Who: Rose and Cal/Legolas What: Cal opens his door. When: Friday afternoon, after this thread. Where: Cal's room. Warnings: TDB, but the rating is unlikely to be high.
The little note slipped back out from beneath the door. In clear, if a little untidy print (common speech was not his favourite thing in which to write, after all), the two sentences were almost abrupt, obviously written in haste: Yes. I shall open the door.
He had to admit, he wanted to see Rose's face. He had written truthfully: it was strange to know her hand, the way she wrote her letters, and her words, but still knowing nothing of her voice or her eyes. Eyes spoke loudly, and the Elf wished to see Rose's in order to know what hers said. Still, he had a moment of self-consciousness, and in reality, more than one. What if Rose saw the awkward, short little mortal so many insisted he was, instead of what he knew himself to be? What if she were disappointed? He was not sure why he cared, only that he did, and his hand hesitated on the handle of the door.
He shook his head, pushing his hair from his face. He knew better than this; his father would never have condoned inhospitality in his son. Mirkwood was not such a place, nor its prince such a soul. He opened the door and smiled at her, his vividly blue eyes immediately searching out hers so that he might know her measure. "Suil," he said, the Elvish word of greeting automatic. "You are welcome here."