fairynuff | TEST DRIVE MEME

[ luke side-steps, moving his arm to catch her fist in his palm — but whether or not he catches it, well, either way, he's going to end up with a broken something, and it might as well be his hand. they'd been burned before, a reminder of what he had done back in new york, but now that his skin was as smooth as it had been the days before he chose to go all kronos, he wants a reminder of what he's done. they can't just wipe his slate clean, no matter how much he really wants it. ] Woah, Simba.

[ he is very sensitive to the name scarface, okay. this is so mean. ]

Got anything original in that arsenal of yours? Or are you all about a repeat? [ because he'll give her a repeat of kicking her ass — despite it always being in capture the flag, luke figures he could give her a run for her money. if he had a sword on him, he knows he'd have her ass beat. ]

"It is reassuring to know that there is at least one person whose abilities I have seen by now, and know that I can trust their skill," a voice in a lilt amused, perhaps, and light, speaking clear elven instead of the common tongue. It comes from somewhere to the side of Tauriel, at first possessing no face nor body, until Legolas finally steps into view. A smile on his lips, light in his eyes and beyond style of dress - still with visible Mirkwood influences, yet something else entirely - nothing much different about him. He continues without a hitch, a brief glance at Tauriel, before he sweeps his gaze over the crowds, "Given the circumstances we find ourselves in."

It's a peculiar situation, but one he went into willingly. Legolas had experienced first hand the threat and the calamity of a war, and while one would think he had enough of it in his lifetime, it wasn't quite so. Still willing to put forth effort to spare another world what comes with darkness and evil.

"It is all allies that we look upon, or should be," no distrust here, simply a fair share of wariness, "But a familiar face is still a thoroughly comforting sight."

"Will you?" Maedhros draws away, enough to offer the cant of his brow. "I'd like to see that — you and Námo himself, doomsaying in equal measure. You might find a suitable match with him, if Vairë would only forsake her claim."

[Janine shuffles a little from one foreleg to the other, backing up half a pace.]

:Quetzalcoatlus. Sort of what eagles would be to birds if all other birds died. Look, do you mind? I'm not gonna try and hurt you.:

[Before she inhabited this body, she was human and all of fourteen.]

:Oh, it's a waterfall! Huh.:

[Her milky inner eyelids shuttle across her big red eyes.]

:Yeah, I think... if you hit one of those arrowhead buttons it should show you the picture that was next to this one in the gallery.:

[ alisha makes a face. how am i eavesdropping? but she doesn't bother to ask. rudy's special in the worst kind of way sometimes. both of them. she wonders if there's two of them so the special is evenly split. ]

[ turning to rudy too, she shakes the coffee in her own hand. ] I'm going to drink it. [ she arches her brow, argumentative: ] Does that mean I'm disgusting?

Where be you going, you Devon maid? You tight little fairy just fresh from the dairy. ( he's never been to devon, or even to cornwall. both counties were too far south for him to have ever travelled to, short of anything required of him as a shadowhunter, and it often happened that cities were busier affairs. london, then, was about as southerly as it got. though he'd never admit it, if either were as green and pleasant as it was often implied, he imagined he'd like them — and like them a great deal more than he did london, at that. ) ( he sniffs after that, haughty and indignant, exaggerated and deliberate, before: ) I thought they were the same. You all speak the same, anyway. ( he's aware that they don't, that there are subtle differences in accent and dialect before one even touches the subject of cornish as a language. nevertheless, he's aware, too, that his impromptu quoting of keats serves as admission that his remark immediately after is nothing more than a bold-faced lie. )

I think I'm done with wine for the night, but thank you for the offer of a drink. ( a beat and a momentary quirk of his lips into a wholly smug smirk. ) I've jellied legs enough, and little care to find myself in the state where I no longer have any idea of how my body functions when in the company of Fair Folk. ( he's not quite able to help the hint of dislike and disgust that creeps into his tone, an otherwise unplanned tell of familiarity with the creatures. if he notices the giveaway himself, he doesn't attempt to backtrack or cover it up; instead, he continues without missing a beat. ) And I believe it's customary for introductions to happen before one indulges in a night of heavy drinking with another — but then, you do seem rather forward. Perhaps things truly are different in Devon. It must be quite odd for you, being stuck in a castle where the number of intelligent beasts outnumber the unintelligent. Not to worry, though, I'm sure there are plenty of sheep and cows to be found seated within a cadair somewhere.

