[In the freezing silence of the morgue wakes a man with a sharp inhale. Slowly. Calmly. He opens his eyes, and shuts them again when the light above blinds him with such intense light that he immediately wonders if he has somehow made his way to Aman, the Blessed Realm. Could it be that he had had succumbed to his fate while he slept?
He turns away
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Calmly, he spoke back, his eyes up and searching for the person in flesh.]
Aye, I do. [beat] Why is it I can hear, yet not see you, stranger?
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Are you in need of assistance? Garments perhaps? It seems we have all entered this land in the same manner.
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But, there was something familiar in the voice that spoke back to him.
Aragorn nodded, forgetting that he could not be seen, and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders.]
Aye, I am in need of garments. Anything you can spare.
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Hello? Don't tell me we've got another technology virgin on our hands.
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And he also doesn't like your tone. His own turns flat.]
I beg pardon, for where I am from we do not have items such as this.
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However he could not bring himself to do it.]
Faramir?
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[Another prisoner from Middle-earth.]
To whom do I speak?
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You're here.
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There is a slight pause before he answers, and he grips the device with both hands. When he finally speaks, there is an uncertainty in his tone.]
Tinúviel?
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I am here. Where are you? It has been some time.
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I fear I am dreaming. [he shakes his head] I do not know of the place I am. Only that it is so dark.
[... He does not understand]
O man pedich, Arwen? You were there when I closed my eyes.
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Forgive me, I meant no ill respect.
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... Damn right! Better remember it too! {And he hangs up. Because that was awkward.}
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