[ An indent of a pause. Roy settles his arms over the rests of his chair, sprawling with manufactured blase. A king, is it? Pointy-eared and solemn-faced and pretty enough to make Jesus weep. The similarities between them grow fewer by the moment.
His body only loses the wooden cast of discomfort once Thranduil's gaze flickers away. He looks down at the goblet, but doesn't move to pick it up. ]
Thanks. And, uh — go ahead. [ he murmurs, pleasantly enough. ] Can't say that I've any conversation worth having with a king, though.
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His body only loses the wooden cast of discomfort once Thranduil's gaze flickers away. He looks down at the goblet, but doesn't move to pick it up. ]
Thanks. And, uh — go ahead. [ he murmurs, pleasantly enough. ] Can't say that I've any conversation worth having with a king, though.