Gandalf is a pervy hobbit fancier (gandalf) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-05-08 21:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, frodo baggins, gandalf |
What kind of other things?
Who: Gandalf and Frodo
Where: A Park Somewheres
When: Tuesday Afternoon
What: Getting high in the park. No really.
Rating: PG-13 for drugs, I guess. Otherwise G.
Status: Complete!
Gandalf parked his VW bus at the park. It was a quiet day, and not his usual haunt, but he had a feeling. And when he had those feelings, it was often a good idea to listen to them. He patted the pocket of his hawaiian shirt (blue flowers, this time), making sure he had some proper leaf on him. Then checking his newly groomed beard in the mirror, he grabbed a backpack and got out of the van.
It was time to make a little spending money. He had a feeling he was going to need it for Sansa.
There was no real mystery as to why Frodo was in the park It was as good as spot as any to waste away the day, as Frodo typically did. At things considered, he might have visited the beach instead. Though on this particular day there was more to it. Sun and sand could not fill the growing void in his soul. What he needed were trees, and grass, and earth! Oh, if only he could burrow underground!
He wandered, listless and forlorn, hands clasped behind his back and eyes on the canopy. He sighed often and paused every now and then to run his fingertips across along bark or through grass. He thought about Galadriel and the others he had seen in his dreams. He completely failed to notice the old man in the garish hawaiian shirt by the beat up bus.
The was a lost looking man walking through the park, and Gandalf watched him. There was something vaguely familiar about him. Enough to draw the man towards Frodo. He felt the urge to smoke, and drew out a rolled up joint, lighting it and taking a puff.
His keen grey eyes studied the other man. He had ah old soul. An old, weary soul.
Humming to himself, Gandalf approached the other man, as if he had all the time in the world.
Luckily, Frodo was not so distant from the real world not to realize he was being approached. He’d always had a keen sense of paranoia hearing: a good ear, his Uncle used to say. The scent of weed was also a bit of a distraction.
He turned slowly to face the old man. His brows were low. “Hello,” he said.
Gandalf raised his hand in greeting, "Hello! A fine day, is it not?"
Paranoia was probably unnecessary. Unless the old man was a pervy hobbit fancier. He blew a smoke ring and stopped a few feet away.
"I'm Gandalf. Are you enjoying your walk through other places?"
“Other places...?” Frodo repeated, unsure what that meant. But the man was clearly on his way to a solid high, though he did marvel at the ring of smoke. “No, not really,” he said. He wasn’t really enjoying himself at all. California was a long way from the mystical forests of Lothlorien. Everything around him seemed even less than second best, now.
"Musing on a conversation I had the other day, with a man who shared the look in your eyes," Gandalf replied. "A man who dreamed of better places." He tugged out another joint and offered it, "I found myself a little jealous, I admit."
Frodo looked squarely at the little whitish stick in the old man’s hand. Slowly he raised his eyes, meeting the green ones across from him. “Oh, now I get it. I’m sorry, but I’m not interested. Tried that stuff in college. It didn’t do a thing for me.”
But Frodo didn’t turn to leave. Not immediately. There was something about the old man--this Gandalf--that made it difficult to tear himself away. And the mention of better places--well, it was a little uncanny he’d brought that up.
"Suit yourself." He slid the joint back into his pocket, "I'm never one to push when not wanted. Most of the time." He chuckled, grey eyes gleaming with amusement. He hefted his pack a little, adjusting it to be more comfortable.
"I've other things if you like. I'm saving up for a dear friend." He smiled, "Conversation is free, however."
By now Frodo’s eyebrows were knitted. What a perplexing man, he thought. And yet, he felt something pushing him to keep the conversation going. Or perhaps the man himself had a strange hold on him. Frodo’s wasn’t used to being approached to openly. “What kind of other things?” he asked, because he was genuinely interested in what the Gandalf would say.
"Items that can alter one's perception." Gandalf walked over to a bench, and took a seat. He sorted through the backpack, pulling out some fireworks, matches, and several baggies of various substances.
"They say," Gandalf said, looking up at Frodo. "That dreams are doorways to other worlds. We rarely have control over them - you are either gifted with lucidity when you dream, or you have to teach yourself it. However.."
He held up a baggie, "Sometimes all you need is a little help."
“Dreams,” Frodo repeated, as if to scoff. But then his face grew quite serious. “dreams, you say?” He took a step forward. “What’s in the bag?”
“Mushrooms,” Gandalf replied. “A very special sort.”
“I’ve heard of those. Magic mushrooms? What’s it like?” Frodo asked.
"In ancient times they were used by shaman to have visions. The effects are used on a more recreational basis, now a-days." Gandalf took another puff of his joint, and smiled good naturedly, "They're relatively safe. I don't like to give people anything I believe to be harmful."
“Relatively, you say?” Frodo cocked an eyebrow, more at himself than the ol man. What did it mean that he was actually considering this, he wondered. Was it that, since Lothlorien was so painfully unattainable, that the idea of getting high had become the next best thing. “How much?”
Gandalf peered at him thoughtfully, "Twenty for the bag normally, but in this case I can take ten." He was more curious than anything else, and had about been ready to just offer for free.
“In this case?” Frodo asked.
“In this case,” Gandalf replied. “You’re searching for something, and I find myself curious as to what you will find.”
Frodo began to stutter. He wasn’t sure he liked the way this Gandalf seemed to be peering through a keyhole in his soul. “I-- I-- I mean, right here. In the park?”
Gandalf chuckled, “I would invite you to my van, but you must understand how that sounds.”
