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Frodo Baggins (theseabell) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-02-11 16:38:00

Bagginssss! Give it to us!
Who: Frodo and Smeagol
When: Monday Night
Where: Frodo's Office, Fortith Floor
What: Smeagol breaks in to the office, demands his precious, and probably kills someone
Rating: R, For implied sexual encoutner (NOT with Frodo), choking, fighting
Status: Complete


A year ago, Frodo would never have been found working in his office so late. He was hardly found in his office at all, preferring to employ a proxy and send him in his stead. But so many things had changed over the last 365 days, it made sense that Frodo’s presence at Shirink would be one of them. He had not yet discovered that he had a knack for business, but he was learning quickly. He had even gotten to a point where he was very willing to stay an extra hour or two, just to keep up.

The company's administrative secretary, on the other hand, and a miserable work ethic. Cheryl was far more interested in office gossip than actually doing her job. Half the time it seemed like she didn't even answer the phone!

So her being there late was certainly a surprise, but she wasn't working. Something quite inappropriate and loud was happening down the hall from Frodo's office. Best case scenario, she was watching porn on her computer with the sound turned way up.

Slowly, Frodo looked up from his desk, brows knit as he listened to the moaning in disbelief. His lips mouthed his silent shock. Though maybe he should not have been so surprised. It was Cheryl, after all. But this was unacceptable. He dropped his pencil and pushed back from the desk.

“Cheryl?” he called out, sounding quite cross. This was the last straw, really. “Cheryl?”

It wasn't the first time Cheryl had used the office for...personal use. The boss used to not come in so much, after all.

As Frodo came around the corner, the voices became clearer.

"Oh, yeah." The secretary's voice sounded strained, but clearly enjoying herself.

"Stop that..what, no, stop!" The second voice was hissing, and sounded confused, angry. It was also a familiar voice from Frodo's dreams.

"Give it--" the secretary moaned again, sputtering.

Frodo had once again fallen silent. In fact, he stopped moving altogether, nearly skidding to a stop. In the darkened hallway, his eyes became round and wide enough so that the white was clearly visible. That he was hearing Cheryl orgasm was bad enough. But the second voice filled him with fear. Smeagol.

He pressed himself against the wall, holding his breath to keep from hyperventilating. How had Smeagol gotten in the building? Why had he come? Just for Cheryl? Was this trist something planned or was it a mere distraction on Smeagol’s way to something far more dastardly.

For what it was worth, Smeagol and Cheryl weren't actually having sex. It was hard to tell from looking, though. Smeagol was in his boxers, with his clothes nowhere to be found. Cheryl had ripped off her clothes with seemingly little provocation--how seductive could Smeagol be?--and was laying on the desk, spasming. Smeagol's hands were wrapped securely around her neck, squeezing the life out of her.

In many ways, Frodo was still rather innocent. He could not fathom the appeal of some of Cheryl’s sexual proclivities. She was vocal about them around the office. That sex with her might sound violent and angry was really no surprise. It was fairly disgusting, but he stayed in the hallway and listened, because he was too frightened to move. Making his presence known was the last thing he wanted to do and yet, Frodo knew that he would probably have to start running very soon.

Once the woman had stopped moaning and writhing in ways that disturbed even Smeagol, he let go of her, letting her fall back onto the desk. He then pushed her body unceremoniously to the side so that he could start digging through the desk drawers, looking for something. Not here!

Smeagol scowled, hissing and flinging one of the drawers aside before starting for the door. Had to find Baggins' office.

Frodo’s blood ran cold at the eerie silence and the dull, lifeless thud. His eyes turned to the elevator. Too far. The stairwell was only a few feet away, but he was forty floors up. Smeagol’s footfalls grew louder. Frodo did the only thing he could do at this point. He announced himself. He had the element of surprise on his side. “Smeagol! This is Frodo! Now, stay right where you are. I do not want any trouble.”

