"If only Van Helsing were here," she grumbled. "He would understand."
"Look, you are not going to have any stupid hookups while you’re on the rebound, and besides, he’d have to take a number on my shopping list at this point. Behind John Connor, at that."
Of course, The Littlest Edward only got more depressed. "I can smell her fear," he said gloomily. "Smells like spearmint."
"Does it work at all?" I asked. "The tinhat?"
"Somewhat," he admitted. "I can’t hear distinct thoughts anymore. I just get a general sense of crushing rage."
"Psssht. I get that just from looking at her."
Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to keep Elizabeth from getting lonely; she and Anna hit it off so quickly that I’m not sure she put enough effort into making other friends. A friend sent me a box of Mardi Gras booty (I have a strong magpie streak), so I had Elizabeth help me incorporate it into my existing collection. I mean, she’s a pirate king; I’m sure she knows her way around a treasure chest. And Purple Arwen, who enjoys a good piece of jewelry herself, came over to help us, so that was nice.
(I offered to let Edward sort the doubloons by color, but he seemed uneasy about this proposition, so I let him go back to adding up my spare change.
Eowyn wanted to go over and help him, but he was so uncomfortable with that prospect that I ended up dragging her back to the booty.)
Meanwhile-meanwhile, the guys felt compelled to put on manifest displays of masculinity, what with spring being the time when a young man’s fancy turns to love and/or showing up sparklepires, I guess. Between (among?) four guys, they had a substantial stockpile of weapons—plenty to start up a good mock war with. Apparently Faramir Two decided it would be "boring" if the Faramirs just fought the Aragorns, so they swapped up and Faramir One ended up taking a solid beating at the hands of his brother (brotherself?), mostly because he spent too much time looking over his shoulder to see if Eowyn had noticed his mansomeness yet. She did at least a couple of times, although I kind of wanted to shake her because she's visibly torn between the handsome, strapping Ranger of Ithilien who’s crazy about her and the eternal seventeen-year-old half her size WHO DOESN’T EVEN CARE. What IS that? Is it just that she thinks that he could care someday
Finally, though, Eowyn left the girls to their booty-sorting and came over and asked if she could cut in and fight some, which was a GIGANTIC RELIEF to me, let me tell you. So Fugagorn handed over his crooked sword (bless) and took a time-out on the sidelines with me.
"You’d think the whole thing with the mantle would have Faramir sitting pretty," he said, shaking his head. Over on the battlefield, Faramir Two looked over, waved, and took an elbow to the head from Faramir One. "I mean, that was a pretty sweet move right there."
I sighed. "Well, the heart wants what it wants, I guess. Even if what it wants is stupid." And for some reason, I couldn’t help adding: "Or taken."
"Oh, you mean the other Faramir?" he said, which startled the hell out of me. "He’s cool."
"Really? I mean—you know?"
"Yeah. He’s a nice guy. And, you know, I’m kind of used to... you know, crushes and things... by now." We will forgive him for sounding a little puffed-up about this, given that he's so thoroughly outclassed now in the looks department. "Besides, he’s still less obvious than Eowyn ever was."
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