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Post by Pinkie on Apr 22, 2009 21:36:07 GMT
 "Boromir!" the gasp that left his lips was desperate, his eyes shooting open suddenly and his body attempted to sit bolt upright. He only got so far before the injuries he suffered made him fall right back down again. Faramir lay there a moment, sweat dripping down his spine, dewing on his forehead and darkening his reddish hair. His blue eyes stared into space for a long moment before he realised that it had been a dream and nothing more. A very bad, very upsetting dream. The young noble let out a shaky breath and slowly turned his head to the side, very slowly, tentative and conscious of all the hurts that he could feel right now. Someone was close... his eyes looked up, their movements slow mostly, jolting from place to place until he saw Miriel. He gave her a faint smile and shut his eyes. And just as he did he snapped them open again, thinking that he had mistaken Eowyn for Miriel but no... it was the healing woman, not his wife that tended to him. "Hmm ... you're safe." he said, evidently pleased with this news. The battle was vivid in his mind. The death and hurt and pain. The strike that he had suffered was minute in comparison to the hurts and losses elsewhere. No doubt his father had heard of his injury and disapproved of him lounging about in bed all day with it. Faramir sighed shakily and pushed the covers off of his body. He moved his legs slowly over the side of the bed and sat up. He was a little wobbly at first and one arm was wrapped around the bandaging across his chest, disappearing beneath his arm, a look of discomfort flickering across his scholarly face. "Has my father come asking after me?" Faramir said, lifting his eyes with hope gleaming within to Miriel. He knew though, he knew just looking at her that he had asked a silly question and gave a rueful smile as if he had been joking in the first place. "A disaster always needs it's scapegoat after all." he chuckled and looked around behind him slowly, scanning the area for his clothes. He spotted his tunic and bit the side of his lips when he noticed the rather large and bloody hole in the back of it where he had been struck. "Oh... that's not good." he gestured to it sadly with a narrow finger. |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Apr 22, 2009 22:35:32 GMT
It was unnerving to say the least, the way he seemed at once to look through her, and yet at the same time look into her, into her mind, her soul, her being. She had this feeling every time she was alone with him... as though he knew her, and didn't much like what he knew either. Not that Eledhwen cared whether he liked her or not. In fact she was glad he didn't like her, because she hated him, and even moreso every time he spoke to her in that patronizing, condescending tone, looking down his oh so perfect nose at her as though she was a child. There he went again, talking to her as though she was a bit dim witted, or as though if he didn't talk to her very patiently she might throw something. And well he might think that, because she felt like throwing something... her knife at his throat! The way he turned everything around to make it seem like she was deliberately complicating things or taking them the wrong way! All she wanted was a simple answer to a simple question! How was that so difficult?! She felt like stamping her foot, if she didn't think it would only make him look at her with that father-humouring-a-spoilt-child expression again. Oh! Why did he make her want to scream all the time?? She took a deep breath while considering what he had just said carefully, then fixed him with a suspicious dark-eyed glare. Why could he not just speak plainly? Her own people said what they meant if they had anything to say, they didn't hide behind poetry. "I think, Elf," she stated, "that I would never look upon you as anything other than an enemy, and yes, I think you could have meant it as a threat, because you hide everything behind flowery words and riddles. Your kind are masters of trickery, and I do not see how I could ever trust you." She said all this with icy contempt through gritted teeth without stopping to think why she was telling him all this now, just when he was beginning to trust her. She only knew that his statement about Kawalsky 'liking' her had upset her, as had watching the tall man walk away. She was unversed in matters of the heart, and so she didn't yet recognise the reasoning behind her anger - she certainly wouldn't admit that she didn't want the Elf thinking she might 'like' any man in that way, or that any man might have a chance of wooing her. She wanted the Elf to think that she was free, unencumbered by complications... a woman of the world... for reasons she had not yet discovered