Who: Maedhros & Fingon What: Playing with technology, talking etc. Where: Fingon's rooms When: Evening, 9/28 Warnings | Status: None | in progress
"Tch," Maedhros scoffed and cast a withering glare in Fingon's direction. "I recall the pattern of the buttons," he insisted, crouching low before the machine to examine the line of knobs that would make it function. They'd been out of their element since their arrival, but rather than dawdling and resisting the changes that overcame the world around them, Maedhros had taken a somewhat more active stance and chose to learn. It served a simple distraction. Mortals and their designs were not his particular interest, and often he left involvement with them to his more dour brothers, and before his death, their late king. He was not overly fond of being surrounded by them now, but Fingon's presence eased him enough to function.
Fingon had been mourning since discovering the death of his father, and for that Maedhros did not blame him. He'd never truly mourned for the death of his own, as within that very hour of the elf's death Maedhros had lost his own freedom. It didn't warrant thinking of, and he banished the thought ere it could surface and distract him from his purpose. His cousin was sad, it showed in the subtle tilt of his ears and the wilt in his otherwise silly smile. Maedhros would let him mourn, there was no shame in the emotion, but he wished to raise his spirits and give him hope for brighter days. If even for a moment.
"They call them CDs," he said as he made the thing open, tipping back a short distance to give it room to expand. Then he placed the flat circle on the tray and pushed it back in, his eyes darting to the flash of lights that spelled out the words and numbers. He pressed the knob with the triangle painted over it and waited, his ears tipping at the sudden sound of music that came from nowhere.