[OPEN]

[smirkwood]

Who| Thranduil & OPEN
What| Of Elvenkings and elevators
Where| Training Center; Central Commons
When| January 3rd
Warnings/Notes| None at the moment.

After the initial outrage had died down some, Thranduil took to investigating the area in a quiet and casual manner. Supposedly, this is where he was to reside. Unfortunately, though he was given directions to his more private living space, he had yet to understand how to use the small room with the many buttons and moving doors... rather than admit to anyone that he was at a loss, The king takes to inspecting the room and its contents.

Though the furnishings seemed comfortable enough in appearance, they were also... very strange. He inspects a curtain with mild interest, running his fingers lightly over the fabric to feel the smoothness of it. It was not of Elven make, but well crafted none the less. The brightness of the color, though, rubbed him the wrong way, so he moves from it and finds a tall backed chair to sit in. He crosses one leg over the other at the knee and hangs his arms casually over the armrests.

Here there was a clear line of sight to the small room with the numbers, so he might be able to discern it's use if he observed the people going in and out of it long enough.

Comments

[tevintage]

Dorian had his own fight will elevators. He'd since mastered them, well enough, but he still had to double check every time he stepped out of it to make sure he actually was where he was supposed to be. This time, he indeed had arrived in the Commons, as he expected to, and stepped out of the elevator with a book on Panem history under his arm. He was making his way over to the comfortable chair he'd found earlier when he happened to find someone else in it.

He raised his eyebrows - an Elf, that much was clear, though he bore none of the Dalish markings. He looked too- well - polished, for a Tevinter slave. Perhaps he was a well off servant in Orlais? Or a mage? Whichever way it was- Dorian found himself stepping over and offering a cordial smile.

"Not Dalish, I take it, but then I'm not an expert on Elves. I thought they all had markings. From a Cirle, perhaps?"

[smirkwood]

Thranduil doesn't move from the seat, nor give any indication that he intends to be overly sociable. Something about the way this man raised his eyebrows irked him, since it gave him a certain impression of being judged. The king raises his own eyebrows, then tilts back his head slightly. What this man said was strange, markings? circles?

"No expert at all. In fact it sounds to me as if you know scarce little of Elves at all."

[tevintage]

"I think you'd be surprised," He mused, his lip twitching. "Though I am educated enough to well know how much I don't know. Where in Thedas do you hail from, then?"

It was possible he was an ancient elf, perhaps, but a very small possibility.

[smirkwood]

"Thedas? I know of no such place."

Of course, he wasn't going to say where he was from, either, if this man didn't already know. Which he really should have. It wasn't giving Thranduil the best impression of him that he did not. A small part of him understood that if he wasn't in Middle-earth any longer, and that the people here could not be expected to know... but that part of him was still doubtful and disbelieving that such a thing could happen.

"Tell me of these lands."

[darmisu]

Fuck the elevators, what is this guy's deal? Is he an elf? Is he an elf crossbred with a qunari? Most elves, in Lavellan's extensive experience at least, are a head or so shorter than humans, not... taller. And they tend to be, with some exceptions, skinnier and slighter, almost spindly. Certainly she fits both of those qualifiers.

This guy is weird.

He may catch her staring at him once or twice, out of the corner of her eye, before she works up the necessary whatever to speak to him. She sits on a nearby sofa, elbows on the arm, chin in her hands, leaning just slightly forward.

"Nice crown."

haha he's 6'5" Lee Pace is insanely tall.

[smirkwood]

He's used to being admired from afar, to some extent, particularly while away from the Woodland Realm. The Men of Laketown in particular were always eager to catch a glimpse of the Elvenking when they could.

However... this person was not of the world of Men. Nor was he entirely sure she was an Elf, either, but signs did lean in that direction. When she speaks, he gives a look of mild surprise.

"As it should be. It is a symbol of kingship, and of my own design."

hes just a little terrifying.

[darmisu]

Elves don't have kings, as far as Lavellan is concerned. Maybe they did in the Dales, but those have long fallen, and now it's just petty squabbles and the occasional up-jumped Keeper. Which, Sera would tell you, isn't much different from having a nobility, and Lavellan can't argue that in good faith, but no one calls themselves king.

So she might take a half second longer than usual to respond. The crown looks like the twisted branches of a tree-- it reminds her of the stories of the elven gods-- June and Sylaise, who taught the People to make tools and bows out of wood and metal. (As she has this thought, she is greeted to the image of Solas and Sera both rolling their eyes at her in unison, but she ignores it.)

"I've never seen the like, before." Admitting ignorance is almost always the best way to get information without asking a direct question. "Never seen an elf wear a, uh, symbol of kingship. You are an elf, right? Don't want to offend."

