Can You Hear Me Now?
(The White Palace's Pirated
Final Fantasy of Arda)

Rating: PG
Category: AU. So very very AU. Multi-verse Crossover (including one belonging to El Rat Face)
Pairing(s): That could take a while to list…
Warnings: Complete lack of respect for canon, including my own. MPreg. Yeah you’re shocked. Would you believe I once said mpreg was the naffest genre of fan fic ever? I did. It’s true.
Summary: “But when worlds collide,” said George Pal to his bride, “I’m going to give you some terrible thrills…”
Notes: Meadbunny Rating: Off the Chart.

There are scant few people in this world who mean as much to me as Master Erestor. Hon, trust me when say I wish I could hold you and snuggle you and call you George and feed you white malteasers and bring you pirates to molest, but sadly I’m here and you’re there. Really, really, really wish I was there. Since I can’t be, I wrote you this stupid cheer-up get-well crack!fic in an attempt to brighten your world a little.

People of sensitive natures and canon-nazis should probably just find something better to do. Because this is the Rat set loose with a bottle of mead and a pen.

I’d stand back if I were you.

For erestor, with love.

They stood on the flat grassland, and watched the massive form of the crippled airship as it rest on the ground, listing to one side in the way airships were not supposed to. They were in the middle of nowhere, and it was raining. And not a light rain, either. This was pounding rain, lashing down from the sky in torrents, soaking the clothes of the people gathered as they watched the creaking ship tip further over onto its side, finally hitting the ground with a moaning scream that sounded like the cry of the largest whale ever called into existence, and crashing onto its side with a noise like the largest whale ever called into existence hitting the dirt from an altitude of five thousand feet. For a long time, no one said anything.

“I’m so annoyed, I can’t even voice it,” said Sephiroth.

Zack looked over at his seven foot lover, whose black coat clung to his body like a second skin, his white hair slicked down against his skull and obscuring his face, turning him into the largest and unhappiest Persian cat to ever survive a bathing.

“In that case I won’t mention the night crawlers coming out of the ground,” he said.

“I’m going to cry,” muttered Sephiroth.

“Well,” said Cid, “may as well call the hangar and get someone to pick us up.”

He pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, his sandy-blonde hair slick and running with water, and turned the device on.

“Huh. Phone’s not working.”

“I got it covered,” said Tifa, and pulled out her own phone. She gazed at it quizzically. “Mine’s not working either. Or rather, it’s working, but there’s no signal.”

Cell phones came out in force, people checking for signs of electronic life, or, at the very least, a signal.

“Hey!” said Yuffie. “I can’t access my e-mail!”

“Anybody got a signal?” asked Barret.

“Nope.”

“No.”

“Nuthin’ yo.”

“Not a thing.”

“Not me.”

“How can we all not be getting a signal?” demanded Cid. “The ground is flat as a pancake, what’s blocking it?”

Yuffie suddenly gasped. “It’s worse than we thought! I just realized…. ALL THE HAIR GEL WAS ON THE SHIP!”

The intrepid group of sodden adventurers exchanged glances, then as one howled to the sky; “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

***---***

Miles away, in the warmth and security of his stone cottage, Haldir looked up, a quizzical expression on his handsome face.

“I thought I heard something.”

Rabbit had been lounging by the fire, and he too looked up. “You did.” He rose to his feet. “I shall go look. I would welcome an excuse to run in the rain.”

“I will come, too,” said Frost. “There may be someone in need of a healer.”

“Be careful,” said Elrohir. “Both of you.”

“No need to fret, my Aia-Nen,” said Frost. “This is Valinor, after all. I doubt we shall find anything too evil.’

“I hope you are right,” said Haldir.

Haldir gently kissed Rabbit, touching his face. Then he and Elrohir watched as the two Plains Elves left the cottage, loping across the sodden grass in the direction of the cry. They had not gone far when they were met by Glorfindel on his black horse, Ithil.

“You heard it as well!” said Frost.

“Indeed, as did as good Gimli and Legolas,” said Glorfindel, indicating the pair as they rode up on Arod. “It sounded like a building toppling, and a great cry of dismay.”

Rabbit cast about, tracking something in the wind. “Smoke, and fire. There is a stink here I have not smelled since the dungeons of Barad-Dûr. I do not like it.”

“Then let us go see what we may,” said Glorfindel.

“Not without me,” said a voice.

Glorfindel turned his head to see Erestor on his bay mare, who was skipping through the puddles, shaking her head in displeasure as the rain turned her coat dark.

“Darling, not that I don’t have any respect for your skills as a warrior, but… you are rather pregnant at the moment.”

