops, staring. "Casey? What the fuck happened to your ears?"

"Um. They got pointy?"

"Don't give me that. Fuck. What happened, they decide to match the rest of your face?"

"Um."

"Fuck it. You start craving water, then I'll kill you."  

Back To The Index

When Evolution Attacks

"Somebody on this boat is an elf."

Utter silence met Captain Bridger's announcement. Then, as one, the crew turned their attention to the tall, thin, blond teenager lounging against the dolphin tank. He glared back at them all and snapped his gum.

"You people all read too much Tolkien as kids," he declared. They continued to stare. He narrowed his eyes and enunciated clearly, "Go. To. Hell."

"It's not Lucas," Bridger said, shooting the teen a quelling look.

"May I ask who it is, sir?" Lt. Commander Katherine Hitchcock continued to stand at attention as every head in the room swivelled toward her and every eye noted her coloring and slim, athletic build.

"Well, actually, he sort of wanted to make the announcement himself," Bridger stalled, and the crew began shooting each other looks, checking less than subtly for pointy ears and fine features. Most eyes had settled on Lt. Tim O'Neill when there was a huge splash from the dolphin tank and they all turned to see Darwin with his head above the water, eternal dolphin smile now emphasized by, well....

Pointed ears.

"Darwin elf!" he announced proudly.

Silence fell again, more profound than the first. And then Lucas, who had lost his gum when his jaw dropped at the sight of the dolphin's ears, found his voice once more. It was, not surprisingly, sarcastic.

"I really love the curly-toed boot on your tail there, Darwin. Very nice touch. But if you tell me you want me to re-program the vocorder to translate Elfin, I'm feeding you guppies for a week."

Back To The Index

One Ring to Bind Them

Gimli squinted through the bright Las Vegas sunshine reflecting off the sign that rose high above them.

"Graceland Wedding Chapel, it says. Are you certain this is what the lady Arwen wished for . . . Your Majesty?"

"Yes, I'm quite certain," Aragorn said, glaring at his companion. "And don't think I'm unaware of the complete and utter mockery in your voice every time you say 'your majesty.'"

The dwarf chuckled. "My apologies, Strider. Come, let's go inside and join your lady."

As they neared the open door to the chapel, angry words from Aragorn's bride-to-be could be heard from within.

"...telling you that we have a signed contract! I don't care how far you had to fly on your broomsticks this morning; you're just going to have to wait your turn!"

Aragorn and Gimli entered the chapel to see a pale young woman dressed in a long robe, standing toe to toe with Arwen. To the young woman's left and right were two men, similarly robed: a glowering older man and a bespectacled youth, both holding what appeared to be wands in their hands.

"And I'm telling you that we also have a signed contract which specifies this exact time. Do you have any idea what it took to get him," - and here the chestnut haired woman indicated not the younger man, as Aragorn had expected, but the one with the hawkish visage, "out of his bloody dungeon? I am not going back until this blasted ceremony has taken place!"

"Perhaps this may persuade you where words have not," Arwen said frostily, drawing a bow and arrow from beneath her cloak.

Both of the men flanking the young woman drew closer, and all three now held wands pointed dangerously at his betrothed. This was getting out of hand. Before Aragorn could step into the fray, however, a stranger in white patent leather shoes, who looked strangely like a cross between Ian McKellen and the late Richard Harris, came bustling out of the back room, his hands thrown up in a manner of supplication.

"Ladies! Gentlemen! Do you really think that this is what the King would have liked to see?"

Gimli frowned and nudged Aragorn. "You're right here. Why doesn't he just ask you?"

"Different king, I think," whispered Aragorn.

The old man beamed. "I have a wonderful solution to this unfortunate scheduling error that I think will please everyone. What would you say to a double ceremony?"

The strangers exchanged looks. The scowling black-haired man stepped forward. "And would this oh-so-wonderful solution include a refund of some of your ridiculous Muggle money?"

"Of course, sir! And to make your special day even more joyous, I've arranged for two very special friends of yours to preside over today's ceremony!" With this, he turned toward the front of the chapel and waved to two shadowy figures who were peeking out from behind the curtains. "Come, my dears!"

Out they walked - one tall with long blond hair and one only half of Gimli's height - both wearing sunglasses and sequined white jumpsuits.

"Dobby?" the young woman gasped.

"Legolas!" Arwen moaned.

"Greetings, my friends," Legolas said. "Dobby and I felt it was fitting on this auspicious occasion to share a secret known only to . . . "

"Dobby wants to help friends Miss Hermione and Professor Snape marry, Harry Potter!"

"Yes, yes, I was getting to that, Dobby. I, too, wanted to be a part of the nuptials of my own dear friends... and to share a secret kept hidden lo these many years." He smiled as his small companion bounced up and down on the makeshift stage in glee. "Would you like to tell them?"

"Oh, yes please! Master Legolas and Dobby is . . . " he paused for effect, "We is not Elves!"

"Not elves?"

"No," Legolas said. "We're . . . Elvis."

The old man smiled. "Isn't this nice? Now, where's that adorable little hobbit who said he was going to carry the rings? I could have sworn he was here a second ago."  

Back To The Index

SCENE: THE KITCHEN

NEIL: Everybody, everybody, listen up. I think we need to have a house meeting.

MIKE: So I said, is that hot apple sauce in your panties, or are you pleased to see me?

NEIL: Look, I don't want to get heavy or anything but, like, the landlord—

RICK: Neil, will you please! shut! *up!*  I'm trying to concentrate on my article for the Student Socialist Times.  I'm doing a shocking expose on how I went to a lecture last week, I made a special effort because it's a leap year this year, and nobody else turned up.

VYV: Right. I think it's time I told everybody that I'm an elf.