or explored. "If you think that I could ever look upon you as a friend then you are sadly mistaken," she finished, trying to look supercilious and superior, but failing miserably the second her dark eyes lit upon the slight trembling of his lips as he gazed into the distance above her head. The look in his eyes was... enchanting, as though he was looking at events of millenia past, as though he knew of things she could only ever hope to dream of, which was very possibly true. Something deep inside her stirred then, and a part of her subconsciously wished at that moment that she could share all those things he had witnessed in all his long life. She felt then as he saw her... very young. |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Apr 23, 2009 13:20:19 GMT
Oh, this little sprite was actually rather sweet... not to Boromir's usual taste - not tall enough, not voluptuous enough, not fair enough... but when she smiled it made him smile, and Boromir liked a woman who was happy. So many of them were demure, timid, shrewish or downright surly, that it was rare to find one with whom he could share an honest, simple laugh. He smiled as she repeated his name, and tipped his shaggy head to one side so as to allow his eyes to peruse her diminutive figure. The thought of women fighting was, though not entirely foreign to him with his dealings in Rohan, still enough of a novelty to make it interesting. The other one - Katee - she was... different; something about the way she carried herself, the way she acted around men, made soldiering somehow a natural career for her. And that fact in itself made her a very appealing conquest for the lord of Minis Tirith. This one however looked as though she would be more at home in the palace theatre... very petite, very feminine... A sparkling demeanor - she reminded him of a Woodland Elf, if only she were taller... He laughed then, a quiet chuckle, and bowed his head in acknowledgment. "Well, I shall have to see if I can personally make your stay any more... pleasurable," he mused, a twinkle in his eye as she stepped towards him. He bent his head towards her as she looked around. Boromir pulled away sharply, straightening up to look at her questioning expression quizzically. Haldir... always that aloof, distant creature seemed to draw admiring glances from women without a thought, and he never even seemed to be aware of it! Boromir could kick him sometimes. But then, being friends, if you could call it that, with an Elf did have its advantages... the women whom Haldir did not notice were usually all the easier to seduce once they realised they would get nowhere with the blonde enigma. This girl's question puzzled him though. "I do not understand what you mean," he replied thoughtfully. "Elves all look like Haldir... some are dark, others fair, but all have, as you say, pointy ears..." Here he smiled and echoed the movement of her hand above her ear on his own, "and all are tall, taller than Men, even most of the She-Elves." |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Apr 23, 2009 18:22:16 GMT
DJ crept quietly from the infirmary, determined not to wake the sleeping girl now that at last her nightmares seemed to have stopped. Poor little thing - she had tried to be brave, he could see that, but obviously she had had no previous experience of these monsters that had attacked her own safe little world. Taking a last, fondly smiling look at her peacefully slumbering face, he walked away, back towards the palace and his team's rooms. He should really report to West, his superior would be wondering where he was. As he walked he thought about Mari - about how she had felt in his arms, about her innocent, trusting smile as he carried her to the Houses of Healing, about her insistence on his staying with her... as though he was her hero. He laughed to himself, and shook his head. A hero, at last. Big brave DJ slaughtering Ogres and saving damsels in distress... He couldn't really take it all in, it was like one of the books in which he constantly had his head buried - one huge fairytale. Rounding a corner he stopped as he came upon another hero carrying another damsel - Lake... carrying... or actually in the process of dropping... the beautiful blonde daughter of the steward. DJ raised his eyebrows and sighed. So much for him being the hero of the hour... obviously heroes were ten a penny in this world if even the alcoholic captain Lake could be one! "Sorry," he said automatically as though he was interrupting something far more intimate. "I erm... have you seen West?" |
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Post by Pinkie on Apr 23, 2009 21:44:54 GMT
