When He TalksAuthor:
Everything Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Lord of the Rings belongs to their respective creators, not me.
When he talks, I want to die. It's not the kind of want-to-die that I feel when someone's droning on, and on, and on, and will not shut up. It's not the kind of want-to-die that I feel when I'm red with embarrassment and will do anything to stop whatever it is that's embarrassing me. It's not the kind of want-to-die that I feel, when I'm so miserable, the pain is so sharp and the hurt so deep that I want to throw myself off a cliff. It's not the kind of want-to-die I feel when I'm frustrated about my inability to express myself. It's not the kind of want-to-die feeling I used to get when Angel was kissing me. It's more the kind of want-to-die feeling, in which I want to die, because I know he's saying something that I want to be hearing, and I can't understand a word.
He opens his mouth, and I focus on his lips. They're so full, they look so soft, and the words he say sound like nothing I have ever heard before. They're so beautiful. Them, and the rest of his face. His razor sharp cheekbones, those eyebrows, that strong jaw, those ears. Elven ears are fascinating. They're pointed, like in all the stories I read, when I was still on Earth, my Earth. However, they do not look weird, on the contrary, they're ridiculously elegant. And then there are his eyes. People say that blue eyes lighten with joy. If that's true, then I've never seen him joyful. His eyes are blue: a dark, calmly fiery blue. They bore into the back of my head when I am not facing him, and they coolly regard me when I turn around. The expression on his face is almost always a holier-than-thou one. To tell the truth, it's not a turn-off. He looks good, even when, no, especially when he's raising one of those arched eyebrows at me, eyes raking my figure from head to toe, almost critically. Those looks make me want to kiss him, and then smother him to death. No, they make me want to pull him into one of those talans and do something else to him, probably to death, be it mine or his.
The worst part is that I think he's insulting me. He's always saying things that, despite the beautiful sound, seem a little.. sharp. Maybe I annoy him. He doesn't snap, or yell. He doesn't lose his temper with me, although a couple of times he has seemed quite close to doing so. The muscles in his jaw were ticking, and his ears twitched once or twice. Other than that, he is always coolly condescending, cool as a cucumber. Come to think of it, I never really understood that phrase: cool as a cucumber. Cucumbers can be hot. He certainly is. I know he finds me irritating sometimes, especially when I hit the bullseye of the archery target, and he's a millimetre to the left. I guess it stings, to have a five-foot-nothing blonde be able to scamper up those high, looming trees as quick as a six foot tall elf, despite said blonde's dislike of heights. Maybe he's feeling inadequate? No, from what I see, he's pretty much adequate. Make that very adequate.
I can't complain about him ignoring me: he's not. He pays a lot of attention to me. Sometimes, it seems to me, he thinks things that I think about him, when he looks at me. When he throws me those condescending little glances, my heart skips a beat. Isn't that weird? He's being mean to me, looking at me with thoughts that cannot be positive, and I'm swooning. I wonder if elves are like vampires, and can smell certain scents. God, I hope not. That silken voice of his, not to mention his silky hair – how is it that both his hair and voice are silky smooth? – really get to me, and not in a bad way. It's weird how I react to him. Sometimes he makes me so mad, so furious, that I don't even want to beat him up, I want to sit down and cry. It's times like these that I miss the Scooby gang. Here I have one confidante: a brown-haired half-elven son of Elrond.
But then he says something else, puts his arms around me. He doesn't put his arms around me to embrace me, he doesn't tilt my head up to kiss me – he does these things when he notices a fault in my archery. He corrects me. However, the way he does it, those beautiful, cutting words he says, they make it better. Not to mention the way those powerful arms feel around my body.
I don't love him. I love listening to him speak. I guess this is one of those occasions where I listen to him talking, but hear nothing.
Why don't I pay more attention when those nice elves try to teach me quenya?