OOC: Inspiration from an unusual RP session that turned out quite impactful lead to this...
She stands upon the rooftop of the house, merely observing as the man with the untidy mop of hair begins to walk up and down the stone balustrade in oblivious bliss, arms extended outwards as he balances upon the cold rock fence. For her, it was merely another day to observe the pathetic mortals in their personal blunders and failures, as it had always been for the last millennia. Her eyes lock on to the man's lean stature and she smiles in amusement as she observes his body language, all of which indicates that this was mere practice.
He flits to and fro from the stone fencing, every now and then wobbling for a moment before continuing on. Unawares and undaunted he simply continues on to keep the balance, one foot placed in front of the other. For him, this was merely another day to live and be hale. The thoughts of his lost sister festered in his mind, yet he was finding an unusual joy in the daybreak to relax and be glad. His gaze locks down upon his feet and he notes how they move despite the standstill his mind had found itself.
A random burst of clapping brings him out of his concentration, and he topples to the side in surprise. Once he hits the ground, he knows that she has come to toy with him as he would toy with her mind in response. He looks up and sees her dark raiment standing out against the bright backdrop of the morning sun, noting that she was yet again wearing the same metal visor that covers all but her eyes and leaf-shaped ears. He can barely make out the dark hair on her head.
They exchange greetings and veiled jabs with one another, as had become customary for them whenever they "happened" to encounter one another; It had been a while since they spoke. They chide one another for their respective climbs.
Then they begin their game of words.
She says he feels shame for balancing upon the balustrade, a false observation made under an overconfident assumption. He counters by pointing out the absolute in her statement and asks her what she would do if it were genuine surprise.
A worthless, pathetic wretch, she calls him. An overconfident, smug snake he would reply to that, but he merely smiles at the surety in her voice as she talks to him as if she rightly knew all that he thought. He entertains himself with all the "facts" thrown his way.
"You are correct. Anything you say barely holds a truth - Perhaps factually, but ever covered by jests and dismissive facts. There is no conversation to be held with you."
He laid the bait carefully, "I 'ave nothin' t'hide, but everything t'conceal."
She nods and he knows the bait had been taken. Shield his feelings from himself. Close, but not quite, she was told. Her eyes peered at the man, expression carefully concealed.
Worthless, she calls him. He could not help but be amused. Worthless he was to her as she was naught of great importance to him, but the thrill of the everlasting contest to have the last laugh, and the desire for her company and friendship compelled him to stay. He loved yet loathed it, and he knew she felt the same of his company.
Presumptious, he called her. Right or wrong meant nothing to her. She was simply consumed by a desire to see this pathetic man stumble his way through his short life, but his erratic, strange way of thinking broke the dull pace and compelled her to stay. She loved yet loathed it, and she knew he felt the same of her company.
Nothing Matters. That was what she had said, whispering it to him in a way that even he considered intimate for her standards. He was no fool, however, and she was no mortal. Between them there would never be anything more than a complicated friendship, and he was glad for it - though she gave him a much-needed break from the dull thralls of everyday life, with her amusing self-assertiveness, he never found Elf-kind appealing at all. When she bade him dance, dance he did, and that was when he sprung the trap and let her catch a glimpse of what he truly hid beneath the layers. He chose a dance that his sister had taught him when he was a young lad, knowing this would ensnare her.
And ensnared she was. He knew this from her sigh of relief and smiled at her. Like a moth drawn to flame, she would remain so long as he danced, yet though he was the only one moving, he could see clearly he was not the sole dancer, for though she stood still, he knew that her strings too were moving, commanding her to stay rooted in place. So long as he would relentlessly lure her under the premise of his "pitiful wretchedness", she would always return to him, as she would lure him to her with her "smug overconfidence".
He too was ensnared. Never would she think of him an equal: She found him too disgusting for that. Yet there was a strange charm in all he did and said, and she stayed merely to watch him move as the strings forced him to. It gave her a much-needed break from the dullness of most other mortals, albeit one that would not last long, as she knew so well. So long as she came to him with the challenge of the last laugh and the premise of witty conversation, he would always return to her, as he would lure her to him with his paradoxical nature and contradictory behaviour.
They would dance, the puppets on strings, and so they would remain for the rest of the morning, until they departed. Yet who was the puppet, and who the master?
