[open] mama we all go to hell
Curufin is not at his best right now. Of course, he has not really been at his best since arriving here, in one way or another, but just the same. Since being driven back inside (as he thinks of it) by Caranthir, he's locked himself in his room and pretty much hasn't stopped pacing.
And it's not just restlessness and pent up energy, either; he is profoundly unhappy in a way he hasn't known perhaps ever - certainly not since his father's death. And even worse, he is lost, purposeless, and that horror of a forced memory keeps circling in his head like a vulture, dominating his thoughts.
He revealed too much to Caranthir, he thinks, showed too much. There's no telling how long it'll take to earn back the ground he lost in those moments of indiscretion.
Hence. Pacing, back and forth, his handsome face slightly drawn with the lack of sleep and attention he's been giving to his rather unimportant body. It's not intentional so much as that his mind is more important, and more occupied.
Also, unwilling to leave his room and risk running into someone he would rather not see. Any number of someones, really.
However, should anyone be seeking him out, he may have paused in his pacing and is sitting on the bed, examining the blade of his long knife. He forged it himself, back when he had time for metalworking. It's been a long while. He's not even sure he remembers how to go about it.
For the first time, he doesn't think talking to his father would help him sort this out. He doesn't know that there is anyone he could talk to that would help him sort this out. Curufin is not even certain that he knows what needs sorting out.
For the moment, then...a brief break in the constant pacing, though he's planning to return to it soon.
And it's not just restlessness and pent up energy, either; he is profoundly unhappy in a way he hasn't known perhaps ever - certainly not since his father's death. And even worse, he is lost, purposeless, and that horror of a forced memory keeps circling in his head like a vulture, dominating his thoughts.
He revealed too much to Caranthir, he thinks, showed too much. There's no telling how long it'll take to earn back the ground he lost in those moments of indiscretion.
Hence. Pacing, back and forth, his handsome face slightly drawn with the lack of sleep and attention he's been giving to his rather unimportant body. It's not intentional so much as that his mind is more important, and more occupied.
Also, unwilling to leave his room and risk running into someone he would rather not see. Any number of someones, really.
However, should anyone be seeking him out, he may have paused in his pacing and is sitting on the bed, examining the blade of his long knife. He forged it himself, back when he had time for metalworking. It's been a long while. He's not even sure he remembers how to go about it.
For the first time, he doesn't think talking to his father would help him sort this out. He doesn't know that there is anyone he could talk to that would help him sort this out. Curufin is not even certain that he knows what needs sorting out.
For the moment, then...a brief break in the constant pacing, though he's planning to return to it soon.