*wonders why his wife didn't come home last night*

*tries to do some work but mostly paces and drinks*

Maybe she's dead. Or at her mother's. Think dead would be better.

*worries*

ETA: *inquires about CHANGING THE ERUFUCKING LOCKS for like, the 300th time*

*looks around for his errant granddaughter*

Why is it the only time they're not underfoot is when you're looking for them? >:|

FINDUILAS!!!

ETA: *takes Fin to her place and, finding nobody there, grudgingly decides to check his brother's for signs of relief life*

ETA: *heads home alone, feeling wonderfully unburdened* WIFE. Now we can fuck ( Read more... )

*is holed up in his study with a couple bottles of wine and an unbalanced ledger*

*which still beats babysitting duty any day*

*debates whether to give Anairë the results of his shopping trip the other day*

*goes out looking for skirt booze some form of amusement; isn't picky*

*is sick to death of rotten Fëanorian sympathizers*

*idly wonders what happened to the family with some sense of LOYALTY*

*is half-dragged home by Fingon, drunk, bruised and bloody*

Whadda sport, kiddo. %D

*promptly falls asleep on the floor of the foyer*

ETA: Mmmm...smuttily good. :D