Pop, Six, Squish, Uh-uh, Cicero, Lipschitz...

Part III: Squish

***

Squish.

O, wonderful, thought Frodo sarcastically. 

He hesitantly picked up his foot and looked at its bottom. Well, whatever that brown, gooey mess was, it is now embedded into every crease and line of his foot.

Sighing, Frodo put his book down on the table and leaned against the counter to scrape it off.

Squish.

Frowning, Frodo looked to the counter top and picked up his hand. Brown, gooey, glop.

Resisting the urge to be disgusted, Frodo held his hand as far from him as hobbitly possible and walked over the sink.

Squish.

Frodo stopped, and stepped in another direction.

Squish.

He cringed, and walked forward.

Squishsquish. Squishsquish.

"Ugh," groaning, Frodo looked down (even though he really, really didn’t want to) and found the entire floor was covered in brown, slimy, goo. "What in..." Frodo looked around in dismay. "What happened here?" he asked aloud, noticing the entire room was covered in the same deplorable substance.

Moving forward to at least grab a towel of some sort, Frodo clung desperately to chairs and cabinets, trying not to slip in the disgusting mess.

Reaching the drawer that held the towels, he picked one out and began scouring his hands. "How revolting," he commented to himself, and lifted his voice to sail through the window into the garden, "Sam! Are you out there?" he called. No answer. He wasn’t there, then. Sam always answered.

Fighting for his stomach to stay calm, Frodo picked the disgusting mess from under his nails, trying to scrub the sticky muck off his hands as his feet squishsquished in it below him.

Cleaning his hands as best as he could, Frodo placed the towel down and sighed. He took a step back, but unexpectedly lost his footing, and with an ‘Eep!’ slipped and fell into the gunk on the floor.

"Ugh!" Frodo growled in utmost revolt at the mess around him and attempted to get up, only to succeed in falling into the mess again, and then again, and then actually again, until he was curl to foot covered in the brownish muck. "This is absolutely nauseating!" he declared, throwing his hands up, making a small amount of the slime fly into his mouth.

Trying furiously to spit it from his mouth without use of his (already covered) hands was practically useless, and he bravely was forced to the decision that he had no choice but to swallow it.

Closing his eyes, he gulped down the goo, and his sickened face softened when he was surprised to find that it did not taste bad...actually it tasted rather... good.

Opening one sticky eye, he scrutinized the brown substance more carefully and, bringing his hand close to his nose, sniffed it. Bringing one cautious finger up to touch his tongue, he was actually relieved and delighted to find that the mess was indeed: Molasses.

The momentary relief gone, he was then left to ponder (quite perplexedly) why his kitchen was covered in the sweet slime.

Just as his face was contorting in interrogation of the inevitable question, he was started from his thoughts by the sound of an angry voice.

"Peregrin Took! I told you no dessert, you were punished!"

"I’m sorry, Pearl," sobbed young Pippin from somewhere in the hallway as the door slammed and Pearl sighed angrily. "Pearl, it’s in my eyes!" he whined miserably.

"Come on," she tugged his arm as she stormed past the kitchen, a molasses-covered, sobbing, sticking, Pippin in tow.

Stopping suddenly, Pearl backed up, and was shocked to discover that the entire kitchen of Bag End was doused in the sugary substance, sticky Pippin finger prints and hand prints marred the walls and floors in every direction. "Pippin!" she said, scandalized, "How much of the molasses did you use?"

Pippin sniffed. He was unhappy and messy and uncomfortable – Pearl was his most nicest, funniest, favoritest sister, and she never, ever got mad at him. And he was made even more miserable to be taken from her good graces for the moment. "The whole barrel," he answered softly.

"The whole...?" she sighed again. Looking back into the kitchen, this time she noticed Frodo sitting in the corner amidst the muck. "Frodo! Are you alright?" she said, surprised.

"I’m completely fine," Frodo assured. "Just a little slip," he explained, although his completely saturated state, followed by the fact that he was on the floor, betrayed this cool disposition he depicted. "What happened?"

"I don’t know... I told Pippin no dessert and somehow he ended up covering himself and the entire kitchen in molasses!"

"Frodo said I could, Pearl!" shouted Pippin in defense, tugging her skirts, "He said!"

"He did?" Pearl said skeptically, turning her bright green eyes to Frodo who blushed, though it could not be seen for the brown mess on his face.

"He said I could have some dessert I asked him after you said no when he was reading and he said ‘yes, sure whatever!’" Pippin rambled.

Frodo blushed harder under Pearl’s now severe gaze, as he realized his folly.

"Is this true, Frodo?" Pearl asked coolly, putting her hands on her hips, flipping the long braid of rich red hair behind her shoulders once more. She knew Frodo could never lie to her.

Frodo debated a moment whether or not to tell the truth, but then relented to the fact that he was a terrible liar, and sighed. Taking a minute to try and stand up without making himself out to be completely incapable and ridiculous, and slipping several times in the process, (once paying a baleful glare to the quietly giggling hellion who had unknowingly got him into this literal and figurative mess), he managed to stand; and with as much dignity as the present moment would allow him, leaned against the counter. "Well, I assumed when he asked that he was not punished," Frodo explained calmly.

Pearl raised her brows, "O, really?"

Frodo nodded a bit hesitantly, sensing from her poised disposition that he had just said something that was going to come back and bite him.

"I tend to doubt that Frodo, based on the fact that just oh..." she gazed up at the kitchen clock, "A little less than an hour ago – while you were reading in the parlor – I came up to you and told you Pippin was not to have any sweets for the rest of the day."

Frodo swallowed.

"And since you had answered me then with the exact ‘yes, sure whatever’ that Pippin had just described a moment ago... I can come to the conclusion that you weren’t listening to me, either," she finished mercilessly, and Frodo looked up, meeting her green-eyed gaze sheepishly.

"Emm..."

Pippin was in a state of revel, it was hardly ever that he got to see his wise older cousin being reprimanded and subsiding like a little lad. Pearl really was his favorite sister!

"So," Pearl announced sharply, bringing all back to attention. "While I go and give my filthy little brother a bath, it would be nice if you lived up to your end of the fault and cleaned the kitchen." Pippin giggled again, a sticky smile coming to his face as he realized Frodo was getting the brunt of his foolishness. Pearl tugged on his arm rather hard though, wiping the smile from his face as he gazed up at her – he forgot she was still mad. "And as for you," she began, as she pulled him out of the doorway towards the washroom.

"But, Pearl!" Frodo could hear him whining as she was pulling him away. He looked around the disaster area the kitchen had become and sighed. Placing his book aside he picked up a washcloth – the riveting History of Die and Their Function in the Origin of Playing Games was just going to have to wait until another afternoon.