( he pauses after that, both for emphasis and to take a breath, to watch her response — she's animated, and it's fascinating and hilarious all at the same time. he's intrigued, too, to see if she'll point out the hypocrisy of a welshman commenting on the population of animals versus humans (and others, but the details were neither here nor there — he's not about to reveal the presence of downworlders and shadowhunters to all and sundry, even though they were —here.) ) —William. Herondale.

Edited (I WILL BE SATISFIED EVENTUALLY ) 2014-03-25 12:29 (UTC)

The thump this time is more solid - the indignant younger brother, rather than the grief-wracked one, and Maglor finally pulls away in turn, although he doesn't quite manage to let go.

"I resent the implication that I only speak doom, and Lady Vaire would likely be equally indignant."

"But how came you here, if you walked in Mandos' Halls?"

[ Maedhros lingers in the hallways, soaking up the shadows. For all that he was wrought by the hands of the bright Ainur, made to shine under all illumination , foul and fair — he appears startlingly drab in the dun light of the Seelie court. His hair, a bloody spill across one shoulder, is the only remarkable characteristic he holds: his preternatural beauty has soured in the length of the night he has endured.

He is smoking a pipe, as elves rarely do; the plumes of smoke crown his head, blurring the sight of him. Whatever smolders in the bowl of his pipe, its acrid smell is uncommonly strong.

When his chamber of silence is breached, Maedhros's gaze flicks upwards, a grey-glass weight that does not waver. A mortal, little else.

The silence crowds in again, as Maedhros simply takes another long draw from his pipe. The stub of his handless right arm is tucked into the folds of his robes; he knows how odd some can be about his disability. He does not smile, though there is a softening of his manner that suggests the expression. ]

It soothes the nerves. [ he murmurs, holding the pipe out. This close, he is nearly a head taller than the mortal, the drape of his shadow blotting out those bright eyes. ]

Or flees just half a stride, barreling into his younger brother hard enough to send them toppling to the floor in a long-limbed tangle of arms and legs.

"Maglor!" Spat Celegorm, shoving at his brother to rescue the long tail of his braid from beneath his greater weight. "By Eru, don't you look where you're going?!"

Hey Celegorm, ever wondered what older brother looks like when he's going to faint? No? Well. Maglor goes utterly bone white and still, staring with wide eyes, that famous voice silent. ~~You'd think he'd seen a ghost~~

"I'm afraid it's a little more complicated than that," he said, reaching to settle his fingers around the mug of tea on the table. He didn't lift it, merely set his hand around it as if anchoring himself.

"There are some important differences between us, in our home world and I am uncertain that we can overcome them."

Charles spoke with conviction, though there was a small part of his own conscience that ruthlessly point out that he'd made some spectacular mistakes and errors in judgement. That small voice was quickly silenced beneath the horror of seeing Erik turn the missiles back around towards the human fleet.

"I'm not certain we're meant to find common ground."

Celegorm barely seems to notice, wrapped up in his own sentiments, which he was happy to loudly communicate. "It's no wonder you were always such a terrible hunter, always so loud-- almost as loud as Curufin, charging off hither and thither with no concern for what's around you. Head more full of music than sense."

The vitriol of his words faded as he picked himself up, dusting off his neat clothing. Rolling his eyes, he offered a hand down to his brother. And then squinted at his face.

"... what? What's wrong?"

You'll have to forgive him the tears, Celegorm - the last time he saw you he was holding your body after Dior killed you. Maglor still can't manage words, only lunging up to grab for a hug, never mind his hands (his right is the worst, burnt black and charred with white patches, the very nerve endings scorched, the left still a weeping red).

Maedhros only smiles. A flicker of an expression, glowing bright one moment and fading to naught in the next.

"It was not the work of Mandos, I know so much. Perhaps Eru Allfather found reason to offer us a new chance." Even as he says the words, he cannot feign belief in them. The sons of Feanor are no more deserving of divine forgiveness now than upon the day they drew blades against their own kin. "Have you any insight, o doomsayer?"

The jaundiced look he gets in return is one that Maglor had almost forgotten he knew.

"No more than you." But then he shudders a little as he looks around the halls and pulls his hands free with a wince. The right is the worst, burnt black with white edges, and he knows that that one will scar. The left is still red and weeping. "I... threw the Silmaril into the Sea. If... does that make me foresworn?" Because if it is his fault they are here...

Celegorm staggers a little under the heavy hug- but he needs no urging to return it fiercely and tightly, one of his long-fingered hands lightly stroking Maglor's dark hair.

