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Author Topic: mornings =/= joy  (Read 1460 times)


  • Elves
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  • Alias: Dory
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mornings =/= joy
« on: July 02, 2015, 03:37:00 AM »

It wasn't often she got the chance to lay about. Sleep in. Have a siesta, or whatever you wanted to call it.

Though really, it wasn't often she got the chance to sleep at all.

Thankfully, though, Elves didn't quite require the same amount of rest and recuperation that mortals did. It wasn'teven so much sleep a majority of the time -- more a dream-like state. A trance, even. Whatever it was, though, it was a lovely thing when the chance to rest arose. Though humourously enough, Elves were not as immune to the same little vagaries as Men -- in this case, whether or not one was a morning person.

Tintalde was probably the latter, if she was honest.

Not that she was particularly grumpy at the present. Not much, anyway. The couch on which she rested was most pleasant and comfortable, really -- too comfortable, in fact. Her hair was free of it's usually restrictive plaits in her bid to find relaxation from tension -- getting in her face, of course, every time she moved. The sound of the endless waterfalls outside were soothing -- the birds, though, were downright irritating. And the sunlight filtering through, warm morning light across her body -- getting in her eyes with it's too brightness--

And now, someone was playing a flute. A flute. The sun had just come up.

...blast it all to the Halls of blasted Mandos. She was most definitely not a morning elf. Wasn't a 'wake up in a blaze of glory' elf period, really.

It was probably the fault of her birth home. The Mirkwood did not let such ridiculous, copious amounts of sunlight in until at least a decent time of day.

Without others to overhear -- though if they did, she likely wouldn't care -- the usually mellow healer voiced a drawn out (and admittedly quite dramatic) groan, a thousand curses in the one inarticulate sound alone at the bright ball of fire in the sky. The one occasion she'd gotten in a good night's rest in recent days, and it was doing it's best to torment her. Though perhaps, considering it's vantage point in the sky, she'd perhaps be best arising--

The cloak she'd been wrapped in came up over her head. Stifling, but at least it blotted out the darkness, and Tintalde curled tightly into a ball where she lay.

--or perhaps not.

'what you do in the present is what defines you now'


  • Elves
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mornings =/= joy
« Reply #1 on: July 11, 2015, 05:07:00 AM »
ooc | here you are, Dory! I hope my taking a few liberties doesn't jepordise what you may have had in mind... but I figured since it was Niven... (: I'd be safe... if not, let me know. >.> also, if it isn't morning, let me know too.. I naturally assumed it was morning...

Niven yawned and stretched. Elves didn’t need much sleep, but he found himself tired after the long journey to Rivendell. Come to think of it, he didn’t quite remember what he was doing in Rivendell, and quite frankly there wasn’t much to do in Rivendell. The Master, Lord Elrond, had not been seen since his arrival with the others who had also come to Rivendell, one of those others being Mew, or Tintadlé, his childhood friend. Of course he had other friends, too, but none were nearly as close as Tin, in which he simply regarded as a close friend; nothing more.

     Birds chirped, and in the distance the falls were roaring their good morning to the waking nature about him. Sunlight was dappled on the ground as it peeped through the holes in the trees. He loved mornings! He lived for mornings. The cool air that was left over from the night smelled fresh, and the earth smelled sweeter than apple pie. The birds always sang better in the morning, and everything was just full of color. Lindir had made sure that each person from Lothlórien had appropriate attire, kept the rooms straight, and from there you were on your own. It must not be easy to run such a nice place. Niven thought, tugging on a short sleeved shirt and then his shoes over his cold feet, no need for tucking in extra pant, if the clothes for Lothlórien wardens got any tighter, or longer, at the ankle, he’d have to put a complaint in with the master of wardrobe – whoever that was.

