you won't like him when he's angry... (open)

[mostcraftiest]

Not that he is. At all. Curufin's expressions are perfectly smooth, controlled, even his smiles apparently genuine. Oh, sure, under that he may well be feeling an extremely murderous impulse, but he keeps it very well hidden. He is free, and wishes it to remain that way. Until he can get his brothers back under control, or at least neutralize

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[not_snake_bite]

This one isn't in a very good mood either. Steerpike is wandering around, or rather sulking-stalking around, looking for Iphigenia. He's half-worried and half angry. Fun times ahead.

[mostcraftiest]

Fun times are the best kind of times. He still hasn't found his sword, but is nonetheless gliding around like some kind of very unnatural disaster, eyes steely and wondering where to begin with this.

Wherever he sees Steerpike, he is pleased, even if it barely shows at all.

"It's been some time," probably just behind his shoulder, typist willing, having approached silently.

[not_snake_bite]

Steerpike starts bur recovers himself quickly. "It has." He bows.

[mostcraftiest]

Curufin inclines his head slightly. "I hope I am not interrupting," slightly bored tone indicating nonetheless that he does not particularly care if he is interrupting. After all, betters are betters.

[tomboy_22]

If Curufin wants to see that peculiar woman, she's lounging lazily on a windowsill and looking outside. We can probably safely assume that she's seen a lot of Henry and less of Clay... and she misses Clay a lot.

She should go out in the woods and look for him, she muses. She feels guilty, though - about her feelings for Clay, about how they betray Henry, about how she might be causing pain to both Clay and Henry. In the midst of that, she feels guilty for having fed the ardeur on that creepy elf. Even if she scrubbed herself clean ten times when it was done.

[mostcraftiest]

Curufin does want to see that peculiar woman. And looks rather offended. His sense of personal hygiene is better than some of his siblings, thank you very much, and he can't be that bad to look at. But meta proud Curufin aside, the real one is leaning against the wall down the hall from her, watching her with slitted eyes.

Free, yes. And without the bruise on his cheekbone, or really any marks, this time, and having gotten some clean and properly regal clothes. Just watching, for the moment.

(Personally, creepy is pretty close to the mark. He seems thoughtful, though.)

[tomboy_22]

She's entirely lost in thought, alas, and will have to be approached, if he wants her attention.

Or maybe she's just pretending. She does have a good nose, after all.

[mostcraftiest]

He doesn't quite move toward her, but he does raise an eyebrow ever so slightly. "Either you are less observant than I thought or you are ignoring me." Absolutely smooth, of course. He's not annoyed yet.

Or at her, anyway.

[lorien_gal]

If Curufin wants to bark at Galadriel, she is (yet again) in the library, pouring over some manuscript with focused attention. There has to be away for her to heal Fingon and to fortify her defenses against Morgoth, not to mention Maeglin's and Celegorm.

[mostcraftiest]

Curufin does not want to bark at Galadriel. Curufin wants to kill Galadriel slowly and painfully and preferably after killing someone she cares about. Finrod would just be dull, though, he's done that one. He'll work it out.

All the same, though, he knows he can't risk that with Celegorm how he is. He should know better, really, having come off so much worse last time they faced each other, but who ever accused Curufin of making too much logical sense?

He didn't know she would be here, and is mostly looking for records, of some kind. It seems important to catch up on what he's missed. However.

"Ah. Well." He has that very slight, not quite overtly sinister smile on, as though he is amused to see her there.

[lorien_gal]

She doesn't look up. "I was beginning to wonder when I would have the pleasure of your presence, cousin."

Her tone is icy, as it ever was.

[mostcraftiest]

"It seems you have found it. You should count yourself lucky." His tone is equally cool, if in a slightly more casual way. For the moment. We doubt it will last long; Curufin's tolerance for Arafinweans is very short. Particularly this one. "Busy? I should so hate to interrupt your no doubt vital work."

[sweariwontdie]

The weather has turned enough that Armand won't venture along the path between his house and the Mansion without his fur-lined cloak. He's kept it well, but it doesn't look new anymore. Out of respect for the elves who aren't ready to acknowledge his adoption, he's replaced the Feanorian crest with a plain clasp, but he's done nothing else. More than anything else Feanor gave him, this cloak represents the elf king's concern for his well-being, and Armand clings to that memory

[mostcraftiest]

Less dangerous, yes, but Armand is, unfortunately, not so lucky. And Curufin is still in a foul mood. He hears the entrance and turns his head ever so slightly, and then the rest of the way, his mouth arranging in a slightly cool and chilly smile, eyes half-lidded in slightly menacing laziness.

He looks Armand over, slowly but surely, then down, then up again, and it's nearly a drawl when he speaks. "Well, then. If it isn't Firyafinwe." It's not gentle mockery, this, but the nasty, sharp kind that Curufin is so very good at.

[sweariwontdie]

Armand has to grit his teeth not to flinch too much at just Curufin's tone, but then he lifts his chin. "If you don't like that name or what it means, you can call me Armand. Most of the people who know me do." His hands are now hidden beneath the cloak so he get to the throwing knives if he must. And pride or not, Armand doesn't feel any shame at the idea of running from an opponent he doesn't want to fight. He glanced toward the door, measuring the distance.

[mostcraftiest]

Curufin is watching closely, though, for just that flinch. And he stays perfectly relaxed, at least in appearance. His eyes do note the hidden hands, though, and he adjusts very slightly for better reach of his own knife. Perhaps a touch more obviously. You move first and you might find it unpleasant, his eyes suggest.

"I do not object to the name itself. I'm afraid it is a bit more personal than that." He examines Armand, nearly smiling that cold and dangerous smile. "Am I the only one to doubt you?"

[ohmaiden]

Iphigenia will be walking past him then, inadvertently, headed to her room.

"Oh, excuse me!" she says as she passes him, carefully.

[mostcraftiest]

"I beg your pardon," he starts to say, voice nearly silky, and then recognizes her. From Steerpike's description.

The only sign of it is in his eyes. They intensify. Very slightly. The look of a hunter who has just sighted something shootable. "Pardon me," he says, voice still silky, and soft. He doesn't need volume. "I have only just arrived, and I find..."

[ohmaiden]

"And you find...?" she asks.

[mostcraftiest]

"...myself confused," he allows, with a small and falsely rueful smile. "I hope that is not too much of a surprise. I confess explanation has been largely muddled." Sounding her out, for the moment. Though he is not, by any means, above dragging her bodily upstairs. It would just be easier to manipulate her somehow. "Perhaps that is how I can explain the loss of my room. The stairs to the upper floors are set apart, but I cannot remember where..."

It might help that he's handsome. Very handsome. A bit of a creepy vibe, but like any elf, still pretty.