The majestic warrior prince who guided his people to a new home after a devastating attack; now seeking to reclaim his homeland. We’d follow Thorin Oakenshield anywhere. And provide him with plenty of TLC.
Savvy, smart, rescourceful sergeant who kicks arse and takes the time to be tender. We’d want John Porter to come and rescue us if we ended up in a terrible jam. Or let us give a nice soothing massage . . . to all those big, buff knotted muscles.
Sir Guy, the beautiful, complex henchman who smoulders like nobody’s business and puts his own life on the line to protect and save the woman he loves . . . too bad she never appreciated him properly (not even after he returned to Nottingham to fight and die by her side if necessary). We would have done better!
Lucas, cool, enigmatic and sexy spy, haunted by the torture and deprivation of years in Russian prison but still loyal to his country (don’t believe everything certain writers dish out). We’d love to help him move past the pain.
Another engimatic character, black leather-clad rebel 6os biker, Geordie Ricky Deeming, who knows how to make our motors race. We’d like to hop on the back of his bike for a spin . . .
The handsome, hard working Victorian mill owner who seeks to improve himself and discovers a foolish passion for a certain demure young lady. We’d have made up our minds about you much sooner, John Thornton. What a catch!
John Strandring, shy Yorkshire farmer with a heart of gold, a gentle giant. No wonder we call him Sweetie John. Beautiful inside and out, our John is faithful and steadfast. We long to make him feel loved and appreciated . . .
Thorin’s brother ChaRActers wish to put Thranduil, any fellow elves or other creatures who fail to show Thorin the proper respect due to the uncrowned King Under the Mountain on notice: such behavior will NOT be tolerated. You should know who you are messing with. Some of the ChaRActers have posted messages . . .
So the latest “must-see-but you can’t if you don’t have the secret decoder ring nanny, nanny boo-boo” event has come and gone and Lord knows what we will be subjected to in the coming months as bits and bobs of the second film of The Hobbit trilogy are dangled before us like the proverbial carrot. Yes, my friend Velvet of Morrighan’s Muse, Pavlov’s dogs have been located, and we, apparently, are the salivating pack. We may hate ourselves in the morning, but we will feverishly do our best to gobble up every morsel we can glean of whatever they throw at us tonight.
You know what? I don’t really care about elves (sorry, never consumed by ardor for Legolas, too pretty for my tastes, and now Thranduil has pissed me off seriously by getting in my dwarf king’s personal space) or dragons (even if voiced by a talented actor who looks inexplicably like an otter and speaks the Queen’s English quite beautifully). I am awake again in the wee hours and in pain. Listening to the wind still roaring a bit outside, I am eating marshmallows, of all things (at least they are fat-free), my heating pad back on, seeking some sort of relief.
Lots of emotions running through me right now. I am angry at my body for letting me down yet again, and a bit miffed with Warner Brothers for what I perceive is greed and a certain lack of respect for fans, and feeling oddly defensive of my Thorin/RA and irrationally angry at the thought of Bard or Thranduil or anyone else stealing his magnificent thunder. Call me crazy–you wouldn’t be the first–but that’s the way I feel.
So let’s look at Thorin, shall we? Maybe this will take me to my happy place. If nothing else, it will give you something nice to swoon/chuckle over.
Update: Apparently Warner Brothers has hired lawyers to go against screen shots taken of the Hobbit Live Event. Hearing thsi, I have even less love for them. Now they’ll come up with a Super Duper Extra Extended Edition with actual DNA of the cast members to help pay the exorbitant lawyer fees. Give me a freakin’ break . . .