driftfleet | Action: Planet: OTA

Entry tags:

Action: Planet: OTA

Who: Fëanor [AND OPEN]
Broadcast: N/A
Action: SS Bloodsport, the planet
When: Throughout first half of July

Bloodsport: Open to crewmates or visitors!

It was far too easy to get caught up in putting his new knowledge to practical use. Fëanor would spend hours (sometimes days) at a time in the engine room, poking at this or that. Taking one thing apart only to put it back together in a way that he felt would enhance function or appearance, depending on mood. The elf would forget, as had always been an issue, to care for himself when his interest was roused.

Anyone care to drag him out for food or rest? Even a walk around the ship?

Planet: OTA!
Forest
Trees and nature always called to the hearts and minds of elves. Fëanor was no exception, though he far preferred actually working in forges, making new things than out and about. It made little difference though, as he'd been cooped up in various ships for longer than he was used to staying in one room. And with such a world to explore as this, how could he refuse the chance to get outside? Breath fresh air again, feel dirt and earth under his feet and life all around.

Beach
When the elf came upon the water he found himself stuck, gazing out at the expanse and feeling the waves crash against him, threatening to drag him out to sea. But he always stood still, and firm, knowing how to move with it to avoid actually being swept out.

[OOC: Oooooooooooooooor make up your own prompt and we'll play! Prose or brackets, I'll match.]

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There's a song at the beach - almost constantly, apart from the times that someone manages to pry Maglor away. A song that is not a song at all, but part of the waves.

Maglor walks along the shore and doesn't mind the waves at all, and he stills when he sees his father.

"Atarinya?" He always sounds hesitant, as if he's not quite sure Feanor is really there, no matter that Feanor has never actually vanished on him - not since he's been here on the fleet, anyway.

A song that Fëanor knew well. His heart swelled, just hearing it, knowing his second son was near. He didn't turn immediately to face Maglor though, not until he heard the uncertainty in that single word.

Only then did he turn with an encouraging smile and hold out a hand to his son. "I am here, yonya." He would reassure both of his sons that he was there for them. As often and however they needed of him.

Maglor visibly relaxes when reassured, and he crosses the distance between them. Even so, he hesitates before taking his father's hand - not out of fear that he will vanish so much, as the continual shame he has over his scars.

(He forgot, what this world does with touch)

He's missed his father, he hates his father, he loves him to death and beyond, he's not here, he can't be here, he needs him to be here, he's terrified that he will lose him, he's terrified that he will hurt him to evil ends will all things turn N o he can't lose them again he can't he'll kill him himself first

So had Fëanor, in all honesty. The experience with Hux had been firmly shoved out of his mind due to all he'd learned. The horror of that knowledge and all that had passed after. The tools gained had come in handy, but...

Stars...The death of stars...at the touch of a button.

And yet when their hands met, Maglor would get a sense of horror. But then of acceptance.

Along with fierce burning love for his sons. Acceptance of his nephew.

A refusal to let his boys down again.

Guilt that so much destruction had been done because of him. Awareness and knowledge that he wasn't as perfect as he liked to seem.

Fëanor tightened his hold on his son's hand and tugged, urging him nearer until he can wrap his arms around his son in a gentle embrace.

It's actually never occurred to her that her being enamored of trees might have to do with being half-elven. She's always thought it was simply her being denied the world for most of her life, that made her fall instantly and unwaveringly in love with trees and forests. Regardless, she's been out on the planet nearly constantly, all day, every day. And as it nears dusk, she's still there, snuggled up under a massive tree that must be at least a few hundred years old, playing a melody on a pan flute; something appropriate and soft for the time of day and the location.

The soft music drew Fëanor to the tree and he paused when he came upon the tree and the young half-elf he'd spoken to. That Maglor was so fond of, whom he could see why. The song earned a small smile.

"You play well."

Not, perhaps, as well as Maglor! But well. He could hear the skill in the delicate sounds.

She would absolutely agree with him; Maglor is by leaps and bounds more skillful a bard than she is. And she feels no jealousy over it. In fact, she adores listening to Maglor play, and admires him greatly.

She'd lowers the flute to her lap and smiles up at Feanor shyly. But while most praise given to her is difficult to bear, anything about a performance she can take and happily.

"Thank you, sir." She stands then, because that's polite. "What brings you out here so late in the day?"

[She'll bring you a sandwich and a bowl of fruit, you busy elf, how's that? Nami leans against the door to engineering, tray in hand.]

You ever gonna surface from in here?

They might just have to work on that! Slowly, but while Fëanor wasn't always the easiest to like, he did occasionally get things right. And he knew this woman was important to his son, which meant a fair bit to him.

"I wanted to see the stars." His lips quirked wryly. "It is unusual for me to have to wait to see them, but even here they are worth it."

[So sweet! He pauses, tool in hand. Thinking about it. Then pokes his head out to look at his captain.]

With food brought to me I could stay here for weeks. [Not as innocent as he might intend. But the elf does finally set his tools down and come out, diligently working any grime from his hands with the help of a clean towel as he approaches.]

Thank you.

"You don't usually have to wait to see the stars? Are they very bright on Arda, or am I missing something?" She's guessing she's missing something, because Arda seems to be a magical place, with quite the unique history. She's bothered Finrod for stories more than once. And probably will again.