Frodo chuckled, too, but it was a grim sound. He reached into his wallet and produced ten dollars. He began the transaction. “So, I just, what, swallow them?”
“Yes, but try one or two for now. You don’t need to have much more than that. It won’t kill you, but too much can cause adverse and fearful effects.” He patted Frodo on the arm and handed him the baggie.
You sound like a perscription drug commercial, Frodo thought, as he took the “baggie” from Gandalf’s hand. God, was he really about to do this? Had reality run its course for him?
Frodo shrugged. He walked over to a tree and took a seat. He realized he wasn’t scared. Not at all. Though that in itself was a terrifying feeling. He took a dose, as it were. He gave it a good five seconds. “Nothing happened.”
“Give it a little longer,” Gandalf assured him, leaning forward on the bench. He didn’t use them much himself - too many side effects when combined with the weed.
Frodo settled into the grass, crossing his legs and dropping his chin into his palm. It was odd, knowing that something was about to happen and not having any real idea of what that something would turn out to be. He made polite chit-chat with Gandalf, curious to know at least a little more about him. At one point, he shifted into calling him his shaman, which Frodo felt was rather amusing. When the something started to happen, Frodo didn’t realize it right away, but it was a little bit like someone turning up the “bloom” on a photoshopped image.
Gandalf kept up the conversation, finding he liked the other man quite a bit. Under other circumstances he thought they might be friends. Perhaps they still could be. He chuckled, “Well, I went to Woodstock and never really looked back.”
Frodo laughed a little louder than the line warranted, but it struck him to be very funny. Meanwhile, his hands had become preoccupied with the way the grass felt. His laughter drifted into thoughtful sighing. “This... this... green is so green,” he said, unsure if he meant the color or the way it tickled his palms.
“It is very green,” Gandalf agreed, gently. “But is it more green than it should be?”
Frodo hummed. “No. It’s the green it’s supposed to be...” His voice faded to a whisper. He patted the ground. He thought again about his desire to burrow underneath. He could live very nicely in a hole...
Suddenly, he looked up. The canopy glittered overhead, it sparkled like gold. “Am I... “ He shook his head. He looked back at Gandalf. “I’m enjoying this very much.” He smiled. “Perhaps I should have attended Woodstock, too.”
Gandalf might have appeared for a brief moment to be much..muchier. His beard more fuller and white, a soft glow behind him and coming from within. It faded just as quickly. The hippy got to his feet and walked over, sitting down in the grass a few feet from Frodo.
"I am glad you're enjoying this, Frodo. It was a good time. It was like being swept up in something grander than us all. A sea of emotion and humanity. A better understanding of the world."
Frodo squinted at Gandalf quizzically, for he had noticed his moment of muchierness. He blinked once or twice and turned back to the canopy. All was quickly forgotten. The sunlight appeared to be pouring through the leaves like sheets of golden water. The leaves themselves seemed only inches overhead. Frodo reached up and tried to touch them.
The colors were changing now. Or maybe not changing exactly. It was more like the spectrum of light was being fractured by Frodo’s eyes, and he was able to see multiple colors in the same objects, which had before been monotone. Frodo gasped it’s frightening beauty. A butterfly fluttered through his visual field, its wings the size of dinner plates. Frodo grasped Gandalf’s hand, “What the hell is--!” And then he began to laugh, realizing what it had really been. “Good God, I thought that was a dragon or something!”
"In another time and place it might have been!" Gandalf laughed, squeezing Frodo's hand, "What else do you see?"
Frodo was seeing all kinds of things, but he wasn’t sure how to describe them. Still, he felt surprisingly lucid. At least, speaking came easily. “You know,” he said, sort of ignoring the question, but not really. “I had this dream the other day, and this looks--”
He paused. His eyes narrowed on Gandalf. “I’m sorry, but do I know you? No mean... from somewhere else?”
“I’ve never met you before in this life,” Gandalf replied."Where does this doorway take you, Frodo?"
“Doorway?” Frodo blinked. When he opened his eyes, the scenery had changed--even though it really hadn’t. The way it felt had changed, as if he wasn’t outdoors, but inside. Inside someone’s cozy home. A patch of sunlight on the grass became a fireplace. He could feel its gentle warmth. And Gandalf was still there, sitting beside him at... a kitchen table? “No, I swear I know you.”
"Perhaps. Somewhere else. Some time else, like a past life?" Gandalf puffed on his joint, and blowed another smoke ring.
Frodo shook his head, as if to clear it, though it didn’t really work. “Yes,” he said slowly. “A shadow of the past.” He wasn’t really sure what he meant by that, but it seemed the right thing to say.
He scooted down, so that he could lay down on the grass. Above him, the leaves glittered and danced. His smile bloomed. Soon all was forgotten. “You know, this is so much like my dream, I can’t begin to tell you.”
"A waking dream," Gandalf suggested. "The shrooms are letting you see what you can only see in your sleep."
Frodo’s smile faded. He was sad to think this this would soon fade. “But I can’t be like this all the time.”
"No, you can't. As nice as it is to lose oneself in these other places and other times, we cannot allow ourselves that luxury." He put out his joint and sat back, "A little trip every once in awhile is fine, however."
“Well, it’s something to look forward to,” Frodo replied.
“Indeed it is, my friend.” Gandalf got to his feet, more spry than he appeared to be, “I really should get going. I have an early day with explosives tomorrow.”
Frodo should have sat up, but he didn’t. “Explosives?”
Gandalf chuckled, “I do some work in pyrotechnics on the side.” He flexed his fingers, “Boom.”
And Frodo chuckled as well. “And boom to you, sir,” he said, extending his hand from his place on the ground. His eyes were still locked on the sky.