Edie was perusing the latest correspondence from her fork. She still should have been paying enough attention to realize that the door didn't go where it ought before it swung shut and she couldn't sense anyone else anymore, but she wasn't.
After opening and closing the door a couple times to make sure she hadn't just been abducted somehow, she looks around.
Oh, love--and she wriggles so instead of being half on top of his upper torso she's pressed against him as much as possible, as much of her against as much of him as she can manage, and she kisses him, and she twines their fingers together so that glass clicks against metal.
Other things she is: tugging the ponytail holder out of his hair.
Humans do not have hair as anywhere near as much of a thing as Elves but someone you love dearly fiddling with it still feels very, very nice. He is wearing a shirt; he should stop.
She makes a pleased noise and mouths down to his collarbones and observes that they are both still wearing more fabric than is optimal, i.e. any.
The small corner of her brain not occupied with how much she wants him and doing things about this observes that she's going to have to get her alt back up here to get dressed unless the room contains a convenient wardrobe or something. It's a very small corner.
He does not have even that much space for advance planning. He has Idaia.
He does have Idaia! And she has her husband back and her wedding ring back and she is safe and if this is a dream please please let her never wake up.
Idaia slept in very late that morning and is absolutely flooded with endorphins and adrenaline and all sorts of other good chemicals that keep you going and is rather motivated to be actively experiencing joy at her beloved for as long as she can and it is going to be some time before she finally falls into exhausted, contented sleep.
He will not sleep at all, just stare adoringly at her and watch her and occasionally cry for no reason.
...food. Food is a thing they require. Um, magic makes-random-stuff-Idaia?
(Earlier)
"Okay, so that was a thing," she says, once her alt and her boyfriend's alt have vanished up the stairs.
"That was a very - thing - thank you for doing that for him, by the way - and for her, I guess - are we just parking here with the door open until all of the local Fëanorians can be rounded up? Because 'curing mortality' and 'using the Silmarils to kill magic god Valar' were both mentioned and both these things sound tempting."
"I think that's the plan, yeah, and I do indeed find ending mortality highly appealing."
This place is about to close for the evening and I can only get so far by throwing around the promise of locally valuable objects while not speaking the language.
Edie relays this to Depressing Maitimo and asks him for suggestions.
He sighs, stands up, pulls out his badge, goes and tells the Zion National Park ranger station that it's the site of an NSA investigation and requests everyone's names, dates of birth, contact information, and current address. I can only do that once, he comments when the station's empty, and then sits down leaning against the door so it stays open.
Once we've got your entire family and the not-on-Venus Silmarils in here we don't need the door open until we're ready to fetch the on-Venus Silmaril and/or render everyone immortal.
And it doesn't sound like you need my job for anything. It's mostly useful to have access to all information that's been committed to electronic form and you have that already.
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