Felix's life has had a lot of ups and downs. (Mostly downs.) He doesn't trust peace, or happiness, but he's trying to, really trying, and bit by bit he might even be learning
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Here's someone who is... very pretty. Also very straight and very married, and very temperamental.
We're not sure what went down between Feanor and the Dark Lord when he and Hisoka when to the cliffs. At any rate, he's in the library now, and for a split moment, he sees the red hair. And the brooding, and double-takes.
"-- Nelyafinwe?" The moment the name is said, though, he knows this is an Atan.
Unforgiveable mistake.
I could not resist. Not sure where this will go, but...
Someone who is very pretty, very gay, not married, and very temperamental? Or something. And at any rate, Felix looks up sharply at the hail, head turning to reveal his almost sharp features, and differently-colored eyes. Definitely not Mae.
His eyebrows creep up, and his expression becomes faintly caustic, mocking, as easily as breathing. "No, I'm afraid not."
"So I see," Feanor replies - he does not look impressed at all, and even sneers. Those eyes are strange and unsettling - as are the markings on Felix's arms, if he can see them at all.
Oh, this one reminds him of Robert, and Felix stiffens, straightening slightly, drawing himself up and donning more of a haughty mask, the one that deceived everyone at the Mirador that he was more than just an upjumped whore.
The markings are probably visible, as Felix is probably in his shirtsleeves, rolled up to his elbows.
And his response to people like Robert? Flirt with them. His expression adjusts to a mixture of haughty and coy, eyelids slightly lowered as he stretches, sinuously. "No, I'm afraid not," he says again, but this time it's a 'oh well' more than anything. "But I would like to make the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir..."
And so Felix does. A victory, and encouragement. Felix's smile just widens, slightly, becomes what Mildmay would call his five-alarm smile, the one that's patented particularly for false uses. "Lord Felix Harrowgate," he says, easily, though that title isn't his any more than, "Wizard of the Mirador. And pray tell, such regal bearing...I can only guess that your station must be lofty indeed."
The feeling, Felix says firmly, is mutual. "High King?" Felix widens his eyes like an ingenue awed by this proclamation, and sweeps a deep bow with only a trace of mocking to it, but not so that a polite accusation could be made. "Forgive me for not knowing you at once, my lord. If I had..."
Those eyes, then, are smoldering. For a moment. And Felix runs them luxuriously over Feanor. It's not hard, he is nice looking.
That smoldering stare makes Feanor quite uncomfortable. He squares his shoulders. "I do not expect a mere Atani - or even a wizard - to know me," he says firmly. "Though it is an intriguing notion."
He looks Felix up and down, slowly. "You are no Maia."
Felix moves, in a way that makes the slight shift of his hips very nearly indecent, and certainly suggestive. Even if it is very slightly. And he lowers his eyelids to intensify the stare, not going quite so far as to flutter his eyelashes. "I'm afraid I don't know the word, my lord...I am a wizard of the Mirador. One of the best."
If he had something to lick off his fingers, he totally would.
"I see," though Feanor has no clue what the Mirador is, he isn't about to admit it. "And yet even the best did not know the greatest smith and warlord in the history of Beleriand."
Felix's mouth curves into a smile, though inwardly it - stings. Felix will never not be stung by what he sees as aspersions on his...past. After all, he isn't so well educated as some were. But nonetheless... "Even the land is foreign to me, by name," Felix murmurs, and lowers his eyes to give Feanor what can only be described as a husky look, because when offended, act like a whore.
We're not sure what went down between Feanor and the Dark Lord when he and Hisoka when to the cliffs. At any rate, he's in the library now, and for a split moment, he sees the red hair. And the brooding, and double-takes.
"-- Nelyafinwe?" The moment the name is said, though, he knows this is an Atan.
Unforgiveable mistake.
I could not resist. Not sure where this will go, but...
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His eyebrows creep up, and his expression becomes faintly caustic, mocking, as easily as breathing. "No, I'm afraid not."
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The markings are probably visible, as Felix is probably in his shirtsleeves, rolled up to his elbows.
And his response to people like Robert? Flirt with them. His expression adjusts to a mixture of haughty and coy, eyelids slightly lowered as he stretches, sinuously. "No, I'm afraid not," he says again, but this time it's a 'oh well' more than anything. "But I would like to make the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir..."
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"... Of course you would," he replies, and lifts his chin almost defiantly. "And who petitions for the honor, pray tell?"
Has he even met any elves before?
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...I don't believe he has!
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Those eyes, then, are smoldering. For a moment. And Felix runs them luxuriously over Feanor. It's not hard, he is nice looking.
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He looks Felix up and down, slowly. "You are no Maia."
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If he had something to lick off his fingers, he totally would.
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Moron. Yes, that is the subtext.
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"If you would teach me, though..."
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He turns to go.
Why? Because he finds you Suspicious, Felix. ANNATAR-SUSPICIOUS, to be more precise.
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