 Elendur understood approximately 65% of what he said to her. The rest seemed to be a mixture of jibberish and mispronunciations. And yet there was something easy about listening to his gruff voice. The roughness of it from smoking was somewhat attractive though the smell of the smoke on his clothes was quite less so. The blonde was not truly interested in what the man had fought, she had merely been curious if he had ever fought Orcs before... and a little curious if they had Orcs where he came from. From what she understood of things, this man came from another world - somewhere that was not on Middle Earth.... Sauron had created the Orcs and so she wondered if there was a world out there where Orcs did not exist and threaten mankind. It was a rather peaceful thought but from what she had understood from the unshaven foreigner, there was works than orcs out there.... The blonde was not savvy enough to know that him calling her 'little miss prissy' was in fact mocking. She gave a small squeek as he dumped her onto her feet and she shivered as the cold stone touched bare toes. Her arms lifted to hug herself and she hunched her shoulders protectively. Her blonde hair was hanging to one side of her pretty face and she frowned a little at the retreating back of Lake. "My name is Elendur - not little miss prissy." she said tartly, Giving her hair a little bit of a shake, Elendur lifted her chin and looked over her shoulder at the sound of approaching boots. Her eyes narrowed at the figure coming closer to them. He was another one of the foreigners, she noted, and gave him a brief if chilly nod of her head in greeting. "Joe West?" Elendur said automatically, without thought. Her eyes brightened a little and her tone was hopeful. She had danced with Joe West the night before. He was a handsome man, very handsome, strong, built like an ox, but gentle as a lamb. Elendur was not truly interested in men as anything other than amusements, but he had treated her well, he had understood her position and had respected her for it - unlike the smoky man, and unlike this new man. "You should take me to him." she told DJ, sliding her hands down to her sides and speaking with an air of authority. She trusted this new man more than she trusted the one who had carried her over the dead orcs. Probably because this man seemed a little more grounded. And he spoke alot clearer too. And he had apologised. For nothing, granted, but still - it showed a level of respect and deference. |
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Post by Pinkie on Apr 23, 2009 21:58:36 GMT
 Thrace felt that if he touched her now she would melt into him, she would simply cease to be a seperate being. All her anxiety and fear and lack of self-worth swirled around inside of her and made an angry and caustic monster out of her. Exasperated, she felt like crying or shouting or .... something, anything to just make Mark break the mold he had simply slipped into. He was so superior, so damn righteous and perfect that it drove her insane. Why couldn't he, for once, be spontaneous?! Why couldn't he get angry and shout back at her? Why did he never show any hint of passion... or need or want or ... anything, anything other than the calm and unflappable demeanour he put forth at her all the time. Even Lake's insulting treatment of her last night was more favourable than dealing with his insufferable ... rightness! God! Even the way he said her name was like he was her father scolding her! Thrace turned a fiery glare at the poor man from the first word out of his mouth and just remained stoic and glaring as he continued. He always walked down the same paths. He never criticised her directly, he never told her that she was being a selfish, unreasonable bitch even when she was being a selfish unreasonable bitch. He held him back so much. Just for once she would like him to let go. She would like him to tell her what he was really thinking. "Yeah, you're right... this is pointless. Because nothing is ever, ever as perfect as you want it to be, is it Mark? Everything is just black or white with you, right? There's no grey area at all for you. It's all so fucking simple for you, isn't it? You know exactly what you want and you have it. You have her." Thrace snapped but her voice was quiet, a hissed whisper as she stepped in closer to Mark, the jut of her hips as she moved forward threatening and suggestive, her hazel eyes never leaving his face. She would love to kiss him right now. Whatever she felt for Boromir was pale in comparison to what she felt for Mark. Despite all his flaws, flaws that she defined at least, there was still something immaculately attractive about him, there was an indescribable draw to him that she felt. Perhaps it was a desire to claim him, to share with him about the only thing they were good at together... being together, kissing and touching. It was something that they had agreed on, ironically. "Why did you want to talk, Mark? Did you just want to remind me how inferior I am to you?" she asked caustically, reaching out a hand and smoothing his lapel uselessly, patting her hand against his chest over the lapel and slowly curling her fingers in so her nails clung to the material of his jacket. |
