There are two things you must know about being a fletmate before you consider a long-term lease with either of your best friends: Firstly, within a span of days you will become intimately acquainted with each other's toileting habits. Secondly, you will be absolutely, paralysingly, infuriatingly powerless to stop them.

What more can be said? Gimli…Gimli was a Dwarf, and from my limited observations it appeared as though they all favored crude physical and olfactory humor.

…and Tauriel? Tauriel enjoyed singing in the shower. Today's tune was a woefully familiar one:

Leithio, leithio!

Im tlhein sui i-chûl ah i-venel

Adlego, adlego!

Ú-dirathog i-nîr nîn!

"Is that what I think it is?" I groaned to Gimli. Because that's what my over-memed life needed right now: an effing songfic a la Disney's Frozen.

"Aye, laddie. That it is. The 'wickedly talented Adele Dazim'," he said, his beard bristling as he puffed his pipe. "In the shower. With Tauriel. I wonder what they could be doing—"
I threw a couch cushion at him. "She'll hear you!" I whispered fiercely. Because that's also what my life needed right now: even more gay/shipping jokes.

Sí penian in, erdarthathon

Tolo, alagoooooooooos!

"Not over that she won't," he cringed, pulling his helm down over his ears with both his hands, clenching the pipe between his teeth. "Aren't you Elves supposed to have lovely singing voices?"

i-Chelch 'in ú-drasta nin.

"I wish," I winced, massaging my temples. "Let's just say there's a reason her and Lindir didn't work out, and it had nothing to do with duty or distance."

Gimli said nothing. A sudden horror overtook me. I opened my eyes. Very. Slowly.

"…and she's standing right behind me, isn't she?"