RICK: I expect it will be picked up by *The Times*, and it shall lead to a bloody revolution of poetry and light, and Cliff Richard — *Sir* Cliff! — will personally congratulate me on a brilliant piece of investigative journalism and—

MIKE: I don't suppose, Rick, that you had this year's timetable?

VYV: Yeah.  An elf.  How do you like *that*.  Look at my forehead.   Look at my ears.  Here, look at my feet.  I'm a bloody elf.  I'm six hundred and twenty years old.  I've smashed fourteen thousand eight hundred and ninety-seven beer bottles on my forehead.  Only an elf could do that.

RICK: Mike, shut up.  And I shall kneel before him, before Sir Cliff, and gaze up into his sunny benevolent smile.

NEIL: Guys, please, listen to me, this is like, really important.

MIKE: Neil, make us some tea, will you?  I've got a date at seven and I need to tell her I've already eaten.

VYV: I ran away from home because I couldn't take another bloody minute of poncy gits prancing around the hills playing flutes and harps.  It was bloody rubbish.  And elves don't have telly, either, or the Sex Pistols, or fish'n'chips, they're all bloody vegetarians.

RICK: Shut up, Vyvyan, you stupid little... bogie-head.  I don't know why you're complaining when we live in a fascist society devoid of anything resembling a functional education system.  I bet the elves don't have Margaret *bloody* Thatcher, do they? *Do they?*

NEIL: The landlord, guys, he's been around and he's hassling me and he wants us to like, pay the rent and stuff and I'm scared, guys, I'm really scared.

RICK: Neil, will you shut! up! I call a house meeting!  Who votes Neil should shut up?  Me!  Right, it's unanimous.  Shut up, Neil, you stupid smelly hippie.

MIKE: So that a) I don't have to buy her dinner, and b) so I can tell her I'm still hungry for love.

RICK: And Sir Cliff will touch me gently with his sword, once, twice, thrice, and say, "Rise, Sir Rick!" and I'll rise!  Rise!  Like the sun over the bloodied battlefield of the Revolution.

NEIL: And he was really, like, negative, and he said he'd take my guitar and everything.

RICK: And mark my words, hippies who *don't shut up* will be first against the wall when the revolution comes, oh, yes, I'll see to that, *Neil*.

VYV: That's utter bollocks, Neil, you stupid bastard.  He can't take your guitar.

NEIL: Oh, good, all right.

VYV: I traded it for two and a half crates of vodka last week.

RICK: And the Elves will be next, because they ate an entire bucket of vindaloo curry and blocked up the bloody toilet, *didn't they, Vyvyan?*  And then Margaret Thatcher!

MIKE: I guess that's why your mother called you Vyvyan with two Ys, then.

VYV: Two and a half crates of vodka!  From the back of a truck outside the paint factory.  Only an *elf* could drink all that and smash the bottles on his forehead after.

RICK: Oh, stop blubbering, Neil, and make us the bloody tea.  

Back To The Index

"Hey Bean," Orlando clapped a hand on Sean's shoulder and tweaked the nearest ear, "who'd you fuck in the wardobe to get the elf ears?"

Sean swore and cupped his ear. "You bastard. They're not fake. That hurt."

Orlando stopped dead. "You're fucking pulling my leg aren't you?"

"No. I've had them since I was born."

"Holy fuck." Orlando stared, "You gotta be shitting me. You have to be."

"What, you jealous that I'm the only real blonde elf on this set?"

"Probably the only one with an accent like that." Orlando hooted, "Can you imagine it? 'I am Sean Bean, Elf Prince of Sheffield.'"

"Oh, fuck you."    

Back To The Index

"Gisburne!" The rather familiar yell from the Sheriff rang through the castle of Nottingham.

Gisburne slunk into the room, perpetual hang-dog expression in place. "Yes, my lord?"

"My sources tell me Robin Hood and his men have robbed the taxes for the west of the shire. Again. When were you going to inform me of this?"

"I wasn't aware it had happened, my lord."

"Gisburne, your continued retainer here is hanging by a very short thread. Get it back, Gisburne, or I'll throw you in the cold iron cell again."

Gisburne blanched. "My lord, that's -"

The Sheriff snarled. "One more word, Gisburne, and I'll nail you up by those ears of yours."

"Yes, my lord." Gisburne ran out of the room, bumping into a serving maid as he did. She screamed as the contents of her tray went everywhere, the ale on it going all over Gisburne. He shook it out of his hair and stalked on his way.

The Sheriff sighed and picked up his pen, starting on the accounts again, then put it down again, muttering "And I thought they were supposed to be graceful."

Back To The Index

He tripped into the moonlit glade cautiously, head alertly tilted as he scanned the surrounding woods for onlookers. All was silent, the only sounds those of the nocturnal forest. The circle of mushrooms beckoned invitingly. For a moment of breathless wonder, the moonlight glinted pure silver on his spectacles; the next moment, Brad Crawford was gone. His thin-lipped, sadistic smirk lingered a mere fraction of a second before following the rest of him.

After another breathless moment, the silvan peace was broken by a rude snort.

"I *knew* someone who thought about trees and lichen that much couldn't be from Detroit," Schuldig muttered. "We should have guessed when he made me switch to silencers made from recycled tin."

"This is ridiculous." Nagi's fingers were beginning to twitch, signalling his irrepressible longing for an internet connection. He held up valiantly, merely tightening his already convulsive grip on his Palm Pilot. "Crawford can't hold a tune to save his life."

"God loves elves," said Farfarello in a thoughtful tone.

