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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[ohazhuremylove]

Here's Azhure, the Angel-but-Not. Azhure is out for a nightly flight - once Lucivan had convinced her that she wasn't going to be shot with fireballs from the sky - and she sees the man that wasn't suddenly now is, and, well, she knows the feeling. She can practically feel the rage billowing off of him as she lands, and she tries to be as quiet as possible because she doesn't know what this man might do.

She's enchanting to be sure, but she's a different kind of sorts - though as the supposed moon goddess of the Icarii, that worked for her. "Hello, stranger," she says, voice as nonthreatening as she can make it. She takes a few steps into what low lighting situation there is, wings neatly folded behind her back.

It seems the strange one-way door to Purgatory has claimed another, she thinks to herself.

[mostcraftiest]

Curufin hears someone landing, perhaps even the whoosh of wings before - elven ears are very keen - and turns around with a snarl, sword almost halfway out of its sheath before he sees her.

He doesn't put it back, giving her that steely-grey-eyed stare, assessing, wary. Some might almost say 'paranoid'.

He waits, staying still for the moment, for her to declare her intentions. His knuckles on the sword are almost white.

[ohazhuremylove]

Azhure's hands are up, palms out. "Shh, calm down," she says, her tone gentle. She doesn't appear frightened, but that might mostly be in part due to the fact that she can fly away - which she will certainly do if he has a go.

"I saw you'd only just arrived when I was coming in from my evening flight," she says, her tone still lulling. She doesn't take a step forward, but she lowers her hands slowly, her posture somewhat relaxed.

"I'm Azhure," she attempts, seriously doubting that will help anything. "It's insanity, I know. I've only just arrived myself."

[mostcraftiest]

The lulling tone, on the contrary, serves to annoy him, though he does sheathe his sword. Foolish, to seem fearful of a female. He is anything but foolish. "And what are you, then, Maiar?" The derision in his tone says what he thinks of this, and he doesn't address the rest of it, not offering his own name for the moment and leaving his hand wrapped around the sword hilt.

Hostility, he's good at it.

[hewer_of_caves]

Finrod's stepped out for a bit of air, figuring at the very least he can have a pleasant walk. And then he hears that voice and his head snaps around, eyes narrowing. He doesn't even stop to wonder if he really heard what he thought he heard, that was the younger Curufinwe. Coming in his direction. He turns toward the voice and waits, knowing the confrontation will come sooner or later and that there's no real point in trying to avoid it. At this moment, he looks every inch the great King he once was.

[mostcraftiest]

And indeed, this is a cousin he recognizes, looking even more annoyed than usual - definitely more annoyed than usual - and stalking like a thundercloud away from the woods, hoping to find some answers somewhere.

But he's not unobservant. And that one, he can certainly recognize. He really, really tries not to let the surprise show.

"Isn't that interesting." Drawled, more or less, as he approaches, not showing any sign of being discomfited by this at all. Almost sauntering, really.

[hewer_of_caves]

"Curufinwe." Formally, eyeing him with concealed distaste. "I'd wondered if you would follow you brothers." Implicit in that is the wish that he hadn't.

[mostcraftiest]

His smile is as thin and slightly-nasty as ever. "Findarato," with just a slight inclination of his head. "Apparently, by most accounts. It is almost refreshing to encounter someone that isn't in two places at once." Every inch careless disdain and scorn, not even particular dislike. He's dead, after all. And Curufin's not. Ahahahaha.

[cannotresist]

Paulinka is enjoying the evening, sitting out on the porch with a cigarette.

"You look lost," she remarks with a small smile. "Welcome to the Mansion."

[mostcraftiest]

Curufin does not return her smile, nor does he look impressed looking her over, posture speaking loudly - loudly - of arrogance and entitlement. He can look down his nose at her even standing below her elevationwise. "I would delay that welcome," he says, a bit thinly, "As I am not precisely pleased to be there." His tone makes that an understatement. And as he draws nearer, not only the clothes but the visible pointed ears might make an impression.

[cannotresist]

Yeah, she sees the ears and shifts uncomfortably in her chair, putting out the cigarette hastily. "I--I wasn't trying to be rude," she remarks pointedly.

[mostcraftiest]

Her discomfort draws his attention and makes him examine her more closely, eyes the same grey but colder than most of the pairs she's seen - like metal. "You may not have been trying," he says shortly, and then looks around, casts a careless gesture. "What is this place?"