[revocation]

Cullen is starting to become a little more confident in his ability to navigate the building, that's for certain. The elevators are relatively easy to grasp, especially after that man Sam explained it to him in plain common tongue.

What is unexpected is the sight of an elf. And not just an elf, but by far the largest elf Cullen has ever seen in his life. An elf who might be able to give a qunari a run for his money (not Iron Bull, but a smaller qunari. Probably.).

So if he stares, if he gapes a little, well. It's not intentional, it's just that this person is possibly the strangest sight he's seen yet, in a city full of strange sights.

"Pardon me," he says apologetically when he catches himself doing it. Rude, Cullen. "You are - very tall for an elf." He really should just keep his mouth shut sometimes.

[smirkwood]

It was true that Thranduil stood rather tall against the Elves that remained on Middle-earth. The Silvan were also shorter in nature, but for a Sindarin Elf born in Doriath before it's fall, he was rather on par. Of course, there was no way for this man to know that.

"Taller than some," he agrees. "but not so tall as to invite such a look from you."

He pauses giving the man a judging look of his own.

"What do you want?"

[revocation]

"Want? Oh - nothing," Cullen says hastily. Maker's breath, he never knows what to say to elves, anyway. Well, except maybe to Sera, which is usually stop that. He has the bearing of a Dalish, but none of the tattoos, almost like Solas in a way.

He never knows what to say to Solas, either. Except maybe no, I'm not going to drag you to a Circle. Even if there was one left to drag you to.

"Sorry, my name's Cullen," he finally says, sketching a faint bow that's little more than a nod of his head. "I've only just arrived a few days ago, really, so I'm still working things out here."

[somethingprecious]

After waking back up in the tribute tower Bilbo felt as if a heavy weight had come over him, smothering his chest and settling deep in his bones like a grief he couldn't shake. He replayed the scenes of Frodo and Samwise's death over and over in his mind unwillingly, his head rebelling against him as if determined to drive him insane with guilt and regret.

He was starting to believe it may actually win.

His appearance was haggard at best; the weight he had started to regain upon first arriving here was gone again, as if he had returned in the same condition he arrived in and now he felt even less inclined to recondition his appetite to something a little more filling than broth and bread. Anything more only made him ill and the bloody images of those he loved flashed before his eyes and suddenly his appetite is as dead and gone as everyone in that arena.

He wandered now and found himself back in the moving box, letting to take him wherever. It didn't matter so long as it wasn't the cramped space of his room. When the doors slid open to reveal the common area the last thing Bilbo expected as he stepped out to see was Thranduil sitting in a chair watching the sliding doors with a peculiar expression. The doors close behind him as Bilbo stares back, unsure if what he's seeing is real or if he's finally fallen off the deep end and he has truly gone mad.

[smirkwood]

In the past few hours Thranduil had come to see many strange things, but this might be the strangest yet. He knew this halfling, regarded him as Elf-friend, in fact - and that familiarity in contrast with the closing doors of the small room was entirely unsettling. The king stands slowly, not keeping his eyes from the small figure. There's a touch of wonderment on his face, but his tone is kinder than it had been since he first arrived.

"Bilbo Baggins... how is it you have come to be here, of all places?"

[somethingprecious]

Bilbo blinks up at the Elfking when it hits him suddenly that no, thankfully he is not losing his mind and that this is definitely a moment happening in front of him and not some figment of his shaken mind.

It's only briefly comforting because the next realization that comes is that Thranduil is just as stuck here as he is and that is enough to make his chest ache.

The familiarity the king gives him is unknown to Bilbo and he shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other, hands twisting in front of him anxiously. "I... Well, the same way you did I think. The details are fuzzy, but..." He looks away momentarily down at his hands, a frown tugging at his lips. "I can tell you what to expect here, but anything before that... how we came to this place I am of little use. I am sorry."

[somewhatfallenfortune]

Josephine comes across Thranduil as he examines the drapery. He's a striking figure, between his height and the length of his hair, enough so that it gives her pause. And considering just how many of her compatriots she's run across, she can't help looking at him and wondering if he, too, is a Thedosian. She doesn't know everyone on the continent, after all.

She's tempted to say an andaran atish’an--but there's no outward indication that the man is Dalish. His face lacks the distinctive tattoos; if not for his sharply pointed ears, she'd have assumed that he was as human as she.

Safer, given her lack of certainty, to comment on the curtains. "They're rather...vibrant, aren't they?"

(She might not have room to talk about vibrant, considering she's dressed in gold and sapphire blue, but the colours in Panem strike her as far louder than anything Orlais might have managed at home.)

[smirkwood]

Thranduil is slightly disturbed as he takes longer than he should have to notice her presence. She was to his left, of course, but that typically didn't matter. Still, he notices her before she begins speaking so he doesn't appear startled.