"Impish nectar-sipping elven sprites who spread joy and love wherever they may skip, sure," Schuldig drawled. "Elegantly aloof sidhe, creatures of stern and uncompromising light? You bet. Ice-cold, anal-retentive, murdering sadistic fay with assorted sexual kinks and violent control issues? Hey, whatever. But seriously, elves who never get up before noon, use up all the hot water while screeching the Moody Blues, leave beard stubble in the sink and toe-nail clippings in the living-room, and don't sit down to take a piss? Gotta tell you, I have serious doubts about those, buddy."

Farfarello looked dissappointed.

"What do you mean, sexual kinks?" Nagi inquired suspiciously. Schuldig and Farfarello ignored him. At times like these, it really sucked being the baby of the group.

After a while, he tried again. "So, Crawford's a fairy?"

Schuldig snickered. "Like we needed him to disappear in a cloud of pixie dust to realize *that*."  

Back To The Index

"What are you staring at, Mrs Bridges?"

"Well, Mr 'Udson, I've never seen..."

"Speak up, woman!"

"Your shoes, Mr 'Udson. They have..."

"Curly toes, aye. All elves have curly toed shoes."

"You're an elf, Mr 'Udson?"

"Certainly I'm an elf, Mrs Bridges. My John Thomas is blue, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, it is, Mr 'Udson. But I thought that was because you were Scottish. The cold, those kilts... It's a wonder the poor things don't just freeze and drop off."

"Come over here, Mrs Bridges. Y'see, it's nae cold at all."  

Back To The Index

"Let me get this straight." Xander paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair. "You think Buffy's a what?"

"An Elf," Anya replied.

"Right. An Elf. Like, makes cookies in trees, works for Santa kind of Elf?"

"Well, they make bread, not cookies. And Santa's elves are indentured servants, really; forcible slavery goes along with the whole disembowling-children-in-the-night gig. But yes, an Elf."

"OK, An, you've had some wacky ideas before, but this takes the cake."

"Well," Willow chimed in, "she is really good with a crossbow. She almost never misses."

"And she does have long blonde hair," Dawn said.

"There is that overpowering attraction to shoes," Willow added.

"Also, it's not natural for a human to not stay dead, especailly twice." Anya exclaimed. "And Spike can hurt her, even with the chip. Clearly, she's an Elf."

"Ears," said a voice from the corner. They turned to the figure tied up in the armchair.

"She doesn't have pointy ears," Andrew said, shrinking further down into the seat as they stared at him.  "Everyone knows that Elves have pointy ears. And which race of Elf? I mean, there's a big difference between the Umanyar and the Noldor."

Xander's mouth hung open like a dead fish.

Buffy came in, whistling as she dropped her crossbow on the table. "Boy, patrol was really slow tonight. Not a vamp in sight. I think they must all be on vacation or something. Um ... why are you all staring at my ears?"    

Back To The Index

"Melethron. Nin bein melethron. Long have I denied my true self." Gimli touched Legolas' pale braid gently - the beloved follicles tied tight as newfurled leaves. "But the time has come. Oh Legolas, I am an elf. I am half an elf - your father's secret love child, conceived deep in the caverns of Moria."

"But Gimli, you're not from Moria."

"Hush, my love, hush."

"But-" Legolas pounded his fist against the damp earth. "No! No Gimli! No! My love! No!"

"Oh Legolas, wish I it were not so."

And their tears fell like rain. And there were unicorns, yadda yadda.  

Back To The Index

Charles Emerson Winchester (the Third) settled carefully into the chair, flicking the switches on the tape recorder with his customary precision.  A cautious glance assured his privacy, and he cleared his throat before he began.

"Mother, Father. I have done as you asked. I have lived among these —" nostrils flaring in distaste, he nevertheless discarded his first choice of word, continuing with only a subtle hint of sarcasm to allow his true feelings to show " — these *people.* Lived in filth and squalor, cold and heat, eating food that I would not feed the dogs at home. What I would not give to stroke those white coats, tug those red ears again! But here I stay, in this fetid hellhole, repairing injuries made to mortal flesh in penance for my sins against my people.

"Father, Mother — have I not suffered enough? I beg you, allow me to return to our home below Beacon Hill, to make merry once more.

"Your loving, and forevermore obedient, son,

"Teàrlach"  

Back To The Index

The girl slumped gracelessly in the chair in front of the mirror, her very posture a statement of sullen disobedience.

The older woman walked around her slowly, examining her new charge from all angles, trying to see beneath the touseled hair and torn clothes. Pausing behind her, she asked, "Have you ever heard the phrase: 'Nature's first green is gold'?"

"No. What's that mean?"

"It means that youth is best, and you, my dear..." Gently Madeline lifted Nikita's hair back, revealing delicate pointed ears.

"You are richer than most."  

Back To The Index

"It's not really that big a deal." Chris was saying. Justin was unconvinced.

"Yeah Jup, listen to Chris." Of course, Joey would agree with Chris. It wasn't his problem. "We have to keep it under wraps but deep down, everyone suspects."

"They do?" Now Justin was surprised. He'd thought he'd done a pretty good job of hiding it.

"Yeah, come on, we wear fuckin sparkly outfits, the stuff we sing, the prancing on stage...it's a wonder we weren't outed to begin with."

"Besides, it's not like you're the only one." Chris offered.

"I'm not?!!"

"Nope, I mean, I'm pretty sure Lance is, and well, everyone knows about JC."

"JC!!!"

"Well, yeah. Yo, you see how much time he spends on his hair. You don't think he's straight, do you?"

"Straight?"

"Yeah, Justin." Joey spoke slowly, like he was afraid Justin would bolt at any second. "Straight, as in he's not. And it's okay, if you want to tell us you aren't either. Tell you the truth, we suspected as much."

Justin burst out laughing. Gay. They thought he was gay. Oh god, if only that was it. "Guys, guys, guys. You've got it all wrong."

