It's not as if she meant to come here in the first place, but there seemed little sense in turning around and marching right back out when there was a comfortable chair and some tea to be had.
(And, perhaps, a brief respite from -- everything else. There's no shame in a quiet half hour, is there?)
"Lady Nynaeve," He calls, brightly enough that it nearly makes a tune in itself, "Anor is riding high in the sky, a longer voyage every single day, and you would have me grim and sober for it?"
The older, wiser, more mature elf clearly chooses not to take notice. He doesn't even look around, calmly (with glittering hair and bare feet) making his way to the bar.
So when he lobs a bright, ripe tomato back at the villainous young prince...
Legolas was expecting some form of retribution, but as he notices the tomato sailing towards him and tries to duck beneath the table he's rendered halfway helpless by his height and gets tomato backsplash in his hair and on his face.
"Oh, that was a cruel thing," he says, grouchily, extricating himself from the table (and getting tomato on the side of his arm as he does). "Walnuts do not stain."
There is a drow, recently restored to his own form, making notes and notations on a piece of paper in the harsh, angular runes of his kind. He looks up a the sound of the Bar's door opening.
Well, this is certainly new. The newcomer elf seems to be taller than most elves' Zak's ever known (including Zak, himself), and Zak surmises this elf is from another world entirely.
Certainly, he looks nothing like the elves from where Zak came from. And he doesn't look like he's from Thedas, either. Given that Zak's never seen an elf that glows without magic before.
"Greetings." Zak offers the newcomer cautiously, discreetly putting his parchments and charcoal stick away.
(OOC: To Zak, he's a newcomer, since he's never seen Glorfindel before. But he's aware that Glorfindel has probably been here before, given the ease with which he interacts with the Bar. I am epic fail in explaining these things.)
Well, now, that's the kind of greeting Zaknafein can get behind! The drow smiles back, cautiously. "My name is Zaknafein. May I have yours?"
The name is certainly unusual, just like its owner. The drow is fairly tall, for a drow but he's still quite a few inches under the height of most male Noldor. His skin is black as obsidian, hair is a stark white, and his eyes are crimson. He's wearing dark blue silk tunic and leggings over soft leather boots, and he's probably got half a dozen weapons hidden by his clothing, as his instincts dictate.
"I don't think I've ever seen an elf like you before, so I'm assuming you're not from any world I'm familiar with?" he offers, cautiously. "I'm a recent arrival. I've only been here a month."
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It's the bare feet that do it, with Nynaeve.
It's not as if she meant to come here in the first place, but there seemed little sense in turning around and marching right back out when there was a comfortable chair and some tea to be had.
(And, perhaps, a brief respite from -- everything else. There's no shame in a quiet half hour, is there?)
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"Dear sweet lady, surely you cannot be so stern as midsummer approaches."
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It will distract from the faint color in her cheeks, right?
Right?
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Err.
...
Nope.
"Lady Nynaeve," He calls, brightly enough that it nearly makes a tune in itself, "Anor is riding high in the sky, a longer voyage every single day, and you would have me grim and sober for it?"
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The villain is probably the young Elf lounging at a chair in the proper trajectory, looking very amused and chewing on more of the same.
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So when he lobs a bright, ripe tomato back at the villainous young prince...
...
Clearly that is the mature move?
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"Oh, that was a cruel thing," he says, grouchily, extricating himself from the table (and getting tomato on the side of his arm as he does). "Walnuts do not stain."
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"Naughty elflings should not be surprised when retribution comes, swift and exacting."
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Well, this is certainly new. The newcomer elf seems to be taller than most elves' Zak's ever known (including Zak, himself), and Zak surmises this elf is from another world entirely.
Certainly, he looks nothing like the elves from where Zak came from. And he doesn't look like he's from Thedas, either. Given that Zak's never seen an elf that glows without magic before.
"Greetings." Zak offers the newcomer cautiously, discreetly putting his parchments and charcoal stick away.
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"Hail and well met!" Glorfindel replies in return, a decidedly bold and (seemingly) incautious greeting.
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The drow smiles back, cautiously. "My name is Zaknafein. May I have yours?"
The name is certainly unusual, just like its owner. The drow is fairly tall, for a drow but he's still quite a few inches under the height of most male Noldor. His skin is black as obsidian, hair is a stark white, and his eyes are crimson. He's wearing dark blue silk tunic and leggings over soft leather boots, and he's probably got half a dozen weapons hidden by his clothing, as his instincts dictate.
"I don't think I've ever seen an elf like you before, so I'm assuming you're not from any world I'm familiar with?" he offers, cautiously. "I'm a recent arrival. I've only been here a month."
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