TEST DRIVE MEME

[fairyfoes]

TEST DRIVE MEME

Considering apping to EACHDRAIDH? Why not give the setting a test run here! OPTIONAL SCENARIOS 01. ARRIVING IN THE DRABWURLD. The Seelie and Unseelie courts welcome you with mirthful revelry and hearty food. After you have been briefed on your purpose here, you will find an endless feast and a night filled with entertainment to placate your concerns. Mingle with new arrivals, sneak down the castle halls and make sure your eyes are always on your glass; fairies and imps have no bias when it comes to tricks! 02. THE STATION. Looking for a little slice of home? The Station gives you all that and more. Take advantage of the wifi, have a cup of fairy-brewed coffee (the one they didn't spit in) or sit back and relax on the patio. You can even move your things into one of the available rooms! 03. WILDCARD. Your own scenario! Explore the Drabwurld or simply take advantage of your Locket!

Comments

rierierierierie ihjkefijkfsdfjlekfdsijpeofklsdjpewflsd facehands

[consistency]

[ 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. ]

no no don't do that /kisses your nose c:

[corusce]

[ There may be something familiar in the curl of this mortal's mouth. The angle of his nose. Even the strong brow. Perhaps Manwë breathed life again into the heart of Firstborn to create the Men that followed, perhaps Maedhros and this shrinking violet of a man once fought together. Perhaps they fought against one another, in the great kinslayings of old.

Memory is a strange thing, as he has come to find.

Maedhros does little to hide his scrutiny, though perhaps even the attempt would have been in vain: his gaze has ever betrayed the legacy of his father's inner flame. Everything burns under Nelyafinwë's eyes. ]

Maedhros the Tall, I have been named. [ He speaks softly, but without gentleness: this is the voice of one accustomed to obedience. ] One of the few of my kennings that I did not find immediately offensive.

[ He pauses, long enough to again fill his lungs. Wreathed in smoke, he looks like a native of the fae court: his hair too-red, his face too-white, his single hand curled like a many-legged insect about the bowl of his pipe. The elegance of elvenkind sits well upon Maedhros's features, but he wears it with something less easy to bear. A quietness that speaks of secrets that will devour upon revealing. ]

And you, son of Earth? What kennings shall I gift you, who prefers the shadows of empty halls to the glad tables of mead and meat?

/burrows in your wall...creepily...cutely...D8

[consistency]

[ Ned's eyebrows don't seem to know what to do with the first response, first pinching then raising then smoothing down to vaguely neutral, or thereabouts. He does not mean to stare, does not mean to many things in his life it seems -- a sore lack of conviction, some deeper buried part of him is plenty aware -- but he does stare. The speech fits the image, is his first thought and he can't put his finger on where he even gets off assuming he knows what those puzzle pieces look like to begin with. He watches the trail of smoke, lets his otherwise rudely overlong gaze follow it the way one stares up at a jetstream painting its way out of view. How strange to feel so apart and so addressed all at once. Eyes circling back to the pipe itself and the slender clutch about it, he wonders -- irrelevantly -- exactly what this stranger is smoking.

If he does it for nerves -- Ned is rife with doubt on that one -- or if it is a habit -- perhaps -- or if it is simply something he can do and to do. It doesn't matter but errant thoughts are errant thoughts. Ned stuffs them back behind his eyes; he has a lot of practice in trying, at least. ]

I'm glad it's not offensive. [ He says because it's true, a second quirk of that half-smile reemerging. Something apologetic rests around the pie maker's very posture, like he's sorry for being there, sorry for intruding except that everywhere here is an intrusion because he does not belong. This, he is at least aware now, is no special circumstance. Most seem drawn in from various elsewheres and yet.

Well he thinks this fellow looks more fitted to the setting than he himself. But then again, What does Ned know?

Not much.

He continues, ] M...Maedhros, right? Ah, I'm Ned.

[ Just Ned. He touches the back of his head, that absent, need-something-to-do, semi-anxious tic that follows him around in such similar gestures as that. ]

I'm not much for parties.

[ Assuming that's what all those celebratory goings-on happen to be. Peering through the wreathing smoke, he asks before he thinks better of it, ] What about you?

[ He didn't see any No Smoking signs in the hall, but Maedhros seems particularly...what's the word...stern? No. Severe? Maybe. Aloof. That might do it. Ned has only just met him but is downright struck by the realization he can't imagine him laughing. Not a laugh anyway.

And stupidly, his mind goes to Chuck. How sad that would make someone like her. How he loves that, though he never wants her to be sad.

Reeling it back, he blinks. Still neutrally pleasant. Still Ned. Still fine with the comparative quiet. Smoke and all. ]