Who: Idril & OTA What: It's still raining on her parade. Where: Idk.. the bakery. When: After leaving Tuor's ship. Warnings | Status: Discussion of sex, consent etc., and relationships | in progress
"Valar, I think I shall leave you in the hills by yourself, Eärendil," Idril insisted, as she stepped into the bakery with her son. She was barefoot, as was her preference, and wearing the long gowns of the elven customs. It flowed about her and she glittered with the shimmering light of the Two Trees inside her, a veritable crystal but in living flesh. Her golden hair spilled about her shoulders in gentle waves, unadorned, and tumbling low to her waist. Celebrindal she was called, silver foot, for her fair skin and the fact she never went about with shoes. The city was foul, pock marked and dirty, but even so she glided through it like a wave of light. Though truth be told she avoided the city now, since Vinyamar had come. It was so much more beautiful up there.
But that aside, her pouting son followed Idril inside, effectively marring the image of beauty Idril presented with a good old fashioned tantrum. He had his arms crossed and a dirty look on his face. "I want my father!" he protested in lyrical Quenya. Idril shot him a look, "Sit," she ordered and pulled out a chair, directing him into it. He whined and threw himself down, burying his face in his arms with his head on the table. He had complained he was hungry--despite having eaten before they had left Vinyamar--but when Idril had neglected to take him off to the pub for those ground-beef things he'd begun his tantrum. A tantrum he'd thrown since the morning, that had carried on from the days before.
"I want my father!" he repeated, pouting in a highly childish manner that made it difficult for Idril not to laugh. Well, it would have made her laugh any other day, but she was not nearly so cheerful as she had ever been. Idril looked at him in despair for a moment and shook her head, trying hard to maintain her patience with the boy, but he tested her at every turn. "I have told you he is busy," she said, neglecting Quenya in the presence of those who did not speak it.
"And so you must wait until he is ready to see you."