drabbles (of the LotR variety)
Mar. 20th, 2007 09:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
meretriculaa few drabbles done over the summer. Shakespeare-themed.
"...and palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss."
There was a resounding crack that echoed through the room, closely followed by an undignified yelp. "Sweet Varda, Erestor, have you ever considered getting yourself declawed? I think you drew blood."
"Have you ever considered actually learning a lesson?" Erestor retorted snidely. "Go whine to Elrond. He's the healer. Also, for reasons I still cannot comprehend, he actually likes you."
Glorfindel sighed and left, nursing his reddened cheek. It was the most contact he'd had with Erestor in a month.
"I see the gentleman is not in your books."
"An he were, I would burn my study."
Erestor wandered through Lord Elrond's library, brushing affectionate fingertips over the spines of the books he passed. This was his inner sanctum, his retreat from reality that no one would dare invade. Thus he was extremely displeased to see the blond head of his personal nemesis at the end of the aisle.
"What are you doing here?" Erestor demanded crossly. "You're probably exhaling contagious clouds of idiocy on my books. Get out."
Glorfindel didn't reply, which was Erestor's first warning sign. Normally it was impossible to shut him up.
"Oh, what crisis are you having now?" Erestor sighed, with only marginally less vitriol. "That pout isn't attractive on five-year-old girls and it's even less so on you. What, did the boys call you fat and dip your pigtails in the inkwell?"
"I..." Glorfindel stared at him. "Were you born this nasty, or did you go to school for it?"
"That's more like it," Erestor said. "And since you asked so nicely, I made my teachers cry when they tried to give me tips. I am just that naturally talented."
"Glad to know that I merit the master's attention," Glorfindel said sarcastically.
"You should be honored," Erestor replied serenely. "I don't insult just anyone, you know, but I have a soft spot for sulky blonds."
Glorfindel glared at him. "Don't do me any favors." As he walked away, Erestor called after him.
"Glorfindel!"
"What?"
"Gondolin fell eons ago. Brooding because it happens to be precisely however many years today won't make them any less dead, or you any less alive."
"How did you - "
"Unlike you, I actually study parts of history that do not directly appertain to me. Now get out."
Glorfindel stormed out of the library, too furious to realize that he was no longer brooding.
Sonnet 130 ("My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun...")
"You're a twit."
Glorfindel groaned and rolled over in bed to face Erestor. "Beg pardon?"
"You're a twit," Erestor repeated. "You aren't very bright, and you're not as good with a sword as you think you are, or you wouldn't have died in the first place. There are entire songs about your blue eyes, which are closer to gray, incidentally, which increase your misplaced vanity. Your so-called 'golden locks' are brown every time you come home from patrol, because you don't wash them - that's disgusting, by the way. Also, you have split ends." Glorfindel blinked in sleepy confusion. "Oh! And sometimes you don't bathe after practice - do you have any idea how much you reek?"
His patience wearing thin, Glorfindel asked, "Is there a point to all this, or did you just feel like listing off my faults to remind yourself of how deeply you're slumming by sleeping with me?"
Erestor swallowed, looking anywhere but at Glorfindel. "Yeah, actually. I'm in love with you."
"...and palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss."
There was a resounding crack that echoed through the room, closely followed by an undignified yelp. "Sweet Varda, Erestor, have you ever considered getting yourself declawed? I think you drew blood."
"Have you ever considered actually learning a lesson?" Erestor retorted snidely. "Go whine to Elrond. He's the healer. Also, for reasons I still cannot comprehend, he actually likes you."
Glorfindel sighed and left, nursing his reddened cheek. It was the most contact he'd had with Erestor in a month.
"I see the gentleman is not in your books."
"An he were, I would burn my study."
Erestor wandered through Lord Elrond's library, brushing affectionate fingertips over the spines of the books he passed. This was his inner sanctum, his retreat from reality that no one would dare invade. Thus he was extremely displeased to see the blond head of his personal nemesis at the end of the aisle.
"What are you doing here?" Erestor demanded crossly. "You're probably exhaling contagious clouds of idiocy on my books. Get out."
Glorfindel didn't reply, which was Erestor's first warning sign. Normally it was impossible to shut him up.
"Oh, what crisis are you having now?" Erestor sighed, with only marginally less vitriol. "That pout isn't attractive on five-year-old girls and it's even less so on you. What, did the boys call you fat and dip your pigtails in the inkwell?"
"I..." Glorfindel stared at him. "Were you born this nasty, or did you go to school for it?"
"That's more like it," Erestor said. "And since you asked so nicely, I made my teachers cry when they tried to give me tips. I am just that naturally talented."
"Glad to know that I merit the master's attention," Glorfindel said sarcastically.
"You should be honored," Erestor replied serenely. "I don't insult just anyone, you know, but I have a soft spot for sulky blonds."
Glorfindel glared at him. "Don't do me any favors." As he walked away, Erestor called after him.
"Glorfindel!"
"What?"
"Gondolin fell eons ago. Brooding because it happens to be precisely however many years today won't make them any less dead, or you any less alive."
"How did you - "
"Unlike you, I actually study parts of history that do not directly appertain to me. Now get out."
Glorfindel stormed out of the library, too furious to realize that he was no longer brooding.
Sonnet 130 ("My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun...")
"You're a twit."
Glorfindel groaned and rolled over in bed to face Erestor. "Beg pardon?"
"You're a twit," Erestor repeated. "You aren't very bright, and you're not as good with a sword as you think you are, or you wouldn't have died in the first place. There are entire songs about your blue eyes, which are closer to gray, incidentally, which increase your misplaced vanity. Your so-called 'golden locks' are brown every time you come home from patrol, because you don't wash them - that's disgusting, by the way. Also, you have split ends." Glorfindel blinked in sleepy confusion. "Oh! And sometimes you don't bathe after practice - do you have any idea how much you reek?"
His patience wearing thin, Glorfindel asked, "Is there a point to all this, or did you just feel like listing off my faults to remind yourself of how deeply you're slumming by sleeping with me?"
Erestor swallowed, looking anywhere but at Glorfindel. "Yeah, actually. I'm in love with you."
