An Unexpected Vir(tu)al Party

[mark12_30]

Lindo gasped as Mithadan entered. Mithadan turned.

"You brought Bird, " Lindo whispered.

"Or, she brought me, " said Mithadan.

"Let me see her, " said Lindo, hesitant but eager.

Mithadan hesitated too. "She is, ah, a dragon right now," he said.

"Indeed," Lindo whispered, eyes very wide. "Black with a white stripe?"

Mithadan smirked. "You make her sound like a skunk," he said.

"Hey!" Said the dragon, poking her nose out of Mithadan's hood. "Oh, it's that daft singer."

"Nice," snorted Mith, as Lindo began to hum a tune from the drowning of Beleriand, and then very softly he began to sing.

"Raven hair in wind blown tangles
One tress opalescent dangles..."

[Pitchwife]

„Did I hear right?“ said Estelyn the sheepdog, using osanwë to communicate with her human friend across species boundaries. „Did she just call me a puppy? Me, a bitch grown & flowered (TM), and mother of three?“


„Shush,“ said Pitchwife. „The lady meant no ill. Children will always be children to mothers - even godmothers. Believe me, I know what I‘m talking about! Now, why don‘t you go find some food, or someone to pet you? I‘m sure there‘ll be takers. But don‘t just nibble on any old pile o‘ bones you find lying around – they might be a new member!“


Estelyn (still the dog) took his suggestion and began to explore the ballroom, weaving through the guests and sniffing here & there as was her wont. At last she wound up in front of Oddwen and The KA and looked up at them with a friendly wag of her tail. „Arf!“ she said.


The cats had already vanished into the crowd by that time. The red one had found a lintel to jump on, whence it surveyed the gathering with the air of a theatre critic, while the grey one approached a gaily-dressed Noldo sitting all by himself and rubbed against his leg with a soft „Prr?“, its tail curled into a question-mark.


Pitchwife, meanwhile, having helped himself to a glass of Old Winyard and a lemba (and made a note to write to the Lady of Lórien at his earliest convenience), sauntered through the crowd, toasting and greeting all his friends of old, some of whom he had only met far from here in the intervening years, some not at all for a long time. He noted with great pleasure that the plague had not killed Lalaith this time (Maedhros or no Maedhros) and, having listened to her duet with Encai, said to the latter: „Hi, I‘m Pitchwife! Not sure we‘ve met in this place before, but you seem vaguely familiar. Something to do with horns, great horns of rust wildly blowing, I think?“

[littlemanpoet]

Elempi was glad that Bethberry had invited him to the party. He used his palantir to watch the beginnings of this new unexpected party.
He wondered if he might go in the garb of Eodwine of Rohan?

Go as yourself.

Elempi set aside his Habit o' Nine Types, put away his palantir, and made for the party.

*************************

Many miles and no miles later, he stepped up to the door, washed his hands and entered, looking for the food and drink and a nice corner from which to watch the goings on. In time, he would do more than watch.

[Kitanna]

How long has it been? Kitanna thought as she washed her hands with the soap the thoughtful Esty had laid out. Two years? Three? Five? No matter, she had been away for too long. Having received the invitation to the party she quickly aired out her finest dress of black and red silk and made travel plans. Too long had she been away. The invite was just what she needed to lift her spirits.

As she walked into the great hall there were faces she recognized even after so long an absence. Esty in her red dress with the white blouse. Lommy offering her assistance. Legate looking regal an as though he had just stepped from the woods of Lórien. Thenamir, Inzil, and so many more! This was right, this was home, and Kitanna was glad to be back.

Kitanna had not come alone though, she brought a loaf of her famous soda bread. She set it on a long table filled with other refreshments. She had shaped the loaf to look like a mallorn leaf. She hoped her simple dish satisfied the other party goers.

Esty wandered around greeting the guests, but rather than wait Kitanna hurried to her.

"Esty, you beautiful, wonderful, fantastic-" Kitanna stopped herself, knowing she was gushing. "You have done something truly wonderful bringing us all back here." She hugged Esty without giving it a second thought.

[Boromir88]

It had already been a week since Boro received Esty's party invitation, an Unexpected Party too! What is not unexpected, Boro is usually one of the later arriving guests to any party, and not even the fashionably late sort. He was coming in a rich purple sweater and dark blue jeans. He was also carrying a brown satchel bag with a shoulder strap.