"You mean you're not gay?"

"No! I mean— yes, I am. But that's not what I wanted to tell you."

"Then what Juju?"

"It's just, I'm a..." It was now or never. "I'm an Elf, guys."

"Elf? What the fuck?" Joey sputtered.

"It's true." Justin whispered. "I'm one of the Sidhe, immortal being not of your world."

"Fuck."

They all just stared at each other for a while. Justin knew exactly what thought was running through their head. What would this mean for the group?

Finally Joey coughed, breaking the silence. Justin looked expectantly at him.

"I'm heading back to rehearsal." he declared, moving to the door.

"Joey?"

"Look, Jup. The way I see it. You're an elf. We pretend you're not. It won't be the first lie we've told."

"He's right." Chris nodded. "In interviews, you're human. JC's straight. It's all good."

"Oh fuck, you guys!" Justin contemplated hugging them but settled for grinning blindingly at them. "May the grace of the Valor be with you."

"Don't start that." Joey warned.

"-I'm not."

"-You start and I kick your ass."

"Okay..."

"And no pointy shoes in wardrobe either..." Joey walked towards rehearsals, the other two following closely behind. "If I see pointy shoes, I'll kick your ass."  

Back To The Index

There were not many opportunities for Maria to watch Kyle Valenti pace the floor like a chicken sans head. She was going to enjoy herself.

"I play football, dammit. I can't be a fucking, poncy elf. What will the guys say?"

"Breathe, Kyle. You look cute."

"Fuck off. I can't be an elf—I have an angry, impolite personality. So do not tell me I'm cute!"

"Aww, look at that."

"What?"

"Your ears glow."

"What?!"

"You are a glow elf."

"Leave me alone."

"So cute, a sulking jock!elf." The thrown pillow missed her head by a mile. "Poor aim, jock!elf."  

Back To The Index

Trading Spaces: Lothlorien vs. Mamaroneck, NY By burninglilac

(scene opens with Paige Davis walking through a beautiful, serene forest. pan-pipes and a recorder play in the background)

Paige: Thanks for joining us, and welcome once again to Trading Spaces, the show where we take two couples with dreary, boring rooms; give them $1000, a personal decorator each, and the use of a carpenter; and transform their homes into either an exquisite new abode, or a gigantic mess. (Paige titters. it is obvious she's been practicing this sound in front of a mirror) So let's meet today's lucky couples. The first hails from Mamaroneck, New York; Hazel and Gerald Himmelman.

(focus: dumpy couple in their mid-forties, the male balding, the female showing signs of the same. both wear bifocals, and at least one item of pastel clothing)

Ms Himmelman: We've been considering redecorating our duplex for a few years now, but we wanted to wait until our son had graduated MIT before we invested in such a big change.

Mr Himmelman: I've always liked a room to have a quaint, country feel. Plaid pillow shams, dark mustards and maroons, that sort of thing. Hazel got her way with the living room originally, though, and used a lot of pinks and teals. (focus: hideous living room. pink carpet. seafoam curtains. small terrier asleep on the cream overstuffed leather couch)

Ms: I must have decorated this twenty years ago, and I think we're just ready for a change.

Mr: We're hoping for something a little darker, just to get us out of the pastel phase.

Ms: And no green.

Mr: No, we're really not fond of that hunter color everyone seems gaga over lately.

Ms: Definitely not.

(focus: palatial tree-mansion. Galadriel glides down the marbled steps, her hand on Elrond's elbow.  Elrond looks particularly bored)

Paige: (voiceover) Our second house is owned by Galadriel, queen of Lothlorien. She has enlisted the help of fellow elf Elrond of Rivendell to revamp her tree.

G: Tree? Did she just insult my royal abode?

E: I'm sorry, I didn't realize someone was speaking.

G: The least you could do is pay attention, Elrond. You're immortal, not stupid.

E: You're just mad you lost the bet.

G: Oh, shut up. How was I to know that Sam was gay? He didn't strike me as such.

E: Come on. The way he stared at Frodo. How he wouldn't let anyone touch Frodo. You wouldn't believe it until I made you use your god-powers to spy on him.

G: (shudders) I'll never get that image out of my head. And never is a long time for me.

E: (his brow seems to move a half-centimeter, giving the impression of a disgusted frown) I must concur, Galadriel. There is no worse sight than a hobbit masturbating.

G: I planned out the events of this entire Age, you'd think I would have known that one of the Fellowship would turn out to be a perv.

E: That's what you get for being formed from fluff and starlight.

G: I hate you.

(focus: the two couples and Paige stand in on the border of the woods and the Himmelman's backyard)

Paige: Now we'll trade keys, let you meet your designers, and send you off. You'll have two days to complete the redecorating. Any questions?

E: Two... days? What is this?

G: You know when you blink your eyes, and it seems as though the sun has shifted in its orbit? This is called a "week". Take one seventh of that.

E: (blank stare)

G: Now, see? You've probably wasted a day already.

E: We're so fucked.

(the other three stand there idly. fade to commercial)

* * *

(focus: outside the tree-mansion. Laurie Hickson-Smith smiles sweetly into the camera. enter Himmelmans)

L H-S: Well, hey ya'll. It's great to finally meet you. I have been so eager to come out to Lothlorien and see this gorgeous tree. It's been featured in Country Living for the past three centuries!

Ms: What do you have in mind for this place, Laurie?

L H-s: Well, I figured we'd do a modern look, with some classic American influences. We need to get them out of the Second Age. I'm thinking lots of chrome, maybe cut back some of the branches. Kind of like a steel, metal, South-Western feel.

Mr: Are you sure that will go with the rest of the place?

