milliways_bar | (no subject)

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elrond

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Fitz has an idea for a weapon. Of course, he didn't ask her before submitting the designs for said weapon, so she's the one sitting here in the bar (albeit on the couch, with a cup of tea) trying to figure out how in the world she's supposed to get paralysis for a full-grown adult off of such a tiny dose of dendrotoxin. Honestly, the problems he makes for her.

(One of her ideas involved lobbing actual black mamba snakes at people. Plenty of dendrotoxin then. It was not-so-politely declined.)

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Elrond passes her with a mug of tea and smiles at her, in case she looks up.

The scent of tea, different from her own, snags her attention first, away from her scribbled formulations. Then she looks up, and realizes that yes, an elf lord walked by and somehow she almost missed that.

"Good evening, Lord Elrond." And that's why she sounds a bit sheepish.

"Good evening, Jemma," he says. Kindly.
"You looked so focused on your task that I was loathe to disturb you."

"It's a bit of an impossible job, but..." She shrugs - it's for Fitz, so she'll figure it out somehow. It wouldn't due to let him down.

"You are well?"

But that doesn't seem to faze her.
He likes that about her.

"I am," he replies. "I have been sorting books all morning and now I am taking a well deserved break."

"I can imagine - my library's gotten a bit unwieldy, and I've only been in my apartment for a few years." It's amazing to her how she's managed to collect so many books in the first place, when she has quite a few more than that in digital form - wasn't that supposed to cut down on the number of physical books?

He laughs.

It's a warm, friendly laughter.

"I am sure you can imagine," he says, "how unwieldy everything gets after a few thousand years."
Even without printing presses.

"It must be wonderful." Jemma would disappear into that library and never be seen again.

And she's perfectly alright with that.

"It is," he agrees. "But it is not an easy task, sorting everything. Some books will be sent to my daughter, others will be given to what remains of my wife's kin."

"Oh, do you need help?" She offers, not really thinking about it - after all, he helped clean up after that disastrous flu.

He looks a little surprised - but he accepts the offer gracefully, in the spirit it was offered.
"That is very kind of you, Jemma, but I rather fear it is a task that I must take it upon myself to see it through."

Then he cants his head, ever so slightly.
"I would of course be happy to show you my library. Before it is all dismantled and boxed up."

Would she like to see Elrond's library?

Jemma lights up like a Christmas tree - that's a one-hundred-percent definite yes, no matter what she might say.

"Really?" It's not a squeak. It isn't. That would be undignified. Really.

"Of course," he replies.

And he is not laughing at her. That would not be a nice thing to do. But her reaction does lend a certain amused air to his smile. It's still warm though.

He could laugh outright, she wouldn't care - honestly, Elrond Halfelven's library. This is one of the best things ever.

"That would be absolutely amazing and I don't think there's anything quite like it on my world except maybe Stark Industries for Fitz he'd love to get his hands on some of their private servers but that probably won't ever happen and..."

She's excited. The words just kind of come. It's a problem.

He waits till she has to draw breath and makes a gentle suggestion.
"Perhaps, we should ask for a different set of clothes for you. No one will question your presence, but blending in a little might be a good idea."

Questioning her presence would essentially be questioning him.
People don't do that.

"Oh, right, like.. going undercover, right." Because this is something she's good at.

Well. No.

But she knows people who are?

Sort of.

She's supplied people who are.

"Wait here," he says and leaves his mug of tea on the small table as he goes to talk with Bar.

After a while he returns, a small bundle of clothing in one hand and soft, leather boots on the other.

"Oh goodness." She blinks at him, somehow unprepared for the actual presence of clothes. Probably this is because a great many of her adventures stay highly theoretical due to no one wanting to deal with the risk that is a Jemma Simmons on the loose.

Elrond seems utterly unconcerned.

He's heralded armies and raised children, not all of them his own.
He feels fairly confident that he can handle whatever comes next.

And he considers her enthusiasm and boundless eagerness when faced with knowledge and problems, which are, after all, potential knowledge, to be rather endearing.

What she utters is not a squeak, just to clarify again. Perhaps it's a slightly incoherent thank you. Or a slightly incoherent commentary on how she's going to look in the clothes.

...

Something like that. In a tone that ends up sounding quite like a squeak. But with that her and the clothes are gone as she hurries off to go change.

She returns a few minutes later, looking a bit more unsure after her first encounter with clothing that hasn't yet discovered zippers and elastic.

He smiles. "Very nice," he says.
"If you tuck a little there, " discreetly indicating her waist, "I think you will find it more comfortable. I can tie your upper sleeves for you. They take some getting used to. "

She follows his directions, none of her self-assured poise in the lab translating here.

"Do you really think it's alright?"

He tightens the narrow, woven bands keeping the over sleeves in check and takes a step back.

"You look lovely," he says. "A quick comb through your hair and you will fit right in."

The members of his household are used to strange guests after all. And she does not look too out of place, even if it is easy to tell that she does not quite feel at home in the garments.

"Oh, right, I suppose... down? Or?" She asks, surrendering the elastic band that held her hair in a pony tail to the Bar and getting a comb in return.

"Down will be fine," he replies.

It wouldn't be seemly for him to offer to braid her hair, after all.

She nods, quickly running a comb through her hair, veteran of a few too many 'oh crap look professional' quick fixes after lab benders - at least it's made her efficient.

"Alright I think... I think that's as good as it's going to get." It feels a tiny bit like dress-up, with the clothes and the unfamiliar hairstyle, but she's remarkably fine with that, with the reward at stake.

He nods.

"Then we might as well leave now?"
It's not really a question. He doubt that he could make her wait.

They walk to the door and he opens it. And then...

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