[ Many are gathered, some folk Legolas can recognise with a touch more ease than others. His eyes see a lot, yet in this strange new world he can't quite let himself be reckless and assume that all he sees is all there is to all those unfamiliar faces about him.
The elves of Middle-Earth are not too subtle with their... otherness, if you will, radiant with what seems an inner light in their pale skin and pale golden hair (at least in the case of this one particular Sindar) and standing tall and proud, graceful and ethereal; it seems like not much, compared to the subtly upswept tip of an ear that always easily gives away the descent of the individual, yet it speaks on its own all too well.
Or it tended to, back in Middle-Earth.
Legolas catches a curious sight with the corner of his eye. He turns towards the slight commotion and remains focused on it curiously. There, this man apologising to one of the fairies: something oddly familiar about him, yet all the rest, dress and manner, wholly unfamiliar.
With startling ease, much learned among the many thick and dense branches of the forest of Mirkwood - it is the same, for the branches would often move with the whispers of wind, Legolas weaves through the crowd, following where he saw the curious man disappear. There, this hall, and there he is walking farther along and away from the celebrations.
On the stone floor, his step is silent, perhaps only the soft fabric of his robes shushes quietly with the motions, with each swift stride, yet one wholly unhurried. Long legs simply carry him swiftly. ]
Are the celebrations not to your liking?
[ He asks once within an earshot, once he hopes he won't startle or frighten the stranger. Still a couple steps left before he can confirm for himself just what exactly it was that drew his attention in the first place. ]
eheheheh cute things clearly- my apologies, couldn't help myself
The elves of Middle-Earth are not too subtle with their... otherness, if you will, radiant with what seems an inner light in their pale skin and pale golden hair (at least in the case of this one particular Sindar) and standing tall and proud, graceful and ethereal; it seems like not much, compared to the subtly upswept tip of an ear that always easily gives away the descent of the individual, yet it speaks on its own all too well.
Or it tended to, back in Middle-Earth.
Legolas catches a curious sight with the corner of his eye. He turns towards the slight commotion and remains focused on it curiously. There, this man apologising to one of the fairies: something oddly familiar about him, yet all the rest, dress and manner, wholly unfamiliar.
With startling ease, much learned among the many thick and dense branches of the forest of Mirkwood - it is the same, for the branches would often move with the whispers of wind, Legolas weaves through the crowd, following where he saw the curious man disappear. There, this hall, and there he is walking farther along and away from the celebrations.
On the stone floor, his step is silent, perhaps only the soft fabric of his robes shushes quietly with the motions, with each swift stride, yet one wholly unhurried. Long legs simply carry him swiftly. ]
Are the celebrations not to your liking?
[ He asks once within an earshot, once he hopes he won't startle or frighten the stranger. Still a couple steps left before he can confirm for himself just what exactly it was that drew his attention in the first place. ]