     After grabbing some breakfast from the dining hall, and noticing a particular absence, Niven walked the halls in search of his friend. She would have to be somewhere quiet, she wasn’t particularly a morning person, and he would have to do his best to wake her in the most annoying way possible. So, along the way he picked up a flute from one of the music rooms. Oh yes, this would wake her. He thought, a grin appearing on his face as he picked up his pace and tried to decide what tune he would play.

     In truth, there were very little tunes that he knew. Whistling was more his style, but no one could ever him unless he was really tying. And singing wasn’t exactly his forte either – but he wasn’t terrible, if he did say so himself – it would have to be a flute! Without a doubt, there was no other option. Quietly he stole away down the hall, like a shadow flitting between the beams until he approached the place where he figured she would be staying. Raising the flute to his lips, he blew a soft tune that fit his mood, walking slowly and quietly closer to the sleeping Tintadlé. From the distance he was at, his sharp eyes watched her pull her cloak about her, and curl up into a tighter position.

     When he was close enough, he moved to one side of the opening and sat upon the railing that prevented people from falling to their death, played a happier tune and waited for a reaction…
speech code:B1BDA8

played by: Hades


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mornings =/= joy
« Reply #2 on: July 12, 2015, 07:48:00 PM »
Wake up. Feed the hawk. Make your bed. Put something on. Get breakfast.
...Do nothing?
A little longer. Just a little longer.
A gentle smile stretched over his smile as he rolled into the soft blanket, savoring the softness of the bed, the pleasure of being able to decide when he wakes up - and not making that very soon. Usually, he would have long since been awake and tending to all his belongings in some makeshift camp, the embers long since burned-out, and the air chilly as it just used to be in the north.
But today, he was at home, and being at home meant sleeping long. Waking up with the first morning lights and rising in a blaze of glory? No, thank you. Slumbering till the sun was up, and only then lazily opening his eyes to see the light of day, slowly, taking his time? Oh, yes, please!
With a grin, spreading over his lips, he yawned, rolling over and kicking the covers off. His fists gripped the frame of the bed, all the muscles and joints flexing and stretching, a comfortable crack in the back setting everything right. Despite not needing a lot of sleep, he enjoyed a good rest every now and then; he liked lazing about, he liked laying in bed and staring at the ornate tapestries and hunting trophies. Oh, yes, he liked it very much.
Momentarily, he was tempted to fall asleep again; however, that temptation was quickly dispersed once he sat up, like a princess surrounded by rich silks and velvet cushions, sitting on a pile of blankets and pillows.

The familiar scent and sight of home. It reminded him of many things, but with little needless sentiment; home was just that, a lot of beautiful and comfortable things and memories bundled into one. There was no need to write odes on it, at least not yet. It spoke for all that he was happy to be back, to be sleeping in his own bed and looking out of his own windows!
With a yawn, and his hands running through his long hair - what relief to feel it falling free onto his back, not braided like on weeks upon weeks of travel - he put both his feet on the edge of the bed, feeling the cool ground beneath.
That was the first thing. Despite all, it was still a little too cold to promenade around only in a tunic, and such a soft, thin one at that; thus, the second thing had been finding a pair of pants and a magnificent, soft robe, easily slipping over his shoulders. The deep reds, blues, and greens, in tiny shards forming a complex pattern that fell about his figure, blended in from the distance, but up close, they were like broken glass, tiny, intricate, curious. However, much unlike broken glass, the fabric was soft, so very soft that for a mere moment, he forgot himself, simply holding its ends in its hands.
It made him laugh. All those little things.

The open window let a fierce gust of air in, a fresh morning gale; a fresh morning gale that caught him from the back, blowing a fistful of hair straight into his face. That, my dear, that was a surprise! He spat the long hair out, ferociously sweeping it away. However, when he closed the window, all the determination to braid it was suddenly... Gone.
Whatever. I'm at home. Whoever judges the state of my hair can kindly keep their opinions to themselves.
Slippers. How long had it been? He almost found himself chuckling at that.
His steps had elegance, yet remained casual, even when he was taking a walk through the halls some time later, a cup of tea in his hands. It had gone cold, and was long since half empty, but he cared little for how eccentric some may view that gesture; in fact, in all honesty, he enjoyed the curious glances a group of inhabitants had given him as he paced down a staircase, a smirk coming to his lips as he sipped from the cup. Oh, it felt good to find himself at home, walking in a dream-like haze, every room slipping by him, just somehow passing through.  

