[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

[smirkwood]

To Thranduil and his people, the dead should be in the charge of Mandos, and not ripped from their peace. That thought was something he would no doubt dwell upon later when more details about deaths in the arena were processed in his mind.

"I do not care to know what this blood magic is; it sounds equally as foul!"

His voice is raised now, sounding entirely unforgiving. He would not associate with a necromancer. He gestures away from himself.

"Leave my sight!"

[tevintage]

Dorian puts his hands up in the air, looking utterly confused. "Fou-- What is it that you think I do, exactly?" He says, though he stands up. Thranduil's obviously pissed, but he's pretty sure it's not to do with him. He's never done anything to make anyone this angry. Except, you know, be himself around his father.

"You're obviously not from my world, why on earth would you assume I'd be the same as someone in yours?"

He didn't say 'because normally I'd assume an elf was a slave', mostly because that sounded like a particularly bad way to get himself punched in the face from a very angry elf.

He took a step backwards just in case.

[smirkwood]

The king clasps his hands behind his back and draws himself up to his full height. In truth Thranduil was uneasy at even being near to a necromancer, at least here in this place where he was already at a disadvantage, but he wouldn't allow himself to show it.

"I do not have to explain myself to you, nor do I wish to hold conversation with one who calls himself a necromancer."

With that, Thranduil feels he has the last word, and sweeps by Dorian in a last show of dominance before he leaves the room.