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Post by Pinkie on Apr 24, 2009 21:27:05 GMT
 She was eerily accurate. He did speak slow to her to ensure she understood what he said. He was quite deliberate in that because humans were so hot-headed, they were so presumptuous and assumed that you had said something that you had not. Haldir had long learned to speak as plainly and slowly as possible to humans. But even as he did speak slowly to this youth he could see that she was jumping to conclusions. It was almost on the tip of ihs tongue to ask her if she did not tire from such strenuous brain activity. But he remained silent, allowing her to mull over his simple and rather considerate words and he let his hand drop to his side. His fingers reached back to the hem of his grey cloak and he pulled it forward just a little. Idly he let his finger and thumb rub against the soft material as he waited for her to blow up on him. And oh predictably she did. Haldir almost smiled at it. If he had not been so frustrated and irked by her constant tantrums he might have smiled! Instead he looked a little above her head and waited for her to get it all out because she seemed to need to. Still Haldir was unsure why she held such a venomous hatred for him, for his kind but he was pretty certain, as certain as a man as ancient as he could be, that she was wrong. Shunned by an Elf maybe? No.. No, her anger was not merely male-orientated, it was a species that she disliked and resented. The Elf continued to look above her head, his face impassive though an observant onlooker would have noted the sharpness to his eyes, the flicker of darkness that kindled there when she said 'your kind'. She spoke as if she had it in her to strike him, or worse, kill him. But Haldir knew that she had not the courage nor the true heart for that. She thought she did though. The silvan Elf licked his bottom lip slowly and blinked even slower. When he opened his calm, deep eyes he was looking down at Eledhwen. It was not a look of scorn or hurt but nor was it a kindly look. It was assessing - it was as if he looked upon her to try her worthiness and she had come up short. Drastically short. And in truth she had because his assessing look had been to discover if she was untrustworthy as an ally but ... alas, Haldir could find no reason not to trust her, despite her hateful words. "So be it." he said quietly, his tone light and musical. Haldir took a step back and bent his tall frame in a bow, an arm drawn across his firm stomach. As he straightened he met her eyes again and smiled. It was a handsome smile, a magical smile but his eyes were still horribly hard and challenging. "Seek me when, " his eyebrow quirked on the emphasis, "... you change your mind, shield-maiden." the Elf intoned knowingly and turned to leave. "And change it quickly. We leave to fight our peoples enemy at dawn." ((ooc: he is walking away but she can still talk to him and he will stay - s'up to you!  )) |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Apr 25, 2009 6:50:32 GMT
((Ooc: Eek! Don't tell me that! I... I mean she  can talk to Haldir all night  You are so good at descriptions! Like him fiddling with his cloak and stuff... all mine ever do is smile and raise their eyebrows and frown!  )) |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Apr 26, 2009 17:11:56 GMT
The outburst made Miriel jump, and she almost gasped aloud, raising one pale hand to her throat as her eyes widened in surprise. Her shock made her too slow to react in taking hold of the patient to stop him from attempting to rise, and by the time she had recovered her wits he had already lain back down against the pillow in pain. It must have been a nightmare... one involving his brother. Miriel wondered what it was that the injured man had perhaps foreseen. She didn't much care for the older of the two sons of the steward, but she would not wish harm to come to Boromir. He had not been admitted to the Houses of Healing, not as far as she had seen anyway, and such a well known member of the army would surely have been commented upon. Still, who knew what else might befall the city now that the forces of the dark lord seemed to be once more on the rise? And Boromir, despite his penchant for beautiful women and his somewhat careless attitude at times, was a good man and a brave one, a man who obviously cared a great deal for his city and its people. "Sshhh..." she soothed Faramir, laying a hand without thinking upon his fevered brow. Miriel smiled