[Open] Vanish… is that all you know to do?

[i_hate_valar]

It's not impossible that Feanor has been more or less conspicuous lately. In fact, after much reflection, he's decided that the only way he could keep himself sane was to set about productive endeavors. To that effect, he effectively hijacked a corner of the library which he found to be rather unused. The walls have gone from cobwebbed to covered

Comments

[ordoseclorum]

We see this going not well, but the typist couldn't resist.

Maximilien is probably in the library looking for more information on this failed Revolution that he kind of thinks of as his, even if he probably shouldn't. Especially given the ignoble failure, he probably doesn't want to. Nonetheless...

He might stumble on Feanor's corner, and if he's slipped out for a moment, Max will be examining the plans with evident curiosity, brows furrowed, because what the hell language is that?

[i_hate_valar]

This is going to go pretty damn badly indeed, we can already predict it. "Don't touch that, Atan," Feanor orders him when he spots the nosy fellow. "And get out of my workspace."

Yes, it's an order, no, he won't have any patience for him.

[ordoseclorum]

Maximilien turns, expression impeccably cool, and examines Feanor, seeming...anything but impressed. Of course, that says something about Max, namely that he is almost never impressed. "How was I to know it was yours? It seems a...strange place to set up work, if you would sooner people did not interfere..."

[i_hate_valar]

"The fact that I am here should be enough. Out, before I remove you bodily."

[ordoseclorum]

Max's stubborn face comes on, just a little. "Is everyone here so insistent on entirely ignoring the suggestions of courtesy? Might I at least ask what language this is, as I've never seen it's like and I would like to consider myself knowledgeable?"

[i_hate_valar]

"I owe you no such answers," Feanor replies, and typist willing, he will grip Max and start to move him out.

[ordoseclorum]

He twists, trying to yank away - not willing to be got rid of so easily. "You owe me nothing, but is it such a dangerous question to ask?"

[i_hate_valar]

"It can be if you don't let me work in peace, Atan." Feanor has him in a death grip, though, and will be escorting him out of the area, unless something happens (like Max's shirt ripping, perhaps?)

[ordoseclorum]

It well might- it's a cheap copy of his last one, after all, he would say. And he tears away; Max has his own wiry kind of strength, even if it's eroded for his much keener interest in the Psalms. "Again, how was I to know that that area alone was off limits?"

[i_hate_valar]

"Now, you know. And you have been duly informed. Leave."

There's something dangerous in his voice.

[ordoseclorum]

Maximilien grits his teeth. "I advise you not to take that tone with me," he says, tensely. Still not aware that the Psalms may or may not work.

[i_hate_valar]

"I shall take what tone I please," and unless Max backs off, he's getting bodily escorted away.

[ordoseclorum]

He doesn't. Of course he doesn't. "What gives you the right?"

He wonders if this one is part of the 'court' that the large-nosed man spoke of so reverently.

[i_hate_valar]

"I am Feanaro Curufinwion, High King of the Noldor and protector of this place, and I will not tolerate your behavior, Atan."

And alright, that's enough, he's getting bodily hauled out of the corner, if Max's typist is willing. (In which case, Feanor's sword will be drawn, and his stance will be menacing.)

"Leave."

[ordoseclorum]

Oh shit, that would be a sword. He lowers his eyes, and hesitates - he hasn't tried this yet, but...

Begins to murmur, then, in a low voice. "Keep me, O LORD, from the hands of the wicked; protect me from men of violence who plan to trip my feet who devise evil plans in their hearts and stir up war every day."

[i_hate_valar]

Feanor looks unamused. "Don't ask the gods for protection, stupid Atan, ask your legs!"

Intended effect?