maskormenace | {VIDEO}

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{Vandalism, ha. Thranduil is casually taking in the rather explicit and compromising drawings left on his front door. If he must bear the sight of them, so must all of those watching.}

The first is ridiculous, the second is improbable and the last would result in a broken limb. If you are going to embarrass me - or pursue me - at least do so with an ounce of intelligence.

{With pursed lips and a look so stern that it would cow an Orc, he lays a hand on the wood of his door.}

It will either need to be repainted or replaced entirely. No amount of scrubbing would make it clean of this filth.

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[All he can do is snicker, trying not to burst out laughing and failing.

His artwork is the best and he only wishes Mairon was there to see it too.]

Oh...that's awful.

[More snickering.

He's totally mature.]

Painting over it is probably easier.

{Why is he not surprised? What was Eru thinking in creating such a miscreant?!}

You do not sound sympathetic. {Not that he expects him to.} It is juvenile at best.

Indeed. But the images have soaked into the wood. I will see them each time I use the door.

Will a new door change that? Or will it feel like they're still there?

I shall burn the old door and be rid of them forever.

[Alright, he can't hold out for much longer and he just bursts out laughing, oh so pleased with himself. The recent vandalism had been an inspiration and it had been a long time since he got to be really creative.]

Nah, I'm not. I think it's some of my best work even. Aside from you know, the dragons.

Don't do it too quickly. They might be waiting for a new door to draw on.

{His nose curls in utter disgust and he glowers, enraged. He is never far from the emotion with Morgoth, but it has definitely intensified.}

Do not touch my belongings or my person. You are not welcome and if I see you, I will not let your powers interfere with me dealing you grievous harm.

Precisely. {And he will be waiting.} I have no need for slumber.

{Actually, yes, he does need a little - which is annoying - but he won't admit to that in this situation.}

You just don't understand my work.

[Nevermind that any 12 year old could understand Melkor's drawing but still.]

Yeah yeah, what are you going to do? Twirl your pointy sword at me? Sparkle?

And I do not want to understand it.

{Melkor, explain that third piece of artwork. Did you do that with Mairon? Dangerous and shameless!}

I will claim a limb and leave you scarred.

I don't think you're physically capable of such things but you know, always good to have a goal.

[Hey, they like to experiment after thousands of years of marriage.]

Sure, give it your best try.

Your body is not as it was on Arda. Your ego will not serve you when you seem more Man than Valar.

{He doesn't want to know. But now he does. Thanks!}

Meet me.

You would be surprised how flexible I am still.

[And oh man does this world have some fun things he would love to try out with Mairon.]

Alright, where?

Outside of battle, that is not my concern.

{Sex toys? Bondage? Thranduil grimaces before gazing at Melkor stonily.}

Outside of Nonah. {He gives Melkor an exact location - in a park.}

Edited 2017-08-27 05:30 (UTC)

I could always show you. I'm quite good at that.

[sex toys, bondage, maybe creative use of fire and ice...]

Alright, I'll be there in a few moments. Bring your sword, pretty elf.

No. Your art - and your actions on Arda - speak loudly and vehemently for themselves.

{He would be dead.}

I never leave without it.

{He is in the park, waiting, sword drawn and senses attuned to even the tiniest of sounds. He has put on his armor again and though he looks sure of himself, certain in his prowess, his heart beats quicker in his chest.}

[Melkor was quiet as he approached from behind Thranduil, admiring the view for a bit. He managed to repress a snicker, grinning ear to ear as he reached out to squeeze Thranduil's ass, leaning in close with whisper against his ear.]

Well, hello there, pretty elf. You smell nice.

[Thank Eru Mairon wasn't there to find out about this.]

{Elven senses are simply no match and Thranduil curses inwardly, spinning away from Melkor in one graceful motion. His sword is then directed at the Valar's throat, the blade glowing.}

You have taken far too many liberties!

[Melkor grinned, not flinching when Thranduil brought his sword up to his throat.]

I couldn't resist but you really do smell good. And really, nice ass.

[He was not going to tell Mairon about this.]

Are you going to cut my throat?

[ Aurican has no idea what this was supposed to be - and not because it's because he's a human boy. He's not, just a young dragon who as little notion what humans really do in their private time. ]

Perhaps replacing it will be better. Paint will chip and fade eventually.

[Poe tries really hard not to laugh. Mostly fails.]

Well, you can't say that they aren't imaginative.

You might be able to get some decent money from them, in the right markets.

{His ego does not need stroking, Melkor. Nor does his body. He fights off a shudder, his grip tightening around his sword's hilt.}

All Elves are blessed with beauty - unless, of course, you intervene.

{Then they grow old prematurely or gain horrible scars.}

I would like nothing more.

{Thranduil has enough wherewithal to realize a child should not be viewing the images. He quickly stands before them, a shade paler.}

I agree, but these are not for you to see.

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