Thranduil
The deepest sleeps of children were always the most beautiful to rise them from. They waver and curl, caught still in the warmth and enveloping peace of their dreams. So slow to rejoin this world, and pull their thoughts back to a place and time. So it was with she, though given the workings of the world and her choice of bed, he did not believe it was a peaceful dream. Earth eyes watch her closely, seeing her body beginning to awaken, not noticing before how it slept and drooped.
Once he has spoken, the gold does not move or call out again. He watches and he waits, a patient fisherman. As he comes to see her not jump to his throat or send a threat his way (she was a damsel lost to the powers of the sea and his intentions), the gold relaxes. His high crowned head drops slightly to lean closer, and his shoulders do not brace. Ice crystals, jabbing and stabbing in his blood prevent him from moving closer though, besides, it was not the time.
The dead would move with less rolling fluidity and eerie slowness. One hark fall back as she looks at him, seemingly through him. This wasn’t at all to be expected. Surely happily bubbly girls, or flirtatious wicked girls don’t usually wade the tides at dawn, but he had not expected someone so deeply wrapped in themselves. The only one he’d met that did such in his travels, was himself. So when she smiles, wrapping around her lips like a book pressed rose (lovely, beautiful, dead and unnatural) he does not feel the ease such a thing would usually bring.
For all his desire of secrets, the gold wished to step away. She was curious, strange, and troubled, qualities which usually called out some dark evil cackling shadow in his chest. But here, now, he can not. The game he usually played with such damsels was lost on her, sinking down like the sand they were in, like tar even, and he’d hate to ruin his pretty coat. And still, though he can not continue to jab and twist her, he also can not leave her. Something held him here, something not of sympathy, but empathy as he held the collar of his coat close.
“So I see, for that sad smile of yours lays too naturally on your lips.” He was going to go on, going to pull her up from the depths with another casting of his line, but she now brings to bear the weapon she didn’t know she carried. The dawn fish steps closer, and closer. Head rises back up and harks fall back, not threat and not in annoyance. It is an unease, usually kept silent, but showing in the strange smile she shows and the way the sea, still grey in the morning, reflect in the blue of her eyes.
Tasseled tail lifts from the water, curling at his hip. This was ridiculous, he was no virgin to touch and the closeness of another, but it as usually him doing it, on his terms… It would be so easy. So very easy. She was so close he could feel the little bit of remaining heat in her blood. All he’d have to do was move forward, make the connection, touch the right places, and he could bring her down on her knees in whatever gripped her. After all he’d done it before. So easy… Yet, impossible. He also can not step back, rooted as her distant stare and sigh makes him, caught in the line he cast. So he gives her, a small gift, a token which she would not understand even if there were words to explain it, he stood still.
Silence stretches on for a moment, as the gold shifts among his muddle thoughts, still pulling from each the cobwebs of his own tired, sleep tranced mind. Only when the golds in the sky begin to pierce the water does his low voice rumble to life again. Yet he still can not twist his dark soul into being, apparently it liked to sleep in. “Knowing the horrors of this world do not compel you to give it back your prison key unused.” (Oh the irony, would that he would take his own advice.) It twisted in his mouth different than before, for it was real and bordered something of an attempt at comfort, whatever rough form he could give of it. Then he realizes he’s done it. Realizes he’s showing too much, given too much, and that awakens the gold even more than the ice water.
It pushes him, twisting intensions to try and pull it back together. He was the gold, a liar and a thief, hardened into steel and crowned in gold. Crowned head lowers and reaches, if she remained, to her neck, letting the long exhales of warm air bloom into steam and caress the bay coat. She smelled of salt. He doesn’t want to, it was wrong to push her and too early in the day for he, but he is no longer the stallion on the upper beach. He is the gold, for the sun on the horizon was rising and night falling. “Besides,” It whispers, the roughness still playing, but strong in a more fluid way, more alive and awake. “this is too lovely a spot to let the tides have their way with you lass.”
It wasn’t smooth as silk or gilded and fine, but he was still straining to awake and pull the gold threads of himself back together. Trying to force on the mask and play the part while the ice water lapped at his knees. He could not give her his coat against the cold, could not shelter her with holes in the roof, so he’ll promise her it’s lovely, and hope she like others jumps to conclusions of who he is.
OOC :: <3
"Speech"
The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout.
Down came the rain
and washed the spider out.
Down came the rain
and washed the spider out.
@Isra