softly at this observation. He had obviously forgotten the fact that it had been she who tended him when he came in. Battle could do that to a man... make him forget the most recent occurrences, whilst remembering things that happened years ago, as far back as childhood in some cases. "I am," she replied, her tone quiet and calm. "Carefully now... don't move if you are in pain... Sire..." She added the title after reaching out to help him rise, trying not to touch his damaged arm as she watched his obvious discomfort. "You should not try to move..." she scolded fondly, enjoying the fact that, while she could now officially take care of him for a while - scold him even if the need arose - he was still man enough to take no notice. She was painfully aware of all the times, gossip being what it was, that he had been belittled in his life, first by his father, and then by his wife, and she knew she would make a concerted effort never to make him feel less of a man as they did. She met his blue eyes with a sad gaze of her own, knowing that he was putting a brave face on his pain. Would that he could open up to her... tell her what was really going on in his heart of hearts - the pain of rejection that she could surely help him overcome... She brought herself up short even as she thought it. No, that would not do at all. She could not allow him to get too close to her even if he attempted to, which she doubted very much. For one thing, why would he, the son of the steward, ever wish to confide in a mere healer, a widow from the lower levels? And for that reason too she could not allow him to be seen too often in her company. Because she was exactly that - a widow, and men who spent too much time around widows too quickly after their husband's death might start to be talked about. She would not allow Faramir's reputation to suffer on her account. She did not reply to his rhetorical question, as he had already decided upon the answer for himself. Instead she began to check his bandages in a thoroughly professional manner, trying to keep her mind off the set of his shoulders and the curl of his red-gold hair against the back of his neck. Glancing over her shoulder to where his gaze rested, she stilled her restless hand on his chest without thinking. "Would you like me to send for a fresh one my Lord?" she inquired politely, her manner deliberately distant as she tried to remain professional, even as her fingers tingled to the touch of his fair skin. It was on the tip of her tongue to offer to sew this one for him, but of course she dare not. That was a wife's job, or for a man in Faramir's position a job for a serving girl or maid. Healers did not sew for their wards. She banished the picture from her traitorous mind of her seated before her fire, his tunic in her hands, the scent of him in her nostrils as she sewed it for him. That was no good, no good at all. |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Apr 28, 2009 19:27:54 GMT
DJ took in the scene with one glance, and decided that Lake really didn't want to be here with this gorgeous blonde. Was the man mad?? Slouching along with his hands in his pockets, collar of his jacket turned up and half a day's growth of stubble on his chin, the captain looked like nothing more than a down and out delinquent. Not to mention the blood and gore smeared down his trouser legs, and the dust in his dirty blond hair. DJ glanced from Lake to the young woman and back again, trying to remember her name... Ele... El... All he could think of was Eledhwen, and he didn't think this ice maiden would really appreciate being called by the name of the Rohirrim girl somehow, not judging by the looks he had seen pass between them the day before. Oh why was he so useless?! But he did notice that this one was shivering, and if nothing else DJ was a gentleman, unlike Lake, who didn't seem to care less if the poor girl froze to death! "Of course," he agreed quickly, striding to her side as he took his own jacket off. "Here, take this, you're freezing." He draped the warm, quilted article around her shoulders, confident that the warmth of his own body should make a head start on banishing the cold from hers. He just hoped the jacket wasn't too stinking from being on him all day, especially having fought the ogre and got its guts all over it when he had moved it from poor little Mari. "Come on," he gave her his most winning smile, "let's go and find Joe West." |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Apr 28, 2009 19:29:26 GMT