Boro was troubled by the sickness and quarantines effecting everyone. It was almost a year since Boro's last journey of significance visiting Enca and her partner, Celuien and her husband, Formendacil, Nienna and their child, and wilwa for the Tolkien: Maker of Middle-earth exhibit. His thoughts were on them, and many more who are in heavily crowded areas and have to hunker down through the perilous days ahead.

Boro had seen another party-goer traveling to the house far ahead of him, but he could not make out who it was. In his youth, he might have ran to catch up with the others, but thought better of it. He was sure the last thing Esty would want to have happen is her opening the door and there he would be on the door step exhausted, panting and sweaty.

When he finally got to the entrance, he wondered if he should knock or just let himself in. The door appeared to make up Boro's mind for him, and seemed to open on his own. Already he was able to see there was quite a significant gathering with many familiar and friendly faces.

"Hello. Well, it's good to be back."

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Estelyn hugged Kitanna enthusiastically - hugging was one of her favourite ways to connect with others, and the outside world prohibited that at the moment. "I'm so glad you came!" she exclaimed.

Then her eyes widened as she saw Elempi, and she swirled him around in a boisterous embrace. "Isn't it wonderful to be partying together again?!"

"And Boro too! What have you been up to since we last met?" she asked. The question fell into one of those mysterious lulls in the general noice of conversation and echoed in the room. And suddenly everyone started answering, and stories of families and work and enjoyments of life were exchanged, as if the hall were a book of faces.

[Morthoron]

All this time it had become quite plain to the Dark Elf that these were some rather queer folk assembled herein. Not that there was anything wrong with queer folk, of course, particularly not if one eschewed the more modern pejorative sense of the word. And it wasn't a matter of looking fairer and feeling fouler, just the innate queerness of a group of introverted folk who seemingly had been imprisoned at a Renaissance Faire for several years and now suffered from some malingering form of Dernhelm Syndrome.

"Or Cosplay Dismay," Morthoron chuckled to himself, as he kindly accepted the glass from Lady Estelyn with a nod and an approximation of a grin he hoped didn't appear sinister....or downright creepy.

He sighed as he sat back in his anachronistic Edwardian leather club chair, coming to the sad realization that he had become, in fact, the very caricature of a stock grim Dark Elf. All he needed was some ebonized galvorn to be the epitome of grouchy old Eöl, grousing about the smithy, graceless and grumpy. Bah, humbug!

But Morthoron had a dark epiphany as the group of idiosyncratic Dungeon & Dragon characters toasted the Professor. With the sudden recall of a drowning man (drowning elf, damn it, why do I think in terms of mortals!), a rush of reminiscence filled him with dread as the last couple decades flashed before him like an amusement arcade mutoscope that flicked cards in sequence to give the appearance of an actual moving picture (as he was sitting in an Edwardian chair, this analogy seemed to fit, even if it was totally nonsensical for the Third Age). And he suddenly realized the reason for his morbid melancholy.

"Peter Jackson!"

There was a sudden stillness in the room, and all eyes turned his way. The Dark Elf cursed under his breathe: he had uttered the sacrilegious name out loud! Eventually the thrum of buzzing discussions returned and the frivolity that is the handmaiden of inebriation settled back on the crowd, and the Dark Elf was left alone with his murky musing.

"Yes," he thought to himself, "it was Peter Jackson that did this to me!" Morthoron shifted with the discomfiture of an insomniac in the chair. "Sandworms from Arakeen! Aragorn frenching his horse! Xenarwen, warrior princess! GAH!!!!"

The Dark Elf slammed down the expensive and exquisite Dorwinion as if it were cheap bathtub gin, savoring none of its richness. Now more miserable than ever, the malignant memories washed over him like an insidious black tide. Three films instead of two. Del Toro! psychedelicized wizards with bird droppings and hedgehogs named Sebastian (O, the arrows of irony!)! Sam leaving Frodo! Goblin Chutes and Ladders, and a Great Goblin with a globulous goiter as ridiculously over-sized as the WitchKing's monstrously massive mace! Thranduil riding a moose! An each and every and all and sundry an extended edition to maximize canonical misery!

The Dark Elf threw up in his mouth a little.