L H-s: Well, I'm sure that once they see how beautiful an authentic adobe setting can be, they'll just have to transform the whole place! Grab a saw and let's get to work!

(focus: Galadriel and Elrond stand in the Himmelmans' living room)

E: Is it possible for an elf to get hives?

G: I think I'm gonna be sick.

(enter Hilda Santo-Thomas, wearing faux leather pants and a leopard print tank top)

H S-T: Nice to meet you. We're going to staple-gun fake flowers to the walls so my lazy-ass won't have to peel off the wallpaper, and then you two will stay up all night putting together this cheap particle-board furniture and then painting it gold.

E: Staple-gun... are you mad?

H S-T: I'm gonna go flirt with the carpenter. Pull up this carpet while I'm gone.

G: Wait just a damn... (exit Hilda)

E: Well. I suppose we should get to work then.

G: (pauses) I can hear my tree screaming.

E: You said you wouldn't interfere.

G: I hate you.

(focus: Hazel is taking a shrubber to the bed, Gerald is using a hacksaw to clear the walls, and Laurie is using an electric sander to even out the floor)

Ms: (turns off the shrubber) Are you sure this is okay? I mean, this bed seems to be made out of a live plant.

L H-S: Well, I'm sure they wouldn't have let us in if they didn't want us to redecorate, right?

Mr: She's right, Hazel. Just keep chopping.

Ms: Yes, dear. (engine resumes)

(montage of cutting, hacking, leveling, and other modes of utter destruction in Lothlorien)

(focus: Hilda re-enters the living room. nothing has changed, and the two elves still stand in the same spot)

H S-T: What the hell? Why haven't you done any of the slave la... I mean, work, that I gave you?

E & G: (stares)

H S-T: Hello?

G: Oh, sorry. Must have blinked.

E: My bad.

H S-T: What is wrong with you two? It's been five hours? I've had sex, like, three times! How could you not have done anything?

E: (snickers) Slut.

G: Oh, right, because if a woman is promiscuous she's a slut? I can't believe you sometimes, Elrond. And you call yourself an educated elf. No wonder you shipped Undomiel across the sea.

E: At least I'm not shacked up with some puppet prince. I mean, I've seen Celeborn maybe twice this Age.

G: Don't. Fucking. Start.

H S-T: Um, hello? You're ruining my show here. If you don't get to work, everyone in America is gonna know what a useless lump of flesh I am. They already know my design ideas suck, but I'd like to at least finish them. Can we focus here?

G: (glares intently at Hilda)

H: (starts shaking and twitching. eyes begin to bleed as she collapses to the floor, foaming at the mouth)

E: Thought you wouldn't use your god powers?

G: If anyone deserved it, she did.

E: Cheater.

G: Oh, and what can you do, make it rain on her?

E: I hate you.

(fade to commercial)

* * *

Paige: Our teams have worked for one full day, and now they have only six hours left. Let's see how they're doing, shall we?

(focus: garden beside Galadriel's mirror. Gerald has a lovely bonfire going with the pruned branches)

Mr: We finished clearing out the brush from the bedroom, then Laurie brought in a few buckets of sienna clay that we mudded the walls with the get a real adobe feel.

(focus: Laurie and Hazel work in the bedroom. Laurie is putting together a bedframe made of car bumpers, while Hazel nails a few cow skulls to the now-adobe wall)

L H-S: Well, we're just about done with the bed, and now we're going to make an armoire completely out of old hubcaps and railroad ties.

Ms: Do you think this is enough dead animal bones?

L H-S: Well, honey, you can never have enough dead animals around. Throw a few more around the doorframe, and then we'll bring in the cacti.

(focus: Galadriel and Elrond stand in the same spot, staring around them. Hilda is curled up in a fetal position in the corner, sucking her thumb)

E: What do you suggest?

G: (looks around, seemingly out of patience, and raises her arms) You would let me decorate this room?

E: Sure. Knock yourself out.

G: (she begins to glow, her face growing greedy) You offer it to me freely. I do not deny that my heart has greatly desired this.

E: (sighs) Here she goes again.

G: In the place of a Dark Room, you would have a WINDOW TREATMENT! (the room also begins to glow, and the carpet melts away) NOT DARK, BUT BEAUTIFUL AND TERRIBLE AS THE DAWN! (the couch and curtains dissolve, and the wall dissolves away) TREACHEROUS AS THE SEA! (trees and grass flow through the hole in waves, covering the floor and forming a lovely oaken dining room set) STRONGER THAN THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE EARTH! (the wall is replaced by floor-to-ceiling windows, including French doors)

E: Ooo, that's nice...

G: ALL SHALL LOVE ME AND DESPAIR! (everything stops glowing)

E: (stares around at the natural green decor) Keen. Can we go now?

G: That's all you can say? I'm rather proud of this.

E: What happened to the slut?

G: I turned her into a china cabinet.

E: Bloody good job. Think you could do this with my kitchen?

G: It'll cost you.

E: I'll give you Glorfindel.

G: Deal.

(focus: Hazel and Gerald are spreading the last bit of sand over the floor. Laurie lashes cowhide to the car-bumper frame, then lounges on it)

Mr: It looks like a desert junkyard.

L H-S: Well, darling, that's exactly what I was going for! Metal, steel, South-Western!

Ms: Do they pay you to do this?

L H-S: Nah, I'm married to the producer. It's kind of a hobby.

Mr: Well, that explains things.

(montage of Himmelmans working, Elrond braiding his hair, and carpenter Ty Pennington looking around for Hilda)

(focus: Paige stands in the Himmelmans' house. Hazel and Gerald stand beside her with their eyes closed)

Paige: Okay, it's the moment we've all been waiting for. Open your eyes!