Any impatience he might feel was stifled and set aside. Instead he readily answered.

"Before this world I had not seen the Sun or Moon. Only the light of the Two Trees and the stars have lit Arda through my lifetime." Compared to his sons, Fëanor was just a child!

Maglor jerks, realising and recoiling from his father's horror, cringing away mentally as well as physically in shame.

Didn't mean to! Didn't want you to know!

He lets his father pull him in, but remains miserably tucked away mentally.

Don't deserve you

Fëanor sighed quietly, wrapping his son up in a firm, loving embrace, dropping a kiss to the top of his head.

"No, little one. It is I who do not deserve you, or your brother."

Love. Intense, unwavering love.

Maglor sobs softly, curling into his father's arms.

Failed you

Love!

Fëanor picked his child up just as if Maglor were still an elfling and walked a ways from the water. Only to take a seat against a boulder, setting his son down on his lap. Age meant nothing.

"I love you, yonya. You have never failed me."

Loyal sons.

Maglor has missed his father more than he has allowed himself to know, and he cannot help but respond to his fire, clinging to him in both the mental and the spiritual sense, for all that he is far too old to be needed support this way.

"We failed. We all did. I threw it away! I condemned you all to the Dark!"

Hate you. Love you. Frightened.

Unyielding, fierce, bright love.

Trust.

Fëanor trusted his sons with everything he was. With everything he had. Fingers gently thread through Maglor's hair, seeking to give what comfort he could. To remind his son he wasn't alone anymore.

"I should not have demanded such a thing from you. From any of you!" He didn't know all the details. But he knew enough.

Acceptance. Love! Support.

"Two trees give off light?" She's hooked in now. He might have thought of her as a woman, but her youth shows through in her easy, eager delight, and obvious desire for him to tell her everything. She's an adult, but only just.

"I couldn't save them, I couldn't save you, I'm always too late! I couldn't even hold it, in the end."

He clings, weeping - he's broken into so many pieces, is Maglor - he hides it so very, very well. But he cannot hide any longer.

My fault

Ha! Fëanor's smile grew, pleased at her interest in his home. "Theirs is pure unique perfection. Telperion and Laurelin are their names. One with silver light, the other gold."

His embrace did not waiver. Clinging was met with another fond kiss to his son's brow. Fierce protective love answered Maglor's guilt. Fëanor even started to gently rock his son, just as he had when each of his sons were so very small.

"You are my son and I am proud to call you such. You have my love."

This? This broken self of his child? Was precisely why he wanted to go wherever he needed to so that he could take better care of his sons. Both of them.

"Don't deserve it."

He chokes out through his tears, but he buries his face in his father's shoulder and lets himself be comforted.

He forced a hint of fond amusement into his voice. "No? But you do. You have so many reasons to hate me, and I know you do. But you also love me, for which I am grateful." Earnestness crept back in after that first word.

"You deserve to be cherished, loved, and protected. I will try to do better here." He shamelessly snuggled his son, and started to hum softly to him as he kept rocking him gently.

She immediately wishes she'd brought her journal. She has a thousand questions, at the very least.

"How do they hold the light? How does it reach all the world, or are there places that are always in darkness?"

"Might've damned you." He confesses in a whisper, the worry that has haunted him since he was sane enough to consider what him throwing the last one away might mean.

Simon didn't pay it much mind when he heard Fëanor begin to poke around in the engine room- he was sure he needed time to acclimate himself to this new technology, as many people did when they first arrived on the Fleet.

However, he seemed to be spending a disproportionate amount of time locked in there, and after a while, Simon decided to grab a bottle of water and knock to see if he was still okay.

A stifled sigh and he pressed a kiss to his son's forehead again. "I damn myself, child." He brushed a hand over Maglor's hair, then cupped his face. "Do you not feel my love for you?" Bright and fierce, stubborn refusal to diminish.

Kirk had thought he would be more or less alone on this particular stretch of beach, which was why he had chosen to come jogging here - wouldn't be in the way of anyone, easier to find his zen as he worked his muscles to their breaking points. Except he wasn't alone, was he? Feanor was up ahead, gazing out at the ocean even as he stood in it.

Frowning softly, Kirk pulled up, slick with sweat, hands on his hips as he moved closer to the dark, wet sand. "Hey, Feanor! You okay?"

A hiccup as he fights to control the tears and he nods, burying his head in his father's shoulder again.

Yes. Love you. Ashamed.

[Don't get used to it. Especially with that crack. But Nami grins, holding the food out.]

You're welcome. You don't want to see the planet while you still have the option to go off ship?

It was probably ironic that such a tall Elf was drawn to trees, yet that was where Fëanor would find Maedhros. He looked far better - he had some clothes that fit - and that added to his confidence. His steps were slow and he raised his scarred left hand now and then to touch a trunk or catch a leaf.

Where his brother heard the song of the sea, he was drawn to the song of the soil and the trees. Birds would occasionally fly close to him and he would smile, murmuring comforting phrases in Quenya and Sindarin.

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Action: Planet: OTA

beach!

<3!

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Forest!

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Bloodsport

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Yay! XD

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Bloodsport

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Beach!

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Forest