there are tall elves and small elves, nice elves and... (introduction)

[mostcraftiest]

Damn fools. Fools, all of them! If they think they will last an hour under that fool Orodreth - well. A slight change in plans only. Though the desertion of his own son - that stung, a little. He should have been firmer with the boy. Spent more time with him here, perhaps, rather than leaving him to tinker in his smithy at whatever little projects

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[ringsmith]

Celebrimbor is wandering around outside, lost in throught, when he hears the bellow. His expression rapidly shifts through "oh shit" to tense resignation as he silently turns toward the source, waiting. He knows he can't avoid this indefinitely, but he kind of wishes he could.

There's no way that running into the father you publicly denounced is not going to be unpleasant in some way.

[mostcraftiest]

There really isn't! Especially when your father tends to expect unconditional obedience. Not getting it is a little bit displeasing. Maybe more than a little bit. At any rate, he does notice someone wandering. Someone dark-haired.

Someone familiar.

His eyes narrow and he turns slightly to stalk in Celebrimbor's direction, not quite bearing down on him. "You. Boy."

[ringsmith]

He takes a slow breath, steels himself, and faces his father. "It's been a few thousand years since anyone has called me that," he muses with a casualness he doesn't really feel.

[mostcraftiest]

Curufin's expression doesn't get flatter, mostly because it can't. There's a tic of twitchy anger that shows in his jaw, though. "It hasn't been a week," he nearly snaps, "But it's clearly been too long since I reminded you that I am your father."

[time_willdecide]

At the shout, two redheads out walking look at each other, and start toward the noise. It will probably won't be a familiar site, two redheaded brothers walking with an arm around each other, but it won't be one he's seen recently. "Kurvo?" One calls almost tentatively. This is the one brother they haven't seen or heard of being at the mansion ever. "That you?"

[mostcraftiest]

He knows that voice. Sort of. But he doesn't. And when he turns around it's probably the first time ever he's looked so disconcerted, aside from maybe when Daddy died. He goes white, simply staring, because that is impossible.

And here's something even he doesn't know what to do with. Left the second one behind a long time ago and hasn't thought about it since...

[time_willdecide]

One shifts a little awkwardly. That's probably Telvo. "Hello, brother. It's been a while."

[mostcraftiest]

A little awkwardly? ...silence. What. What. Trying to regain his footing, but that is proving to be an awkward endeavor to say the least. His precious sense of order!

----he switches his eyes to Pityo, not quite sure what he's looking for, and doesn't answer for the moment. So much not sense that he doesn't know where to start.

(Slowly, he is starting to realize that maybe things are worse and weirder than he thought. this is not a good realization.)

[sweariwontdie]

Armand hates how much a victim to his impulses he still is. He can easily guess who this may be, though he's prepared to be wrong. He can't resist trying to say hello to him. "You may have to look around a bit before you find anyone you know," he offers diffidently from off the path. There was no way he was getting in the way, in case his guesses were right.

[mostcraftiest]

That gets a pair of steel-gray and likely familiar eyes trained on you, Armand, plainly irritated and just as plainly starting to dismiss Armand before he thinks again. He doesn't quite sneer, but he's definitely not addressing an equal.

"I'm only looking for one other and I doubt I will find him here, wherever this is," plainly annoyed, this is all so inconvenient.

[sweariwontdie]

Armand doesn't like being dismissed. He isn't about to claim kinship, because he doesn't really know who this is, but he wants to prove he's not stupid. Like with Irrise, he tries his long unpracticed Quenya. "You called for Turco. That's Tyelko. He lives here." He straightens his shoulders and lifts his chin. If only he were a few inches taller.

[mostcraftiest]

Uppity Edain. Kurvo doesn't really try to suppress his irritation with all of this. Doesn't bother, it's not important enough. "No, he doesn't," he corrects, annoyed, "Formerly in Nargothrond, with me, and he was with me a moment ago. We were for Thargelion. Which this is not, plainly."

[arid_white_lady]

Coming out on the porch, walking slowly for the healing burns at her back, comes a fairly visibly pregnant cousin. Her hair is cropped shorter, below the ears, much like her husband's, in face, and she is holding in her hands some needlework.

She hums to her belly, and hasn't noticed the new arrival yet. She's still a bit in her own world, alas.

[mostcraftiest]

He notices her, though, and his eyebrows climb faster than they ever have, because for a moment - but that's absurd. He takes a few steps further into the field, frowning at the house and absently touching the hilt of his sword. That, at least, is comforting. Even if he apparently has that and his bow, and nothing else.

[arid_white_lady]

Since she's busy with needlework, Aredhel's eyes are focused on other things than her surroundings. Her singing, though, is probably fairly audible. She's in a better mood, these days, because of Tyelkormo, the pregnancy which is going well, and her son, whom she loves nonetheless.

Now, if only things could be fixed with Findekano...

[mostcraftiest]

And the singing - something between the voice and the hair and perhaps just the sense of how things are going - oh, no. Curufin's trouble-o-meter is going off. And how. She's here, again, she died years ago, what is this going to do to his carefully cultivated work on Turco...

...if he's even here. Well.

"Irisse?" Perhaps the stories lied. It's not as though Turukano is especially communicative.

[doriath_crowned]

Here's a pair of Sindarin elves, then, staring at Curufin. By now, they've seen enough of Celegorm and Celebrimbor to almost be certain of who it is they're staring at.

Unfortunately, they're not particularly comfortable with this, and they'll be backing away, slowly.

Maybe they can avoid this encounter. They hope.

[mostcraftiest]

And the resemblance to Celebrimbor is especially striking. Except that it's a harder, colder version of him, eyes steely and almost hawklike. And he notices them, unfortunately. Right now, almost anyone stands out.

"You there." He has nooo idea who they are. Damned Sindarin, he guesses, but they're better than nothing.

[doriath_crowned]

Freeze. Turn around slowly. Do not curse. Do not pretend that you care.

"Yeah?" One of them drawls, nonchalantly, while the other rests his elbow on his brother's shoulder.

A pair of young, blond, Sindarin twins. Heh.

[mostcraftiest]

We wonder how closely they resemble Beren. That's not a face Curufin would forget. However... for the moment, he doesn't notice anything strange, eyeing them with a peculiar and special narrow-eyed suspicion.

"Who are you?"