All the heat of his upset dissolves, and instead he clutches Maglor to him, gently consoling; as if they are both children again, and his brother has woken from a nightmare. The reality-- that they are all men grown, and life the nightmare from which there is no waking, no relief-- he tamps down to the back of his mind.

"It's alright. It's alright, I'm here, it's alright. We'll get your hands bandaged and seen to, and they'll heal good as new, you'll see...!" He'll ask what happened later, but the reassurance seems important to him: a musician's hands were almost as important to his work as a scribe's.

[ Automatically, he replies: ]

I am Sir Kevin —

[ No, he tells himself. He has no claim to the honor of calling himself a knight, not anymore, not after what he's done. ]

I am.... my name is Kevin Regnard.

[ not enough time has passed for the faces of those she loves to fade from memory. sansa's scream still haunts her dreams, cries out to her when she closes her eyes. her face isn't forgotten either. not yet.

and yet it takes a moment for arya, in the shadows, to recognize the girl who stands nearby. there is something familiar about her. she looks like mother whose hair could look shades darker in the dim light of winterfell's hallways at times. its when she realizes that its her sister that the air leaves her lungs and she feels her feet moving without her permission to stand in front of the girl.

arry the new boy stands before alayne the bastard girl. both were wolves in their past lives, wolves that were beaten down by circumstance, unjust as it can be. the little wolfgirl's eyes narrow as she looks up at the girl who is taller than she remembers, older too.]

S...Sansa?

[ For his own part, Ned is tall. Fortunately for him, the ceilings here seem to be fairly accommodating, so when he leaps an impressive height further into the air, he is saved from hitting his head. The voice to his right...or left... (he's not sure now, having done a complete 360 in the least graceful of ways) takes him by surprise, suffice to say, and when he faces the source his own expression bears strong resemblance to a fish in its bowl. Blub. Blub. Blub?

Not exactly. But close.

Even from a soft yard or so away, this stranger is striking, carries with him a presence Ned will not call good or bad so much as something he cannot ignore. He has the fleeting thought: nice hair. It reminds him of the television commercials. He has, by now, edged into full-on rudeness by not replying and this catches up to him the way his whole arrival seems to keep doing so: abruptly.

He shakes his head...only to contradictorily nod it. Ah... ]

It's not...I don't... [ use your grown up words Ned for god's sake! he clears his throat, starts over, ] ...Sorry, what are they celebrating?

[ Oh one other thing... ]

And also I, I think I'm here by mistake...

[ Seriously though. He means: whose dream is this and where is the emergency exit. He swears some distance beyond the blond in front of him that he saw something with wings and it wasn't a butterfly.

Of course all this being flabbergasted is rich coming from the man who can bring people back from the dead.

This will occur to Ned later. You know, the way it usually does. ]

[ Ned talks to strangers for a living but the beauty of the morbidity is that these conversations never last more than a crucial minute. At his beloved Pie Hole, he has for the longest time kept himself to his specialty of being the pie maker, and so his interactions were as follows: Digby, Olive, and eventually Emerson.

And then Chuck. Again.

It must be silly, a grown man feeling his heart rate go willynilly on him like a boy, like a child, but Chuck is -- will always be -- his fondest memory and his most precious present. Even here where she is nowhere in sight. He supposes that may be a good thing; he does not even know where 'here' is. His gaze traveling back the way he came, he narrowly misses running right into the stranger -- alerted first by the smoke and second by the voice, his nose twitching.

As he turns, his eyes fall to the pipe, offered as it is. Then they follow the hand holding it, up the extended arm and finally to the face there, half-shadowed thanks to the angles of the corridor. The hair stands out regardless. Absurdly, Ned is reminded of a cherry only half way restored.

He blinks, looks back down at the pipe then back at the holder. An anxious sweat at the back of his neck despite the cooler air here tells him something to soothe the nerves isn't a bad idea. However, even Ned has a few hesitations about accepting pipes from strangers in dark hallways.

Mostly he thinks he'd just choke on it though.

Well, knows. His smile is half: the upward turn of his mouth even as the other side still seems fraught with those self same nerves. (Because he is.) At least his voice comes out normal.

"Normal". ]

Oh, no thanks. But thanks. Uh.

[ A third thanks is overkill right? ]

That's...nice of you though.

[ Way to be lame. But it's honest, which is a quickly endangering quality in his life -- for his ability, for what he did, for what he didn't do -- so it's something even as the most truly strange part of this whole interaction occurs to him at last: he's looking up.