"Overly so," he agrees. "The color is not one easily found, nor can it be seen in my halls."

He lets the fabric slip through his fingers as he lets go.

[somewhatfallenfortune]

"Nor in any I've seen." It doesn't seem like a shade that belongs in the natural world at all, though nature does have a way of surprising one. "Where are your halls located?"

That, more than any other detail, is likely to give her an idea of the sort of elf he is--and that will determine how best to address him. Provided he is, in fact, an elf.

[reassures]

Thankfully Nill has been out of the Arena for long enough that she's finally getting back on her feet. This means that she's back to being better at taking note of her surroundings and the people within them, and whether or not those people might be having some issues with the setting they're currently in.

She doesn't recognize Thranduil, which isn't necessarily indicative that he's new. He's tall, even sitting down, and he seems calm enough; it's not unlikely that he's a mentor, but he hasn't moved in a long while either, and he keeps staring at the elevator as if expecting something. He was there when she left earlier, and he remains there now, even though at least a half hour has passed.

Which means, obviously, it's a good time to check on him.

Nill already has a note written up on her notepad when she approaches Thranduil, and she holds it up for him to read when she's close enough, her small white wings only extended a little from her back, mostly at rest.

are you looking for someone?

about how old does she look?

[smirkwood]

He almost doesn't see the wings at first, but when he does the only indication that he thought them strange might have been just a slight incline of the head. That she approaches him but does not speak is also confuses him - that is until she brings out the notepad. Curiously he leans forward slightly to read the note. Deaf perhaps? Or just mute? He wouldn't make any assumptions, and just speaks normally.

"No. I am not."

mid to late teens!

[reassures]

Okay. Not looking for someone. Nill frowns ever so slightly, but it's not long before she's trying to think up possibilities as to why someone would just be sitting and watching the elevator like this. She could think of a few, which were either incredibly unlikely or moderately likely, and she's not sure which applies to this situation. It seems better just to ask, so she writes another message and holds it up.

why are you staring at the elevator?

[smarterthanthem]

"Are you an elf?"

He looks like a elf, or at least what her imaginings of elves are like. Clementine's not sure if elves are supposed to look so tall though, or seem so serious. Childhood stories and movies had left a confusing and varied impression however, going from Christmas to more serious versions.

Most recently her knowledge of elves come from the story Thorongil told Clementine about the Silmaril's and so she's compelled to ask, after about half-an-hour of deciding whether she should or not. Hopefully he won't mind.

[smirkwood]

Normally Thranduil would be insulted by that question, but when he sees it comes from the lips of a child he cannot fault them. A mortal's childhood was so brief a time it was entirely possible that she had never seen an Elf before. Curiosity was a desirable trait in one so young.

"Yes, I am an Elf."

His expression softens a touch. For the moment he had no need to be imposing.

"What is your name?"

[smarterthanthem]

"Wow... that's really cool. Um." That was probably on the weird side of things to say. He doesn't look irritated by her question anyway. She's thrilled at meeting a real elf but trying not to show it too much. It probably filters through anyway.

Clementine smiles up at him (up and up, because he is very tall even sitting down), "My name's Clementine. What's yours?"

[elfstone]

When the elevator door opens, it reveals one person Aragorn had not expected to see. The surprise on his face is clear: he steps forward, as one who cannot believe his eyes.

Then, he sinks into a bow, touching his head.

"My lord Thranduil," he says, with clear respect -- and would have used Mirkwood's elf-tongue, if this place had not taken all other languages from him. "Greatly does it grieve me to see you here."

[smirkwood]

It's obvious this man knows who and what he is, which allows Thranduil a slight relaxation of the shoulders. This is the kind of behavior he had expected from most people, and he was glad to see it again. He inclines his head towards the stranger briefly in acknowledgement of the greeting.

"It seems I was not extended the courtesy of an invitation, but was rather taken by force."

Still, he's not familiar with this particular man. Brief as their lives were, he couldn't be asked to remember all of them. The king looks him over a long moment, taking in his general appearance and height. He probably could stand eye to eye with him if he were standing.

"You appear to me as one of the Dúnedain. What is your name?"

[elfstone]

The Dúnadan in question is visibly taken aback--he straightens and looks at Thranduil in wonder. "Do you know me not?" he asks. It is one thing to keep the truth from Bilbo Baggins, to allow the little hobbit to make up his own mind about Thorongil, but quite another to deliberately mislead an Elven-king. "But in this place, such wonders are commonplace. Several of us have come from Middle-earth, and many of us who recognize old friends go unrecognized ourselves. For me, the year was 3018 of the Third Age when I was taken here, but others remember only earlier years."

He takes a breath. It will not do to leave the question unanswered. "But I am indeed one of the Dúnedain. You knew me as Aragorn, son of Arathorn, chief of that people."