nearamir | Ryslig || IC inbox

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, DECENT_JEWEL. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 3019.03.15.03 * DECENT_JEWEL has joined 3019.03.15.03 <DECENT_JEWEL> This is the address of Faramir son of Denethor, late Captain of Gondor. <DECENT_JEWEL>** If you would speak with me, then seek me out; I am readily available for the most part. Yet if that does not suit your needs, then leave a message here, and I shall reply when I am able.

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From:

youngtimer

After they had spoken on the network about the possibility of Faramir joining the ranks at the Lighthouse, Horatio had gone around to the other residents of the Academy, seeing if any of them had any objections to him inviting a lunch guest over. They either didn't mind or, in Handler's case, care, and a few days later he sent Faramir a message inviting him to lunch and conversation on a Saturday afternoon.

He makes a simple lunch in the kitchen - chicken salad sandwiches, some macaroni salad from the conbini, and a few cut-up vegetables - then sets it all in the fridge to stay cold until they decide to eat. Once everything's prepared, he goes up into the living room and puts on a record: some light classical music just to fill the silence while he waits for his guest to arrive.

From:

nearamir

Faramir is prompt, though not early: it is a long walk from the lake. He still dislikes the city, if he is honest: the streets are too loud, and the lights buzz oddly, and even compared to Minas Tirith at its busiest, the place seems to bustle with impossible activity. His pointed ears flick a little at the sound of each passing car and blaring horn or siren. He is grateful to arrive at the Academy, then, where he at least hopes it will be a little less loudly modern.

He rings the doorbell after only a moment's hesitation, and steps back, knuckles grazing the stone of the steps.

From:

youngtimer

The Academy comprises an entire city block, and the center courtyard, though open to the elements, is quiet. But so is the inside: only a hint of the classical music from the living room drifting into the foyer as Horatio opens the door.

"Hey, Faramir. Glad you could make it. Come on in, take a load off. ... You did the whole walk on foot, I'm guessing? How long did that take you?

Edited (too many 'take's) Date: 2022-09-21 03:18 am (UTC)

From:

nearamir

Faramir edges through the door, cautious of his bulk, and into the foyer beyond. It is, he notes as though from a distance, a very fine place, and one he takes a liking to at once.

"I set out as soon as the sun allowed." So, at sunset. It still hurts, to be made a creature of the night, to be driven into shadowed and darkened places like the beasts he has so long fought. It is a stinging reminder, every day, of what has been done to him. "It is not so far, but I am afraid a little further than I had accounted for. Still, I have made it." This with a small smile. "Where shall I leave my cloak?"

From:

youngtimer

"I'm sorry," Horatio said, reaching out to take his cloak from him. "It completely slipped my mind that trolls are nocturnal. I only know one, and we mostly talk over the network, so ..."

He shrugged, moving across the lobby toward a coat rack in the corner. "Come on in, though, have a seat. You want something to drink? Coffee, tea, maybe something stronger?"

From:

nearamir

Faramir smiles gently, a little wryly, as though to say It is what it is. "I do not know enough about every manner of monster," he remarks, passing over his cloak with a little nod, "to ever expect that another would remember all the matters of my own. Though if I had been more thoughtful, I might have told you I would be late."

His toeless, hoof-like feet tap softly against the floor as he heads deeper into the building, taking a seat as invited. "I would take wine, if you have it. If not, then tea will more than serve. Thank you."

From:

alchepistol

[ Guess who knows where you live, Faramir? ]

I thought you'd still be here.

[ Revolutionary Girl Gandalf, that's who. And she's brought....

....a gift bag? ]

From:

nearamir

[It is, it must be said, pretty cold to be living in an outdoor camp. Even for a troll. He has a good fire burning, but still.]

[Currently, he is sitting beside that fire, sharpening his sword, partly for maintenance and mostly to keep himself moving. He looks up at her approach, and there is a hint of a smile on his tusked face. He had not expected to see her here.]

[Setting his sword and whetstone aside, he stands to greet her.]

It would be a shame to build so much of a camp, and leave it for no reason.

Will you not come closer to the fire? It is cold, tonight.

From:

alchepistol

Thank you.

