Aug 29 - Fashion Show & Tell
Title: Fasion Show & Tell
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Disclaimer: All belongs to Whedon & Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Fingon's campaign to be a good grandfather continues.
Word Count: 1025
Carnistir was somewhat surprised when Finno steered Anariel into his workshop, introducing it as “a bastion of reason and calm”.
He gave his cousin/law-brother a slightly suspicious look.
“What brought this on?” he asked.
“Someone’s having trouble adjusting to how many grandmothers she has taking an interest in her health,” Finno explained.
“That will happen when you insist on getting injured every other day,” Carnistir shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d wear early Second Age Tirion.”
It took Anariel a minute to work out that the latter sentence was directed at her.
“Is that what this is?” she asked, looking puzzled. “How can you tell?”
Carnistir recalled that Tinwë had claimed Anariel had a greater interest in fashion than she did, even if Arwen had usually been the one making the clothes for her.
“The style is similar to some of the ones from the later years of the Trees,” he explained. “But the fabrics are lighter and easier to move in. Noldorin aesthetic and sensibilities about modesty, combined with Sindarin innovations in materials.”
She blinked, and then gave her clothes a more careful look.
“Is this super formal, or a normal outfit?”
“The slightly dressy end of normal,” Finno put in. “Definitely not something you should be sparring in.”
“That part I figured out,” she snorted. “I don’t know why you all seem to think I’m fired up to spar with everyone I haven’t met before.”
“You did with Maeglin,” Carnistir pointed out.
“That wasn’t my idea,” she informed him. “That was my brothers. I tried to tell them at the time it was a bad idea and they wouldn’t listen. I think they’ve learned their lesson.”
Judging by the look on Finno’s face, that was news to him also - of the not entirely pleasant variety.
“And Eöl?” Carnistir prompted.
“That was his own fault,” she chirped. “For not believing Grandfather in the first place, and then thinking Grandfather was coddling me.”
“So your brothers and Miryo aren’t betting on how long it will take you to knock Maitimo down?” Finno asked skeptically.
Carnistir’s eyes narrowed. It was the first he’d heard of that - and in his opinion, it smacked of overconfidence.
“They probably are, but it’s not like I’m going to settle it for them the first day he’s back,” she snorted. “I mean, have I pushed Uncle Finno? Or you, even?”
“That's because you already know I’m not much of a fighter,” Carnistir said drily. “Also because you’re worried if you damage my pride, you’ll have to find someone else to make you new clothes and wreck Tyelko’s wardrobe.”
“If it was just about wrecking, I can do that myself,” she told him cheerfully. “But I do like watching you work. And I honestly don’t fight everybody.”
“Says the girl confident she can take my biggest brother down,” Carnistir sniffed.
“I can definitely put him on his ass,” she shrugged with casual certainty. “And not just because he’s probably going to be reluctant to go at it for real. But I’m not looking to make a habit of it. Besides, from what Tinu says, he’s going to need to see it for himself once before he stops giving haru a hard time.”
That might be true, and yet…
“I realize you’ve got a reputation behind you, but Maitimo went through quite a bit himself, including a stint in Angband,” Carnistir pointed out.
“I’m aware,” Anariel said.
She was trying for airy, but something in her tone had hardened.
“Yet you sound ever so slightly overconfident,” he said. “Though I notice you haven’t challenged your grandfather Nolo yet, and he took on Morgoth.”
“Also aware,” she said, frowning. “But I don’t think I’ll be sparring with him anytime soon. He seems to have a wicked case of PTSD. It doesn’t seem like the Halls fix everything.”
“Peetee-Estë?” Finno asked in bewilderment. “Is that an elvish word or an…Inglish one? That’s what it’s properly called, right? Inglish?”
Carnistir and Anariel both looked at him, but where Carnistir was wondering where Finno had pulled Inglish from, Anariel’s expression was something like cautious approval.
“You’re the first one who calls it what it is,” she said slowly. “Yeah, it’s English.”
“Aha!” Finno beamed. “What does it mean?”
Anariel spent the next half hour explaining the California concept of post-traumatic stress disorder (no, Gramps Finno, nothing to do with Estë, though she’d probably be interested to hear about it) before getting into why exactly she thought his father had it.
“Not that I’m an expert or anything,” she concluded. “Just a layperson’s understanding of the term. But if even a dress bothers him…”
“A dress?” Carnistir asked, equal parts curiosity and professional interest.
For that, she found it easier to show than tell, and obligingly shared images of the dress with both of them.
“Atto was the one who had a problem with it?” Finno asked in amazement.
“Said the flames were too realistic,” Anariel replied.
“They are very good, but they could be improved upon,” Carnistir mused. “Maybe for mid-winter…”
“Do you even have winter here?” Anariel asked. “Feels pretty tropical to me. It’s even warmer than southern California, and most of the country thought we were wusses when it came to winter weather.”
Carnistir seized the opportunity presented by Finno asking more about Sunny Dale, California and ‘the yew ess’ - he’d apparently noticed there was a niche available for a grandparent who took an interest in California - to start sketching.
Not that Tindomiel was unappreciative, but Anariel was the first of his younger kin to have any real interest in fashion for its own sake, and for that, he wanted to indulge her. She was only just beginning to scratch the surface of what she could do.
Besides, keeping watch out of the corner of one eye, he observed that the longer she was in his studio chattering to Finno, the happier and more animated she got.
Also, the longer she was in here, the longer she went without doing herself any fresh injury and setting her many grandmothers off on another round of fretting about her. That could only be a good thing for everyone.