It's so unusual that his mouth leaps away with his words before he can stomp it out: ]

Wow you're really tall.

[ Ned. Get your life together. Seriously. ]

[ How to startle an elf in a couple of easy step: 1-) jump upon being approached, 2-) whirl and spin trying to locate the source of the voice, 3-) stare, apparently. For this man's reaction sure does make Legolas stop in his tracks, almost makes him take a step back and simply stare in return with eyes wide and not quite frightened, but surprised. His head cocked now, expression confused and not threatening in the slightest - at least he had left his weapons behind in a place promised safe - as if approaching a wild beast instead of a... he figures one of the Men.

And for a moment it all startles and distracts him from what drew him away from the celebrations in the first place. ]

I do believe it us our arrival that is being celebrated. For with us we bring hope for their world, do we not? A hope for peace, rather than war and darkness.

[ His voice calm, in a tone that he has known to be soothing for many mortals in the past. ]

Mistakes, I do not believe have been made. It is too grave a matter to allow such, but I am aware that many have been brought here against their wills.

[ And Legolas speaks with obvious apology, still watching the stranger curiously. It dawns on him slowly, very slowly for differences there are many, yet the lines of the face are familiar, awfully so (it might have been something like ninety years since they had last seen each other, but Legolas is the last person on Arda to forget a beloved face of his only family), the cheeks, the jaw, the eyebrows, the voice is similar enough as well though not speaking in the same cadence, not in the slightest calm the way Thranduil always is... ]

[ Definitely should have been paying more attention. That staring from before? Recommencing in three, two, one...ah there we go. They must make an odd picture, one stranger staring at another with all the focus of someone who doesn't quite know what he was expecting but got rather the opposite of what that probably was. At least at first.

When he speaks again however, Ned is facing him and so less inclined to try to hit the ceiling with his skull. Instead he reprises his fish-out-of-water rendition: mouth open, close, open, close. War? Those Seelie people said something about that, now that he thinks of it, but really he has always felt this way about orientations of any kind: the first experience is the worst because he can't focus. Of course he can't remember what they said to him. Part of his consciousness has the sense (or lack thereof) to be indignant, but this person (?) is not the target for his unhappiness.

In fact, he seems rather nice. Also calm.

Ned hones in on that, and while he does not literally feed off of it, it reminds him of his own general practice he had only moments before committed himself to: relax. Things will make sense. Somehow. Keep your head on straight. I am Ned. I bake pies and wake the dead. I am Ned.

He blinks for the umpteenth time and then rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Something about that gesture helps further instill his old calmness and when he lowers his hands to his sides his expression is much softer, at ease for the time being. Not quite a switch, but a decision is a decision. Panic when it makes sense and right now it doesn't. ]

You don't need to be sorry.

[ Without the stranger having said it explicitly, it was clear enough in his tone and if nothing else, Ned has no intention of making undeserving parties apologize to him. The change in Ned has a subtlety to it, the way reverting to one's everyday self tends to contain: like shoulders slipping down out of a hunch or a breath releasing. His smile still seems ruffled but less anxious, less wild animal looking to bolt. ]

[ There's something about Gryffindors and lions. Well, of course there is. But Ginny's never seen a real one in all her life and she's... fairly certain she just heard this one laugh, too. It's a low rumble but—

Of course she approaches him. Uncertainty will always give way to boldness in her life and somehow, she feels comforted by his presence even before anything else. ]

Hullo?

[ Ginny moves with the stumble so neither of them go entirely careening to the floor, and though she's smaller, she catches his shoulders as best she can—even though drink sort of goes spilling all over between them. ]

No, it's alright, I wasn't looking either— [ She wonders if she can draw her wand to clean this mess up, lip caught between her teeth. ] You didn't get any on you, did you?

TEST DRIVE MEME

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<3

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i will be sure to have her wrapped in kleenex.

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kuuuuuuuuuuuu

Re: Maglor | Silmarillion trying him out in Unseelie

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bedtime for me

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bedtime~

sweet dreams!! /tucks in

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ahahfedsjlefkwsd no apologies pls this is so great /)_(\ <3

rierierierierie ihjkefijkfsdfjlekfdsijpeofklsdjpewflsd facehands

JUMPY DAD LOOKALIKE HAHA Ned you precious dork, this is amazing

ahkfesdj im enjoying it so much ;-; lmfff lego YOUR FACE LMFDSLJSF;LS

oh my godddd

as if i could resist