Lake smiled to himself, and was about to turn round to say something smart in return, when they were interrupted. Lake looked up from his smirk, to see DJ coming towards them. He liked the bloke, yeah, but why was he sometimes so fucking wet? At this Lake spun round, staring at Elendur in astonishment. For fucks sake! Could the woman not make up her mind? One minute she wants her daddy like a little girl, then as soon as West's name's mentioned she goes all bloody gooey-eyed over him. Bastard! He was so bloody smooth, he had them falling at his feet and he didn't even know it! Not that Lake could care a toss if they fell at his feet or not... but that wasn't the point. It briefly crossed his mind to wonder whether Thrace and West had ever... but he growled quietly to himself and stopped it before it took shape. He couldn't give a fuck if Thrace had had a piece of West. None of his business. Lake scowled. He would have given her his jacket... course he would, if the clever bastard hadn't got there first... He stood with his hands in his pockets as DJ fussed around her, rolling his eyes as the scientist deliberately took his time arranging the coat over her bare shoulders. Talk about obvious! "Come on, let's go find Joe West," Lake muttered under his breath in a squeaky whisper, pulling a face at DJ's back as they walked past him and continued along the corridor. He felt - and probably looked - like a sulky kid as he followed them, hands still in pockets, still moodily kicking at the floor, still desperate for a fucking drink. |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Apr 29, 2009 13:24:31 GMT
He felt like losing it with her - often he could quite easily shout and scream back at her when she goaded him, but something in him always held back. It wasn't that he was a wimp, far from it, but he knew that losing your temper never solved anything, that calm diplomacy was the way to go if you ever had a hope of getting what you wanted. "That's not t..." he began as she stepped towards him, his brows knitting even further together as he clenched his loosely curled hands into fists by his sides. She continued to talk as he tried to protest, and he clamped his mouth closed as he invariably did these days. There was a time when he would have at least raised his voice to her in return when she started to get angry, but it only led to her getting worse, and finally hitting him, or storming out and hitting something else. He had learned to keep quiet once Molly had been born. Not that he didn't trust Thrace fully not to harm their daughter, of course he did, but sometimes, when she got that wild look in her eyes... Well, once they had a child he just wasn't willing to take the risk. He deliberately kept his fists clenched tightly as she smoothed her hand down his jacket, so as not to automatically reach out to touch her. It would be so easy - the sexual attraction was still there, always had been the strongest thing about what they had. But it wasn't enough, not for a proper grown-up relationship, and Mark didn't think Thrace was ready for one of those, not yet, maybe not ever. ((Ooc: Patronizing git! )) "I would never do that Katee," he sighed resignedly, closing blue eyes briefly before looking down at her with pity. Not pity for her, but pity for what could never be. He shrugged. "I don't know why I wanted to talk to you... just to apologize for what I said earlier I guess, and to... try to clear the air between us." As he spoke he couldn't help himself. Despite his determination not to, his hand crept up of its own accord and covered hers, his broad thumb absently stroking the back of her fingers. It didn't occur to him, a mere man, to tell her he didn't think she was inferior to him, or to ask her what she wanted for a change. "I don't want to fight you," he said. "I want... Molly was asking after you before I came away." He tried a different tactic - not that he thought he was fighting a war, but sometimes that was how she made it seem. "She wanted to know if I was going where you were, and to tell you she made a picture for you." He smiled, glancing down briefly at his hand as it covered hers, but not moving it. His heart was beating frantically in his chest. This was how he always felt around her - as though he were treading on eggshells, or stepping through a minefield - one false move and BAM! Any and all progress made shot to hell. |
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Post by Pinkie on Apr 29, 2009 20:29:01 GMT
