Practice! With Wellard

[findsthesun]

A young Elf*, dressed in sturdy green and brown cloth and soft leather shoes, walks into the bar.

It can, perhaps, be forgive if his first reaction is wariness and his hand flicks towards the white handled knife at his belt.

Then he laughs.

"A tavern of Men, in the middle of the forest? I have not heard tell of this."

*see (here) for description of Elves, and Legolas in particular.

Comments

[student_of_impossibility]

Tavi smiles a little sardonically, sensing Legolas' amusement. But he has a dinner later, and is trying to keep from filling up too much. Silly politics.

Tavi nibbles idly on his bread. "I can see how that would be," the young man admits. "Although I also grant that I spent enough time serving with the Legion that I got used to incredibly banal meals."

He makes a face. Serving as a Subtribune Logistica made eating cram look like fun.

[findsthesun]

Many things make eating cram look like fun!

"Yes," Legolas agrees, mournfully. "I have heard tales lamenting this."

[student_of_impossibility]

"I have the experience," he says wryly. "Trust me, tea made when the Legion low is low on water makes those cakes of yours sound absolutely divine."

[findsthesun]

Legolas smiles slightly. "'Tis my luck to have been born an Elf in Mirkwood, then, where even soldiers are rarely deprived."