Merrie and Sioux in Middle-Earth.

Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien, the god, the genius, the man, is the one who owns Lord of the Rings. He discovered Middle-Earth, not me. I'm just borrowing it all, for non-profit amusement. Merrie and Sioux are (mostly, sort of) mine, as far as dreaded fictional archetypes can be.

Note: For Ziggy. And for me. And for anyone else who wants to be amused by this.

Directions Before Reading Further:

Place tongue firmly in cheek. Gently bite down, holding tongue firmly in place.

Chapter 1

Merrie and Sioux were the best of friends. In fact, they were the best at almost everything, but they never let it go to their heads.

Sioux was an actress and fashion designer, with her own up-and-coming boutique on the trendiest street in the fashion district, steady employment in acting gigs and Broadway prospects.

Merrie spent part of her time as a model and actress, which was how they had met, and the other part writing. Lately she was making a name for herself on the best-seller lists, leading her agents to declare war on one another.

Since, as it has been said, they were both very good at these assorted pastimes, it might have been assumed that they would be quite happy with the status-quo: pretty paychecks, popularity, access to exclusive clubs, they had the bases covered.

The truth of the matter was they were miserable. Oh, granted, they distracted themselves quite well, what with all those parties and the various men of the famous and handsome variety that frequented those events, but deep, deep, deep down, they really were quite unhappy. So, instead of attending all the countless galas in pursuit of nightly amusement, they decided to try something new and different. They each decided to read a book. Then another.

After a while, they began to discuss them.

After another while they stopped reading romances and tried something a little more adventurous, called "The Lord of the Rings."

It was a passtime they soon came to regret.

"Nice book!" Sioux cooed as Merrie showed off her latest purchase.

Around them the trendy café was packed with the usual scattered In-Cognito In-Crowd and Assorted Hangers-On, but looking at the beautiful leather-bound and illustrated book before her, Sioux quite forgot her cool nonchalance and snatched the book from Merrie.

Merrie quickly forgot all about her latest favorite buy as she contemplated which iced beverage would be today's trendiest drink.

As she came back to the table, iced skinny decaf vanilla mocha chai latte with nonfat skim cream in hand, she laughed to see Sioux so absorbed in the illustrations.

It was a few moments later, and Merrie had just flipped to the review section of the NY Times when everything went horribly wrong.

"Very funny, Mer," Souix's pleasant voice was strained.

"What?" Merrie asked, looking up from the Times, and taking a sip of her latte. She barely glanced at Souix before she returned her attention to the article. "The Times is raving about your show, you know. 'Souix's Golden Touch strikes again' and some jazz."

"Great," Souix's voice was losing some of its pleasantness. "Now what did you put on the picture of Rivendell?"

"Huh?" Merrie's blue eyes never left her paper.

"My finger. Is stuck. On. This. Picture," Souix growled between gritted teeth. Merrie grinned.

"Cute, Souix. Now quit molesting my book."

"I am not molesting anything!" Souix's voice was taking on an edge of panic. "My finger's stuck!" Her volume was creeping upward with every syllable (along with her pitch) and Merrie looked around to check that no one was staring. And that no glasses had shattered.

"What are you talking about?" She sighed, dropping her NYT and leaning across the table to pull at Souix's hand.

"Ow!"

"What the – your finger's stuck!"

"I told you – ow! Stop that, it hurts!"

Merrie ignored her and kept pulling. She placed one hand on the book, planted her feet firmly and pulled on Souix's hand. Then…

She screamed.

The scream continued, shattering the glass that had contained Sioux's passion fruit-banana-strawberry-kiwi smoothie and sending said smoothie oozing over the table.

Merrie, however, failed to notice, as her attention was held by the sight of her hand and forearm sinking into the book.

"Merrie!" Sioux shrieked, using her free arm to tug on her friend's disappearing appendage.

"Help!" the blond whimpered. "It's eating me…"

Sioux looked around frantically but around them, the coffee shop's billowy equilibrium continued on as if they were not there.

"Sioux, stop it!" Merrie's voice was hoarse from screaming.

"Stop what?" Sioux turned to glare, but Merrie wasn't looking. She was too busy staring at the book.

Against her better judgment, Sioux followed her friend's gaze. She wished she hadn't.

Her arm too was now sunk to the elbow into the book.

"Not good," were the only words that game to mind, and so she said them.

"Let go," Merrie said, giving the book a practiced authoritative tone that had worked wonders on producers and stubborn executives.

"Merrie, it's a book, not a Pomeranian."

"Well, what's your idea then?"

"One of us should – hey, can you feel your arm?"

Merrie's aquamarine eyes met Sue's emerald ones. "Yeah," she said after a moment. "It's… there…" Merrie wiggled her arm, or what could be seen of it, as it was now gone nearly to the shoulder.

"All right," Sioux took a deep breath. "One of us is going to have to go further in and push us back out."

She looked at Merrie expectantly.

"Well, you go ahead and jump right on in," Merrie said, her eyes a little too bland.

"But you're shorter. It's less of you to fit through there," Sioux pointed out, her emerald eyes taking on a strange sheen.

"Not my fault someone hasn't been keeping to the non fat whipped cream," Merrie muttered. "Besides, taller, better leverage," she added, gesturing to Sioux who towered all of two inches above her own 5'0 frame.

Sioux grabbed Merrie's arm. "I'll pull you out after."

Merrie pulled away from Sioux as much as the book would let her, considering they were sinking into the same page. "Look, it's not that big a book! My head isn't going to fit!"

"Wanna bet?" Sioux's eyes were gleaming. Merrie tried to back away and couldn't.

"No. I'm not doing it. You first!"

"You are going!"

"Am not!" Merrie grabbed Souix's reaching arm and twisted.

"YOU-!" Whatever insult Souix was going to hurl was lost as quickly as their balance- it was hard to remain upright with one hand lost inside a book while lunging toward one's struggling friend.

They both had a sensation of a particularly nasty paper-cut swallowing them whole and pulling them toward an even nastier staple wound. The world around them did a strange sort of swirl that was better left to cheesy 1980s movies before it completed a respectable fade to black.