(the Himmelmans stare, open mouthed)

Mr: It looks like...

Ms: Like her place before we redecorated.

Paige: Yeah, now that you mention it.

Mr: I thought we said no green.

Paige: Are you gonna tell her you don't like it?

(the Himmelmans blink)

Ms: Lovely window treatments.

Mr: Oh, yes, it's beautiful and terrible as the dawn.

Ms: Indeed.

(focus: Paige stands in Lothlorien junkyard. Galadriel and Elrond wait with their eyes closed. Galadriel is wiggling her toes suspiciously)

Paige: Now it's time for you to see your new bedroom Galadriel. (Paige inches towards the door) Open your eyes... (Paige disappears. a small trail of dust is seen)

E: (opens one eye) Oh, sweet Sauron.

G: (looks around, her jaw dropping) What... what did you do to my glorious home?

E: I'm thinking... destroyed it. Yep.

G: Are those... car parts?

E: I'm assuming you'll be wanting to stay at Rivendell for a while.

(enter the Himmelmans and Laurie. the couple wear strained smiles, looking slightly terrified. Laurie seems oblivious)

L H-S: Oh, honey, isn't it wonderful? Don't you just love the skulls? I figured you had enough foliage around this place... what you needed was a little adventure!

G: (looks off into the distance)

E: Are you doing what I think you're doing?

L H-S: What? You don't like the giant cactus?

(enter Gandalf, looking windblown)

Gandalf: Ladri, sweetheart, I was in Vegas. What the hell is so impor... oh. (stares at the room)

L H-S: Oh, good, darling, ya'll invited some friends! How lovely! What is it you do, honey?

(Gandalf and Galadriel exchange a meaningful glance)

Gandalf: It'll cost you.

Galadriel: This task was appointed to you. And if you do not find a way, no one will.

(Gandalf looks at Laurie for a moment, and she bursts into flames. she runs around screaming for a moment before falling to the sand and smoldering. the Himmelmans promptly run after Paige)

E: (chuckles) Say goodbye, Mister Anderson.

Galadriel: Oh, man, that's gonna cost us on infringement.

* * *

(focus: Paige, on an airplane)

Paige: Thanks for joining us on Trading Spaces. And be sure to watch TLC's New Year's special presentation of Ground Force: Lothlorien.

(cut to Galadriel and Charlie Dimmock standing in the garden. the grass is still scorched from the earlier bonfire, but instead of Galadriel's mirror, a small hot tub sits)

Galadriel: (stares at Charlie in disbelief)

Charlie: (rubbing her nipples) What?  

Back To The Index

"O'Neill" he said. "Have you not noticed that I alone among the Jaffa have a gold tint to my skin?"

"Yeah, so you're a little sparkly."

"It is because I am an elf."

"Teal'c, of course you're an ELF."

"You knew?"

"Earth to Teal'c. You grew up on Chulak. You're not from around here."

Teal'c stared at him. "Being from Chulak does not make me an elf."

"Yeah, it does, buddy. ELF - Extra terrestial Life Form. It's Yet Another Air Force Acronym—"

YAAFA. As opposed to Jaffa. As in Jesus, Are you freaking insane?

Teal'c raised an eyebrow.

"So...not elf as in ELF?"  

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J.D. was so close to the front door. Three more steps and he could bid goodbye to the hospital for 13 hours. Two, one... and then a sodden mop blocked his path.

"So. Did I ever tell you I'm an elf?"

"An elf," he said warily, glancing around for an alternate escape route.  "That's great... now if you'll just..."

"What, you're too good to talk to elves?"

"You are not an elf. You're a janitor."

"Are you saying elves can't be janitors? You're spitting on the proud custodial traditions of my people. I'm taking you down."

J.D. groaned and fled.  

Back To The Index

"Arnaud is an elf."

Darien popped a french fry into his mouth. "Elf, huh? What's that mean?"

"Whaddaya mean, what does it mean. Elf... he's an elf. Elf means elf!"

Darien rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, I don't know your secret spy language, so what's 'elf' - is it an acronym for something?" He grinned.  "Eurotrash-Like Foe? Evil Loser Fuckface?"

Bobby narrowed his eyes, leaned across the table, and enunciated right in Darien's ear. "ELF. E-L-F. Faerie. The Fair Folk. The People of the Wood." He sat back.

Darien looked blank.

"He's an elf, Fawkes."

"Elf, like elf elf. You think Arnaud... is an—"

"ELF! C'mon, Fawkes! What else could he be? French-Swiss? French-Swiss? You believe that crap?" Bobby smirked and picked up his burger. "French-Swiss. The guy is probably half-Sidhe, half-Sindar or something like that."

"What's a sitar have to do with elves? No, don't answer that - I can't even believe I'm having this conversation—"

"Sindar. Sindar - from Tolkien, Fawkes! Don't you read? Didn't you, you know, read, when you were a kid? Look. Sidhe are the High Court in Ireland. The Sindar are the Mirkwood Elves, Galadriel's people—"

"So, you're saying that Arnaud is half-Irish and half-fictional."

"No. What? No. Listen to me, Fawkes."

"You're talking about elves, and I should listen to you? Maybe your meds are screwed up, or expired, or -"

"Fawkes. Fawkes. Fawkes. Listen. I'm telling you that Defehhhhhrn is not a name known to humans. Okay? The guy is passing for human. I can tell." Bobby bit into his burger. "I can always tell."

"You really believe this."

"Yes, I do, my friend."

Darien considered this. It was, after all, no weirder than invisible men, and Bobby had never lied to him before.

"And...you can tell he's an elf."

"Yeah."

"You have elf-dar."

"I don't - yeah, okay - yeah, you could call it that. I have elf-dar. I know an elf when I see one."