Smeagol started, crouching down low and spinning to see Frodo. His eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. “Bagginssss,” he rasped, glaring at the man. “Give it to us!” he said, leaning toward Frodo. It really wasn’t fair. Frodo already had so much. Here was Smeagol, with nothing but his boxers.

Right down to Gollum’s scant clothing, the past was repeating itself. His heart began to fill with pity, even though it was unwanted. Frodo peeled himself from the wall, squaring his shoulders. He was determined to live through this. “Is not here,” he said, finding some strength in his voice, now that the time had come when it was so needed. “It is not in this building.”

A guttural noise came from somewhere deep in Smeagol’s throat as he lunged forward a few steps, stopping just shy of Frodo. “You said that before,” he said, his tone suspicious. “Hobbits lie! Give it to us!”

Frodo leapt back reactively, but he held Smeagol’s gaze. “Why would I have it here? Look.” Reaching into the pockets of his trousers, Frodo turned them inside out, spilling his wallet. He could not have cared less if Smeagol took that. “Nothing.”

Smeagol glanced down at the wallet, but dismissed it quickly, He looked back up at Frodo, tilting his head. “Take us to it!” he demanded.

Frodo had locked the Ring in a safe and the safe itself had been buried. It was almost overkill, but for just enough time, Frodo had been able to realize what was at stake. He wanted to make sure the Ring could not escape on its own, as it had occasionally been known to do.

“I cannot do that, Smeagol.”

“No! No! Not fair!” Smeagol said, pounding his fist on the floor. “It’s mine! It’s all I had!” Smeagol burst into tears, dropping his forehead to the floor and moaning.

While Smeagol’s gaze turned away, Frodo reached with a trembling hand for a bust atop a nearby bookshelf. Just in case. He looked so much to Gollum, now. Did that mean the poor wretch was beyond saving? “That can-cannot be true,” Frodo stammered.

Still crying, Smeagol began to hack and cough. “Gollum, gollum,” he coughed, making that old, familiar sound.

“Master has everything,” Smeagol said, looking up at Frodo with wide, pathetic eyes. “Money, house, friends, girl...” Smeagol hadn’t even had a girlfriend. Strangling Cheryl was the closest he’d ever come to sex. “And my present!” his voice deepened and he scowled up at the hobbit.

For a moment, Frodo had considered offering Smeagol a hand and bringing him back to his feet. If the Ring had done this to him, would he become like Gollum, as well? Did that mean they were brothers, in a way?

But Frodo did not chance it. The fire in Smeagols eyes was violent. He had already lost one finger to him long ago. “I am.... sorry, Smeagol. Now, you have to go. Y-You cannot stay here.”

“‘Sorry’,” Smeagol mimicked, then spit on the ground. “‘Sorry’? It’s mine! Mine!” With that, Smeagol lunged toward Frodo, reaching everywhere at once. Maybe Baggins had Precious around its neck. Maybe in its nasty pocketses!

Frodo was not a violent man and for a moment he was seized with fear, but on instinct he came down hard with the bust in his hands. The stone struck Smeagol’s shoulder. Frodo put all his strength and frantic energy into knocking him in the head.

Smeagol howled in pain, hurtling back several feet from force of the impact alone. If the blow had actually struck him in the head, it would have cracked his skull open. As it was, he clutched his shoulder, holding his arm close. Awful, dreadful hobbit!

Smeagol actually looked quite frightened, and turned onto all fours, rushing toward the stairs.

Frodo’s arms shook from what the attack had required from him mentally as much as physically. There was a little pinkish blood left behind on the stone. Smeagol looked like an animal as he crawled away.

His legs wobbled as Frodo took the opportunity to run to the front desk and answer his questions about Cheryl’s fate. He was prepared to carry her if he had to. He would not have been able to forgive himself if he had left without her.

With her eyes closed, Cheryl looked still as the grave. even after Frodo had come to her. There were bruises forming on her neck that were distinctly finger-shaped. As Frodo was checking her, though, Cheryl coughed loudly, sounding like someone who had nearly drowned and was finally catching their breath.

“Oh, man,” she moaned as she struggled to catch her breath, rubbing lightly at her neck. “Wow.”