“Don’t remind me,” muttered Erestor, skilfully controlling his mount, his trio of crows perched on his shoulders.

“Well don’t you think you would be safer at home?”

“Safer, yes, but my heart tells me you shall have need of me.”

“Your heart speaks true, for I shall always have need of you.”

Erestor smiled. “I mean to come with you. I shall stay out of harm’s way, do not fear. I’ve no love of combat. Besides, if I slay any foes we happen upon, you will still have need of that wretched Balrog tale.”

“Can we depart now?” said Frost. “I do not mind running long distances, but I do hate swimming them!”

Together the friends began making their way towards the source of the odour, the sound of the drumming rain and hoofbeats drowning out yet another mournful cry directed to the unforgiving heavens, echoing up from the beach beneath the great cliff.

“THE RUM’S GONE!”

***---***

Within the warmth and security of New Imladris, Lord Elrond gazed into the rain, glass of wine in one hand, Rúmil at his side. He reached his free hand up to gently caress his husband’s face.

“I felt a great disturbance,” said Elrond, slowly, thoughtfully. “As if a great collision had occurred.”

He watched the pounding rain, his thoughts far away, trying to comprehend what he had felt. Rúmil edged closer to him, nipping his ear playfully.

“Perhaps it was only a cliff giving way under the weight of its own great age.”

“I pray you are right.”

There was the thud of footsteps entering the office; their sound most distinct. Motorcycle boots, metal edged, a chain around one ankle, jingling softly as the boots struck stone with every step. Elrond turned to face the large, handsome man, dressed in jeans, t-shirt and black leather jacket, his long hair hanging lank and dripping. The man offered a short, respectful bow as he brought up one hand to shove his hair out of his face. In his other hand he held a small box, from which frantic scratching noises could be heard.

“We’ve a slight problem, Lord Elrond.”

Elrond looked surprised. “Arrowsmith. Not that you are unwelcome, but what brings you here?”

“Would you believe me if I said four Caesars, a bottle of very young mead, and some cheap rum?”

Something within the shoebox hiccupped. Elrond raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps you should start at the beginning.”

***---***

“I’m siiiiiiiiiiiiinging in the rain,” sang Zack. “Just siiiiiiiiiiiiinging in the rain! What a glooooooooooorious feeling, I’m…”

“Shut. Up,” said Cloud.

“Malcontent.”

The stranded group were huddled near the ruins of their airship in an attempt to stay dry, gathered around a blazing ball of fire materia. It sizzled and hissed as the water dripped onto it, weakening its effectiveness, but there was no place drier to put it. Barret huddled against the side of the ship, watching the drenched and skinny form of Reno, his long red hair stuck to his head like a dead animal, still trying to get a signal on his cell phone.

“Knew I shoulda stayed in bed today,” grumbled Barret.

Beside Barret, Vincent was sunk into his soaking wet cloak like a bizarre turtle, red eyes narrowed in irritation, tangled black hair at all angles like the legs of a dead alcoholic arachnid. He sneezed; a small sound much like a cat with dust up its nose. Cid sat down beside him, using his leather bomber jacket as a sort of umbrella over the two of them.

“Anything yet, Reno?” he called.

“A girl named Babbette wants to know if I want to see her web-cam, yo.”

“Funny how the spam always manages to get through, even when nothing else does,” muttered Tifa. Her thigh-length hair had come loose from its tie, and now fell straight and heavy over her back, face and shoulders, transforming her into a female version of Cousin It. Vincent sneezed again.

“You okay?” Cid asked him softly.

“Dandy,” said Vincent, his voice congested.

“Perfect,” said Yuffie. “The undead gunslinger has a cold. We’re doomed.”

Cid placed a hand on Vincent’s face. “You okay? D’ya have a temperature?”

“How can he have a temperature if he’s undead?”asked Barret.

“How can he have a cold if he’s undead?” asked Zack.

“He’s pregnant, too,” said Tifa.

“Can we please stop discussing my lack of life?” said Vincent. He sneezed, turning Cid to goo.

“You’re so damned cute.”

Vincent swung his head to look at his husband, a jaded expression in his crimson eyes.

“Cute?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a sick man, Cid.”

“I know.” Cid gently drew Vincent close, cuddling him.

Reno meanwhile kept doggedly trying to get a signal, holding his cell phone out, slowly scanning the area for the faintest blip of a signal. Cloud walked over to his tall, lanky, and sodden lover.

“C’mon, we have to get you out of this rain before you get sick.”

“Just another minute,” said Reno, still seeking a signal.