"Oh, you do."

"Yeah."

"And how do you do that, exactly?"

Bobby mumbled something around a mouthful of hamburger.

Darien leaned forward, cupping his ear. "Um, I'm sorry, I didn't catch that, Hobbes - how do you do it?"

"I'm an elf, okay? There, I said it. Now you know - I'm an elf. Well," he muttered, "I'm an ex-elf."

Darien looked at him for a moment, then cracked up.

"Hey! Don't go mocking the Lords and Ladies - we have a long and noble history."

"How can you be an ex-elf? How do you get un-elfed?"

"It doesn't matter what happened to me. That's ancient history. What I'm saying is that Arnaud's an elf, and he doesn't know we know, and that gives us an advantage over that pansy-assed Keebler."

Darien cracked up again.

"Hey, Fawkes, among my people? 'Keebler' is a serious insult."

Darien sighed out of his laughing fit, then smiled at his partner, nodding. "Then, Hobbesy, it's an insult among my people too."

They low-fived under the table.    

Back To The Index

"No." Simon stared across the heavy wooden table, mouth hanging open in a rather attractive manner.  "No."

Wash nodded vigorously, eyes daring the doctor to believe him. "Yes. Full blood. But you can't go around mentioning it. Tippy-top secret."

"But — I mean — does everyone know? Does the captain?"

"Cap'in weaseled it out of him. Or Zoe did — you know, she never was quite specific about who found out first." Wash leaned back, finger tapping his lips. "It could have been Zoe, which means she told Mal first..."

Simon broke in. "Does Book know? Wouldn't that be an issue?"

"Of course it would — our Shepard has to bite his tongue enough around Inara. So he doesn't. And you can't be telling Kaylee."

"Nooo. Of course not." A vision flowed across Simon's mind's eye - a sun-struck Kaylee draping her hero-victim in wreaths of flowers. Or colored bits of spare parts packaging cut to look like flowers. Simon shook his head to dispel the uncomfortable thought. Better to think of his sister...

"Do — do you suppose that...it's something River picks up on?"

Wash raised his eyebrows. "And that's why she's so squirrelly around him? Could be. I'm serious, though. Don't go trying to explain it to her or anything. You can't talk about it. He's...sensitive."

Simon's mouth fell open again. "He's what?" As if the statue in Mudville had been easier to accept.

"Sensitive. You know. Because of the ears. His parents had them surgically altered, when he was a kid.  And they cut them too short. Which accounts for the, you know, the —"

Wash abruptly broke off, eyes going past Simon to the aft passageway. Simon, eyes still on Wash, began to turn. A heavy blow to his shoulder rocked Simon back in his seat and drove a grunt from the young doctor. Oblivious, Jayne kept on walking, pausing at the cooling cupboard long enough to snag out the common pitcher of synthmilk. Ignoring the other two men, Jayne tilted his head back, drained the last third of the pitcher in three swallows. Setting the empty container back in the cooler, Jayne let out a long belch and shut the door.

Simon faced Wash again. "Accounts for?"

Wash gestured at the merc's retreating back. "You know. That."

"Sensitive."

"Yeah. Now, don't tell anyone. Zoe would kill me."  

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Dawn of the Rings

"Willow, I think the Hellmouth is acting up again," Buffy said as she walked into the Magic Shop with her sister.

"Why? Did Spike start flying again? Because I told him not to go near the mushrooms in the-"

"No, nothing like that. It's Dawn."

"What about Dawn?"

"I'm right here," she pointed out.

"Well, look at her. Look at her hair."

"What about her hair?"

"It's so shiny."

"It's always been shiny."

"Yeah, but it's shinier. And look at her ears."

"They're cute ears. They're Dawnie-ears."

"They're pointy ears."

"Well, they're inherited. You had just as much a chance to have pointy ears as she did."

"But... look at her shoes," Buffy hissed in a whisper.

Willow looked at Dawn's feet. "They're a little... huh."

"I don't see what the big deal is," Dawn said. "You didn't have a problem when I was a key."

"Yeah, but being a key's a lot different from being a... being a..." Buffy trailed off.

"An elf? You're just jealous because you can't marry Legolas now."

"I thought he was an actor," Willow whispered to Buffy.

"Dawn says that's a big secret conspiracy thing."

"That's because it is." Dawn frowned. "Anyway, we're here with a purpose."

"What purpose?" Willow asked.

"I need everything on this list." She held out a sheet of paper, which Willow took.

"Dawnie? Why do you need one of our Decorative Faun Horns?"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "It's not a faun horn. It's a Horn of Gondor."

"A horn of what-dor?" Buffy asked.

Willow began searching for Advil.  

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"In Vino Veritas"

The topic probably would never have come up if the four of them hadn't all been stone drunk. But as it was, after about three or four tankards of ale, the blond one clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"V'got a 'fession to make," he slurred.

"Hmm?" asked the tallest of the group, who was slightly less drunk due to the third and fourth members of their drinking party sneaking sips out of his mug when they thought he wasn't looking.

"'Is may come'sa shock...but I thoughtcha deserved t'know. I'm really 'n elf."

Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, blinked in surprise at the intoxicated Prince of Mirkwood.

"Yeah, Legolas...I knew that."

At the other end of the table, Peregrin Took dragged his eyes away from his two taller drinking buddies and turned to Merry, blinking until there was one Merry sitting beside him instead of three.

"Merry, 'ere's somethin' I should probably tell you...I'm really an elf," he slurred.

"No, y'er not, Pip. Y'er a hobbit," Merry beamed drunkenly at him and patted his shoulder with an ale-relaxed hand.

"Oh." Pippin nodded wisely. "I knew it was somethin' like that."    