But then, a sound tore him out of that haze.
The sound of a flute.
Was someone honestly so obnoxious as to play the flute this early?
As if a fierce storm blew into his happiness, disturbing it, and it seemed that he wasn't the only one that wasn't wholly enjoying this little tune. Happy, yes, but obnoxious.
He was confused.
Was he upset that someone broke him from his peaceful state of mind with their play, or happy that someone felt so enlightened that they decided to play the flute early in the morning?
It baffled him.

He poured the rest of the tea down his throat, letting his arm, holding the cup gently, sink down at last, brisking up in pace a little bit to approach this spirited stranger that so gladly enriched them all with music. Not expert music, not the sort he'd particularly enjoy, either, but music nonetheless...
A smile played at his lips as he approached this man, a smile that conveyed so many things in a simple grimace. He was calm, oh yes, still sleepy from the morning; he wasn't unfriendly, but if anything, that smile wasn't innocent. Mischievous, perhaps, biting, a little, meaningful - definitely.
"My, what courage. Most musicians that I'm acquainted with prefer to keep their art for the evening. Do you, perhaps, wish to compete with the birds?"
Chuckling, and slipping a strand of hair, made wavy by the long sleep, behind his ear, he settled beside the stranger, putting just a foot or two of distance between them.
"Either way, good morning to you."
In no way was his greeting meant to be demeaning. Told in completely different circumstances, it could have been; however, if not the smile on his face, his joking, almost childish tone conveyed the message clearly.
In the end, he tossed the decision whether he was annoyed or pleased over the shoulder, content with the fact that it was one, or the other, and it would stay at that.


  • Elves
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mornings =/= joy
« Reply #3 on: July 13, 2015, 01:42:00 AM »

ooc: yikes, i was hardly expecting one person, let alone two!

She was going to kill him. Actually, seriously, legitimately consider the act. Oh, it would get her banished, or something like it, and she'd be short one of the few people in the world Tintalde felt she didn't have to question their reasoning for liking her company outside of a bruise or a bloodied wound or a cold in need of patching up. Never mind in mentioning that, that it went against the moral code she'd had branded into her from childhood, so there was a feeling of something she likened to guilt.

Why, why must you hurt me in this way? Why do you force me to such acts? she lamented mournfully, though even in her own head it was half serious. As was the means of method; she was pawing for a pillow underneath the thick blanket she was hidden under, and who'd ever heard of one hit murdering someone in a pillow fight?  

But apparently, her disguise was something out of legend, because when the second voice showed up [briefly forestalling her plot to abandon and flee into the grim spectre of the morning sun], they went quite literally over her head in favour of the trilling, imminently dead Noruiniven. Good Morning? That was up for speculation. Who'd even come up with such a greeting? And really, what made it good? Was it a good morning because it looked good? Was it a good morning because someone wished it to be so? Or was it simply good because you were alive another day? If one looked at it too closely, it honestly didn't make sense.

Unless she was missing something simple to the rest of the masses. Which was likely. Which she was about as used to as being spoken over by people. Or told by people to quieten down when they were the ones who'd gotten onto a topic that was fascinating to her. Which was probably why what would have been frustration at being looked over was instead replaced by a kind of resigned apathy, something not lightened up any by the fact that the voice, once recognised, belonged to Lord Elladan. The lordly looking past the common folk, she thought, and even her own mind voice was quiet and low and wry.