He was moving in a slow circle, eyes fixed on the device in his hand, when he suddenly became aware of someone standing directly before him. Reno stared at the bare midriff, flat, hard, and muscled, the skin a warm golden tan. Reno slowly raised his eyes, looking up from the flat stomach, to the broad, powerful chest with its strange tattoo of three horses running across the waves, and a rabbit holding a basket. Above the chest was a sturdy neck, supporting a strong jaw. Further up still were a pair of eyes of the most daunting shade of yellow/green he had ever seen, and they were fixed on him with the expression of an apex predator.

Reno abruptly hopped back, dropping his phone, instinct telling him to defend himself. He snapped his electro-rod out of its holder beneath his jacket, flicking the switch to activate it.

“Reno, NO!” Cloud screamed, but not quickly enough.

The saturated electrical device shorted out, the discharge knocking Reno off his feet and onto his back. The creature watched with fascination as the stranger effectively incapacitated himself in one brief yet spectacular moment of bright blue sparks. Cloud dropped to his knees beside him, gently raising his head.

“Speak to me!”

Reno coughed. “Hate that stupid rod.”

Cloud looked up at the large, tattooed man standing before him. He didn’t seem dangerous. If anything he seemed more puzzled than aggressive. Cloud slowly rose to his feet, and the massive being, whom he judged to be nearly nine feet in height, backed up a few paces. Zack walked over to Cloud, his black hair plastered against his head.

“Well he doesn’t seem terribly dangerous. What’s your name?”

“You may call him Rabbit. I am Frost, his child.”

Zack and Cloud looked in the direction of the voice, seeing a second man approaching. His build was very similar to that of Rabbit, but he was ice white, looming out of the rain like a ghost. He too was clad only in breeches and boots, his face tattooed in a manner like the markings of a white tiger. About the bicep of one arm was a tattoo of two geese, flying above a double line that seemed to represent water, and beneath this were two fish. His white hair was thick, and very long, seeming to shed the water rather than be soaked by it.

“I’m Zack. This is my friend Cloud, and, uh, the rocket scientist on the ground is Reno. Your dad’s a big guy.”

“He is not my father. I believe the word you would use is ‘mother’.”

Zack looked interested. “So you’re another victim of Shinra industries?”

“No. I’m a Plains Elf. What’s Shinra?”

Zack blinked. “Elf?” he said, as if not quite believing his ears.

“Elf!” asserted another voice.

From out of the mist rode a tall figure with white hair on a mercury-black horse, its coat running with rainwater. Beside him rode two more beings, one with long, black hair, clad in dark robes, the other a slender figure in breeches and tunic, astride a grey horse. Behind him was something clad in armor, bearing twin axes, looking much like a grumbling drain clog. The man on the black horse dismounted easily, his boots making no sound as they struck the ground. He walked over to Zack and bowed.

“I am Glorfindel of Imladris, formerly of Gondolin, Balrog-Slayer and Seneschal to Lord Elrond. This is my charming, lovely and intelligent husband, Master Erestor, Chief Advisor, and this is Legolas of Mirkwood.”

“What’s that behind him?” asked Zack.

Gimli growled.

“We’re not sure,” said Glorfindel, “But Legolas seems rather fond of it, and it doesn’t mess the carpets too often so we let him keep it.”

Legolas shot Glorfindel a cold look, and then addressed Zack.

“He is Gimli, son of Glóin, Dwarf-Lord, and my husband.”

Zack grinned. “Really? That’s great!” He glanced over his shoulder, smiling affectionately at the drenched and irate figure approaching. “Well this is my baby, General Sephiroth. Hey Baby, look! We finally met someone taller than you.”

Sephiroth came to stand beside Zack, looking at Rabbit. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as Rabbit lowered his head and sniffed him.

“You’ll get used to that,” said Glorfindel apologetically. “They sniff everything. They’re nosy that way.”

“Charming,” said Sephiroth, shooting Zack a look as he stepped closer and sniffed him as well, then shrugged.

“You smell okay to me.”

“Thank you.” Sephiroth turned his attention once more to Glorfindel. “Have you a phone we might use?”

“A what?” said Glorfindel.

“Great,” muttered Cloud.

Their attention was drawn by the arrival of two people on an enormous red and gold motorcycle, the skull of a horse mounted between the handlebars. The driver was wearing motorcycle boots and jeans, and a black leather jacket. Behind him was a tall Elf, wearing breeches and riding boots, as well as a tunic and a velvet riding coat. They pulled to a halt, sliding slightly in the deep grass. The Elf dismounted the huge machine gratefully, rising to his feet, looking only slightly the worse for wear. The man shut off the engine, and lowered the kickstand. He got off the bike, holding a small shoebox, in which something was scratching and swearing. He looked at the people standing around him, and grinned.