Frodo’s stomach turned at the sight, repulsed by everything about this night. But at least Cheryl was alive. He had not known what to expect. Whatever she and Smeagol had been trying to accomplish -- and he was not convinced it was the same thing -- she was still in her underwear. “We have to get out of here,” he said, trying to get her off to the floor, even if she was not ready.

Cheryl was unsteady on her feet as Frodo helped her stand. She’d had a sort of crush on him once. Well, she’d tried to get him into bed. When that hadn’t worked, she’d moved onto the next target without much of a second thought. Glancing down at the broken statue he must have used as a weapon, though, was making her rethink that. “Oh yeah?” she said, trying to be sultry, but her voice was still pretty hoarse. “Or what?”

Or he’d choke her? Please say he’d choke her!

He tucked the stone bust under his arm and tried to ignore the one attached to her chest that Cheryl was trying to press to his face. Really, it would not have been that difficult even without the threat of Smeagol looming in the hallway. Frodo did, however, take a second or two to examine her bruised neck.

“Or Smeagol is going to... probably try to eat us.” No sense in diluting the danger they were facing. He grabbed her by the wrist. “We need to go. Now.”

“Mmm, don’t tease,” Cheryl said, running her free hand through her mussed hair. She let him pull her along, though she was still feeling a little woozy from the earlier activities.

Frodo shook his head. “Whatever...” he muttered. He could not fully blame Cheryl for being stupid about Smeagol, and yet he wanted to. Hooking her arm across the back of his neck, he started cautiously for the hallway. He kept the bust close.

Cheryl swerved like she was drunk. Maybe she was. Alcohol was tame, compared to some of the drugs she’d done while on the clock. “You’re no fun,” she complained, but she still walked along with him down the hallway. One hand tugged halfheartedly at Frodo’s shirt, but she wasn’t really up for round two. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out.

Frodo would have rolled his eyes if he had not be so determined to scan every nook and cranny of the hallway as they turned the corner. It was dark and silent. No sign of Smeagol or anyone else. Did they not employ a security guard?

Oh God. How had Smeagol gotten in?

He tugged Cheryl onward. The stairwell was too much of a risk. They would take the elevator.

Cheryl leaned on him, looking up at Frodo as they waited for the elevator. “You can push my buttons,” she said, then laughed a low, intoxicated laugh.

Frodo was questioning just how much Cheryl was worth saving when the door opened. The space was empty. He had half-expected to see Smeagol waiting for them inside.

Smeagol wasn’t waiting inside. Frodo and Cheryl moved into the elevator, and just as it looked like the coast was clear, Smeagol dashed forward wildly--seemingly out of nowhere--and grabbed Cheryl, pulling her back into the darkness. The elevator doors closed too quickly for any rescue attempt, open just long enough to hear Smeagol’s disappointed scream “No!!”

He’d meant to grab the hobbit and he’d wound up with the crazy nymph instead.

It happened so fast that Frodo could scarcely believe it had actually happened at all. Suddenly, Cheryl was gone, leaving nail marks on his neck as Smeagol ripped her away. Frodo smashed his fingers into the elevator buttons, but the box refused to respond. He was being taken downward without his consent, leaving Cheryl and Smeagol behind on the fortieth floor. It fell like a sinking ship, like an act of God. Deus ex machina.

Frodo sunk to his knees.

A speaker in the corner popped with static. "Mr. Baggins? Sir, are you alright?"

Frodo recognized the voice of Patrick Davis, one of the building's security guards. He lifted his head. Buds of tears had formed in his eyes. He felt like he was in shock, but what had happened slowly dawned on him. Patrick had tripped the emergency recall, bringing all the elevators to the ground floor. What horrible timing for Cheryl...

"Yes," he replied. "Yes. I am alright."

"I got a knock on the head," Patrick started to explain. His voice was weak. "Just came to. Good thing you got in that elevator. The police have been called. We'll get that lady, don't worry."

Frodo doubted Cheryl would be alive when they found her.