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Disclaimer: All belongs to Whedon & Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Fingon's campaign to be a good grandfather continues.
Word Count: 1025
Carnistir was somewhat surprised when Finno steered Anariel into his workshop, introducing it as “a bastion of reason and calm”.
He gave his cousin/law-brother a slightly suspicious look.
“What brought this on?” he asked.
“Someone’s having trouble adjusting to how many grandmothers she has taking an interest in her health,” Finno explained.
“That will happen when you insist on getting injured every other day,” Carnistir shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d wear early Second Age Tirion.”
It took Anariel a minute to work out that the latter sentence was directed at her.
“Is that what this is?” she asked, looking puzzled. “How can you tell?”
Carnistir recalled that Tinwë had claimed Anariel had a greater interest in fashion than she did, even if Arwen had usually been the one making the clothes for her.
“The style is similar to some of the ones from the later years of the Trees,” he explained. “But the fabrics are lighter and easier to move in. Noldorin aesthetic and sensibilities about modesty, combined with Sindarin innovations in materials.”
She blinked, and then gave her clothes a more careful look.
“Is this super formal, or a normal outfit?”
“The slightly dressy end of normal,” Finno put in. “Definitely not something you should be sparring in.”
“That part I figured out,” she snorted. “I don’t know why you all seem to think I’m fired up to spar with everyone I haven’t met before.”
“You did with Maeglin,” Carnistir pointed out.
“That wasn’t my idea,” she informed him. “That was my brothers. I tried to tell them at the time it was a bad idea and they wouldn’t listen. I think they’ve learned their lesson.”
Judging by the look on Finno’s face, that was news to him also - of the not entirely pleasant variety.
“And Eöl?” Carnistir prompted.
“That was his own fault,” she chirped. “For not believing Grandfather in the first place, and then thinking Grandfather was coddling me.”
“So your brothers and Miryo aren’t betting on how long it will take you to knock Maitimo down?” Finno asked skeptically.
Carnistir’s eyes narrowed. It was the first he’d heard of that - and in his opinion, it smacked of overconfidence.
“They probably are, but it’s not like I’m going to settle it for them the first day he’s back,” she snorted. “I mean, have I pushed Uncle Finno? Or you, even?”
“That's because you already know I’m not much of a fighter,” Carnistir said drily. “Also because you’re worried if you damage my pride, you’ll have to find someone else to make you new clothes and wreck Tyelko’s wardrobe.”
“If it was just about wrecking, I can do that myself,” she told him cheerfully. “But I do like watching you work. And I honestly don’t fight everybody.”
“Says the girl confident she can take my biggest brother down,” Carnistir sniffed.
“I can definitely put him on his ass,” she shrugged with casual certainty. “And not just because he’s probably going to be reluctant to go at it for real. But I’m not looking to make a habit of it. Besides, from what Tinu says, he’s going to need to see it for himself once before he stops giving haru a hard time.”
That might be true, and yet…
“I realize you’ve got a reputation behind you, but Maitimo went through quite a bit himself, including a stint in Angband,” Carnistir pointed out.
“I’m aware,” Anariel said.
She was trying for airy, but something in her tone had hardened.
“Yet you sound ever so slightly overconfident,” he said. “Though I notice you haven’t challenged your grandfather Nolo yet, and he took on Morgoth.”
“Also aware,” she said, frowning. “But I don’t think I’ll be sparring with him anytime soon. He seems to have a wicked case of PTSD. It doesn’t seem like the Halls fix everything.”
“Peetee-Estë?” Finno asked in bewilderment. “Is that an elvish word or an…Inglish one? That’s what it’s properly called, right? Inglish?”
Carnistir and Anariel both looked at him, but where Carnistir was wondering where Finno had pulled Inglish from, Anariel’s expression was something like cautious approval.
“You’re the first one who calls it what it is,” she said slowly. “Yeah, it’s English.”
“Aha!” Finno beamed. “What does it mean?”
Anariel spent the next half hour explaining the California concept of post-traumatic stress disorder (no, Gramps Finno, nothing to do with Estë, though she’d probably be interested to hear about it) before getting into why exactly she thought his father had it.
“Not that I’m an expert or anything,” she concluded. “Just a layperson’s understanding of the term. But if even a dress bothers him…”
“A dress?” Carnistir asked, equal parts curiosity and professional interest.
For that, she found it easier to show than tell, and obligingly shared images of the dress with both of them.
“Atto was the one who had a problem with it?” Finno asked in amazement.
“Said the flames were too realistic,” Anariel replied.
“They are very good, but they could be improved upon,” Carnistir mused. “Maybe for mid-winter…”
“Do you even have winter here?” Anariel asked. “Feels pretty tropical to me. It’s even warmer than southern California, and most of the country thought we were wusses when it came to winter weather.”
Carnistir seized the opportunity presented by Finno asking more about Sunny Dale, California and ‘the yew ess’ - he’d apparently noticed there was a niche available for a grandparent who took an interest in California - to start sketching.
Not that Tindomiel was unappreciative, but Anariel was the first of his younger kin to have any real interest in fashion for its own sake, and for that, he wanted to indulge her. She was only just beginning to scratch the surface of what she could do.
Besides, keeping watch out of the corner of one eye, he observed that the longer she was in his studio chattering to Finno, the happier and more animated she got.
Also, the longer she was in here, the longer she went without doing herself any fresh injury and setting her many grandmothers off on another round of fretting about her. That could only be a good thing for everyone.