(no subject)
Elrond is settled at the fireplace, looking at the dancing flames. In all the strangeness of this place, of Milliways, the fireplace is oddly soothing. This, at least, is no different from any other tavern.
He could almost imagine himself back in the Hall of Fire, if not for the fact that no one is singing.
He has bought a glass of mulled wine but he has hardly sipped from yet. Instead he has unrolled one of the scrolls he has brought with him. It is a map. Hand-drawn on vellum, so thin and delicate that it seems almost translucent. His fingers lightly trace lines denoting rivers and streams as his eyes rests on the writing. Some of it in his own hand, some of it not.
It is old and he really have no use for it. And yet he still wants to pack it and take it with him when he leaves.
He shakes his head at himself.
[occ: slooooow-time and open till it scrolls]
[tinytag: Chekov]
He could almost imagine himself back in the Hall of Fire, if not for the fact that no one is singing.
He has bought a glass of mulled wine but he has hardly sipped from yet. Instead he has unrolled one of the scrolls he has brought with him. It is a map. Hand-drawn on vellum, so thin and delicate that it seems almost translucent. His fingers lightly trace lines denoting rivers and streams as his eyes rests on the writing. Some of it in his own hand, some of it not.
It is old and he really have no use for it. And yet he still wants to pack it and take it with him when he leaves.
He shakes his head at himself.
[occ: slooooow-time and open till it scrolls]
[tinytag: Chekov]