He was in pain. But he also felt acutely uncomfortable. He had teh feeling that he had been lying abed for days and that there was work to be done that he aught to be doing but he wasn't because he languished in bed. He knew that Boromir would not be a-bed, no matter the injuries sustained in the attack. Boromir would be off somewhere readying the offensive strike that the enemy had called down upon itself with the attack last night. Faramir had always been made to feel inferior to Boromir... it didn't help matters when he too could see how inferior he was to his older brother. Awkward and uncomfortable, the young Lord did a good job of avoiding Miriel's eyes, wondering if she thought him weak, wondering if she found his inability to sustain consciousness thruoghout a whole battle made her think ill of him. It had to. Somewhere underneath her kindness she must think he was a bumbling, inept oaf of a man. As he dropped his gaze she started a perfunctory check of his bandages. Faramir felt like he was even in the way of her doing that and moved his arms a little this way and that, murmuring the odd apology as she checked them. It hurt - it damn well hurt, his shoulder felt ablaze but there was enough numbness in the area for him to know that it was anointed with some deadening, healing unction. When her hand stilled on his chest, the young ranger gulped, looking down at her impossibly slender fingers against the pale, red hairs of his chest. He licked his lips nervously and felt a tightening in the pit of his stomach. Oh her tone was polite but compared to the warmer tones she had been using upon him, Faramir felt the chill distance of them. He lifted his puzzled blue eyes to her face wondering what he had done to insult or upset her and his mouth dropped open. He looked over towards his shirt and back at Miriel's face as he slowly shook his head. "Uh... no. No, please, it is fine. I will wear it back to my room and get a new one myself. Don't worry about it... Mi..." it seemed awkward to address her so informally and his brow furrowed just a fraction as he looked at her face in confusion. He cleared his throat and dropped his eyes, shaking his head slowly, gently as he stood. It was an unfortunate side effect of his standing, but Miriel's hand slipped from his chest and Faramir stepped away from her, aware of the change in attitude and raked a hand back through his unruly, red locks. "Don't worry on it M'lady." he said, grimacing a little as he turned his back to her and mouthed the word silently to himself, rolling his eyes at how awkward he sounded calling her by that when they had seemed to him to be much closer than such formalities. "I am sure there are others more worthy of your healing touch than me, good Lady. Let me not keep you from your work. " he was moving slowly, stiffly, reaching for his tunic, one arm bent at the elbow across his stomach to ensure the muscles and tendons did not stretch and move as much as they normally would as he moved. Faramir glanced over his shoulder at Miriel once he had the tunic in his hands. He offered her a rather sad smile, apologetic and almost embarrassed, |
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Post by Pinkie on May 2, 2009 21:15:37 GMT
No... definitely not. She would not appreciate being called anything other than her own name which, she thought, should have been ingrained in the memory of anyone who met her frmo the first. And she would receive such an alias with even less appreciation should she realise that it was the name of any horse-woman. They were rather rough around the edges, the shield-maidens. Oh Faramir adored his beautiful wife, and Elendur did admit that Eowyn was that, but there was no elegance to her.. no sophistication. And Eowyn fought sophistication and resented beauty and the genteel things in life. Why? Oh Elendur had not the patience to discover this. She would speak with the woman, her sister-in-law, but they would never be close. Faramir... the blonde Gondorian wondered if her brother was well, if he had been injured at all. Boromir would have been looking out for him no doubt, but it still left an acidic burn in the back of her throat to think on it. Elendur's face paled as the man came forward to place his coat around her shoulders. If it had not been so warm about her she would have insisted he take it back. It smelled. It had a raw smell about it, blood and sweat and warmth. It was not truly offensive per se, but it was not pleasant either. The blonde reached a hand up to hold the warm covering in place, her slender fingers brushing against DJ's momentarily. She fluttered her eyelashes at him automatically, looking beautiful and enchanting without even making an effort to. "Thank you." she whispered, glancing back at the other man who had, admittedly, done her a good deed by carrying her this far, but who had also done himself a disfavour by not offering her his jacket or being more ... more ... kindly towards her. Elendur's chin gave a proud jut and she tossed her head back to the front, ethereal blonde hair hanging down against the dirty green jacket. "Yes, let us." she commented, looking up at DJ and instinctively moving in to walk closer to him, her bare feet poking out from beneath the hem of the blue dress she wore. Elendur heard noises, voices, and fear gripped her. She stepped in closer again, linking her arm through his as she looked over her shoulder, her eyes glancing around Lake but never touching him exactly. "What was that?" the woman whispered, her quavering voice pitched breathily towards DJ's ear. "Are you sure you know where Joe West is, sir? It is not safe to be wandering alone." Elendur told DJ, neglecting, of course, to recognise that none of them were alone because they were, duh, together. But Elendur was of a higher breeding. Neither of the men around her right now were what she would consdier to be guards or guardians. They were rough, uncouth - granted the one next to her had given her his jacket but it smelled. She wanted familiarity right now, she craved it. |
