*gazes into your eyes, fleet skepticism fading (Vána might find you amusing, at least)* *feels that same chill creeping up her spine the longer she regards you—and there it is again, the frustration of things too vague to grasp (though they linger far too near to ignore)* *softly* Lunch sounds lovely. *curls her hand around your wrist and drops her tone further* Elwë... what concerns you so? (All day, every day, and you think I cannot see it?) Is it the blackout?