elfoflight | OPEN RP POST

From:

The world has changed but some things have not. Nations have come and gone, rising to great empires and tumbling just as swiftly, but Nations are part of their people, after all. A Nation may vanish into history, but what of those whose people do not? In this modern Age there is no room for a Gondor or an Arnor, but what of Mirkwood, now Eryn Lasgalen? Surely not all the Silvan have gone?

The world has changed, but here and there, its elder children remain. England remembers the scarred hands and grey eyes of Maglor as one of his caretakers, although he never sees fit to mention to anyone the fact that the Elves of his stories are perhaps a little more real than anyone else realises. Maglor travels, in any case. He may not be in England, the land he now identifies as home, for centuries. So he never mentions it to France. Besides. As much as he suspects, he still does not know what France is.

So perhaps one day France will hear it, a voice that Arafinwe once knew very well. The man on the corner singing is dressed like any other street vagrant, in blue jeans and a warm jacket, dark hair worn long and tied in a messy ponytail, he could be anyone at all.

From:

elfoflight

France had taken few pains to hide what he had once been. The change had been swift once the times had really changed. Gifts given to help disguise what he'd once been. But his memory was not affected, for all that he feigned ignorance.

England was a suspicious sort. Paranoid. It was fun to poke at him, and the being that had once been a fairly simple elf (if an elf could be considered simple) recognized he had changed. Necessary change, adjusting to the changing of the world. He was greater than he had been, and yet in terms of nationhood, had lost some of that power, though he remained one of the major powers.

It was a voice not on the wind this time that had his steps pause and his head to turn, blue eyes disbelieving. Rarely before did memory cross over to reality, and yet... that man, that voice had his heart and breath catch. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but could he take the chance? Did he dare?

...No.

He came to the decision just as one of his citizens, no one he'd spoken with before, touched his arm in concern to make sure he was alright. He was able to turn a smile their way and raise the young woman's hand to his lips playfully.

Stepping away from her, watching her smile and blush before she walked away reassured, he looked back at the street corner. At the vagrant whose voice couldn't be, and yet there was heart in it. Singing of what had once been lands he'd walked, brief as it had been. He made his way there, picking up a rose from a vender along with a baguette. Food, and a flower felt appropriate.

He waited patiently for the last of the song to end before stepping within easy sight. Watching with a smile that didn't feel as strong as he'd like. Dressed casually, though in clothes that were in good shape and suited him, hair far shorter than he'd ever worn before this new life.

"So sad, mon ami. Let me buy you a cup of coffee. Or tea, if you would prefer."

From:

bythewaves

Maglor lifts his head and Arafinwe might recognise the subtle touch of elven magic. It isn't true glamour, not like Finrod used long ago, but Maglor, always such a good actor, hides within the Music, disguising his true nature, blending into it so well that most would likely stop and listen and walk on by without ever remembering him later.

There is no recognition in his eyes, only a quick flash of confusion, but Arafinwe is hidden with France, and Maglor dips his head in a quiet bow, and answers in perfect French, if English-accented (and this too, is a mask, for a mimic like Maglor can almost certainly speak with a Parisian accent, but he knows that to another Nation, he probably registers as an English citizen, and so he uses that accent instead).

"Thank you sir, but a few dollars is enough, there is no need to go out of your way for me"

He plays dumb, because a simple citizen would not recognise a Nation, after all.

From:

elfoflight

Music he hadn't let himself listen to whisps of in centuries. Not since the change and the ache that came with certain memories. Raw and powerful. France pushed that elf self of him back a little, gentle but firm. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it was simply wishful thinking that had that part tell him there was an elf before him. An elf so familiar it hurt.

France let his smile widen, warmth mixing with playful laughter as he bowed lightly in answer to the singer's bow. The accent fit with the feel of this one, as another look told him. English. "Ah, but a good hot cup of tea is always better with company." For this, it felt right to speak English to the man. Parisian accent, yes. But no French mixed in.

Not that he'd do such a thing with England for no reason, of course. But there was something...special. And he was curious. "It is no trouble."

From:

bythewaves

Again that flicker of confusion, of almost recognition, there and gone again and Maglor shrugs deferentially, every inch the vagrant on the street, surprised by the kindness of a stranger.

"Thank you sir, but only if you are certain. Most places probably won't accept a person like me. I really don't mind if you only spare a bit of cash."

From:

elfoflight

Almost. Not quite.

France waved a hand, almost negligently. "I am. Unless you would prefer a hot shower and new clothes, I believe we may be near enough in size that you would fit some of my old clothes."

England would quite possibly throw a fit, if he learned of this generosity to one of his citizens. All the more reason to do it. "Consider it a gift of the day - for it is a beautiful day, yes?"

From:

bythewaves

Maglor does not have to fake the confusion at that.

"Oh no, sir! I could never impose that way!"

Almost without noticing his English accent slips, ever so slightly, in his surprise, sliding to something much, much older.

"Your kindness does you credit, sir, but I would not wish to impose."

From:

elfoflight

His heart clenched at the accent. So very, painfully familiar to that ever older self. France's own mask slipped for a second, letting Arafinwe peek through in ears and eyes. A hint of pointed ears peeked out beneath blond hair, blue eyes changing just a little, growing just a little paler before he regained his current self.

"It is no imposition," he managed, though the tone was no least earnest. He tilted his head a little, another smile thrown Maglor's way. "Sing me another song, if you wish to repay me, though I feel your company would be gift enough."

From:

bythewaves

Again very real confusion, Maglor reacting as much to the glimpse of something other, a brush of something familiar as anything, and perhaps it is that which makes him nod slowly in agreement.

"I... I can do that. It seems a small enough payment sir. What do you wish to hear? I do know most of the more popular tunes on the radio."