“I gotta say I am just thrilled to meet the bunch of you. I bet I played ‘Final Fantasy’ about a million times, and I played ‘Advent Children’ until the DVD player died.”

Sephiroth stared at the man sourly. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, never mind. Oh awesome! Is that Vincent? That man is just sex on legs, what I wouldn’t give for a chance to tie him to a bed and…”

An extremely large lance, hurled like a javelin, dropped out of the sky and landed between the man’s feet. He stared at it, then looked up.

“Sorry, Cid!”

Cid gave the stranger a series of gestures that didn’t need translation.

“How do you know who we are?” asked Cloud.

“And who are you?” asked Zack.

“Oh! Me? John Arrowsmith. I, ah, came to get you out of the situation you’re in.”

“Tell me you have a phone,” said Reno.

“No, I have something better.”

Arrowsmith took the lid off the box, and reached in to draw something out by the long, skinny tail. It was a small grey rat, wearing a pointed blue hat, a rat-sized cloak that hung down like a curtain, and a cigar clutched in its teeth. The soggy adventures just stared at it.

“A rat in a hat,” said Zack. “Very compelling.”

“Not just any rat,” said Arrowsmith. “It’s a magic rat.”

“It smells like Saturday night just before the bars close, yo,” said Reno.

“Well she’s a little drunk,” said Arrowsmith.

The rat took the cigar out of her mouth with one paw. “Lies, all of it! I’m a LOT drunk!”

“What does the nasty thing have to do with us?” asked Sephiroth.

“Y’see,” said Arrowsmith, “all universes have an infinite amount of alternate versions, created by different beings. Sometimes a universe is created by a god, or similar deity. Aaaaannnd… sometimes… it’s… one of these.” He brandished the rum-soaked rodent.

“An alcoholic rat?” said Cloud dubiously.

“A fan-fiction writer, actually. They’re nasty little buggers, and damn near impossible to get rid of. They’re like roaches. You flick the light on and a hundred of them dive for cover, but there’s about a five thousand more in the walls. The worst part is they could be anyone. You never know who might turn out to be a fan-fic writer.”

“I repeat. And what has that to do with us?” asked Sephiroth.

“Well the universe in which you and Lord Glorfindel and company live in is an alternate version of another universe, created by this.” Arrowsmith brandished the rat again. It had once more stuck the cigar in its jaws and was desperately attempting to run. “Trouble is, she’s, uh… sorta been in the booze and, well, that’s how you got here.”

Sephiroth narrowed his eyes. “Indeed.”

He glared at the rat. The rodent’s little legs paddled faster, but no more effectively.

“And what about you?” asked Zack. “Are you affected by the drunken musings of this beast as well?”

“Constantly,” said Arrowsmith. “Only worse. I’m an original creation. I could leave her world, but I’d cease to exist.”

“Harsh,” said Reno.

“I can get you home,” said Arrowsmith, “but we have to wait until the rat sobers up first.”

They gazed at the dangling rat, slowly turning back and forth as it hung by the tail.

“I’m gonna be sick,” it said.

Two more figures staggered out of the rain and up to the group of people, one dressed in a frock coat, his dark hair tied back into a messy ponytail. The other had long black dreadlocks and tri-corner hat, his dark eyes rather glazed. Both looked much the worse for wear. The man with the ponytail stared at Legolas in puzzlement.

“Good gracious, Will, what have you done to yourself?”

Legolas arched an eyebrow. “Do I know you?”

“I should hope you do! It’s me, James!”

Legolas’ other eyebrow went up. He looked him up and down. The man became irate.

“Oh come now, we’re lovers!”

“I think I’d remember if I lay with you.”

The man with the glazed eyes slapped James on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, women deny knowing me all the time.”

“I’m not terribly surprised.”

Reno looked from the pair, and back to Arrowsmith. “Can the rat help them too?”

“No,” said Arrowsmith. “They’re out of the rat’s jurisdiction. Sorry.”

“Well whose jurisdiction are they under?” asked Zack.

Arrowsmith looked over his shoulder at a tall figure with long black hair mounted on a bay mare, smiling serenely, his trio of crows perched on his shoulders. Glorfindel gasped.

“You?!”

“Well what did you think?” said Erestor. “That I spend all my time sorting papers and chasing Elflings?” He smiled wickedly, raising one eyebrow. “An Elf has to have some fun, you know.”