Back To The Index

Pezzini shook her head. "So let me get this straight, Nottingham. You're telling me that Elizabeth Bronte is your mother."

"After a fashion."

"And my grandmother."

"That is correct, Sara."

She raised one eyebrow. "So that makes us..."

"Related, yes. But there's more."

"I can hardly wait."

"I have had a racial awakening, Sara. And you will, too, once you know."

"Once I know what?"

"Elizabeth Bronte was no ordinary woman, that you know. But she was more than a Wielder. She was also an Elf."

"Oh, for f—"

"It's true, Sara. I've got proof. Look." He threw open his black trenchcoat to reveal a forest-green tunic, brown leggings, and a pair of curly-toed shoes.

"You call that proof? It looks like you held up a costume shop."

Ian removed his stocking cap with a flourish. Blond hair cascaded down around his shoulders. He pulled it back to reveal delicately pointed ears. "These didn't come from a costume shop."

Sara looked down at her wrist. The Witchblade began to glow, and she felt the tips of her ears tingle.

"Oh, now that's just great," she said.  

Back To The Index

"Jared! Stop or I'll shoot! I mean it this time!"

Jared reluctantly turned to face his pursuer. "Miss Parker . . ."

"What kind of game are you playing now? Sending me packages with my mother's brooch, and her wedding gown."

"Haven't you ever wondered why you've never met any of her relatives? I found out what your father is trying to hide!"

"Daddy wouldn't hide anything from me."

"Yes he would! He hid this from everyone, even the Centre."

Parker's phone trilled. She pulled it out and snarled, "What?!"

Broots voice echoed from the phone. "Miss Parker? We can't trace the origin of the brooch you were sent. The closest Sydney and I have been able to come is to relics of an ancient people from Europe known as the Elphesdische. Very little is known about them."

Parker hesitated, then turned to Jared. "Who are the Elphesdische? What do you know about my mother?"

"She was an elf, Parker. Captured from her home forest by your father on an early mission for the Centre. She wanted to take you there with her, but your father got wind of her plans and . . ."

"My God. You really have cracked, haven't you, Jared. My mother the elf! Get a grip on reality."

Back To The Index

"Bastard!" Tsuzuki lunged forward, black trenchcoat flying. His fist glanced across jaw, his outstretched hand reached for throat. Each was trapped at the wrist in a crushing grip.

"Beloved Tsuzuki-san," Muraki murmured, "I'd forgotten how beautiful you look when you're about to kill."

Violet eyes narrowed to slits. "I...only kill... as a last resort."

Muraki pulled Tsuzuki into a dancer's hold. "You can't fight what you are." Warm breath tickled Tsuzuki's ear. "What *we* are."

"Stop!"

"Hisoka!" Tsuzuki shouted. "Stay back!"

"Boy, you haven't changed. Your timing is still terrible."

Hisoka lifted chin, defiant. "Release him."

"You think you can defeat me?" Muraki sneered. "A card game is one thing, but in magic-"

"I've gained powers of my own since Kyoto. I know my true parentage. I've embraced my legacy." He brushed chestnut-gold bangs behind a pointed ear. "For I am...Yami no Elvish!"

Back To The Index

The landscape pixelized, and started to glow.

"Al." Sam stepped over a broken sword and hissed. "Where the hell am I?"

"Whoa. Nice ears, Sam!" He looked Sam over. "Nice everything. Is there something you want to tell me about your background?"

"Like what?"

"Like, you're a member of an immortal race vanished from Earth since the Third Age, returned from the land beyond the Western Sea to safeguard the world of men lest evil should return?"

Sam blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You're only supposed to travel within your own lifetime, Sam. We never thought to ask you exactly how long that might be."

"Al..."

Al sighed. " Ziggy says there's a 95% chance you're here to take that ring" he pointed to a guy with filthy armor, who was fondling a bright gold ring marked with letters of fire, "and throw it in that volcano" and then at the mountain behind them, belching smoke and fire into the sky, "before it can be reclaimed by the Dark Lord and used to enslave all Middle Earth." Sam raised an eyebrow.

Al shrugged. "I just read the display, Sam. I don't make this stuff up."

"What if I don't make it to the volcano?"

"Well, for three thousand years, nothing."

"And then?"

Al smacked his hand unit. "Ah, here it is. After three thousand years of relative peace and prosperity for the land, the ring resurfaces and darkness returns for a bit and...um. It says here a bobbit" he hit the unit again, " — sorry, hobbit — throws it into the fires of Mount Doom and everything's fine."

"That's it?"

"A few thousand years after that, Peter Jackson directs a hit trilogy based on those events and becomes very rich. Oh, hey, it says here Ian McKellen stars. I love that guy."

"Didn't Peter Jackson direct Dead Alive?"

Al glared at Sam. "Your swiss-cheese memory can call that up, but 'Elrond, Lord of Rivendell' means nothing to you?"

"Is that who I am?"

"I don't know, Sam," Al said irritably. "Is it?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess if I never — Sorry." Sam scratched his head. "So if I blow off this ring thing and just go back to Rivendell, everything works out in the end anyway?"

"Um. Apparently."

"And I live until your present in an idyllic natural world?"

"That's what Ziggy says."

"And I can just not step into the accelerator and prevent myself from ever leaping in the first place?"

Al frowned. "Well, technically. But we're not sure what kind of effect that might have on your travels so far. Paradox, space-time... Plus, you'd have to spend several thousand years hanging out with Elves."

He looked down at the battle-scarred earth, considering. Six thousand years was a long time to wait to put right what once went wrong. Still, he'd have Al at the end of it. And who knew what kind of weirdness he'd leap into next?

Looking up at the far horizon, Sam felt a pull westward.

And a strange desire to sing...    

The End

---

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