In the end, Noruiniven was met with a throw pillow to...well, it would have been the head if not blindly thrown from the bundle of blanket monstrosity. That was the general idea, to aim for his head, an attempted murder with a pillow. But it was lucky enough to sail directly past him, clean out the window in fact to whatever lay below. Which, judging by the squeals, had been a pool some elleth or elleths or the like had been bathing in, and the sound made Tintalde start finally from her lair, green eyes blinking in confusion and then in protest at the sudden onslaught of bright light. She covered her face with her arms then, moaning into them and shaking her head. Another half moment, then she lifted her head again, resting it's tousled countenance on her elbows and fixing Noruiniven with quite the reproachful glower.

"The idea of being glad to see you is that you are, in fact, supposed to ensure that I am glad to see you. Infernal creature."

A yawn escaped her, though so did any desire to be embarrassed with it in her current state, when she tilted her head just so in Elladan's direction. Knowing, from experience, that most did not like feeling unacknowledged, even when they'd likely barely acknowledged her or another in the first place.

"Why is it good? The morning. Though if there is apricot jam in the halls for breakfast, I may be inclined to understand why it's referred to as a good morning on this day at least."

'what you do in the present is what defines you now'


  • Elves
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  • Alias: Hades
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mornings =/= joy
« Reply #4 on: July 30, 2015, 05:08:00 PM »
ooc| omg... this post feels so short compared to ya'lls! D:

     The Morning had proceeded as planned. Well, sort of. The flute was working its magic, at least until someone he had never really met (but heard stories about) approached the small room where he was trying to wake his friend. The morning is beautiful, why can no one appreciate that? He wondered. Youth had nothing to do with liking mornings, it really depended on the person. Niven understood that, of course, but he refused to accept this. One could be made to be a morning person if you were with the right people! It’s all a matter of experiences. He noticed Tintadlé shuffle under the blanket and knew that she was awake. Delightful!

     Until Elladan approached the situation with an air of one who also did not care for mornings, Niven thought he had been winning the fight to his friend up so they could have some best friend time! There wasn’t a day that went by that Niven did at least try to have a couple of hours with Mew. After all they had been through, what he had done for her, she was his special flower. No one else’s, that was that. “My, what courage.” Elladan commented, causing Niven to pause so he could catch the words that came next, “Most musicians I am acquainted with prefer to keep their art for the evening. Do you, perhaps, wish to compete with the birds?” The Elf chuckled and Niven grinned, “Either way, good morning to you.” He finished, settling beside Niven, keeping a respectable distance.

     But, just as Niven was about to reply to Elladan a pillow went flying between them completely missing its intended target. Leaning over the rail, a clear laugh came from his diaphragm and a broad smile was accompanied by it. The people below had clearly not been expecting pillows to come falling from the sky to crash their party.

The idea of being glad to see you is that you are, in fact, supposed to ensure that I am glad to see you. Infernal creature.” Tin’s voice drew Niven in from leaning over the rail. He greeted her with his most, apologetic smile as she continued to address her current company, yawning as she did so, “]Why is it good? The morning. Though if there is apricot jam in the halls for breakfast, I may be inclined to understand why it's referred to as a good morning on this day at least.” Hmm, breakfast. In truth he didn’t remember seeing any Apricot Jam when he had gone in for breakfast. He glanced at Elladan to see if he was going to respond to his friend first. When it didn’t seem so, Niven spoke at last addressing Tintadlé first. “I do apologize,” No, not really, “But it seemed to fair a morning to let anyone sleep.” What he really meant was let particular persons sleep, “So, yes, it could be considered a good morning! For I wish not to compete with the birds, my good sir, but rather to join them!” Niven grinned broadly, and unapologetically as he leaned against the railing, folding his arms non threateningly, looking between his friend and the stranger.

     As afore mentioned, it wasn’t that people weren’t morning people, they weren’t around the right people to actually enjoy the morning enough to make them ‘morning people’. And did Niven really believe himself to be 'the right people'? Yes, yes he very much, unashamedly did.
speech code:B1BDA8

played by: Hades


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