(no subject)

[manofbusiness]

Childermass has got accustomed to the constant presence of magic here, such that he feels almost normal - though always aware of it.

He's taken over one of the armchairs and is lounging in it, watching the room and taking in every detail. Learning all he can about this place.

Comments

[freedom_is_grey]

Some of that magic, for those who can sense it, is very intensely concentrated in the white-haired woman with a black tattoo over her right eye, who also happens to have pointed ears.

She is heading toward the couch near the fireplace, with a massive brown dog in tow and a glass of wine in her hand.

"Oh," she says, as she approaches. "I'm -- do you mind if I sit here, too? Or are you looking for solitude? Semi-solitude, anyway, given you're in the common room here."

[manofbusiness]

He looks her over with casual and not particularly sexual interest, and then sees her ears - and realizes why the magic suddenly intensified in the near vicinity - and something changes in his demeanour.

"By all means, madam."

[freedom_is_grey]

She smiles, quick and bright.

A changed demeanor does not always mean an elven mage any good.

Shockingly.

"You are allowed to say 'no', you know. Just in case you weren't sure."

[manofbusiness]

He seems - not quite nervous, John Childermass doesn't do visibly nervous, but a little tenser than he was, even as he makes a symbolic tip of the hat he isn't wearing to her.

"I would hardly be so rude as to say no, in a public place."

(Yes, he would. But only in his own world.)

[freedom_is_grey]

"Honesty isn't exactly rudeness. Not to me, at least."

Liranan yips once, sharp and clear.

Why is everyone being weird here?

[manofbusiness]

He glances at the dog.

"All's well, lad. If you favour honesty, madam, I must tell you the fairies of my world are by all accounts rather more easily offended."

[freedom_is_grey]

"Fairies again?" Ysalwen mutters to herself, very very quietly. And exasperatedly.

"I'm an elf. We're not immortal, we don't make serious bargains, and very few of us take joy in hurting people."

Assuming his type of fairies are the types she's heard of.

"Also we tend not to wear silly pointed hats."

[manofbusiness]

Childermass blinks at that last bit, then laughs aloud.

"Then you are most assuredly not like those of my world - for whom the hats are at their own discretion."

[freedom_is_grey]

"The lack of taste is appalling."

She smiles, somewhat crookedly.

"Though I did have a hat, once, that had a puffball on the end. It was very useful, but not particularly -- aesthetically appealing, shall we say."

[manofbusiness]

"A puffball? And this was... useful?"

He returns the smile, beginning to unstiffen again.

[freedom_is_grey]

"Well, it was warm. And it distracted enemies on the battlefield and in the ballroom!"

Rather more of the former than the latter, but there you go.

[manofbusiness]

"Did you have very many enemies in the ballroom?" he inquires.

[freedom_is_grey]

"More at the dinner table and in my own hall, but if I'd ever thrown a ball, doubtless someone would have tried to ruin my life before it was over."

History suggests this, anyway.

"Though I hate balls, so that's all right."

[starrydome]

One of the things to take is presently walking toward him.

(It seems to be a night for elves with glasses of wine in their hands - only in Milliways).

Elrond is dressed for supper at his own hall and even these days, with the informality a small household brings, supper is still a somewhat formal affair. So he is wearing long robes the colour a of nightfall and his long, black hair is kept back from his face by a thin silvery circlet.

His face is noble and neither young nor old. His eyes are ancient.

And although his hands are bare, a body never forgets the weight of One of The Three. Just as little as a soul would.


{ooc: almost bedtime here, but I had to}

[manofbusiness]

He definitely captures Childermass' attention.

But there's something about him, maybe something in his eyes, that speaks of a complete lack of cruelty, and the Man's gaze isn't so much wary as fascinated.

[starrydome]

And then their eyes meet - and Elrond inclines his head lightly with a small smile.


Kindly.

[manofbusiness]

Childermass smiles back, a little hesitantly - because he's never in all his life met anyone like that, who seems all made of kindness.

"Good evening."

[starrydome]

"And a good evening to you," Elrond replies.
His voice is full-toned and rich and not entirely British.

"Are you awaiting company?"

Otis the seat free.

[manofbusiness]

"None at all. I have few acquaintances in this place."

The seat is definitely free.

[starrydome]

"That is often the case at first," Elrond replies. "For I assume that you have recently arrived here," he continues as he sits down, managing both robes and wine glass with practiced ease.

"But soon enough, one makes acquaintances here through casual meetings and shared interests."

[manofbusiness]

"And so it has begun", he says with a nod. "But only, thus far, with three or four people. And a raven."

[starrydome]

Elrond smiles.

"Yes. in that respect, this place is full of surprises."

And then he inclines his head slightly.
"My name is Elrond Half-Elven and I hail from a valley named Imladris in the world called Arda."

[manofbusiness]

Childermass nods in a return of the greeting.

"John Childermass, of the East Riding, county of Yorkshire."

[starrydome]

"Well met, John Childermass," Elrond replies.

"East Riding. Is it horse country?"

[manofbusiness]

"It is", he says with a nod. "Wide open spaces that a man would do much better to cross on horseback than attempt on his own feet."