elfoflight | OPEN RP POST

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open rp post

OPEN RP POST

Pretty straight forward. You have an idea you want to play out with Finarfin, throw up a starter or plotting comment and we'll go from there.

Haven't threaded with me before but want to try something different than how you found this journal? That's fine too! I'm always open to new RP partners.

If you have questions, feel free to shoot me a PM if you're more comfortable that way.

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France knew England was tough - he'd been both allies and enemies with the other nation for plenty long enough.

"You should know I get daily, sometimes hourly reports," he murmured gently. "And that I know even without that if something is wrong." Maybe not in time to stop whatever it was, but he could generally do something.

"I know" Maglor nods jerkily and keeps his eyes down, fiddling with the sleeves on his shirt and rubbing at his scars.

"I just. Worry."

"We all do," what else could he say? It was true.

France turned away from the counter, wiping his hands carefully as he walked to Maglor's side, then reached out to take his hands. Ignoring the scars. "However, I will take what I can get and enjoy this time with you."

Elves heal, they do not scar. Not unless the wound is grievious... or the injury is more to spirit than to flesh. (Maglor's case is both) His right is the worse, and it is a wonder he can play at all the way the contractures run across his hand, thick and ropy. He barely seems to feel the scratches from earlier, already fading, and he lets France stop his worrying docilely.

"You were always too kind, Uncle. But if you are sure..."

He'd been around mortals and other nations far too long for scars to bother him. Scars were memories now. Even he had his share of them, scattered over his body.

France gently threads their fingers together and nodded without hesitation. "I am positive."

He should not. He knows it. It is not safe, especially not with Arafinwe, blood kin as close as he is. But he is so very tired...

Slowly, his hands close around France's and he nods

"Alright."

France knew. That was simply how their family was. How it had become. But sometimes the spirit needed rest. Sometimes longer than others.

He smiled and gave Maglor's hands a squeeze, glad to have that much at least.

"Thank you."

Pulling away again, he started putting together their plates.

He watches and tips his head in query. "Can I help?"

"If you want tea, you are welcome to brew us some. I'm certain you know how," playful little tease. "The loose leaf I keep when Arthur comes around is the far left cupboard from the stove."

Because England could be a priss, but he did love him. In some ways more than others.

Maglor brightens at the thought of tea (that habit predates England and goes right back to his time being forcibly adopted by the formidable hobbit goodwife whose husband ran the Bird and Baby Inn in Michael Delving) and promptly gets up to do so.

"For you, as well?"

He hums happily to see that it is English Breakfast.

Have a much put upon sight, seeing the change at just mentioning tea. But not at all real. France didn't know everything that had happened to his nephew.

"Please."

Damn soft spot for stubborn people.

Maglor smiles back, and Arafinwe might recognise the precise way he sets about making tea is at once very English and also very much older than that, right down to the way he sets out the tea things (hobbits are surprisingly quite picky about such things you see)

"Here, uncle. Thank you for the meal."

After a moment, he does. He hadn't spent as much time with the few hobbits that came over as others had. What he did recognize immediately were the English bits. But when the rest hit... France couldn't help the grin as he watched a moment longer before finishing, setting their plates down.

"Thank you, nephew." And more than just for the tea.

Maglor blinks back at him and ducks his head with a pleased smile.

"I think it is I who should be saying that."

His eyes light to recognise the meal as one of the simpler ones from days lit by Trees instead of sun, from simpler times, when family were not yet at each other's throats.

Aaah, he saw that! France chuckled quietly and waited for Maglor to sit before claiming his own.

And seeing that look just made it all the more worthwhile, softening the grin to a pleased smile. Far simpler a time in their lives.

"You already have. Please, enjoy."

Maglor eats neatly, for all that this is quite possibly the first meal he has had in a while, but quietly too, not the chatter of the child of long ago, or the more somber adult, he eats efficiently, wasting nothing, the beggar who is not certain when he will get more.

Just as France ate, though it was clear in how he ate that it was more that it was rare he made this kind of meal. It sometimes hurt too much to have certain reminders. But with company, specifically Maglor, it was a bittersweet pain and worth it.

He also wasted nothing. For all that he enjoyed wine with food, it didn't feel right in this instance. A more innocent memory, and one he'd cherish. Conversation wasn't needed, and the silence was comfortable.

He was thinking about what song he wanted to hear, and an idea started to form. Maybe... Could he?

"You're starting to get a plotty look on your face uncle." Maglor cleans up his plate and crooks an eyebrow at him.

France blinked, looking up. "Hm?" Then quirked a brow as a smile played with his lips. "Is that a technical term, or did you merely make it up?"

Maglor lifts his chin, and for a moment he resembles his father, right down to arrogant tone and set of his shoulders.

"And what if I did?" Then he ducks his head, slightly abashed to be caught playing so and shrugs shyly

"Arthur's boy uses it. Mm, Sealand? I think his name was."

Edited 2015-03-20 08:15 (UTC)

He couldn't help the cough of a laugh at the blazing resemblance, an old pang of memory followed right behind it. Ah, but he did miss his family. Faults and all.

France grinned at the mention of Sealand, and being England's son. "England would curse if he heard you say that. Sealand is hardly a nation, for all he wishes he were." But Maglor had to know that already, right?

"Mm, I know. But Arthur treats him like a little brother and so..." And so Maglor treats him like a fond grandfather might.

He shrugs shyly, pleased that France found some amusement in his mimicry of his father (once, it was just a game, to copy and to mimic, but now it is a survival skill, and he has seldom chances to use it in play like this now)

If he were a crass nation, he'd have balled his napkin up and tossed it at Maglor. But he wasn't, nor was he a child. Instead, he rolled his eyes at his nephew, even if he was grinning.

"An annoying little brother." Even if he was fond of the boy himself, Sealand did go over the top.

France finished the last bite before standing and walking over to Maglor and simply wrapped his arms around him in another hug. The younger elf needed more hugs.

"Are not all little brothers so?" He retorts and goes stiff again when hugged. (Again and again, and he takes less time to unbend each time).

"I do not remember you wanting to hug so much, uncle"

"It's in the job description," he quipped right back with an unrepentant half grin, eyes dancing.

"You never seemed to need it so much before. And I have missed you." And all his family.

ajsdlfkjad That happens and France RUNS LIKE HELL

SMART MAN XD

sob

>3

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