The Barrow-Downs' Third Birthday Party and Downie Awards

[Diamond18]

A Lamborghini Diablo pulled up to the red carpet, but it was not speeding as one would expect from a car of its caliber. Not to say that it had not been speeding up until that point, nay, its driver had been putting the proverbial petal to the magnificent metal in order to get to the party in some semblance of time. She knew she was late, but what is one to do when one sleeps till 11 in the morning? It was her day off of work, and the fact that there was a party had completely slipped her mind.

Now, the undeniably cool car crawled to a stop, nearly out of gas and in dire need of new tires. The front door opened, and out stepped the aforementioned driver herself. Standing at 5’6” in height, she made a tolerably attractive figure (so other have said, mind you, I make no claims). She was clad in a faded denim skirt, which ended just about her knees, and a white tank top under a denim jacket matching her skirt. Her feet were shod in sandals. Yes, her accoutrements were less than formal, but she was here to party, not promenade.

Now let me pause to tell you about her hair. It fell just past her shoulders, and was thick, wavy and silky. Its hue was a natural mix of light golden brown tinged with the slightest red hue, and as she shut the car door behind her, she smoothed her tresses down with unmistakable vanity. Yes, she was shamelessly vain about her hair, and had been known to react with vicious indignation when people asked if she dyed it. Her hazel eyes swept over the red carpet, noticing the Warg hair that lay in clumps all over. Drat, she thought, I was supposed to vacuum my house today. Oh well.

Now, before you die of absolute boredom, let me mention the last, and most interesting aspect of her appearance. Though her clothing was casual (yet chic) she wore an astoundingly gaudy necklace around her neck (as that is usually where one wears a necklace). Eighteen jaw-dropping diamonds were threaded on a mithril chain, and though there had been many other diamond-clad guests before her, none had matched the flashy fire of these diamonds. For it was indeed She of the Eighteen Diamonds who stood upon the hairy red carpet, thinking about the work she was supposed to be doing back home.

“Oh well,” she repeated out loud, and turned to open the back door of her Diablo. “We’re here!”

A small, round, fat, tubby, corpulent, obese, short, puny, diminutive, miniature, body fell out of the back seat. One sausage-like hand reached up and brushed away a graying mop of curly hair, and the middle-aged hobbit lady gasped, “I’m alive! Oh, sweet peas and ale, I’m alive! I thought it would never end! The speeding! The spinouts! The heinous music!”

“Hey,” Diamond objected, “Matchbox20 and 3 Doors Down rule, and they have numbers in their name, so don’t complain.”

Lousewort Chastitybelt stood up dizzily and looked around fearfully. “I want to go home!” she insisted.

“There’s someone here waiting to talk to you,” Diamond replied. “So waddle across this hairy carpet and find her, she’ll be wearing a breastplate.” She accompanied this directive with a shove, muttering, “Heinous music, indeed!”

Diamond then bent over (and the males in the area widened their eyes like the uncouth, bestial creatures they are) and picked a book up off the carpet, which had dropped out along with Lousewort. Dusting the Warg hair off her library copy of David Copperfield, she lamented the fact that it was due in a week and she was not yet halfway through it. She added this to the list of things she was neglecting to attend the party.

“Pimpiowyn, honey, aren’t you going to get out?” she asked gently, smiling fondly at the sweet and shy creature still sitting inside the car.

“There are so many people,” a high, piping voice chirped cutely.

“Come dear, they’ll all love you!” Diamond insisted. “And Vogonwë is somewhere around here, working with the dance troupe. If things get too intimidating, you can go over by him. Okay?”

“All right…” Pimpi agreed, and stepped out onto the still hirsute carpet. A collective gasp rippled through the area, as they looked upon Pimpiowyn Daughter of Éohorse, the only Half-Hobbit-Half-Human known to grace the Downs. Yet, to the untrained eye her Hobbit side was undetectable, as a recent incident with magic beans had caused her to reach 6’ in height. Therefore, she was a tall and slender Half-Halfing, and looked more like an Elf maiden despite having no Elven blood. Her hair put Diamond’s to shame—it was a long gorgeous mane of reddish golden curls that shone with the light of the Similars of Feeblenore. Her lithe frame was graced with an astoundingly beautiful black velvet dress with the most impractical and ridiculously stylish red sleeves. They draped along the ground (unfortunately picking up Warg hair in the process) and made for an all around stunningly stupendous attire.

Pimpi took a step forward, and tripped on her sleeves. She landed in a heap on the carpet, and Diamond, looking rather like a mother hen, quickly helped her back up.

“I’m such a klutz!” Pimpi lamented, tears forming on her rosy cheeks.

“It’s okay, Pimpi sweetheart,” Diamond assured her, and if people didn’t know better, they’d swear she sprouted feathers and started clucking. “Now, look over there! There’s the buffet table! Dragon’s meat and Balrog wings and Lembas cake, oh my!”

Seeing the resplendent food table, Pimpi picked up her skirts and flew across the carpet, her Hobbit side becoming readily apparent in the ravenous hunger that o’er spread her bonny countenance.

“Well,” Diamond said with smug satisfaction, “now for the mingling.”