For all his seeming gentleness, Neville is a trained fighter. He served as an Auror for years once leaving Hogwarts, cleaning up Death Eaters that remained around long after their dark lord, Voldemort, was defeated. In fact, he'd just given his notice at the Ministry of Magic, choosing to leave that career behind and open a magical plant nursery and pursue his love of herbology when the Mansion sucked him into its vortex.
Long story short, Neville is well able to defend himself, though someone that barely knows him could be fooled by his manner to think him a pushover. He's met Caranthir, at Aredhel's behest, though they've only fought together once - against the wolves and interacted little since.
If Caranthir is looking for a fight, well, Neville is on the grounds taking a walk. As always, he has his wand in a pocket.
Perhaps Neville's footsteps are taking him a little bit too close to one of the Finwean forges. Perhaps it`s just happenstance that he bumps into Caranthir.
And he shall, indeed, be territorial.
"Hey!" he calls out, "What are you doing here?"
He's been overly protective of his family's havens, of late, and of his treehouse. No one wonders why.
Neville glances up, as his eyes had been on the ground on any flora peeking through the snow. He gives the elf a confusion, questioning expression. "I -- live here?" Neville remarks and he really doesn't mean it nearly as smart-assed as it sounds.
Well, that assumption will get Caranthir angry on its own, without current extenuating circumstances. He has a horse, called Vela, who came with him all the way from Beleriand, back in the day. He loves her dearly and cares for her more than he does for some elves.
"You filthy atan!" the elf lord cries out, "you dare insult a prince of the house of Finwe?"
He might reach for the reigns, to take control of the horse, and reach then to yank the insulting rider off his steed.
Oh, that jab hits right into his ribcage - not enough to hurt, but sufficiently to make Caranthir angrier. "Filthy indeed, you arse. Do you not know who you speak to?"
He wants to beat this one to a pulp, and the bear hold won't do, so he projects Lou into the snow.
Yes, yes, we know it's wrong to take a freshly emotionally broken person out and have them deal with a pissy elf (typist is a horrible person, we know), but Aramat just so happens to be walking the grounds for Caranthir to notice.
On the bright side, she'll be so emotionally numb that she probably can't feel offense at the ugly things the elf has to say (or not).
Alas the dress and bearing is similar, but honestly Aramat doesn't have the face of manipulator. She looks back at the grumpy man with pointed ears curiously, but then passes him by. Still, she manages to run into him another time she walks the courtyard.
Caranthir doesn’t take heed of the old woman, and keeps up with his taunting. He may not have his father’s voice, nor does he have Maglor’s, but he is still loud and powerful.
“The son of Feanaro taunts you, Draugluin,” he calls. “Come to me, feast on my flesh, and be sated!”
The twins aren't looking for a fight (though they do go armed). They might be looking for family, they might not, either way they haven't been straying far from their family recently but right now they're in the woods, hand in hand and keeping a wary eye on the woods around them. They head toward Cara the moment they see him, each raising a hand in greeting.
Lighter, and more terrifying. When he drops the sword though the twins immediately move forward to embrace him, one on each side. "Hi," they say, half muffled in his shoulders.
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Long story short, Neville is well able to defend himself, though someone that barely knows him could be fooled by his manner to think him a pushover. He's met Caranthir, at Aredhel's behest, though they've only fought together once - against the wolves and interacted little since.
If Caranthir is looking for a fight, well, Neville is on the grounds taking a walk. As always, he has his wand in a pocket.
Come at me, bro. ^^
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And he shall, indeed, be territorial.
"Hey!" he calls out, "What are you doing here?"
He's been overly protective of his family's havens, of late, and of his treehouse. No one wonders why.
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Caranthir certainly looks threatening… and probably a bit insane.
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"You filthy atan!" the elf lord cries out, "you dare insult a prince of the house of Finwe?"
He might reach for the reigns, to take control of the horse, and reach then to yank the insulting rider off his steed.
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He wants to beat this one to a pulp, and the bear hold won't do, so he projects Lou into the snow.
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On the bright side, she'll be so emotionally numb that she probably can't feel offense at the ugly things the elf has to say (or not).
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He might blink when he sees Aramat's shape in the distance. It's her dress, really, and her bearing.
For a split second, he thought he saw his old lover. That puts him on edge, and he pauses, waits, for her to cross his path.
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"Are you following me, Atan?"
Because of the nature of this post, I need to ask - what are your expectations with this interaction? ^^
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So she goes outside.
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"Come out, you lousy furballs. Come out, and have some Feanorian flesh! You've taken so many of us already, why won't you take me?"
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"What are you doing?"
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“The son of Feanaro taunts you, Draugluin,” he calls. “Come to me, feast on my flesh, and be sated!”
[OOC: How do you feel about inviting wolves in?]
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The twins, though, do register as non-fight material. His hands flex on the sword, once, then he drops it.
"Brothers."
His tone is tighter than it's ever been.
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Hard, though, not to be moved by little brothers. Hard not to want to reassure them.
"... I'm fine."
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