rowancrowned | fade rift ✧ inbox

[ after a brief rustling, the sound of pages, and a pause, ]

Goodness. What lovely script.

[ Another pause.

(Lexie aren't you meant to be doing something?) ]

Ah, oui. Might you be willing also to let me know the measure of your hair in inches? It is of the utmost importance.

( sleepily, from a slight distance from the crystal, but with great confidence: )

Two and a half feet.

[ to her credit, Lexie only reacts to the added participant with a widened grin, and a quiet playful tsk. ]

Inches, Gigi.

( grumbling drowsily; ) Thirty, you jezebel pedant.

Although, since we are now apparently speaking of feet, do you happen to be as well versed in the length of the Lord Provost's as you are in his hair?

[ a barely audible aside, if one happens to have good hearing, ]

Am I cheating?

[ beat ]

Also in inches, naturally.

Edited 2018-10-23 00:40 (UTC)

[ also barely audible and dependent on good hearing: ]

Verging on it.

( there's a pause, and then, suspiciously: )

The length of my lord provost's what?

( take the crystal away from her, thranduil. )

[ no, lexie walked herself into this one. ]

[ Satinalia presents already?

Of course, the Lord Provost himself is right there, but also a few bottles of wine had been right there, and so, in a tone so completely and wholly brightly innocent that it rolls right back around to being debauchery in her mouth: ]

Foot.

[ barely audible at first, and then cut off abruptly and muffled even further ]

You know what they say about-- Oh come on!

( #yolo )

No one's is a foot, that's insane. Maybe half when he's hard.

[ just barely not laughing, with the same tsk as before ]

In inches, Gigi!

Why am I doing maths, ( complaining—they can hear rustling, the shift of bed springs and blankets, ) —oh, come on,

I am estimating, ( because someone is a big princess rolled over onto his belly and impossible to wrench the sheet out from under, ) —I don't know, six and a half at full mast?

( audibly, but clearly not directed at lexie (or anyone with her), ) Spoilsport.

[ spoilsport himself is doing the maths of laying here versus attempting to wrest crystal away from her, and how much would be overheard in each.

muffled: ]

That's quite enough, Gigi.

[ presumably his hand held out for the crystal, more shifting noises that are definitely someone sitting up. ]

Goodnight, Lady De La Fontaine.

( overheard in the gallows: gwenaëlle yelping when thranduil sits up without warning and she goes sideways. )

[ with extreme gravity: ]

Good night, Lord Provost.

[ ...and then ] I expect your contributions shall be appreciated deeply.

[ aaayyy get it, Gwen~

Lexie out. ]

( a fine black hair ribbon is left among thranduil's belongings, the morning of their anniversary; the accompanying note reads: )

I haven't even thought about strangling you with one of these for an entire year. No promises for the next one. Be safe.

Your affectionate,
Gwenaëlle