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For BTME challenge: of Sulfur and Minions

Of Sulfur and Minions:
BTME challenge:
My stall choice from BTME bunnies:
When the Dark Tower is thrown down and the Dark Lord defeated, the Eight, leaderless, find themselves out of work. In order not to die of boredom (can the undead die, anyhow?) they start up a business in Sulfurous Exfoliants. Who would their customers be? How well would their business thrive? Would they be allowed to remain within Mordor, or have to take their custom elsewhere?(I apologize but I don't recall who posted this.
1150 words:

The Eight huddled in a circle, their frames slumped in defeat, as they watched the remains of the Dark Tower crumble into smoking ruin, and with it their boss and their hopes for a comfortable retirement. It had been bad enough to find out that Sauron had cashed in their 401Ks to fund his armies of Orcs; now they were completely destitute... and bored.
“So…what do we do now?” Number Seven finally spoke.
They all looked at each other.
“Well…maybe Rohan has need for some stable hands. We’re not too bad with horses.”
“Uh, no,” Number Six shook his head. “Do you remember what that shield-maiden of Rohan did to the Witch-King? I don’t care to cross her.”
“I know! Maybe the new King needs bodyguards!” Number Four suggested. He shrunk back when the other seven glared at him.
Number Five had a bright idea. He had been studying for his MBA when he was lured by the promise of power offered by Sauron and his infernal rings, and a sound business proposition entered his head.
“I got it. We’re surrounded by smoking hot pools of sludge and water, tons of volcanic ash, and a distinct aroma of sulfur everywhere! Do you know what that means?”
“It means we need a change of scenery,” Number Three grumbled.
“No, you idiot. We have all the tools we need to open our own Sulfurous Exfoliants line of products.”
“What the hey-hey are Sulfurous Exfoliants?” Number Three snorted.
“It is our key to riches and success-and maybe even a means of redeeming ourselves for laying the Black Breath Whammy on so many people by bringing them a line of beauty and aromatherapy products for a reasonable price.”
‘And how do you propose that we market these…exfoliants, when we can’t leave the boundaries of Mordor?”
“Well, let’s start with creating them, and then we’ll move on to marketing,” Number Five said confidently. “I’ve already thought of a name for our facial cream…Oil of Orcay.”
“More like Oil of Decay, if you’re making it,” Number Six guffawed.
“Just shut up and go find some leftover Orcs to be our minions and do all the dirty work. They’re used to it. In the meantime, the rest of us will decide what products we’ll offer.”
Two days later, Numbers Six and Two returned with one hundred Orcs, no longer dressed in armor and rags, but all sporting blue denim coveralls and goggles that fit either one eye or two, depending on the Orc.
“What the bleep is this?” Number Five demanded. “They look ridiculous.”
“You said to bring you minions. I did.”
“Everyone is a comedian. Get them started on production.”
So two of the Eight handed out product production guides to the Orcs. The problem was that none of them knew how to read, so the process had to be taught with much arm waving and gesturing to the point that Number Seven severely strained his shoulder and was set to putting the product flyers into envelopes. Despite these setbacks, the first round of Sulfurous Exfoliants-elegantly bottled in black volcanic glass-was ready to leave Mordor. Mailings had been sent out all over Middle Earth with prices and delivery options. Another problem arose when the Middle Earth postal workers, too afraid to cross the boundary into the Dark Land, threw parcels of mail over the border and then ran for it.
“Well, this won’t work. Do you think maybe we could bribe one of the eagles to do the deliveries for us?” Number Four suggested.
Number Five snorted, “No way! Those eagles dropped everyone off a good ten miles from the place where they really wanted to be. I don’t want packages meant for Moria dropped off in Helm’s Deep or something.”
“Do you have any other suggestions then?” the others demanded all at the same time, which meant they had to join their pinkie fingers to break the jinx.
“What about that little gray Gollum critter? He’s pretty good about getting around here.”
Number Six shook his head. “Nope, he fell into the fires of Mount Doom when he grabbed that ring from Frodo.”
They sat around stumped for a few minutes. And then, in a convenient plot device, the sky opened and a golden card flitted down into Number Five’s hand.
“It’s a business card. It says ‘From the Misty Mountains to Darrowdelf, if you need it there fast, just call the Elf.’ Contact Glorfindel at the Most Exotic Elven Hotel.”
“Is he as desperate for income as we are?” Number Eight asked.
“I hear he’s saving up for a luxury yacht for his sail to Valinor in a few years. He always put on airs, that one.”
So they contacted Glorfindel by another convenient plot device-Middle Earth email-and they met with him on the border of Mordor since he didn’t want to get his robes dirty in all the volcanic ash and muck.
He eyed the bottles doubtfully. “I don’t know, fellas; those black bottles don’t look very appealing. Neither do the labels. What the heck are Oil of Orcay and Eau de Sulfur?”
“Look, you’re only being paid to deliver. We want cash or Gold or Silver Mallorn cards only. No checks.”
Within two weeks, Glorfindel and his assistants had successfully distributed all the product orders. There was a minor issue with Glorfindel’s card reader charging the product in cents instead of dollars-with the Eight angrily accusing him of skimming off the top-but at last all the money was collected and it was time to get feedback before they produced any more.
The reviews began to come in by bags of post thrown over the border, and they weren’t positive. The Oil of Orcay caused gray, scabby skin in the humans that bought it, and the Eau de Sulfur, far from having the desired effect of drawing the Men to the Women instead inflamed every musk ox in the immediate vicinity and five homes were destroyed by an oxen stampede as they tried to reach the object of their desire. The resulting demands for reparation effectively put the Eight out of business, and the minions stumped off to work for some guy named Gru. Glorfindel had in fact been skimming off the top at first, and bought his luxury yacht for his sail to Valinor. The Eight remained bored, but Five had plans to turn Mordor into a spa and resort until the others threw heavy rocks at him.
The End (unless Five gets his way eventually)


( 6 comments — Leave a comment )
Mar. 23rd, 2015 07:42 pm (UTC)
Hahaha! This prompt was mine :) You filled it well! Thank you! And the Orcs dressed as Minions...xDD :) Thank you very much. Tehehe

Kaylee Arafinwiel
Mar. 23rd, 2015 08:24 pm (UTC)
This was hilarious! I love the orcs dressed as minions! LOL!

I also love the side effects, and Glorfindel being their courier. Of course, he skimmed a little off the top, the sooner to get his yacht!

I feel kind of sorry for Number 5; it should have been such a good idea.
Mar. 23rd, 2015 10:24 pm (UTC)
“Do you have any other suggestions then?” the others demanded all at the same time, which meant they had to join their pinkie fingers to break the jinx.

*snort* You've still got it, Kimby!
Mar. 24th, 2015 04:39 am (UTC)
Oh I loved this, just delicious!I loved all the little details like Oil of Orcay.

LJ has messed up your formatting so you've no paragraphs.
Mar. 25th, 2015 02:41 am (UTC)
OMG, this is awesome!!! My favorite part is Oil of Orcay - oh, and the minions! :D

Also - I hope Five gets his own way. <3 This is delightful!

Thank you! :D
Apr. 1st, 2015 03:17 am (UTC)
Oh, too funny! What would the remaining Nazgul do with their time? Now a spa? Too cute!
( 6 comments — Leave a comment )


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