[ She obliges, glad for the ambient warmth. Saint-Germain is learning how long she can remain in the cold without her body temperature dropping a troubling amount, but any assistance is welcome.

She exhales in comfort as her legs stop cramping. (Spider legs curl when cold.) ]

From:

nearamir

[Wordlessly, the troll moves to pick up a bottle of wine from behind the woodpile, pouring it and a sachet of spices into a pan which he sets on the fire. It seems only polite.]

[When that is done, he settles back on his heels and looks up at her.]

What can I do for you, Saint-Germain?

From:

alchepistol

I didn't come seeking anything in particular.

[ She offers him a box, wrapped in fancy gold paper. ] But this is for you.

From:

From:

agiantbird

[On the evening of December 24th, Dee drops a gift off to Faramir. A card is attached -- red with a golden deer on it -- and it reads:

Hey nerd,
Merry Nattenswhatever. Enjoy!
- Dee

The gift bag contains a bottle of fancy whisky.]

From:

nearamir

[Faramir had not planned on giving gifts, but it seems rude to take without giving. It is a few days later, then, that a present is placed on her doorstep in turn: a largish, round box carved from wood, largely undecorated except for the letters carved into the lid, and a relief design of mountaintops. Inside it, packed in straw, are two beakers made of polished antler, clearly handmade.]

[Also, a letter, folded neatly and tucked into the lid:]

Dee,

Thank you for your gift. It is not a drink I am accustomed to, but a warming draught in cold times; more warming for your thought of me on what still seems to me little acquaintance. Little, I say, for I found in trying to select a gift in turn that I was not at all sure what would suit you. I hope you can find use for these.

The Tengwar on the knife - which I do not know whether it shall be translated by the magic of this place, or whether it will remain to your eyes as it did to mine when carving it - is the letters of your name, which I hope I have spelled correctly, having only heard it said and not seen it written. Deandra, that is, not Dee. I gave some thought to how it might be taken in Sindarin, and the best I could manage was Dî-Andrath, or a lady of the high pass, hence the carving; you will forgive the poverty of humour, I hope.

I hope, too, that you have found some time to enjoy this festival, among all the cruelties of this place. Please know that you are welcome at my camp at any time, should you desire company and conversation; I shall hold a little of the whisky aside for you, if you do come, for such gifts are better shared.

- Faramir

From:

pageofstaves

[a while after this conversation occurs, Childermass finally remembers he has a question for his friend]

Good evening, Faramir. I hope this message finds you well. I have need of a bit of your knowledge.

My neighbor, Dee, brought up a term to me a fair while ago, but was unable to completely explain. She said you would be able to enlighten me: what is a "nerd"?

From:

nearamir

[This is actually a pretty pleasant, if unexpected, diversion. He is having a little chuckle to himself out by the campfire.]

From what I understand: it is one of a scholarly nature, open in his enthusiasms, who delights in art and poetry, and reads much and widely; further, one who is more gentle and less boisterous, and has an interest in matters of history and philosophy, and is not much concerned with how others see him.

For some reason (perhaps because she mislikes these traits where she finds them in herself), Dee seems to think it an insult.

From:

pageofstaves

So: a gentleman, or lady, then.

I can see why she might take that view, given some of the things she's said and done about folk in higher stations. But... I do wish there were some way to make her see there's nawt shameful about it.

Perhaps it's the lack of volume that concerns her...

[#sarcasm]

From:

nearamir

Just so.

Yet she is keen enough to make of herself a playwright and to speak on novels, so I think perhaps there may be hope.

From:

pageofstaves

Perhaps one of these days I can tell her about what my folks considered "bluestocking" girls. The ones who decided to learn and read precisely because they were told not to. It might appeal to that contrary spirit of hers.

From:

From:

nearamir - Date: 2023-08-09 01:39 am (UTC) - Expand

From:

pageofstaves

How are you? I know things didn't go as you had planned - and that isn't your fault. But I'm concerned for you, friend. Please write back as soon as you can.

From:

nearamir

[It is almost October before this message gets a response.]

I am

weary. I am very weary, and sick at heart. But in all other ways, well enough. It is nothing that will not heal.