milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Luthien has this set of new icons, thanks to her PB being in a lot of photoshoots recently -- but that can't be the point of this post, can it?

No, really, it's not.

Actually, at present, Luthien is amusing herself with a book of poetry -- written in English, which she cannot read, but it isn't the words that are drawing her attention so much as the pages themselves; worn with time and with notes in several different hands written along the margins.

Do interrupt, however.

She never really minds.

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This is a scent the Hunter knows.

For the moment, she stays where she is. But Luthien is being watched.

Luthien's neck prickles, just slightly.

But a quick glance over her shoulder spots nothing, and she returns to her book.

"Tinúviel." It's barely whispered. "Will you not sing tonight?"

Quietly, calmly, "There are others who may deserve the chance."

Plenty of other talented musicians about to bother, see, there's a new crowd at the piano every night.

(Or, in second-grader, "Not listening, not intimidated, la la la!")

"So it may be, but it is still a shame." She takes one step closer. "Yours was a one of few voices I find pleasing to hear."

Luthien tenses but just a tad more. "Have you been having trouble sleeping, then? I am always glad to be of aid."

A slow smile spreads across her face.

"I think I have rested enough."

Fantastic.

Luthien attempts to remain expressionless.

"Then you've a plan for the evening."

"I tended my weapons earlier." Little comfort for Luthien there. "Now I am getting used to the atmosphere. Beings, the lay of the establishment, things of that nature."

"Does it suit you well?" An answer to the negative would really make Luthien's night.

"It seems to suit my Master and so, it suits me."

Really, did Luthien expect anything else?

Unfortunately not.

"His entrance was a bit more -- it is a word I learned since coming here -- gaudy," Luthien points out.

"It is easier to hunt from the shadows." She replies smoothly. "I am a servant. I need no more accolades than those I get from Him."

"It is a shame, is it not, that I have so many friends nearby."

And they all have sharp things.

"Not a shame for you at all. So fortunate you are." She replies silkily. One may wonder if there's sarcasm in there at all.

"I have no desire to harm you, little one."

"Does 'capture' count as a form of harm?" Luthien queries innocently, her fake politeness dancing across the tip of her tongue.

Her magic is all woven into song, after all, and song is little more than fancy words.

"Only if you believe I harm those I capture." She grins. "Which I do."

"For the moment, you are completely safe from me."

"On whose command," she asks, because unfortunately she can't help but wonder, "and for what reason?"

"I have not been told to hunt here. Until I am, I won't." A very simple answer, but also the truth.

And very comforting. "It is that simple, then? I should have thought the contract would have worked the other way."

"I do as I am told." One shoulder lifts in a shrug.

"I hope to hear you sing another night."

"I take requests. They are rather often harmful to your kind, however."

Yes, she is almost teasing.

Killer lullabye indeed.

"I still look forward to it." The Hunter nods once to the Elf and then retreats back into the shadows.

Oh, Alfred wouldn't dare interrupt -- but he is interested, a little, and peers anxiously (Alfred is always anxious) at the cover of the book, trying to make out the title. His head is tilted all the way to the side, as far and as close as he can -- but not enough to interrupt. (He wouldn't dare interrupt.)

She does love children -- it's this terrible tendency that young women have, when pining for respective lovers and spending time in strange, timeless places, to cater to loves like those.

"Would you like to read it, child?" she asks, quietly.

Luckily, Alfred is very much a child. A shy child, who starts and squeaks the moment he hears a voice, but a child. "O - Oh --" He nearly trembles. "S - Sorry."

"Nothing at all to apologize for." Luthien smiles calmly and holds out her hand. "To be true, I cannot read a word of it."

Even the tall adults have their failings.

Tall adults would be very frightening otherwise. But Luthien isn't so frightening -- Alfred stares at the hand like he isn't sure what to make of it, touches it like you would a mirage. "Would --" He half-smiles. "Would you like me to read it for you -- ma'am?"

At least she tries not to be -- depending on who one asks, she sings a lethal lullabye. She never does mean to, however, and smiles all the more.

"I would indeed love that. My name is Luthien, pen vuin."

"O - Oh." His eyes widen -- they were very wide to begin with -- and he doesn't understand the word, but it doesn't seem polite to ask. "I -- I'm Alfred. I - It's --" (Half about to curtsy, and half about to bow, he ends up standing and smiling helplessly.) "It's v - very n - nice to meet you, ma'am --"

"It's an equal pleasure." Luthien can't help but laugh, just a little, at how nervous the poor lad seems to be. "Now, there's no need to be so timid. I'm not going to do anything particularly violent."

Or at all violent, really.

She offers him the book.

One can never be sure. But he smiles -- just a little! -- and opens the book.

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