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Post by Pinkie on May 5, 2009 22:27:45 GMT
 They were terrible together, Thrace knew that. But perhaps knowing that made her want it all the more. She was a sucker for things that were bad for her. Booze, smokes... Lake. Lake - fuck it! The blonde felt her stomach do a flip at the thought of him, the ache in her muscles from his rough-housing the night before seemed to be more noticeable when she thought of him. Hell, he was bad for her but she didn't want him. Fuck no. He was old enough to be... well, not quite her father, but he was just not her type. Neither was Mark, but there was history with Mark. Thrace enjoyed him. She enjoyed the idea of him more though and this she knew. They stood face to face even now and she was wishing so many things could be different, that he would, that he could just let down his hair for five fucking minutes. That he would crack a smile that wasn't condescending, that he would say something that wasn't meant to be a lesson. Thrace dropped her head, looking at her hand on his lapel, and rolled her tongue against her upper lip. It was hard not to tell him to stop doing that when she wasn't sure she could properly describe what that that was. He just managed to constantly make her feel small, to make her feel inferior, common and unworthy. He made her feel like she was crawling. In truth it was simply because she had such a low opinion of herself, and such a high opinion of him, that it just felt that way. It wasn't anything that he did, it wasn't anything at all she could blame him on because it was all her. It didn't stop her tryign to blame him though. His words were so .... bland! They were cliched. He wanted to clear the air between them... of course. Of course it had nothing to do with him seeing her with Boromir. Thrace tossed her head, her hazel eyes flashing unholy murder momentarily. A caustic thought rose in her mind to ask him where his little side-kick was. Gypsy Calvin had been dogging his heels since they had both arrived and Thrace thought it was a good angle to 'attack' from because Mark, honourable and decent Mark, would hate for her to be talking shit about smoeone that he would then claim to 'respect'. Thrace had it all planned out but the words halted when he brushed his thumb across the back of her hand. The blonde frowned, looking down at the contact. It worked a charm! Thrace felt her heart lift and she believed it wholly that Molly had asked for her. The hard and cruel words she had been about to speak turned to dust and she blew out a gentle laugh, her eyes sparkling now, her beauty shining blatant and bright instead of being hidden under a mask of flippant cruelty. She looked up at Mark with a lopsided smile, looking into his eyes then all around his face wonderingly. "Yeah? A picture?" she asked in a whisper, forgetting all about her earleir anger, the dark sarcasm leaving her looking years younger, her shoulders straighter and her eyes brighter. Anything that pertained to her little girl and her made Thrace feel good - until she had to face the hard reality that she was a terrible mother. But to think that Molly had drawn her a picture, that she had known that her momma was going away ... it just made the woman feel loved, wanted, needed. Thrace turned her hand slightly under Mark's, catching his thumb lightly between her own thumb and fingers, smiling down at their entwined digits pleasantly. "She told you to tell me that?" Thrace whispered and shook her head, stepping in closer to Mark. In doing so she closed the gap between them almost entirely, the toes of her boots touching his, her blonde hair falling forward and as it fell down over her forehead it brushed his nose. She sighed, gently moving her fingers against his. "God... how did we ever make such a beautiful little girl? How is she ... " Thrace paused, biting her bottom lip and tilting her head to the side quizzically, her hazel eyes still on their knotted fingers which were moving slowly, sentient. "We're terrible for each other but we created her. That's gotta mean something doesn't it?" |
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